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Sipping the desert

slowly, carefully

as I drum and sit

and let the wind

strip me of moisture—

my soggy wet fears

too saturated to move.

the joshua trees

barely tremble

their alien muppet limbs

sharp, their paper fur, soft.

my stomach feeling empty now.

Sipping the desert

slowly, carefully

the thirst of new

life quenched

with butterfly joy.

two ravens check 

on me in morning,

circle my place

shiny black feathers

 oil slick:

I could hear the drumbeats of other women, their prayers blown to me in the wind, and I was truly ready to die.

Vision Quest

by Colleen Gavan

It has been six weeks since my return from the desert, and here I am sipping port, feeling mildly depressed, while listening to old jazz and watching myself dance in the window. I phone the women who were part of my group and find that they too are experiencing feelings of confusion. (Sigh of relief.) I find validation in a book—“depression of the vision is necessary in order to find the motivation to move forward…Reincorporation is the real quest.”

As I write, I see that this too is part of the reincorporation challenge:

How do I express the sacredness of my experience in words for other readers? I’ve been wrestling with this question. Our guides warned us to keep our stories sacred, to reveal as little as possible to others so as not to cheapen our experience. Thus, I proceed with delicate fingers on the keyboard, with the intention of sharing what a wilderness rite of passage is and why I feel compelled to help others find their connection with the earth.

I had been looking for quite some time when I found the vision quest offered by Beth Beurkens and Marilyn Foster. It sounded like something I should do, something that would take me deeper into my relationship with the earth and help me to see more clearly. I was feeling stuck, like I knew what my path was, but for some reason I wasn’t on it.

A rite of passage is a ceremony that marks a transition in life. It is a symbolic death and rebirth.  It is the path of the hero in the mythology of all cultures: venturing into the unknown, facing a challenge and returning with gifts for your people. For thousands of years our ancestors practiced rites of passage to find purpose and guidance when reaching turning points in their lives. Today these have largely been reduced to social events (graduation, marriage, etc.) and often lack true meaning for the individuals. As a result, lost souls suffer in a society that is disconnected from its roots. Some religions offer meaningful rites of passage, but often these too are far removed from an individual’s personal journey. It was the European anthropologists who called the Native Americans’ journey a “vision quest”.  The Lakota tribe called it Humbucheyape—lamenting—lamenting for what is not working in life and crying out for a new perspective, a “vision”.

And so I signed up for a women’s vision quest which entailed a five-month preparation (or severance) time, ten days in the desert (3 days and nights alone), and some post-desert reincorporation work. I traveled to Santa Cruz two to three times a month for meetings with my fellow questers. The twelve women ranged in age from their early twenties to their early fifties; their stories were rich and diverse. The focus of these pre-desert meetings was severance. As we prepared for a symbolic death we needed to face and take care of any unfinished business. Our leaders, Beth and Marilyn offered us tools and rituals to help do that. I looked at what no longer served my life and practiced letting go. I kept a journal and worked with my dreams. I held a fire ceremony, symbolically burning all that needed to go. I talked, spirit-to-spirit, with people from my past and present. I got organized, cleaned out clutter in my physical and mental space.  I spent more time in nature, talking with the plants and animals, watching and listening for messages. I, I, I, I, I…was fairly consumed by all of it, but it was good and necessary.

Many of the practices and teachings we learned are based on those of Native Americans, but it is important to note that the modern-day vision quest is adapted for a person in our society. Those from any religious background bring their personal beliefs and practices into this work and make it their own. I found the rituals to be powerful and deeply meaningful as I created them.

We honed our intentions for going into the desert, and they varied widely. For myself, this developed: I am going to the desert to let go of limiting patterns and beliefs so that I may live authentically, pursue my life’s work and share my love with the world. Another woman was letting go of her grief for a life-partner’s passing. Others: “to prepare to be a mother…to be my own best friend….to be the change I want to see in the world…to become an adult.”

Before long, we were driving to the Mojave Desert south of Death Valley and north of Baker. We were as prepared as we would be. The prior weeks were intense for us all. There’s something about the ego that loves to sink its nails in and hold on for dear life when it feels like it’s being threatened. Let go of me? But I’ve served you so well! You can’t do it without me. It was a constant practice for me to be aware and return to the present moment.

And there we were, setting up a base camp when there was a break in the rain. Yes, I said rain. Some of the women had little experience camping on their own and they seemed to be fully prepared with gear. But not me. Despite the fact that I’ve backpacked in all sorts of weather, I usually try to get by with the least amount possible—wearing worn-out sandals on a fifty-mile hike taught me something, and a trip to the desert with half-ass rain-gear taught me another. I’ll learn.

The evening before we were to cross the “threshold” the rain broke and a double rainbow stretched across the sky, its vivid colors opening a doorway to a new perspective. In celebration we sang:

Rainbow woman, rainbow woman

Go where you want to go and

Do what you want to do

‘cause love is guiding you….

We drummed up the moon and eventually fell asleep, visions of visions dancing in our heads. I had some crazy allergy and my eye swelled up like I’d been punched…Let the de-tox begin.

Early the next morning, the rain was stop and go; it stopped long enough for us to pack our bags. We set off in whatever direction we felt drawn to find a place of power, figure out who our “buddy” would be and return to camp. I had just started my moon cycle and was feeling it in my lower back, my eye was practically swollen shut and my fingers were like icicles, carrying out gallons of water with wet fleece gloves. We had met throughout the early morning in the group tent, checking in, taking an oath that we would do nothing to jeopardize our safety and taking care of last minute details. The storm didn’t seem to be passing, and in fact, as we left camp, it began to snow huge palm-sized flakes of wet snow kisses.

