Stumbling Into Grace

Welcome to The Adventures of a Spiritual Junkie

Welcome to my new web log, Stumbling Into Grace, The Adventures of a Spiritual Junkie!

My purpose for writing Stumbling Into Grace is to share with you adventures I have experienced on my path to understanding how God/Spirit works in my life. I decided on this format because, unlike an ezine or newsletter, it provides an opportunity for you to respond with your own commentary. My writing has always generated feedback, and I am excited to be able to share my readers’ responses.

I named my blog Stumbling Into Grace because my journey to understanding spirituality and the roll of God, prayer, and energy in my life has never been a smooth path. Rather, it has been an exploration full of obstacles in the form of doubt and disbelief, fear and mistrust. In the process, I have discovered that I am not alone in that struggle with uncertainty. There is a definite need, even for those with a deeply established belief in any one of the many religions and belief systems in this world, for more understanding of what we as a form of spirit can do to embrace who we are and why we are here.

I am not asking you to believe as I do, or to change your religion or belief system. In fact, I'm encouraging you to travel well on your own path of discovery. I write this because I am being encouraged by God/Spirit/The Universe… to tell my story. To what end? I believe I will discover that in the process of sharing my adventures. Mine are not so different than other stories. I’m sure you will recognize pieces that resonate with your own experience. That is why I wanted a forum in which you could share your response.

My hope is that by sharing our experiences, ideas, and beliefs, that each of us begins to develop a new way of being, to remove the fear and the struggle in our lives, to embrace the Spirit within and around us, to find our path back to the god-like state of our soul. My belief is that by doing that, we can begin to change our individual lives, and one by one, the course of the world. It is no small task, and I’m sure there will be many detractors and critics. The discussion has already begun between individuals, in communities, and in our places of worship. I am ready to add my voice to the conversation. I invite you to as well.

So join me on an exploration that will take you down familiar paths and on new journeys. Let's get started...

Run-in With a Glacier

The sound of cracking ice in nature is distinctive. It’s like a rifle shot, then a slight groan as the new pieces find their place together. That was the sound I heard recently as I rested on the top of a ridge overlooking a waterfall basin that held the last vestiges of a glacier.

I was on a hike with several friends on the north side of Mt. Hood, near Portland, Oregon. The day was brilliant, with clear views of Mt. St. Helens, Rainier, and Mt. Adams to the north; the dry fields of eastern Oregon behind us; a vividly blue sky above; and an abundance of blooming wildflowers surrounding us on our path.

We had stopped at a ravine carrying the rushing water from the glacial melt that occurs constantly during the summer months on the mountain. There was a spectacular view of a two-tiered waterfall above us, with the snow-capped peak beyond that. The top section of the waterfall fell about 60 feet into the basin before finding its way under the melting glacier for about 30 feet before it fell again another 20 feet or so.

As we reached the ravine, several of my companions sat by the river, pulling off their shoes to dip their toes in the ice-cold water. Two of them climbed to the lower falls and ducked under the falling water.

I was intrigued by the glacier, which extended in an arch above the basin. From the view below, it looked like a cavern one could climb into. The day was hot, I was curious, and it looked accessible. I started to climb up the steep, rocky terrain to get a better view. Two friends, Liz and Dawn, followed me to the ridge overlooking the basin.

As they settled in to have a bite to eat, I put my pack down and with trekking poles assisting me, climbed down the remaining 15 feet or so to the water’s edge, just below the east end of the glacier’s arch. The terrain was steep and rough, so I moved carefully, realizing that a slip could mean falling into the rushing water of the waterfall, and possibly over the edge. I moved closer to the glacier and, reaching up, felt the bluish-gray ice with my left hand, my right one firmly gripping my trekking pole as it steadied me.

As I viewed the underside of the arching ice, I marveled at the idea that this piece of frozen water had been there for possibly hundreds of years. Through time, the runoff from above had melted the underside of the glacier to create an archway that I could put my 6-foot frame under with ease. How often does one get to touch a glacier, much less stand underneath one? I took a deep breath and moved two more steps deeper into the arch.

At this point the sensation turned from one of fascination to one of eeriness. My body started to feel uncomfortable. I wrestled with the idea of traveling through the cavern of ice to the natural doorway at the back of the glacier through which the upper waterfall could be seen cascading down the rocks into the basin. My head said, “Go for it. This glacier has been here for hundreds of years. What makes you think it’s going to fall down today?” My body, however, was frozen in the spot.

I started to look around at just what was holding up the weight of the ancient ice. There was a seam above me delicately holding the upper piece of the glacier against a lower, smaller piece. That didn’t look too promising. My head said, “Go for it. It’s a good day to die.” My body said, “Not today.”

I was getting wet by that time, with all of the water melting from the icy arch, as well as the spray from the waterfall. I thought to myself, “If I go through that doorway, my camera is going to get soaked.” Then I looked down and saw the bottom of the smaller piece of the glacier. It looked like the roots of a tree when water has eroded the dirt, but the tree is still standing. There wasn’t much holding it all up.

My head said, “Wouldn’t it be great to experience walking beneath a glacier?” My body responded with a chill up my spine. I stood there for minutes trying to decide. Then the thought occurred to me: “If something happens to me, that leaves the responsibility to the rest of the group. It’s not fair to them for me to be irresponsible.” I backed away. As I turned to make my way back to my friends on the ridge above me one of them pulled out her camera and took a picture of me under the arch.

When I got back to them, they said they had been yelling at me, trying to get my attention. I hadn’t heard them; the noise from the waterfall had been so loud. I told them that the arch seemed fairly unstable, and that, “…it might melt for another hundred years before that crack gives way, but I don't want to be underneath it if it fell today.”

