Suddenly I'm Torn

Back tonight at Avatar Point watching the sun go down towards the Chuzcas, not quite making it before the horizon wins out. I love this site but am finding it makes me homesick for the ocean. I think it is by virtue of unobstructed horizon line panorama, looking down and out on the flat plane that takes my brain there.

Off this first evening of expedition, and I'm finding this week way more to my likings than last shift. I feel much more at home and closer to falling into a routine on the job. I hadn't entirely realized how being cold and not sleeping well affected me throughout that first week. Its a good deal warmer this week so far than last shift for sure, but the additional warm layer, winter sleeping bag, and pants with a crapton of pockets (hell yes JCPenny husky boys section) make life a whole lot easier to deal with. My new thermarest and super cush -5 degree sleeping bag make going to bed a bit of a joy and getting up for sunrise way less of a dread.

Theres an oil drum jam session going off somewhere close by and I keep loosing my mind adrift somewhere in juniper and pinon below. Its cloudy today, kind of muted and disconcerting. I can barely imagine this high desert in the rain, a strange juxtoposition of alien forces and not quite natural consequences.

I'm feeling very torn this week, for a lot of different reasons and from many different directions. First off I guess would have to be Dave. He finally got in touch Tuesday evening, and I finally forced myself to listen, hopefully in a more detached manner than I've been able to before. Talking to him made me angry, but different than it has in the past. He's doing better, not so depressed, but off medication and back on pot again so as to not demonized and alienate himself. I am pissed at him because it seems like such a ridiculous propostion--drink and smoke to be less depressed--but I think I understand where he is coming from. But for the first time, I'm not angry with myself about it all. I was proud that I was able to clearly explain to him why I was angry, how enmeshed I feel in his issues, and how much countertransferance I put on him, how much guilt I feel every time he goes down hill. I want to know more about countertransferance and co-dependency, like pathologically. Dave is definitly my model for it, but he's only one exaple of many, one relationship among dozens where I take too much responsibility and begin to personally manifest other peoples' experience and emotions. Empathy is a gift, but for some reason my compassion impulse goes on overdrive and is poorly controlled. I remember at 10 thinking my Dad got cancer instead of me, and feeling deeply at fault. Or at 13, lying awake all night for months because I thought Charlie could sense that I was awake and thus not kill himself because of that connection. Dave is just the lastest in that chain, and I want to know why and wherefrom.

I am feeling torn this week in the field physically due to the separation of two students from the group. We have Caren on directions (sort of an extended time-out) for the duration of the shift probably, and than Sarah just arrived new night before last still on Gateway. I'm finding it hard to speak only minimally to both of them, when I really want to nurture and make everything all better. I also feel fairly manipulated by Caren--I want to believe and trust her, but I know that I cannot at this time. I fear she is trying to use me, to take advantage of my ignorance to get away with things of which I'm not yet aware. We had a couple of good talks about why she's being punished and her anger, where I really tried not to take sides at all and just listen. I fear now that she takes me as an ally over the rest of the group and staff with which she still feels fairly conflicted. Particularly I feel used over first-aid priveleges. I'm in charge of basics this week and she is using my compassion and commitment as a cry for attention rather perpetually. I'm uncomfortable still not being able to fully trust the students, a feeling I'm still processing. But in the mean time I feel quite torn.

I'm also running into some internal conflict about being relazed and building rapport and wanting to be better on boundaries and rules with the students. This came up a lot last summer, and I know I feel better when I am more lax, but stuff also starts to happen when I'm not totally on top of things 100%. I am torn here in this setting because of the constant give and take from the rapport bank. I want them to like me and trust me, but those boundaries are so crucial to the girls' development...I haven't been here long enough to know where the balance point is yet. I fear being taken advantage of or being seen as weak if I don't enforce the rules that I see all the more because I'm new and the students don't know me well enough yet.

Torn, and pulled in so many directions, as I said.