When I was alone and searching for a spot, I began to feel better. The creosote and Joshua trees welcomed me and eventually I found a place, down a deep, winding wash and up a canyon. My primary concern was to find a decent location to set up my tarp for shelter, but eventually I had to settle for the acceptable. I located my “buddy”—the woman nearest me—and we worked out our “rock pile” system. Each day, she would place a rock on the pile in the afternoon, and I would take it off in the morning. If this weren’t done, one would set off to the other’s place to check on the other.

Next: Back to base-camp, get gear; locate our place on the topo map for our leaders and then cross the threshold.

The threshold circle was a carefully chosen circle of stones. One by one, we went into the circle and were smudged with burning sage and the wing of a raven. As we stepped out we entered the spirit realm where we were to die and be reborn.

It was a surreal morning. It sounds strange, reading this as a string of events occurring factually and linearly. Imagine more of a dream-like state. As we crossed the threshold, we entered dreamtime, which isn’t really something to write about; it is something to feel.

We set off to our places of power to sit for three days and three nights. We would face our demons and fears like our ancestors had done before us. (Okay, Jesus went for forty days, but he was the extreme.) We would spend our third night keeping a vigil within our purpose circle, crying for a vision and praying for the sun to rise, marking our re-birth. We lamented what is not working and called out for a new perspective, a “vision”. We would ask, “For what am I returning?” We would each come home with our own stories of darkness and light, of frustration and victory, of pain and joy.

I drummed and drummed and I sang until my throat hurt. I hiked slowly, following butterflies, talking with plants. I did yoga in the mornings and struggled with the tarp in the 40 mile-per-hour winds. I journaled, wrote a will, wrote poetry. I slept under the stars and struggled to keep warm. I listened to the plants and the rocks and the clouds in the sky. I prayed and I braided the fibers of a yucca plant. I performed ceremony and ritual asking for protection and guidance. I bled into the earth, offering my healing power and love.

I felt hungry.

The wind blew, whipping, the entire time saying, Let it go.

I screamed and thought I was going insane, and then realized that was the point: to lose my mind. I felt hopeless and worthless and out of love and then went to bed, begging the plants and the moon and the rocks to heal me in their arms as I slept. I awoke, in love again with the universe, with myself, and gave thanks. I dreamed lucid shamanic dreams and talked with my spirit guides, my power animals.

I reminded myself of my intention, again and again.

The wind was intense on the night of the vigil as I sat in my power circle. I was sure that I had never been so cold. I could hear the drumbeats of other women, their prayers blown to me in the wind, and I was truly ready to die. I actually decided that if I were to physically pass away that night it would be fine. I spent the night in meditation, in song, in dance, in tears, and at last, the first hint of dawn lit the eastern sky. A calm passed over the hills and into my heart and I knew that it was time to step out of the circle and carry my vision back to my people.

For what am I returning?

I listened for the answer and then removed the eastern stone from my circle to step out into the direction of rebirth.

The sparrows chirped and the same mountains that had been with me for the past days softened around the edges. I gave thanks to my place, the fairyland and the mountain lion for protection. I was struck by the simplicity of the messages given by the earth. They are so subtle and soft. The mirror of nature reflects to consciousness the insights we have deep within our hearts.

On the hike back to base camp, my buddy and I moved like the desert tortoise, and giggled at the difficulty of the journey. Our bellies empty and bodies weak, we were like children, innocent and fresh. Welcomed by our guides, we stepped back into the threshold circle. We proclaimed the reason for our return and entered our bodies again, into the warm arms of Beth and Marilyn.

The next few days were spent in the healing waters of Tecopa hot springs and in the town of Shoshone. It was the beginning of the “reincorporation” phase of the quest. We held sacred space as each woman shared her story. One woman had performed death rituals of magnitude, cutting off her hair, carrying heavy rocks which represented the pain she’s been carrying for years and then let them go. Another, who had been deathly afraid of the dark and being alone in nature, felt calm and at ease. Another felt sexy for the first time in her life. One spoke to her unborn children. Each woman’s story was individual and beautiful.

These were magical, emotional days, the kind you want to hold onto, even though you know that clinging of any kind will only get you into trouble.

And so we were sent back to reality, where the real quest is. The war with Iraq had just begun and honestly, I was scared to return. How do I bring purpose into my everyday life, to be vigilant about my intentions and uggh, the responsibility of it all. Can’t I just slip back into ignorance?

This is the practice I am faced with now; the depression of the vision weighs heavy, but I know that it will not last. There is no going back.

And the wind says, Let it go. Embody your vision. Live your gifts.

I invite you to allow yourself to open to the healing power of nature.

We all know the feeling of oneness that appears in a variety of settings—the feeling of “no self” or “self in all things.” It is a perspective that takes us away from our patterns of thought and belief, and opens our hearts. Seeing the world as an extension of ourselves is cultivated more easily when away from the busyness of our everyday lives. While resting in the healing womb of the earth, we may naturally find ourselves at ease. It is from this place that we are able to act with love and compassion, to heal the earth and ourselves.

(Questions or comments: colleen@brushwoodinstitute.com)

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