Soul Retrieval

From: thea@nekelew.net

To: owen@nekelew.net

Subject: Soul Retrieval

Owen – I’m wondering if what I need is a soul retrieval. I have a feeling that there is something that massage, tarot and even my painting aren’t getting to. Ursula mentioned that you are experienced at shamanic journeying. Do you have time in the next week or so? Thanks, Thea

 

From: owen@nekelew.net

To: thea@nekelew.net

Subject: Re: Soul Retrieval

Sure. I miss doing that and something has been telling me I should be doing more. Would next Tuesday at 1 pm work for you? The house is usually quiet that time of day.

 

Sitka House where Owen lived was nestled into the valley at the base of the Mountain. Tall conifers the house was named for stood watch over the evergreen huckleberries bushes and salal. Once through an ornate wrought iron gate, Thea walked past a cheery kitchen garden that filled most of what used to be the front yard. It was still full of kale, chard, collard greens, onions and lots of herbs. She snagged a bit of parsley as she came through.

Coming closer, she could see clothes hanging from a line around the side of the house. Bicycles of various shapes and sizes were draped on the front porch, some hanging from the rafters but most leaning along the edge of it. A red canvas hanging chair swung invitingly. A half filled teacup beside a wicker loveseat showed evidence of recent use.

Once up the steps, she lifted the ornate doorknocker shaped like the Green Man just as Owen opened the door. “Welcome,” he said, “I saw you coming up the path. Did you have a nice walk over?”

“Lovely. I saw a doe nestled in the bushes just across the way. She sat calmly looking at me. So I saluted her and came on in.”

“Well, that’s a great omen,” Owen said smiling. “Deer is one of my Power Animals. They are such gentle creatures. She will be a good guide for us both on our Journey today.”

Once inside, Thea added her orange slip-on crocs to the neat shoe lineup at the door and followed Owen through the open communal living room and kitchen area. The house smelled of recently cooked onions and something else. Curry maybe. Cumin anyway. Everything was surprisingly tidy. A laptop was open on the kitchen table alongside a basket of cloth napkins with brightly colored animal shaped rings. The remains of a Scrabble game were spread on the low table in front of one of the couches, but books and magazines were neatly stacked and musical instruments were hung along one wall. Bright Mexican hangings (Oaxacan she guessed) and local topographic maps filled the other walls. Even the kitchen sink was bare of dishes and there was only one plate and a small pan in the dish drain.

“We’re lucky to have June as a sort of house mother,” Owen said, seeming to read Thea’s mind. “She keeps after us to pick up our projects. And woe betide anyone who leaves spaghetti sauce to grow green fuzzies in the fridge. We don’t have a cool box like Pia and Raven, but we splurged on an efficient fridge. Sometimes I feel a bit guilty about that but it is nice to have the freezer for my comfrey compresses and the nettle and chickweed pestos. It also means we can stock up on meat from the farmer’s market.”

Thea tried to imagine even thinking about not having a fridge, but didn’t say anything. The alternative, backwards-seeming technological bent of some of these people continued to startle her. She’d yet to try lighting her woodstove. Gadgets like her blender and popcorn popper were so handy. And she did love her sporty little Mazda having only a vague idea what gas mileage it got.

“Come on back to my room and let’s get started,” Owen said, leading the way down the hall.

The room they entered was more cluttered than the shared spaces. Bundles of drying herbs took up most of the closet nook, consigning his clothes to hooks on the wall or the dresser, she supposed, whose top was full of odd bits of bones and shells and beads. Not quite an altar but it probably served as such if the candle there was any indication. A clutter of assorted empty bottles, droppers and blank labels were piled under the long worktable (made from the closet doors she realized). The big window behind it had a tiny glimpse to the sea through the Sitkas. A few potted plants were clustered on one end of the wide sill, notably a large aloe and a spider plant. A hanging crystal cast rainbows merrily here and there. Books lay open on every surface, most of them herb identification books. She recognized the Pojar and Makinnon Northwest plant guide on the bed like the one that she had just bought at Ursula’s suggestion to help her do specific plants in her paintings. But she also espied some of her favorite novels tucked into the shelves – Starhawk’s Fifth Sacred Thing that had been so inspiring to her and several Barbara Kingsolvers. And there were Alberto Villoldo’s autobiographical books about his shamanic training, plus Elliot Cowan’s Plant Spirit Medicine. She’d heard that Owen had something akin to that plant connection.