We're laying over tonight for Halloween (!). Then tommorow and Sunday we put the girls out on solos, which they are not going to dig at all. We'll head back to base early Monday, then commences all of the turnover chaos. It seems so weird to me that this may be my last shift with some of these girls, either because they might move me next week, or because some might have gradded by then. Days with these girls really aare like weeks in terms of the experiences and connections you make here on fast forward. I will be happy to see them move on, but will think about them all often as my very first students out here.

Holy Wholy

Still off this morning, watching an unfortunate set of clouds roll in. At least if it starts to pour, the next two nights are at base in the wall tent, not under my wholey tarp. My shelters are getting better, but the top tarp is pretty shredded from walking through one too many junipers on training. A big storm is gonna happen sooner or later, and I'd almost rather get it over and done with.

I wonder how it will be like for me, looking back on this week months and years from now. I remember my first trip at Birch Trail so vividly, how it felt in every inch of my body to finally be doing what I knew I should be doing. It terrified me to be completely and totally out there, to have this dream and risk everything in pursuit of that curiousity. Most of all it scared me to throw myself into this work and chance learning that I wasn't good at it, that the dream wasn't meant to be. I felt a bit like that on training, particularly when things were so difficult and I wondered (they did too apparently) whether they would approve of me or whether I'd have to start all over again. I have these two simaltaneous instincts. One, if I'm not naturally gifted at something that it must not be for me and I shouldn't even bother. The other leans the opposite direction, that I just naturally havet o work three times as hard as most people to succeed at the things I am passionate about, and I should just accept and acknowledge that fact. This week has been a new and different mixture of both tendancies. There have been some parts where I've felt just called to this job, liking pushing Cassie up that last hill, or coaching Kris with her letter. There have been some parts where I know I'll have to put the work and the hours in, like confrontations and group management. And there have been a lot of moments where its been neither a total loss or complete victory, where I feel pretty OK simply taking things as it comes and learning as much or as little as I need as I go along.

As much as I've been asked lately, I still don't have a good answer to why I'm here. Wanting to do this work has been such a constant in my life for at least four years. Its hard to go back and parse the inspiration. I wanted this even before I knew how vital it would be for me. I wanted wilderness before I needed it like oxygen or blood. I'm here because even in my darkest moments I could find a bit of peace outdoors. I'm here becasue I wish someone would have had the awareness and the guts to send me to a place like this at 17. I came here because I know so well some of the experiences of these girls, and what profound impact small moments can make. I guess in as few and as clear words as possible I'm here because I know personally the effect wild places can have on wellness, I've seen the change in others, I've read about it in countless books and journals, and I believe spiritually that there are forces out here working on all of us that are more powerful than any intervention I can offer. I believe in wilderness personally, experientially, academically, and spiritually, a belief so strong that I must do my part to make it happen. I am the best of myself out here. I've come, yes, in part selfishly, because I want to continue to see those shining pieces of myself on a more regular basis. But I've come also with empathy and service and curiousity--I want to see the best parts of these girls out here as well.

I have that hint of winter depression in the back of my mind, poking at me discretely every time I notice the date on the calendar. I can't even wonder again whether this year will be different, I cant allow any of my energy to go down that path. Its really not even worth the temptation of believing I'm cured, though no doubt the perpetual sunshine and wellness in which this job surrounds me will do wonders. The temptation leads to a laying down of all my armor and a weakening of my resolve. Being well takes all of my will and none of my imagination. This means getting back on the supplements, and back on the personal time agenda, and getting used to talking to strangers in this new life in which I find myself. I know the battle plan, I know the fortifications, I just need to prepare myself physically mentally emotionally and spiritually for a return to war. The summer armistice is over. I hope being in this environment, atleast half time, where wellness is so ingrained in everything we do, that I can find the support and enough reminders to force myself to do what I need to do...

Personal Time

Laying over today was just...excessively pleasant. Thats the best way to describe it. I woke dripping, literally, burrito-d in our make shift tarp bivys from line sleeping last night. Martha and I sat around drinking mormon tea till sunrise, blinding and psychadellic over the La Platas. Nate showed up a bit later, and we ate chocolate, dissected the previous day, and gave midweek feedback to each other. I found both the giving and receiving of feedback today uncharacteristically hard. I got some great stuff from everyone, though not as constructive as I would have liked. They both commented on my comfort in the outdoors, which made me smile inside, and also my tone, though as a positive. Giving feedback was particularly challenging because I've known these people a grand total of five days and am so new at the job myself, like far be it from me to give them any criticism.

