The warmth of presence

I’ve sat down at my desk regularly for the past week wanting to write, craving the flow of storytelling, yearning for the catharsis of offering words to the sacred experience of life, but the well of words has been dry. Today, however, I have something to say.

Today was an irritating day. The spaciousness of having no plans felt heavy and glitchy, instead of full of sparkling possibility. This morning, looking out over the expanse of the open day before me, I became paralyzed by indecision, my body frozen but my mind racing, and I couldn’t find the momentum, the pulse of energy that would direct me one way or another. Scattered. Fragmented. Lost in the realms of should and could, split into pieces and sprinkled throughout the multitude of possible timelines.

I bumbled around the house and the garden, starting projects only to abandon them for something else, nothing satisfying the aimless and hungry part inside of me. An image came of the dogs and I running through the forest to release some energy, and that finally felt right! It was another hour of fussing around until I finally got the four of us into the car and drove to the trail. Mercury, however, decided to retrograde up and down and all around our plans. Due to a paw injury, a broken leash, a grumpy man in a van, and a couple of hours stuck in traffic both with no water and having to pee, we ended up back at home much worse off than we had started. And, worst of all, with no time spent together in the forest.

Annoyed and defeated, but still wanting to move my body, I came inside and laid out my yoga mat. I lit some candles and put on music, thinking that a vinyasa flow would get me out of where I was and bring me where I wanted to be.

At this point, I have to turn the clock back a week and share with you an experience from the realms. 

A week ago, inspired by Rose and the spontaneous initiation she’s recently offered me, I created an altar to Her and began a ritual. I journeyed with the medicine drum into her flower, which opened up a portal, through which I travelled to a land of snow and ice, where I found myself standing on a frozen lake, nothing else in sight. As I walked, I noticed a shape in the ice just in front of my feet. I knelt down to slide away the snow with my arms, revealing a face, a body, a whole person, frozen beneath the surface. It was a little girl, blonde with rosy cheeks, and that jacket…I recognized that neon jacket! It was four-year-old me, trapped in the ice, perfectly preserved, but completely unreachable.

I walked a few more paces, and discovered another person, another me, frozen in the lake. This me I recognized as being fifteen. I lifted my gaze and brushed it over the entirety of the lake around me. How many more fragments of myself were inside the ice?

I didn’t feel the impulse to go and find them all, just knowing they were there was enough. I needed the support of a loving and trusted guide to help me navigate this space. A sweet and chilling song began traveling through my vocal chords, emerging in a dance, which tip-toed across the snow and into the distance—a call to Freya. She arrived, as she always does, veiled in majesty, powerful, but never severe.

“These are all fragments of you that were taken by the cold. They can be retrieved, but only with the warmth of your presence.”

Okay…and what does that even look like?

Now, I’ll bring you back to my yoga mat inside my candlelit school bus. 

Instead of scrolling through my various calming playlists—tried and true cedar flute, cello, gentle ragas…I went straight to an album released by one of my dear friends, of Soul Family status, Roots + Stars by Jane Mayer. 

I love everything that comes through her musical channel, but I had admittedly never listened to this full album all the way through; I’d always cherry-picked my favorite tracks and skipped over the rest. 

Her voice came in gently, with the flickering candlelight, and no part of me was interested in the symmetrical postures of asana yoga. My body did not want to follow any predetermined patterns, nor adhere to any particular sequence of movements. It wanted to swing and roll and flick and bend and writhe and curl and sway and sashay. So I let the music compel me into the organic shapes of my inner landscape, and it wasn’t long before I realized that a medicine journey had been initiated. Surrendering to the primordial currents moving through my body during the tracks Be Still and Know and Dragon Flow brought a cathartic release of tears. As the following song, Holy Mother, Holy Father, began, I was brought back to the frozen lake. 

Already in a space of tenderness, when I saw the four year old me open her eyes under the ice and begin to move, the ice around my own heart melted. She emerged, and came towards me. The sweetness in her eyes and the roundness of her cheeks moved me immediately into a state of unconditional love; I adored this little girl with my whole being. I pulled her in close, warm with the totality of my presence. As I kissed the top of her head, she was anointed by my tears.

With the song Daughter, I lay on my back hugging myself as I welcomed this child home. She merged effortlessly into my energy body, and we were one—a piece of me had been returned. A piece that I swore to cherish.

I stayed on the floor, exhausted and relieved, purified and integrated, allowing the medicine to fully sink in before completing my return from the realms. I had just experienced a spontaneous soul retrieval, made possible by the retrograde forces of Mercury and the incredible medicine offering of my friend Jane.

What a crazy and beautiful ride.

Reflecting on this unexpected powerful experience, I’m reminded that the process of integration is an all encompassing one—one that brings all of life, the life inside of us and the life all around us, into our journey. All of the quiet cracks and corners, all of the mundane parts, all of the day-to-day minutia and monotony, they all collude with the sacred to create the conditions for our homecoming to occur, little by little, throughout our lives. 

As we learn to listen with more than our ears, to see with more than our eyes, to feel with our subtle senses, and to allow our body’s wisdom to guide us, the sacred gently rises up, and opens opportunities, like this one, to do truly meaningful work. Work that both happens organically, and which also requires great fortitude—a fortitude that we all have if our hearts are decided on coming home.