“I’ve been meaning to explore Villoldo’s books,” said Thea, “May I borrow them?”

“Of course. They are a terrific read. Pia and I have just been talking about his descriptions of conscious death processes. Sometimes I wonder if we really just came into this world to learn how to die properly so we can choose our next lives with more awareness.”

As Owen talked he spread out two yoga mats side by side, covering them with several of the short orange wool blankets that Thea recognized as being from Peru.

“Have you traveled in the Andes?” she asked.

“Yes, it was an important turning point in my opening to shamanism,” he replied. “I took the vision medicine Ayahausca in the Amazon headwaters area and Wachuma (what others call San Pedro) near Machu Picchu.”

“Wow! I’ve always wanted to go there. But I won’t be doing any traveling any time soon.“

“If you are meant to you will. It just sort of calls you.”

“I know how that works.” Thea smiled ruefully. “That’s how I came down here to live at the beach, but I need to get to know this place before I go gallivanting off again.“

“It’s a different sort of Journey we’re doing today. Do you have a specific question you want to explore in the Spirit World?”

“No, I just have the feeling there is something important missing in my inquiries. I’ve uncovered a lot through my paintings. I’m in the middle of a series that is hinting at some interesting things about the Mountain. But I feel like I’m just scratching the surface in them. Or maybe it would be more accurate to say that I’m only seeing the first, most obvious layers in my interpretation of the paintings. Every time I look at them I learn more about them – and myself – but I need a new hit to carry me to the next level.”

“Okay, that’s enough to go on. I want you to lie down here on the left side and I’ll lie beside you on the right. Is that pillow a good size for you to be comfortable? Here’s something to lay over you.” He handed her a bright rainbow-colored Mexican cotton blanket. “Is one enough?”

Once Owen had Thea settled he lay down himself. But not before putting a little piece of lapis and a flicker feather under his small faded red velvet pillow. “They help me Journey,” he explained. “Sorry about the tape recorded drum beat. We need it to trance properly. I learned to do this with someone else drumming but I just don’t have enough hands to do it myself and am too cheap to pay someone to be here for that part. Sometimes I can do it in my head but more when I’m totally on my own. I’m also going to use another recorder so you’ll have a tape of the proceedings.”

“Do I need to do anything myself?” asked Thea.

“Nope. Just breathe deeply keeping your mind as clear as possible.”

“More easily said than done,” thought Thea lying there a little stiffly. The floor was hard and the covering scratchy…. She hadn’t wanted to say anything but the pillow was rather small, though soft enough really. She could have used something under her knees…. She was acutely aware of Owen lying there on his back, his body touching hers all along their lengths. He smelled like cumin with a whiff of rosemary, surprisingly feminine culinary odors for such a bear of a man. The beat was more monotonous than she expected and soon her nervous noticing dissipated and her breath evened out. She wished he would say something….

Owen took a deep breath and allowed himself to be lulled by the familiar drumbeat. He could feel Thea breathing softly at his side, their bodies touching at shoulder and hip, a subtle scent of coconut wafting over him. She must use it as a cream. A fitting smell somehow with her exotic coffee au lait skin.

Soon, however, information from his five bodily senses faded, even the bird song outside, and he was deep in that internal landscape of his Journeying Tree, that beloved huge Sitka up in his family’s forest land, its presence particularly fresh after his recent sojourn there. Over the years he had developed a quick mental passageway through an imaginary door into the tree and down its roots to a stairway that lead deep into Mother Earth…. At the bottom of the stairs there was a heavy wooden gate which when opened brought him out onto a landscape totally different from the green world where he had started…. Aaahhh…. The  Underworld…. He’d made it here yet another time. Always there was a question in his mind about whether he could find this place again…. For him it was dry and sandy, the vegetation sparse and differently unfamiliar every time he visited there…. He was not actually there…. or rather had no physical sense of his body being there. It was a place in his head that connected to the Spirit World.

