For one student, recently I used a gymnastics analogy to aid him with the understanding of “humility”. I was very competitive in gymnastics at one time and therefore am able to come up with many gymnastics analogies. This won’t be the last!

I began gymnastics for the reason that is familiar to many gymnasts. I was hyperactive and made everything about climbing. I vaulted off furniture. I flew and bounced and balanced on edges of objects inside or outside. I made pits with pillows and cushions.

I was young when I started gymnastics but sort of had a cartwheel going. I had forward rolls. I had balance and agility.

I had begun with dance first. The teacher told my mother to get me into gymnastics because that was where I was going to shine. I was built for it. I had the enthusiasm of a gymnast. I was encouraged to continue dance for gymnastics.

I wore my leotards under sweats for my first class. We all stripped down and left a little pile of clothes on the floor. We were walked around the gym, shown how to use chalk, and given safety instructions on all equipment and warned how to not get in the path of another gymnast.

I loved the smell of everything. I loved the excitement in the gym. I wanted to learn but I was scared. Some of these girls were really good. I saw how much I could learn and how much I needed to learn to be able to call myself “good.”

As a beginner, I would mainly focus on floor. We would have some practice on a low beam. Some bar work. No vaulting.

I loved the beam. I did not care for the bars.

I watched one girl in a higher group work especially hard at the bars. I thought she was amazing and told her. She told me that at her age she should be much better if she were ever “going to get anywhere with it.” She looked so rugged to me. I could not believe my ears. She told me that if I wanted to really excel, I had better start working hard now. I thanked her.

There were a few tricks that I was intimidated to complete. I was about 7 when a very strict female gymnastics coach crouched down to my level and yelled into my face. She told me that I was better than what I was doing and I either did what I could do or I didn’t, but I needed to get serious and make up my mind.

Years later, she was my favorite coach. I realized that she was only that strict and mean to those who she knew had potential.

Accomplishments were short-lived. We could not plateau for long. The hugs we received were genuine but the stern face to get back on apparatus was immediate.

The hugs were firm. A moment of security before we were forced to be on our own feet again using only what we had.

While waiting in lines for my turns, I observed each gymnast I could. I watched how they mounted apparatus or ran, I watched the coach’s facial expressions. I listened to what was said. I watched the usual stone-faced reaction of the gymnast, and the nod that said they agreed. I knew what was going on inside their heads. ”I want to do better.” “I really hope I do better.” “I need to do better.”

We had surrender, acceptance, and trust. We knew our coaches knew what they were talking about.

Gymnastics was more like traditional shamanic training then anything else I have experienced. What I learned in gymnastics, I have applied towards life.

I remember doing the same skill repeatedly in a line down the floor over and over and over again. I became frustrated once and said, “I have proven I can do this, can’t we move on now?” I was told that if I became bored, I would become sloppy. That was what they were waiting for. Would I stay tight? (“good formation”)

Whatever we learned on the floor had to be applied to the beam. It had to be perfect. Just perfect. Imperfection meant injury in this sport.

It was awhile before we received music. I was insanely jealous of the higher groups who had earned music. It made their moves, their tricks all the better.

The only part of physical education in school that I really liked was gymnastics. I could never dribble a basketball, walk and shoot. I was a mess. It is an instinct to hit the ground when a baseball is coming my way. I could run. I liked volleyball. I liked conditioning. I liked football a little. Soccer was frightening.

When we did gymnastics as a unit in phys. ed., most groaned. I would hear “it’s a sport for little girls in leotards with sparkles and pig-tails.” I straightened my pig-tails, held my head up, and went to work. I became the teacher’s assistant. I helped spot.

They didn’t know how man-like we could feel …. how the sparkles were to help us feel feminine…. We might look dainty but we didn’t feel that way.

It was a sport that hurt. Tears were not permitted. If we cried, we were screamed at.
It is not a sport that I would consider putting a child of mine in…. as much as I loved it.

What I liked about gymnastics is that we learned early on that this was something that to truly be good at, it had to be worked hard at. I carried that further into my life. Sometimes too far.

The days when I began seemed far away very quickly. My original group had changed drastically. Many had quit.

I was team.

A friend I had been close to for years would sometimes come to watch. She told me in school one day that her mother had asked her if she wanted to begin gymnastics. She had said no because she explained that I would be competitive to her. I said, “I wouldn’t be competitive with you, because there is no competition.”

I was in a place to be able to say that….

I was doing things at that time that as a beginner I could not imagine doing. I did them without thinking much. Because I had done them repeatedly…. over and over and over again….

I watched new gymnasts of all ages come in. Some thought they were competitive material before their first chalk. They didn’t make it. Maybe they left and told people that gymnastics was too easy for them…. Only their ego was important.

