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Serendipity Speaks Emphatically . . . on the 15th of July, 2020, one day before 6 months of my living with a stroke, my soul finally piped up. Besides dealing with the physical limitations of my stroke, the searing question has been why? Both doctors at the hospital after reviewing my health history, MRI's, EKG, and blood screens said the source of the stroke shall remain unknown. 40 years without a sore throat, upset stomach, headache, common cold, or other forms of virus while performing hands-on treatments to 'carrier' clients with the same maladies. A holistic diet, regular exercise, low stress and grateful spirit, all begged the question 'why'.
Serendipity Speaks Emphatically . . . on the 15th of July, 2020, one day before 6 months of my living with a stroke, my soul finally piped up. Besides dealing with the physical limitations of my stroke, the searing question has been why? Both doctors at the hospital after reviewing my health history, MRI's, EKG, and blood screens said the source of the stroke shall remain unknown. 40 years without a sore throat, upset stomach, headache, common cold, or other forms of virus while performing hands-on treatments to 'carrier' clients with the same maladies. A holistic diet, regular exercise, low stress and grateful spirit, all begged the question 'why'.
On the morning of 15th, while witnessing for the 21st time a caterpillar consuming itself into a gelatinous blob covered with a bright green shell adorned with gold stars from the galaxy, received the message that I too had metaphorically morphed into the jello of what science refers to as 'imaginal cells'.
On the morning of 15th, while witnessing for the 21st time a caterpillar consuming itself into a gelatinous blob covered with a bright green shell adorned with gold stars from the galaxy, received the message that I too had metaphorically morphed into the jello of what science refers to as 'imaginal cells'.
OH, and then some friends serendipitously had arranged for a reading by a psychic that on the 16th. Turned out she was a channel of voices from between the parallel lines. After a prayer and a connection ritual, the voices came without asking to inform me that my stroke was orchestrated by my soul; that the stroke's limitations on my physical body were to give me time to align my 'imaginal cells' (my words) with the highest good as to why I was on earth in this form.
OH, and then some friends serendipitously had arranged for a reading by a psychic that on the 16th. Turned out she was a channel of voices from between the parallel lines. After a prayer and a connection ritual, the voices came without asking to inform me that my stroke was orchestrated by my soul; that the stroke's limitations on my physical body were to give me time to align my 'imaginal cells' (my words) with the highest good as to why I was on earth in this form.
There was no mystery to me about what these esoteric voices think is the highest good for my life now. You see it was a gift given in 1987 that I have been playing with ever since, but, other than sharing with a core group of hunkas (relatives by choice), the gift has never been shared publicly. To grok why this has branded my skin for three decades, a flashback is in order. While living in Canada, I was drawn to Highway 17 along the north shore of Lake Superior.
There was no mystery to me about what these esoteric voices think is the highest good for my life now. You see it was a gift given in 1987 that I have been playing with ever since, but, other than sharing with a core group of hunkas (relatives by choice), the gift has never been shared publicly. To grok why this has branded my skin for three decades, a flashback is in order. While living in Canada, I was drawn to Highway 17 along the north shore of Lake Superior.
On one trip I accidentally 'on purpose' turned into Agawa Bay and found a spiritual connection there will always affirm my walkabout on the Red Road. Unaware that it was home to some 700-year old petroglyphs, walking in on the 'road less traveled', I walked over a place that literally grabbed me by the balls. At first, I didn't associate the ground with the tugging in my scrotum until I moved away and the tugging stopped. Backing up, the feeling returned; so I centered over where it was strongest and began digging with a knife from my backpack. Not 8 inches down came across a square piece of stone the length of my palm with one extremely sharp flint-like edge on it. An archaeologist later confirmed it was a skinning tool for that era.
On one trip I accidentally 'on purpose' turned into Agawa Bay and found a spiritual connection there will always affirm my walkabout on the Red Road. Unaware that it was home to some 700-year old petroglyphs, walking in on the 'road less traveled', I walked over a place that literally grabbed me by the balls. At first, I didn't associate the ground with the tugging in my scrotum until I moved away and the tugging stopped. Backing up, the feeling returned; so I centered over where it was strongest and began digging with a knife from my backpack. Not 8 inches down came across a square piece of stone the length of my palm with one extremely sharp flint-like edge on it. An archaeologist later confirmed it was a skinning tool for that era.
At the end of the road less traveled, I was greeted by a sheer 300-foot high wall of fractured granite going down right into the lake. That day as the flow would have it, with low tide and calm seas, there was exposed a 5-foot wide shelf running across the base of the wall. Scampering across the ledge with the lake at my feet, I ran onto some petroglyphs that I had no knowledge of. Amazed at my good fortune, I come across a glyph that I recognize as my totem to this day and know it as 'gift-giver'.
At the end of the road less traveled, I was greeted by a sheer 300-foot high wall of fractured granite going down right into the lake. That day as the flow would have it, with low tide and calm seas, there was exposed a 5-foot wide shelf running across the base of the wall. Scampering across the ledge with the lake at my feet, I ran onto some petroglyphs that I had no knowledge of. Amazed at my good fortune, I come across a glyph that I recognize as my totem to this day and know it as 'gift-giver'.
The Cliff Petroglyph of My Totem My Totem 'Gift Giver'
The Cliff Petroglyph of My Totem My Totem 'Gift Giver'
Twenty yards further there was a 3-foot wide cleavage in the rock that runs all the way to the top. At the bottom of the cleavage, there is a small rectangular cave just big enough for a person sit in and have very truncated view of the lake. I crawl in, sit for awhile, only to realize this is the place for my vision quest.