And yet…. his “body” floated lightly and today, noticing this, he felt himself land more firmly and his feet begin to crunch on the path. Path? There wasn’t usually a path…. As he took this in he saw a little brown girl huddled weeping in the middle of a grassy patch…. Yellow dandelions blazed around her and she clutched a bundle of them in one clammy fist….

“Little girl…. little girl….” He tried gently to get her attention without startling her. The crying subsided but she did not look up. She seemed to be about seven years old – that age when the material world becomes all too real, and one is no longer encouraged to believe in Santa or fairies, even in the most imaginative households.

“Little girl, why are you crying?” This time he patted her gently on her back. She lifted her head and showed him her swollen brown eyes and tearstained face, not yet ready to trust him with words. Her blue dress with delicate smocking was stained from the grasses.

Suddenly a twitch in the very physical arm next to him, reminded him that he was here on a particular mission and he began to communicate what he was seeing to Thea. It was always tricky to describe the scene to his client without losing contact with the little one, in this case undoubtedly Thea herself at a young age. A lost part of herself that had been thrown off in defense of some trauma. It might have been what a grown-up would recognize as traumatic such as abuse of some sort, or it might reflect a seemingly minor slight or mischance that nevertheless loomed large in this child’s personal landscape. The loss of this soul part had created a wound or a scar in Thea and it was time to reclaim her so that Thea could move forward with a new sense of wholeness and wellbeing.

“I am asking the little girl why she is crying…. I’m telling her that you have come to meet her and want her to go home with you. That you now live at the beach which she would like very much.”

Thea had to strain to hear Owen’s voice, now gone surprisingly soft compared to his usual deep bass. He sounded very far away. It made sense that he would see a little brown girl. She knew exactly what that little girl looked like….

Owen quieted tuning in to the steady drumbeat taking him inward again.… At the mention of the beach the child brightened a little. Then her face fell again. “But I can’t go to the beach,” she said. “I have to take care of my sisters and brothers. I have to be sure Mama is okay and that Gran is taken care of. Mama doesn’t have time to do all the things she needs to. I have to help her.”

“Sounds like you’ve needed to be pretty responsible,” said Owen. “But now you can be with the grown up Thea who will take care of everything for you and you can just be a little girl playing at the beach.”

She looked doubtful.

“Would you like to have a spirit friend with you to be sure that grown-up Thea keeps her promise to you?”

“There is now a large snake wrapped comfortably around the little girl,” Owen relayed to the grown-up Thea. “Not tightly but in a protective sort of circle…. I asked her if Snake was her new friend and she says, as if about a familiar and much loved guardian, ‘No. Snakey is always here. I’d like someone new to help me at the beach.’ As soon as she says this, a large cougar appears and the little girl greets it with a hug. It bowls her over and they tumble together happily on the ground…. They’re having a lovely time…. Now I’m asking her if she is ready to come to the beach with you and she says that yes, she is ready…. But first she wants to know if you will play with her. She says she is afraid that being all grown up you will be too serious all the time like her Mama is. I told her that I think you will play but that she might have to remind you how and that the two of you will have to work this out together…. She says as long as you are willing to try and if she can bring Snakey and Cougar, she’s ready to come home with you…. “

Thea was baffled by both animals Owen was describing. She shivered uncomfortably at the idea of a snake, unable to think of any who could have been familiar to her during her childhood except maybe some scary ones from the reptile house at the zoo. Ugh…. Not even one in a book. And connecting with an imaginary cougar….? She didn’t want to sound unwelcoming, however, so she murmured what she hoped was an acquiescent sort of noise.

“Now I’m checking to see if there are any other soul parts to connect with…. No, that seems to be it for today.”

Owen reached out and turned off the tape recorders. There had been something else that he saw but he got a strong message that it wasn’t time to mention yet. The journey back up the stairs inside his Tree had been a quick one and he had reentered the material world with only a slight moment of disorientation. He leaned over and cupping his hands on Thea’s chest, blew three times infusing her with the beings of Little Girl Thea and her companions.

