Vision Fast, Truth Telling

Its slowly getting dark, and I am afraid. I am sitting in the south gateway, inside the medicine wheel I've built for myself behind my shelter in this aspen grove. Its been raining on and off today, and the damp chill is doing nothing to make staying awake and upright more appealing. I brought nothing except a lighter to make fire, and it seems like tonight is not the night. Its taking a lot of willpower not to just crawl into my sleeping bag right now and get warm, mercifully turn my brain off for the day. I'd like to make it until at least three stars in the sky, same as we tell the students. My feet are pretty cold, and I keep catching myself starring enviously at my citronella candle, burning next to the alter with the last wisps of Utah sage.

A ho, great spirit, I'm calling on you. Oh great spirit, what else can I do. Please open me up, so I can receive, please open me up so I can believe. Oh great spirit, I'm calling on you.

I pray tonight for patience, for courage, and for faith. I pray with all the love in my heart, with all the compassion I can muster, and with the strength of all my ancestors, living and dead, who I ask hold me on this journey tonight. Bless me teachers, be compassionate, for I have troubles.

I keep forgetting that I'm fasting, and semi-automatically reaching out for my p-food. I haven't been that hungry yet, and haven't really had a full meal since Thursday lunch at the office. My only worry so far food-wise is just not having the calories to help keep me warm, and soon not having the energy to move around much to get warm. I meant to eat dinner last night, but the sweat was so crazy intense I kind of didn't have it in me by the time we finished around midnight.

The sweat was strange--thermodynamically, physically, socially, emotionally. Each of the two rounds started out super super hot, and quickly. Then they got intense and beautiful, with lots of music and prayer and a lot of various personal commitment and discoveries. I felt awkward, self-conscious, and uncomfortable sitting mostly naked and sandwiched between Evan and Nicholas. I think the greater truth is I'm not really comfortable naked.

The lower the light, the thicker the mosquitoes.

I don't remember much of the first round, besides it was really long and cold by the end once we ran out of water to pour. I know I was pushed, and said some pretty crucial things for myself, but I don't really recollect the specifics.

The greater truth is in the second round. One that even thinking about writing down on paper makes my body contract and cringe involuntarily. And my mind swivel around looking to see if three stars have appeared magically to free me from this task for a little longer. Sadly, no such easy way out quite yet.

I lay sucking dirt for a while and stewing, while everyone else either seemed to be having these wonderful transformational experiences, or left the lodge in apathy, impatience, boredom, or disgust. I felt for Emily, who got into this huge emotional argument with Nicholas, and then got so worked up she had to leave. The whole time though, my head was telling me how stupid and minor the conversation felt, and my heart kept screaming at me that I had big things to say. I opened my mouth and the greater truth sort of fell right out into the naked darkness.

The truth is I think Noah raped me, that night at the end of freshman year. Given how my body is reacting to the admission, with flashbacks and nightmares and shakes and a whole lot of numb disbelief, I judge it to be true and real. And my vision quest full of darkness and demons got a fair amount larger and deeper last night. I feel a little bitter for it, and a lot of fear and curiosity. I never wanted it to be like this, never wanted rape to be something I identify with, so I convinced myself it wasn't true. That I wanted to sleep with him that night (I did), and that I was in control of the situation ( I wasn't). The truth is I was wasted, drunk and high, and he was sober. The truth is I don't remember if I said no, and I certainly didn't fight very much. The truth is it hurt, and he kept going. Kept going 'till my sheets were bloody the next morning and my neck was so bruised I wore scarves for more than a week following. The truth is I blame myself for baiting him, for putting myself in the dangerous situation in the first place, for not fighting enough, and for lying to myself for five years.