Twenty yards further there was a 3-foot wide cleavage in the rock that runs all the way to the top. At the bottom of the cleavage, there is a small rectangular cave just big enough for a person sit in and have very truncated view of the lake. I crawl in, sit for awhile, only to realize this is the place for my vision quest.
The Cleavage in the Granite Cliff Vision Quest Cave at Bottom of the Cleavage
The Cleavage in the Granite Cliff Vision Quest Cave at Bottom of the Cleavage
As Agawa Bay is part of Lake Superior Provincial Park, I signed up for a campsite, pitched my tent, fasted for a day-n-half and headed back to the rock cliff with gear at zero dark thirty to do an all-nighter vision quest that could possibly extend into the next day.
As Agawa Bay is part of Lake Superior Provincial Park, I signed up for a campsite, pitched my tent, fasted for a day-n-half and headed back to the rock cliff with gear at zero dark thirty to do an all-nighter vision quest that could possibly extend into the next day.
Head down to the lake at sundown to get comfortable in my quest cave only to greeted with a higher tide and waves that made it suicidal to even try to reach the cave. Also dawned on me that going and coming not only would have to happen at low tide, but that if a storm came up during my quest, I could be smashed by the waves and drowned. Somehow this awareness made it all the better to do my vision quest in.
Head down to the lake at sundown to get comfortable in my quest cave only to greeted with a higher tide and waves that made it suicidal to even try to reach the cave. Also dawned on me that going and coming not only would have to happen at low tide, but that if a storm came up during my quest, I could be smashed by the waves and drowned. Somehow this awareness made it all the better to do my vision quest in.
Eventually succeeded in doing three quests in the cave over 2 months having been impeccably observant of the weather forecasts. Those three quests were magical in affirming my need to come 'out of closest' as a shaman to family and friends. On my last quest was gifted the beginning of what is now the screenplay Drum Nation. The RCMP and park officials finally caught up to my unauthorized nightly activities and, by agreement, I have not been back.
Eventually succeeded in doing three quests in the cave over 2 months having been impeccably observant of the weather forecasts. Those three quests were magical in affirming my need to come 'out of closest' as a shaman to family and friends. On my last quest was gifted the beginning of what is now the screenplay Drum Nation. The RCMP and park officials finally caught up to my unauthorized nightly activities and, by agreement, I have not been back.
Fast forward 37 years: came out of the closest and started to practice as a shaman in Canada; moved to Minneapolis thanks to that same RCMP, founded Grace Happens LLC and hung out my shingle as a healer, became a minister, bought a sailboat to return to the sea, moved to Florida, all the while accompanied by Drum Nation. The screenplay having gone through a hundred iterations in that time was nevertheless the golden thread binding it all together. If Drum Nation never sees the light of day, the heart joy it has gifted me in dreams and prose could never be quantified. The reason for its' many iterations is, though Drum Nation is a spiritual quest, it takes place in a political arena.
Fast forward 37 years: came out of the closest and started to practice as a shaman in Canada; moved to Minneapolis thanks to that same RCMP, founded Grace Happens LLC and hung out my shingle as a healer, became a minister, bought a sailboat to return to the sea, moved to Florida, all the while accompanied by Drum Nation. The screenplay having gone through a hundred iterations in that time was nevertheless the golden thread binding it all together. If Drum Nation never sees the light of day, the heart joy it has gifted me in dreams and prose could never be quantified. The reason for its' many iterations is, though Drum Nation is a spiritual quest, it takes place in a political arena.
Serendipity brought all these disparate forces together on the 16th my six month anniversary to make certain that I received the message. A message that left my 8-year old close to heart-broken from having dreamed of leaving the country for good on a sailboat to dance with 'essential people' and dolphins for his remaining years. The schism between muscles, ego, and 13-years of preparation to go sailing was poignantly driven home by not even being able to physically go aboard the boat without asking someone for assistance.
Serendipity brought all these disparate forces together on the 16th my six month anniversary to make certain that I received the message. A message that left my 8-year old close to heart-broken from having dreamed of leaving the country for good on a sailboat to dance with 'essential people' and dolphins for his remaining years. The schism between muscles, ego, and 13-years of preparation to go sailing was poignantly driven home by not even being able to physically go aboard the boat without asking someone for assistance.
No accident that Drum the progenitor of the screenplay has also avoided serving the challenge set forth in his vision quest. The voices say it is well past time for us both to manifest our gifts. So me, myself, and I, various aspects of the same working or not, must do our best surviving a pandemic while painfully trying to rehabilitate from a stroke. Folding those efforts with the sound of one-hand clapping on a keyboard to out Drum Nation into the ether is my challenge. Why? Because I know all too well about being careful what you ask for; and then perchance serendipity delivers the answer, the highest and best (and healthiest) is to serve with reverence.
No accident that Drum the progenitor of the screenplay has also avoided serving the challenge set forth in his vision quest. The voices say it is well past time for us both to manifest our gifts. So me, myself, and I, various aspects of the same working or not, must do our best surviving a pandemic while painfully trying to rehabilitate from a stroke. Folding those efforts with the sound of one-hand clapping on a keyboard to out Drum Nation into the ether is my challenge. Why? Because I know all too well about being careful what you ask for; and then perchance serendipity delivers the answer, the highest and best (and healthiest) is to serve with reverence.
HO TO THE FLOW . . . for only it knows
HO TO THE FLOW . . . for only it knows
Love is . . . . .
Love is . . . . .
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