“Now they are part of you,” Owen told Thea, as she too rubbed her eyes and sat up. “But you still have to get to know the child self you left behind. I have a handout from my teacher that tells some of the ways to process this. I want you to commit to following the steps outlined in it. Your little lost soul self is skittish and easily lost if you don’t talk to her and build a connection. And as she requested, you must play with her.”

“How on earth am I going to do that?” Thea asked uneasily. “I barely know how to play!”

“Obviously,” said Owen. “And I’m not likely to be much help on that score. But the little lost part of you is requesting play. That’s what you left behind and what you must recover. She’ll help you and so will Cougar. Snake probably has another gift for you that you will discover by paying attention.”

“I’m actually afraid of snakes.”

“Most people are in our culture. That’s why they show up so often symbolically. I’ve seen them a lot in your paintings.”

“I never understand quite what they mean though I know they are about power somehow…. And I do keep making drastic changes in my life which I think of as shedding skins.”

Both standing now, Thea helped Owen fold up the blankets. “Don’t forget the books you wanted to borrow.”

“Thanks so much, Owen.” Thea got out her checkbook but Owen gestured her to put it back in her bag.

“I would love a painting of yours. Would that be an okay trade?”

“Certainly. Do you know which one you want?”

“If I come by in a week or so you can let me know how you’re doing and I can choose a painting then.”

Owen at the Tree 2

Owen’s mind reached to the roots of the tree, down, down their hugeness…. journeying…. out onto the plain of the Underworld…. The sun is overhead here, a warm breeze blowing. A hummingbird, impossibly iridescent chartreuse and red, buzzes at eye level, then darts off, only to return again. Does it want him to follow? It hovers now over a gigantic datura plant. Owen moves towards it sniffing and feels its spirit kiss him before it sends him on his way. A cluster of tiny psilocybin mushrooms waves him over. Suddenly elfin himself, he sits like Alice in Wonderland at the foot of one, marveling at its subtle beauty, conjuring for a moment the delicate tracery of form and color that particular Medicine provokes. Before long, however, he salutes the fungi and turns again towards the sound of the hummingbird behind him. His wee guide is now looming as large as a goose over a stand of Devils Club whose few enormous spiky leaves are the browning yellow of autumn. His heart speeds in his chest. He’s been asking to make this connection. Is he ready for what these dangerously prickled sticks have to tell him? He fingers the aventurine still somehow in his pocket in this the Spirit World.

When it comes it is not at all what he expects. slide3

“I am the sharp surprise in the woods. I am Pan,” booms the plant. “They cast me as the Devil and are afraid of my power. My cloven hooves and randy ways are confusing to this world that wants to control everything – to dam rivers, mine veins and bludgeon trees into planks. In real life you can’t touch me in this form. But here in the Underworld you can rub against the brazenness of my stickers with impunity.”

“I won’t be filled with their diabolical torture?”

“They will spur you. Acupuncture for your dormant inner eye, the pineal gland asking to be awakened. Another re-membering of your body parts for the tasks ahead. No need for actual touch on the earth plane. An essence made in my presence will serve as a goad, a guide, a guardian. You are a Green Man yourself. Orion hunts with you, the Dog Star Sirius at his side. Chiron – the wounded healer – is calling for you. Listen….”

Turning towards a sound, Owen sees a centaur – half man, half horse – gallop towards him over the hill. Blood is dripping from scores of arrow wounds. “Heal me,” says the creature, “Heal me before they fester that I may heal others that they may heal still more.”

Owen stands baffled and overwhelmed.

“You know how.” Is it the Devil’s Club or is it Pan? It is hard to tell as they shimmer in and out of each other. “Puncture wounds will scab over but sometimes must be lanced to give the pus a vent. Call on me when you Journey and my Medicine will energetically find and open up the crusts whether they are visible scars or ancient and far under the surface. Do this for yourself and for him. You came into manhood in the war in the same era as the discovery of the asteroid Chiron in the sky. Your warrior wounds are the same.”

Reaching his hands towards the Centaur, Owen feels energy fizz back and forth between them, until the man/horse dashes off.