For myself, I need to figure out how to stay warm. Its only October and early mornings I'm already shivering in all the layers I brought with me. I need to have a better handle on tone and sarcasm. I need to sleep better in the field because I can already tell I'm wearing thin. I need to get better at reading the group, and knowing how to motivate without pushing puttons that I don't want to push. I need to get used to not fixing everything, and sitting back and watching things unfold as they may. I need to watch the self deprication, because it sets a harsh precident. I need to get over myself and realize that I'm never going to feel like I have the right things to say.

Today was also a big day for me in the therapy side of things. We had Kris' responsibility letter group after breakfast. It was sort of a first good look at the structure of this place. Her letter is her chance to own up to anything and everything that she feels she has done, wrong or right. It was fascinating to watch the other girls dissect her project and process. They really did most of the work for themselves. I felt like I had a lot to contribute as well, which is still surprising me. I also had a good talk with Marie afterwards, about how it feels to be surrounded by so many people who are so proud of their sobriety. She let me sit in on her check in with Martha as well, which was pretty profound. I am feeling like I'm standing on solid ground more and more lately.

We spend the afternoon carving on fire sets, sitting idly, and whittling in the sun. All and all, a pretty idyllic way to spend a work day. Tommorow a psychologist is coming to do meds for three of the girls, then we're heading to base in the evening. To the best of my knowledge Tuesdays at base are chores and catch-up, then changover on Wednesday.

Weird. This week is going much quicker than I expected.

Achingly Incorrect

We just made it up to Grumpa a litle while ago, rolling in well past sundown. I'm off till dinner, and have settled on an outcropping looking down on the sea of shadow dusk and the memory of sunset. I am fighting the overwhelming sensation of having walked this way before. I think at least presently because it reminds me of sitting on East Rock at Star, though the sounds and smells are achingly incorrect. Its warmer tonight, up high looking down on the top end of Squaw. I actually kept my feet bare, in an act of daring defiance against the coming frost. I haven't mastered sleeping warm out here yet, which is making going to bed quite frusterating. Being here in the high desert is like being new in a foreign country. I can can follow and keep up with most of the actions and expressions, but some just get lost in cultural and linguistic interpretation. I know how to take care of myself in the backcountry, but learning to do it here in Utah is like a rough rudimentary translation.

The thing that has so far most surprised me is the amount of change in individual girls that happens over hours or days. How quickly they can melt down and also how quickly they can step up and show new signs of grace and maturityin the heat of the moment. I want to say that its been sort of a dramatic couple of days, but my sense is what we've delt with is small in the scheme of things. A lot of interpersonal conflicts between two girls jousting for control and feeling cut out and resentment for the other. One minor freak out in drinking puddle pond scum down in Squaw this morning. One potentially somatic stomach bug, though I want so badly to believe her. One hiking melt down, crossing anxiety issues with some maybe perhaps physical breathing problems.

It was actually one of the coolest omements of the week for me so far. I had been walking behind Cassie for most of the afternoon. We hit some pretty burly hills near the end, including the last one which was almost clifflike in stature. She's super independent, and gets touchy when people ask her how she is. I got her to tell me what it felt like when she cant breath, which she actually did in detail. The rest of the way up, she would stop every five or ten steps to catch her breath and psych herself up. I was afraid to cheer her on and make her angrier and more embarassed, so I just stood next to her, and matched her breathing until she slowed hers to match mine. We did this 6 or 8 times until we got to the top. I dont even know if she knew thtats what I was doing, but it thrilled me to get a positive response.