It was the ones who came in scared but wanting who made it. It was the ones who had humility who succeeded. While they pictured in their minds themselves with trophies in their arms, they could barely look at an advanced gymnast in the eyes. They knew they had a long ways to go and because they knew this, they might just make it.

I am a country girl.

I like my boots. Brown and leather.

I have no need of fancy places and they don’t need me. I want my fat turkey legs to drip down my chin.

I do need to be near my creek and it needs me. It tells me secrets. And it’s home. I am connected to my lands. It is my heart.

I love people. I love not having neighbors.

Silence is my friend. My entertainment is deer and the wind.

I want to watch lightning storms on a porch. I want to catch rain in cups.

I want to dry my clothes outdoors.

I want to fish as often as possible. And eat what I catch.

I want to grow more things than I do. Maybe have a goat…

I need to move slowly. I need to stay in a place where I can move as I need.

I did not know if I would or how I would. But last night’s dream showed that I have, and not in a way that I imagined I would.

One of my elders of the Maliseet Nation confirmed this for me. I have learned that passing the Eagle Gate is not just about “who we know” but about “who knows us.” I would have to say that “they” know me more than I know them. I would have to say that whoever influenced whomever it was to let me in, knows me more then I know them.

When she said what she did about this dream, I knew she was very right. It hit me in a way that said, “of course, how did you not know this on your own?” It was so plain. The impact hit me. The same thing that caused me to be surprised (positively) in this dream was the same thing that was preventing me from fully realizing the message of this dream.

I do ask for more dreams on this and trust that I will receive them. I am grateful.

I sat in my bed watching images of her in my head from when she was a baby to being a toddler. Her hair was lighter as a toddler. I sort of forgot that. I saw her at five years old and seven or eight then thirteen and fourteen. I began to realize that she wasn’t a toddler. I was reminded of all these events in her life. Her favorite dolls. The time she slept with silly putty and it had to be cut out of her hair. When she was a bridesmaid in a wedding.

For a moment she really was a toddler again and I was concerned about her running the house alone. How funny to be in that place so suddenly. How familiar that place was. I haven’t thought about that in years.

It wasn’t a feeling of how the years have flown by. I was a bit relieved that she was old enough to be out of her bedroom unsupervised alone.

I had been transported to a period of years ago and slowly walked forward again.

In a lot of ways I like where we are. But I was reminded too that those times we’ve shared are only a moment away.

My relationship with her would be so different now.

I’ve changed so much.

Sometimes I say to her aloud, “Do you know me now?” And I know she does. She knows me more then anyone and I can’t explain how good that feels. Here I am as I am.

She was really really special. I don’t know if she ever knew how much. She was so special that when she died, the entire family fell apart. I really used to love my family at that time. I loved who we were all together. God, we had so much fun. After she died, the family changed into something I don’t recognize anymore.

I guess some of it was always there.

Her house was safe and comfortable. There were lots of places to sit. Pillows, afghans. The house only had one heat vent. It was downstairs. We used to take turns straddling it. Rarely were we cold however. There were no heat sources upstairs but somehow we rarely noticed it.

It was a five-bedroom house with a porch that wound around two sides. We used to sit on it to watch thunderstorms and we would catch rain in cups.

I know the land behind the house like I do the back of my hand. I know every blade of grass. I remember the wind and how it smelled. The steep hill behind the house that was very hard to climb but we did to get to the meadow above. I know every raspberry bush that lined the yard before the incline of the hill.

My grandfather used to load us all in the wagon of his mower. We would sing Christmas songs in July. I don’t know how we fit so many of us in the wagon at a time.

I would wake to the sound of a train in the mornings. The stairs led into the dining room where Grandpa would be playing solitaire. He always had a cheery “good morning sweetheart!” He had a rich powerful voice.

He tap-danced and played the harmonica. He sang and told stories. He held my hair away from my face once while I got sick besides his truck. He described the taste of flavors of ice cream I would never eat so I could imagine. He taught me how to roller-skate. He laid down a small square of pavement for me to roller-skate on. He built me a balance beam. He rescued me from my abusive stepfather in the middle of the night when I called. He stood by his truck vomiting while I sat inside bruised.

My grand-mother died years ago yet people are still eating her jam. She made so much of it, I think it will still be around for another decade. She loved plants especially african violets. She always had a Siamese cat that stayed inside. She loved Elvis, bananas, and pop corn. Her lessons to me were constant. Her english wasn’t good. She read me stories every night before bed when I was little. I used to snuggle in bed besides her every morning.

I spoke to her everyday until the day she died.

I had a doctor appointment the day she was to die. She called to let us all know that she was dying that day. An aunt of mine called to tell me not to cancel the appointment because grandma probably would be alive for another day or so. I said no. She was a Shaman so if she said she was dying that day, she was.