“You are one who shows the way, Owen.” The Devils Club speaks gently now. “With my lance and the Tarot’s Hermit lantern held high, you search out overgrown byways. You know how to lead your blindered compadres down the paths of this green world to find their wounded places, lost parts, their shadow selves. It is time now to grow into your power as a shaman. Be the Scorpion who knows when to sting and when to salve. You have done the background work. You need only open another degree to my energies. Let me in. Let me light the fires of seeing in your brain.” His voice booms again. “The coals of healing blaze in your hands. The sparks of regeneration smolder in your cock. No need to make more babies. But you do need to make magic and your cock is a fine tool for that. Your hands will touch and heal. Your cock will light fires of inspiration and healing as well.”

Owen feels his prick shrivel with the thought. This is not what he was imagining for his future. “I’m hardly a horny kid anymore….”

“Ha!” shouts Pan. “You fear. You would stay hidden. Too late for that. Rise to your potential. Fulfill the promise you made to yourself when you were born in this place!”

Owen bows his head in acquiescence and feels the sting of thousands of teeny barbs…. His hands fall off and lie twitching on the ground. His lungs gasp, his teeth rattle and his heart pounds so hard it jiggles open the door on the locked ribbed cage it lives in. Seizing its moment for freedom his coeur, his corazon jumps out of his chest into the sword ferns where it morphs into a dove who sits preening in the moonlight. “Have so many hours gone by?” and “Not a dove, it must be a band-tailed pigeon.” His rational self asserts itself for a moment. But not for long.

His penis begins to pulse and glow with a strange blue light as if electrified from within. Snakelike, it grows and grows until it passes the moon. It stretches even further until it enters VenusIsisAstarteAphroditeInanna who is sparkling voluptuously, high in the dawn of this magical place where time zigzags about as madly as his body parts. “Welcome home,” the Goddess of Love whispers happily. “It’s been ages.” She writhes and moans as he enters her labyrinth. Who knows how long they dally in delight, hearts open and connecting, until eventually millions of dancing beings spray forth from their orgasms, their energies scattering to fertilize new generations of seers and healers. Venus whoops and Owen roars in ecstasy. He is MarsJupiterScorpio Rising, gloriously alive. His legs goat-like and hoofed. His hairy chest and taut belly heaving with emotion. Mossy tendrils curl from his beard up around his face and hair. Violets cheer and lilies bow to his presence. A grouse rises up in a whirr of surprise then spins its spiral dance at his feet. Is that a wizard’s peaked cap on his head?

As he notices the hat, his energy begins to deepen and quiet. He stands tall and clear-eyed, feeling his roots in the earth while silvery energy lines curve between him and the people of his community. The ones he grew up with, the ones he’s called in. Yes, he has called them in with the help of this Tree and the Mountain. He knows that now…. His strength is in the marriage of moon and sun in this green place…. He must find the Council Fire…. and the Others….

…..He rises and starts down the hill towards town, but before he has taken more than a few steps, sleepiness blurs his sight and his intention slips beyond his conscious knowing.

He curls instead into the lap of the Grandmother Tree. His penis nestles sweetly limp on his leg like a tired child. Cooing, the dove that is also his heart pierces his chest and roosts in his left ventricle. His hands, inscribed with strange markings, inch over like worms and zip into the cuffs of the green leather shirt he now wears. His eyes are heavy with all that he has seen. Someone covers him with fern fronds and moss…. The Moon smiles from directly overhead. The Sitka whispers sweet dreams of deer nuzzling his cheeks. He sighs feeling safe again. While the Mountain….

The Mountain’s hummm becomes louder, vibrating Owen’s newly reconnected organs and body parts. He doesn’t hear it consciously himself, but his being absorbs the love and caring of the gigantic energy of this place. Somewhere deep inside he senses welcome and thanks for his work of the night and for the long years of his tenure here, as well as for his ever-growing consciousness. It isn’t entirely peaceful however. Those energetic prickers from the Devils Club are still working in his system. His body registers the spurs as if it is a horse and rider on an urgent mission. A centaur?