They had me navigate down to Little Easy yesterday, which actually went quite well. We went down a pretty good cliff near the end of Avatar point which next time I'll know to avoid. I took a good fall and bashed in my knee pretty good, which is worrisome, but the girls all made it down fine. We ended up crusing down this sweet side wash full of flowers and whirls and slickrock. I'd only feel better if I'd done it on purpose, if I'd planed to end up there, but it was definitly enjoyable either way. We ended up camping a bit up from Little Easy to get onto state land, and be allowed to poo in the ground. Horray!

Plan is to layover here tommorow, maybe dayhike some. They all have tons of therapy work or pathway stuff to do, and I think we get to do 1-on-1 checkins which I'm observing apparently. We may even stay through Monday, though I hope we'll head on . I cant imagine how two days of personal time would be. It's strange to have water delivered and be near a road again. Sometimes this wilderness seems so close, yet so artificial. I guees all wilderness which I've experienced seems sort of like that, just on a smaller scale than this.

Now my toes are cold. Dang it.

I've noticed and checked myself on a couple occasions my sarcasm and harsh tone. I was called out about both during training, which made it all the more disturbing to see it in myself this week. Also the affects both have on the students in real time. I think in a lot of ways I'm not fully concious of my tone or my sarcasm. Its definitly something I will push hard to be more aware of, for myself and for the students. It can only serve me to speak consistently from a more real place, and seek to understand what sarcasm is convering for or covering up.

I'm intrigued and unnerved by how much therapy tak seems to be sneaking into my lexicon...

Morning Light

Apparently I have this morning off as well. Its well after sunup and I'm finally just getting warm. The moonrise last night and the sunrise this morning lit the horizon on fire. I caught the tail end of the show this morning from my shelter, while trying to convince myself to get up.

I'm sitting maybe 200 yards from the kitchen, down an outcropping behind some junipers, just sort of gazing out over the desert below. The bass line of a couple of far off jets is throbbing in time, and I keep imagining I hear church bells, in this my wild cathedral. The sky is so big in so many directions, it's hard not to be a bit overwhelmed. I find myself wanting to touch everything around me, to drink in and taste the desert.

Today we transition Cassie to the West. We are headed down into Squaw to Little Easy tonight. Then comes the dreaded accountability group, where all are given amnesty and a chance to confess to their sins in front of everyone. There has been a lot of conflict brewing and a lot of strange happenings, a lot of which I imagine, or at least I hope will come out tonight.

I want to be able to process these first few days in the field so badly. In some ways I think maybe it just hasn't affected me as profoundly as I was expecting. Yet. Or maybe I just haven't found the words, yet. I've felt comfortable and familiar with all the hard skills and campcraft. But at the same time all the more frusterated, because I know hard skills can be so much on the surface, albeit thinly veiled. I would like to get into things deeper here, but I don't quite know how yet. I'm concentrating on building rapport with the students, which is pyschobabble for getting to know them and hopefully gaining their trust. I feel like I'm pretty good at making relatively quick and strong connections but I want so bad to go further. It has been a bit awkward, really having no idea what my role is, or what expectations exist for me. In the future I hope to be able to be more up front with myself and with the staff team I'm in about asking and taking on responsibility. Its almost a strange limbo, being new here. Its being real live staff, but not really because for the most part I'm only observing and being another set of eyes, and chiming in when I feel like I can. I can imagine being more than this, which is new. A lot of times, particularly the more difficult moments I have the same instincts and want to say the same things as the senior staff end up saying. Its affirming to know that my responses are pretty on target, though I'm not confident enough yet to throw them in.

Into the Wilderness

It's day two of real live wilderness therapy. I don't even know where to begin. Its prooving way much harder than I expected to take a break. I have this evening off, and I find myself laying in my shelter trying desperately to strain to hear whats going on at group around the campfire. Cassie is supposed to give her lifestory and then transition to the West which is such a crucial step for her and for the group. I feel like I should be there.

Other than that I think I'm actually sleepy. Weird. We're at Avatar point tonight which is big flat mesas on all sides. Heading into Squaw tommorow. Today I learned I need to be much more confrontative. I let too much slide and am not yet comfortable getting into the middle of a conflict. I had a really good talk with Marie about her drug use when we were hiking, which was sort of this first glimmer of what this is really like.