I went with a cousin and his wife.

The house was full.

I went in to say hello to her and hug my grandmother. She was taking turns holding all the new babies. People were handing her pictures of our children. She looked at each carefully. She did not look like someone who was going to die. She sounded good. She looked great.

I always thought of my grand-father as this very strong man. When it came time for her to die, when she said it won’t be long, somehow we all crowded into this small room. My grand-father was trembling. He dashed out of the room. I chased after him. I took his hand and demanded he go back in. “She needs you,” I told him. “This is it,” I said. “You can’t miss this.” He had collapsed in his chair a bit dazed but got up to come back in.

It was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, to watch her die. We all told her how much we love her before she left. We all took turns holding her hands. She took her last breaths and it was clear when she was gone.

I had been holding my baby niece then 4 months old. My cousin was holding me.

The room exploded with sobs. Some people collapsed. I held an uncle who was sobbing.

They were coming to get my grand-mother’s body. I started to get people up the stairs in a bedroom. It felt like we were prodding cattle. People were sobbing and saying they didn’t want to leave her. We were pushing them up the stairs whether they wanted to go or not. I was one of the youngest grand-children who had gained instant authority. I posted guards to keep everyone in the room while I went back down with the few who could keep it together.

I sat with her body for awhile and held her hand. We took her rings off. I had made one of them in a jewelry class. She had such tiny but strong fingers. I closed her eyes after I looked into them deeply one last time. I touched her hair. I kissed her. I thanked her for everything.

It is an odd thing to put someone who had been so full of life, just an incredible person in a body bag and zip it up. That is what we did, myself and a few other grand-childen.

It wasn’t her house that was so magical. It was her….

While they took her body out of the house, we followed. It was the first snowfall of the year. We turned our heads up towards the heavens and twirled around. A cousin said to me, “It is so silent. Not even the creek is raging.”

I said, “Silence for a great Shaman.”

He nodded.

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I don’t know if I will ever be as “great” as she was. I don’t know if she knew how great she was. It isn’t necessarily a goal of mine to be as great as she was. I do know that I compare myself to her and I don’t think I “measure up.”

I still want her guidance. I still consider myself to be her student. I want her here on earth to teach me just like she once had.

I had great teachers. I had it the old way. It was a beautiful dream.

I am waiting for her. And she is gone from this plane.

I have so much reluctance.

When I think about what she did, all that she did, I realize more and more just how amazing she was. I also knew her human side. I knew she cried harder then perhaps anyone. And I know why.

Shortly before my grand-father died (not so long ago), I had a dream about my grandmother. I was angry that he was dying because that would be the end of a dynasty. None of us wanted it to end.

In the dream, she kissed me on the lips, a sweet kiss so solid. I know she was there. She thanked me for taking care of grandpa. I told him in the morning what I had experienced. He said nothing but looked away. He has tears coming. I asked, “Do you ever dream of her?” He said, “All the time.”

I learned so much from them. I realize that more and more each day.

She really was a great Shaman. They really were great teachers. And they were the best grand-parents.

When I “lost” her, I lost many more. An aunt told me years later that it was a good thing I “disappeared” after she died because it got “really nasty.”

It was not a fight over things or money or the house. People were looking to point fingers and blame. It is kind of why I disappeared. I knew I would be blamed for something.

When I “reappeared” I only did so to a few.

I first appeared to my grand-father after at least a year of being invisible. I walked in the unlocked house and sat next to him one day out of the blue. He was sitting at the dining room table playing solitaire. He didn’t look up at me. He continued to slap cards down. I didn’t say hello. I knew he knew I as there. He said, “Are you finished screwing around now? Because if you aren’t, there’s the door.” He moved his head in the direction of the door.

I wanted to know why I had to play this role in our family. “They don’t want me,” I said. “They never cared. Only you and grandma have cared.” He told me that it wasn’t about them, it never had been.

I didn’t understand then and I didn’t for years after. I do now somewhat. I know now that I had to lose them. It was to be that way all along. As grandma told me many times, “I was to dodifferent things.”

I wanted him as long as I could have him. He would only have me if I continued training. It was how I was duped into it.

I am a follower. I wanted to be around the magic not be the magic. There are so many people I know who want to proclaim themselves to be this or that (a great healer for example). I haven’t wanted that.

I interacted with my grand-father, some elders, and a cousin for years until my grand-father was dying. Then I was in the middle of my entire family again. I hadn’t been for years. They heard things about me. Some true things. Some mostly untrue things. Suddenly there I was. I never abandoned anyone. I sure did not reach out to anyone either. They had judged me a long time ago and I did not have the time for their drama.