 

Down at the house June wakes slightly, noting the louder than usual hummmm, and turns over to dream again.

 

Cindy hears it too and wonders what is stirring. She is often aware of the Mountain’s gentle pulse though she’s never told anyone about it. Tonight it is crescendoing like it does when something big is afoot. There are almost words to it. “Wake to the call…. Sitka, Cedar and I, we need you awake…. River and Bay need you…. Raven and Eagle need you….”

Does that mean she should be doing something or is the message for another? Plural or singular “you?” She suspects with a feeling of dread that it is for all of them and that she needs to share the message. That is way too scary a thought….

 

Startled awake, Uri hears the hummm for the first time. Is it an engine starting up? A log truck downshifting on the highway? He glances at the clock. 2 am is an odd time for any of those possibilities and it is going on way too long. The Coast Guard rescue helicopter? The refrigerator? He can feel it deeply in his body now and as he settles into it he realizes the sound is coming from below him. From the earth itself. He tunes in another degree, calming his rational brain from its tentative explanations. Words begin to form in his mind. “Welcome Home…. What took you so long? Now get to work….”

“I’d better talk to someone about this. I wonder who.” He knows that Michael, snoring gently beside him, is not a good candidate for hearing about the weirder stuff. It is time to find some allies in this new place in order to bloom that side of himself. Finally connect with Ursula? He’s been putting that off. Or Cali…. Things they’d said at Harvest Fest had made his ears prick up….

 

Owen opened his eyes with the first bird chirps. Robins even this late in the season, and a flicker. A gentle rain was falling on his sleeping bag. He didn’t remember getting into it. He lay there still warm inside, feeling the glow of his connection with the tree. There had been more but he couldn’t quite recall…. A dream about…. Pan? Seems like he should take on some clients for shamanic journeying work. And maybe he’d collect the last of the rosehips and make some necklaces to sell at Bear Essentials. Was it time to make a Devils Club essence? It would surely strengthen his green self.… He felt strong and clear…. If only he could remember the wisps of the dreams teasing at the edges of his consciousness.

By the time Owen arrived back at Sitka House he was soaking wet and ready for a shower and some breakfast. He hoped that Cali or somebody had dropped off eggs. He needed the protein. As he stepped in the door, he was greeted by June at the kitchen table, sipping her tea from a delicate Limoges cup, her wispy white hair all a-tumble about her shoulders.

“I dreampt about you,” she said without preamble in her straightforward way.

“Did you now?”

“It was a Capital Letter dream. The kind that says, ‘Listen up!’ I saw you in a glade dressed all in different shades of the forest like an elderly Robin Hood, but with a strange blue light coming from your crotch. You morphed into a stag and winked at me before dashing off. It felt all merry-merry-in-the-greenwood. I followed you and found a maypole in another clearing with the ribbons woven and nobody around except for some ravens peering at me from the trees. I wondered if it was the ravens themselves who wove the ribbons or if it was some of us. Or us in raven form…. Oh and there were owls there too.”

“Did you take any meaning from the dream? It feels rather phallic for an old Lesbian like you.”

“Not for you though. What’s stirring there, Mister?”

“I did have a wild Journeying session last night up at the Grandmother Tree where I saw Pan and Devils Club in the underworld but I can’t remember what they told me except that they are linked somehow.”

“Pan. Robin Hood. Peter Pan. The green playful ones want you to join them more often. You need to be going deeper, Owen. The ravens want us to play with magic and owls call us both to see into the shadows – maybe even into death. The gates of Shamanic death anyway. And they want you to open your heart, to let the community have more access to you. No more hiding your gifts of connection and healing. I just remembered there were vines coming out of your hands, and runes. Sure signs of healing energy.”

Owen grunted, increasingly uncomfortable with the conversation. “I’ll do some journaling this morning to see if anything more comes up. If it stops raining by this afternoon I want to go back up and make an essence from the Devil’s Club root near the clearing while the moon is still full.”

June watched him leave the room, thinking there was something different about him. Some change had happened during his night in the woods that he wasn’t entirely aware of yet. He smelled intriguingly of magic and rue. Had he been dancing with the Goat Footed God himself? About time.