I'm not even making emotional sense right now. It is nothing and everything I thought it would be.

I Feel It In My Fingers

There has got to be some kind of powerful energy in this town. I went to sunrise yoga this morning, which was wild and full of all sorts of energy on it's own for the record. Driving home I saw the biggest, brightest, most vibrant triple rainbow I have ever seen. It spanned all of down town Durango, and touched down on both ends so strongly I could probably triangulate the spot if I thought hard enough. The crazy part, this is the second wildly clear and vivid rainbow in about three days. The last one I saw from my window, with one base just about at the lip of Big Canyon, and the other over in the next wash.

Now if thats not a good omen, I don't know what is.

Aho Mitakuye Oyasin

It's Sunday evening and days are slowly ticking by and I'm getting increasingly and majorly nervous about starting real work in a few days. I know it's just one more blind leap of faith to add to the list of the last couple of months, and that I'll feel loads better once I get there in the thick of things. But right now I'm just starting to get comfortable and cozy in my new place full of sunshine and blue skies, and imagining my first shift sits in my stomach like a pot of cold oatmeal. This job means so much to me, I have to figure out a way to set down all of my expectations before heading out to the desert in a few days.

On the one hand, I have absolutely no qualms about being here in this moment, on the path that I've fought to find myself on. I've wanted to be in the wild in a therapeutic setting for so long, it still strikes me as kind of strange to actually be here, doing this. My two weeks of training for the program honestly were some of the most profound experiences of my life. It ended over a week ago, and I feel like I've only just began to process what happened out there in the desert. I remember sitting on the train to Portland last winter, and writing about how I thought my story was just beginning. I really had no idea...I feel like my words, no matter how many times I turn them around and over, really do no justice to the intensity of this adventure.

There is a metal archway, layered in Tibetan prayer flags which stands in the middle of a field of big sage, about a 10 minute walk into the bush from base. This was my introduction to this new world, and the end and beginning of illusion. Through this arch we entered the gateway, the arrival, signifying the end of past lives, and the beginning of intention. I sat there, in the dirt under cloudless sky, incense burning somewhere close by, totally overcome by my senses. I sat there and meditated about what it is that I leave behind to begin this journey again, and then slowly crossed the threshold.

We walked that first night through the darkness in silence. We walked for hours on an old oil rig road, in single file, with no headlamps, quick enough to distract from everything but staying awake and upright. I remember the smells of the desert, and the strange updrafts of warm air between slow bursts of cool night air. Beyond that, the evening blurred around the edges, with glimpses of lucidity and the biggest brightest shooting stars I've ever seen. It was a trippy experience, walking through a tunnel as if blindfolded, no idea what lies ahead, simply focusing on the physical act of putting one foot in front of the other.

Waking up the next morning was as surreal as getting blindfolded and dropped on Mars. We slept out, and due to our spot near a couple of oil drums going all night like a bunch of well trained hippies with bongos, the exhaustion of the previous few days, and proximity to a bunch of Anasazi archaeological sites, I had some seriously trippy dreams. I remember one about mistakenly eating some poisoned mushrooms, realizing it, and trying to make myself vomit. And also one dream where the bugs flying around my face where I was sleeping where talking to me. Then to wake up under that sky, with mountains and mesas on all sides, facing one of the biggest adventures of my life, it was wild.