Suddenly it was decided that they needed me and there I was. I surprised quite a few people because what I demonstrated in who I was did not compare with the lies they had been told about me (by my mother).

My grand-father had me in a position for lessons that I am still learning.

___________________________

I had an opportunity to meet some of the children who had been toddlers when I last saw them. They were now young men and women. Instantly I fell in love with them. I would really like to know how each of them is doing. These children of my cousins who babysit me as a child or who I played with, I would like to know them as they are.

___________________________

Families change.

I think mine did in anger, resentments and blame.

___________________________

While we sat near my Grandfather while he was dying, who looked horrible and did not look like himself at all, I said to a cousin, “Remember when you struck me with a stick out of the blue? And we were fighting each other and grandpa dangled us in the air by our shirts?” She said, “Yes, I am sorry about that. I was such an angry child.”

Grandpa died after my kiss.

The toddlers I had last seen years ago who were now young ladies said to me, “I am now a woman. I have seen death.” I hugged them and agreed.

I left that room knowing that very shortly I would not see nor speak to most of them ever again.

I did care very much for all those people. I couldn’t be Grandma for them. I just couldn’t fill her shoes.

I am still not sure of what I am to do that is different. I hope my grand-parents will help me to figure that out.

I explained some about the training required for one to become shaman and explained how learning and living shamanism does not make someone a Shaman.

This person obviously wanted to learn…. something. She wanted something from me and had come to me because a chat was offered and she had questions. She could not see this. Something so obvious to the rest of us was not obvious to her.

After explaining to her what I do (teach dreaming), she asked, “how do I get started?” I told her that she would have to speak to one of my student-teachers about this.

It occurred to me in that moment that this woman hadn’t realized that she had already started. How was it that she hadn’t realized that I had been working with her all along? What did she think we were doing?

In the chat, I had explained the ways that I can tell when people have broken moons. It had been a question from a student.

This person had stated on the boards that she felt that she did not walk her talk. She stated that she did not expect anything from me,yet she continued asking for more and more and more. While asking for more and more and more, she stated that she could not exchange yet she stated that she believed in exchange (giving back for what she was receiving). What was coming out of her mouth was completely contrary to what she actually did.

Amazing!

But is it?

I see more and more that live this way. They speak that they wish for spirituality but they don’t even observe their basic behavior. They want so much to think of themselves in certain ways, that they will say anything and they think that is truth. This was the case with this woman. I think she really believed what she was saying. It is scary. Her behavior was so clear to the rest of us. I asked her, “do you know that you lie to yourself?”

She wanted so much to preserve her ego that she accused one of my student-teachers of attacking her, and in doing so, she attacked him. She used her victim mentality to preserve her ego.

The student-teacher spoke in general terms. He only referred to her in agreeing with her with something she had said about herself.

This is someone who wants to learn tradition, old ways? Who wants to heal?

This is someone who is controlling and broken, who people are to walk on eggshells around. But that is the western way. We had to say what she wanted to hear…. and if we don’t, then we are attacking her.

And wasn’t she the person who in chat just the day before, said that a true friend is someone who speaks truth?

Healing is harsh. It means hearing some things about ourselves that we might not like to hear. Humility is a requirement to learning and healing. This woman just doesn’t have it. She was amongst traditional people very trained in dreaming and healing. She knew it.

It takes being brave to heal.

It was all fine and good when we were not speaking of her. When she got her way. Just speaking generally in a dream thread of hers was enough to set her off. A part of her recognized truth and the not functional defenses went up. The reality of what she was doing was all over. All we did was put it together for her.

All I can say is, we told her that it was not easy.

I make an example out of this person not because she is unique, but because this is common.

No, I don’t teach people to become Shamans. That would require a lot more then what I am here discussing right now.

Medicine Wheel, a short postingWe are all living the wheel whether we are conscious of it or not. We learn about the wheel in order to become conscious in living its’ meaning.

We learn about our personal wheels to become more conscious in who we are.

The best ways to do this are looking at our own dreams, including our waking!

Using the wheel as a tool to understanding our dreams can tell us a lot about ourselves, our relationships, and what lessons we are learning or need to learn. Discovering our personal totems is only a part of this!

Just a short posting on medicine wheel for now …. but there will be more!

There is much more inside. Please join to receive access to other parts of the site. Post a dream for ust to work on. Please register for privacy, or to join in on our monthly chats.

If you are looking to learn traditional dreaming (shamanism), and you are motivated to learn and heal, you have found the right place.  We welcome you to give it a try. This is a traditional healing place. You might be surprised at what you could learn.

Our Teacher is waiting to work with you. Begin posting now. Leave us a dream. Together let’s look at your wheel!