I think I was most surprised by the amount of emotion, honesty, and disclosure they both expected and elicited in us. I was surprised by the amount I found myself affected by our journey over those 9 days, and the amount I actually let slip from my lips. I would have considered myself a relatively self-aware person before my training for this Wilderness Therapy gig, but really it seems I had no idea. One of the main focuses for our students is to develop more of a consciousness towards the mind-body connection. We practice this regularly by checking in and reporting on how are mind, body, heart, and soul are doing. This entails no explanations, no justifying, and no pontificating, which for someone as cerebral as I tend to be, can be reallllllly hard. I found myself wanting to explain why my knee was throbbing, or say that it didn't matter, when all they require is an observation of sensation. I had a really hard time separating heart and mind for a while, because again being so caught up in my head I try to think things away, to explain and understand emotion until it makes sense and thus doesn't affect me so much. Some of the revelations were relatively simple, yet for me all the more profound. I happened to be chatting with one of our trainers one morning while putting on some arnica gel. They were asking me why and what was going on so I told them nonchalantly a bit about my knee problems, ending with "nothing really helps so I just try to ignore it." With out even hinting at psychobabble, he simply asked me why. I was stuck on that for a few days actually, and then finally it clicked. The more off balance, uncentered, foggy, or not present I am emotionally, the less I pay attention to my physical presence. And I'm in the clouds quite often these days, I'll just say. But the less I pay attention to how I'm holding my body, the more my feet overpronate, do the wrong things we'll just say, which pulls on my knees and exacerbates everything that has happened to them. The less conscious of my physical body I am, the worse I walk, and the more my knees hurt. The more my knees hurt, the more frustrated and angry and off-focus I become, further worsening the cycle. Simple mind-body awareness, but for me, it was huge.

I find it really fascinating that I have relatively little qualms talking about my own experiences with mental illness, however talking about my own small part in other peoples' still terrifies me. There are things that I said and connections that I made between issues and experiences and ramifications during that time that I've never been able to realize or share before. One night near the end of the week I sat up by the fire after everyone else had gone to sleep and ended up crying for a while with a couple of the guys. I'd been pretty shook up about the lesson on suicide watch for the students, and I'm not quite sure how it happened. I'm learning that I take on an incredibly large amount of responsibility for other people, particularly their welfare and well being, and I invite other people to use me and take advantage of my empathy and compassion because of it. Then when I'm at a low point, there is no one there for me, and I feel all the more betrayed. I am not responsible for the survival of others, but even saying so makes me feel a little...cold. Like I've lost a piece of my heart. But the weight of all of those people drags me down so deeply, it's time to let go. So I cried for all the people I've been their for, who I've talked down from the proverbial window ledge, and who I've allowed to lay down some of their burdens as my own. The last time I cried was senior year of High School when they told me that my mother had lung cancer. Over eight years ago.

We experienced a lot of beautiful spots and people, but the one that sticks with me is the sweat lodge. This was not, by any means, a sweat in the traditional indigenous sense. It was a creation of the organization and all of the people involved, that borrowed heavily from many traditions world wide. A sweat, regardless of who you are or what you are working through takes you out of yourself. I believe it is their intention to facilitate an awakening, a revelation, maybe even a spiritual experience, to show to the students that they are more than their pasts. I know for me it was one of the most profound and mystical two hours of my life, and I say that with out pretension.

Our sweat was to the four directions, one round devoted to each space and place, with breaks in between. During their time with the organization the students work through pathways based around the directions as well, each complete with tasks, responsibilities, and personal characteristics which they must embody before moving forward. Our sweat was only a small sense of the tremendous journeys they are on, and the work they must do.

I was smudged with sage before entering, placed my hamsa necklace and a small stone on the alter, knelt and prayed to the Earth and to the others with me, and crossed the threshold. Inside the lodge is pitch dark, already hot, musky, and so low you must crawl on all fours around the pit in the center. It is small enough that you must sit hugging your knees to your chest, and probably still be touching some part of another sitting next to you. They brought nine rocks from the raging fire that had been going all afternoon for the round of the south, and placed them in the center pit. The door closed, and I had to fight for a while with myself not to panic as I sat in the total darkness, temperature climbing, sweat already pouring off my face. They slowly began to pour water onto the stones one by one. Incense and herbs billowing off the pit filled the lodge with acrid and tempting steam. Then the music began, and we sang and chanted and called out to all things.

According to many traditions, to the medicine wheel, the south is a time of freedom, of play, of joy, of fire, of music, of passion, of rebellion, of youth, of red heat. This round was joyful, spontaneous, and free. We sang and screamed and yelled. We called out to our inner children, and howled at the moon. The south was exuberance, with little thought to the looming presence of the rapidly encroaching West and North. I danced in the south, and smiled wickedly. It was over too soon.

The round of the west brought figurative sundown, responsibility, facing dragons and demons. West brought the work of introspection, and a turning in my stomach. I sat in the hottest spot for this round apparently, directly in line with the fire and the pit filled now with an additional 4 stones. The west dropped all pretense of unbridled happiness, and instead faced the real personal and intense work that comes with darkness. I wanted to hide my face and make it be over.

North is winter, white, somber, and the hint of rebirth and renewal. North is taking on the dragons that you discover in the West. North is serious and a bit scary, with all sorts of talk about the people and things that have harmed you, the traumas which we have all lived through, and the damage which has been done. North is facing up to all of the little broken pieces of ourselves, and acknowledging the pain before stepping past it. North took that lump in my throat and stone in my stomach, and sort of forced it to the surface. My dragon? Twofold I think. One I already sort of mentioned, that is all of the people and things (including myself) that take advantage of my compassion and sap the life and joy from me in exchange for taking on others' responsibility and survival as my own. The other is I'm sure related, though I haven't quite completely traced the lineage yet. My dragon is my insecurity and lack of self-confidence, my inner critic that tells me its never good enough and that I am some what of a fraud. That I don't deserve to feel the way I feel and experience what I am going through. North was a wild and primeval bloody ride.

East is the coming of spring, of sunrise, the return of green, of rebirth. East brings wisdom and expects one to guide others. East was the end of our transformation that evening, as we sang and chanted our way into a new world which we would create for ourselves. East was endless, hot, and humbling. I spent most of it with my forehead flat on the ground in front of me, too completely overcome to sing more than a few words at a time. I don't remember what I said I would take with me, though I'm sure it had something to do with confidence, empathy, compassion, strength, endurance, passion, commitment. When it was finally over, with the doors blessedly open, we crawled out one by one, stopping at the threshold to intone the Lakota prayer "Aho Mitakuye Oyasin," our head to the earth pausing to all of our relations, that we are all related.

I stumbled out into the night air, totally and completely overcome by all that had just come to pass. I crawled maybe ten feet to the far side of the fire, and lay on my back looking skyward. The palms of my hands and the soles of my feet dug into the soil, and I swear I could feel the Earth pulsating. My whole body tingled as energy flow through me freely from head to foot and hand to hand and from sky and fire and breeze and stars. I lay there until I realized I was shivering, then forced myself to get up and change into dry clothes. I would have laid their for hours, for once completely and totally present, all four lines aligned and just filled up with the immensity of it all.

I wasn't myself for a few hours after leaving the sweat. I think about it a lot, try to harness the things I allowed myself to say, the things I silently intoned, the throbbing of emotion and intention in that space. I am in so many ways terrified about dealing with the students, but in that place it was meaningless. I am where I should be, I deserve the life I've made for myself.

Peanuts, bloody Peanuts

Still alive, still in and around SW Colorado, still homeless, still living on peanuts (literally).

But I've definitly had quite a few adventures in the last few weeks, met some people and out of the way places, and am slowly convincing myself that sometimes the best course of action is to take a step back and have faith that I am exactly where I need to be, and the rest will follow.

Survived training, which is it's own happy fun tale for another library evening, but sadly left my journal abandoned in Squaw Canyon. Really only disturbing because in it was my budget for the next few months. I expected to be wrecked about loosing all of that writting, but in some respects, it had to happen. There was so much fire and so much pain wrapped up in the last year in a half, loosing my record just seemed fitting, you know? Just to have to let it go completely, and move forward with an entirely new clean page.

Living out of the car and tent and the goodness of others, however, is screwing with my head. I know its a great thought experiment and oh so neccesary lesson in trusting that the universe will provide, but I find it incredibly unsettling. It took me an hour and a half yesterday morning to dig through boxes and other detritus to find winter shoes and my down vest from the bottom of box number one. Not to mention the lack of laundry, food, and space. Being out of control of my situation has always been hard for me, and this adventure is in particular trying my patience.

My body is antsy, my heart is unsettled, my mind is impatient, and my soul is still back in that sweat lodge, howling at the moon.

All for now.