I went on to describe more of my experience, then Dawn said she might go down to see what it was like. I smiled and told her what I had thought to myself when I was down there. I winked, and then said to her, “It’s a good day to die.”

She looked at me, looked down at the glacier, then reconsidered. She and Liz began to descend the other side of the ridge to the rest of the group. I sat down and pulled out something to eat, gazing out on the incredible view, with my friends below. Nadine and Renee were still playing in the lower falls. I watched as a man set up a tripod to take pictures of the glacier and falls.

As I looked to the north, I saw Mt. St. Helens burp a cloud of steam. I had my camera out and took some shots. Then, as I began to replace the lens cover, I heard the shot ring out from the basin to my left. I knew immediately what it was.

I turned to look down as the roots of the lower section gave way. My first thought was that with enough momentum, it would fall over the bottom of the basin and crush Nadine and Renee below. I screamed to everyone below that the glacier was falling, get out of the way! Then, I watched, as if in slow-motion, the bottom piece crumble, then the main archway collapse, then all of the chunks rolling on top of each other, finally coming to rest exactly where I had been standing less than fifteen minutes earlier!

I stood there in stupefied amazement. Not only had I just witnessed nature in its most elemental form, I was jarred by the realization that I had nearly been under its crushing journey.

Minutes passed. My friends were yelling at me, asking if I was okay. I remember yelling down to them that they would have to excuse me, as I was a little stunned at the moment. I stared at where I had just been, and what was now a thick pile of crushed ice. The natural dam that the newly formed mound created briefly stopped the flow of the river. Within moments, the water found its new path, carrying the years of soil buildup from the glacier’s steady movement, turning what had been a clear stream to brown. And the water began to fall off the lower ledge again.

I took a few pictures of the collapsed heap, then in adrenaline-charged shock, began to climb down the ridge to meet with the group. As I was walking the last few yards to join them, the man who had been setting up his camera to take pictures told me that he had unfortunately missed the collapse of the glacier. He had taken shots afterward, but hadn’t had time to get the action. I told him that I had been so amazed by what was happening, that I had forgotten I was holding my camera in my hands. Later, as he walked past me on the trail, he said, “You should go buy a lottery ticket. It seems you’ve got a bit of luck going.” I agreed.

By the time I reached the trail back to camp, several people had already started the return trip. Nadine and Renee had decided to hike to the next ravine, so I joined them. As soon as we arrived a few minutes later, I knew I had to return to camp alone and think about what had just happened. I turned around and headed back.

So many thoughts entered my mind. I breathed deep, inhaling the multi-layered smells from the flowers on the mountain slopes, then slowly, began the trip back to camp.

To be continued...

The Trail Back to Camp

I believe that things found in nature can convey insight, if a person is open to the messages he or she is receiving. Mother Nature provides an abundance of answers, if one is paying attention. That weekend on Mt. Hood was full of those signs for me. However, it wasn't until on my hike back to camp after the glacier's collapse that I began to understand how everything fit together.

As I began the journey to the mountain two days earlier, I met a friend at a state park just east of Portland to caravan to the campground and claim our sites for the entire group. As I waited at the park, I looked up and saw a weather front from the east clash with another moving in from the west. The sky above me was broiling with gray and black clouds. A thunderstorm, highly unusual in this part of the country, had been predicted. When my friend arrived, I was busy taking pictures of the sky. I pointed to the clouds above and said, “Looks like we’re going to be in for a stormy night.”

When we arrived two hours later at the appropriately named Cloud Cap campground, the sun was beginning to set. We walked a few hundred yards down the road and observed one of the most spectacular sunsets either of us had ever seen. Beginning with purples and blues, over the course of the next hour it evolved to oranges, yellows, and then the most vivid red enveloping the entire sky as the sun dipped below the horizon beyond the lower slopes of Mt. Hood. To our right sat a quiet Mt. St. Helens and Mt. Adams, nestled in a stew of clouds, their peaks jutting up into the layers of colors fading with the light.

That night a gentle rain kept us from having a campfire. Shortly after we had settled into our tents, the fireworks began. Lightning and thunder rocked and rolled through the 7,000-foot elevation campground. The show lasted the entire night.

In the morning, a loud thunderclap woke me, followed by a flash of lightning. I was amazed that the storm was still lingering by the mountain, as if they were connected by some magical energy.

Tracking the space between the thunder and lightning, I gaged the amount of time I would have to race to the bathroom, about 100 feet from our campsite. At last, I unzipped the tent to make a dash for it. I had moved a few steps along the path when another clap of thunder boomed through the campground. As I hurried on, I looked to my left. At that moment, a horizontal flash of light snaked around the edge of the campground, 30 feet from me, crashing against a large rock outcropping on the other side of the parking lot. The hair stood up on my head and goose bumps ran down my spine. Little did I know that this would not be the closest I came to danger on the mountain that weekend!

So, as I began the hike back to camp after the glacier fell, my thoughts took in all that had happened in the previous 36 hours—in fact, during the previous month. Less than four weeks earlier I had received a phone call from my brother in the early morning hours telling me that my mother had died unexpectedly from a heart attack. Being from a close family, the news was devastating to all of us. Due to my grief, I had wavered in my decision to go camping, deciding in the end that it would be what my mom would want. She had taken us camping every year, and most of my camp gear came to me in the form of gifts from her. It seemed a way to honor her.

One of the first thoughts I had after the glacier collapsed was that Mom had been there, protecting me from harm, guiding me to safety. Ironically, after my dad died five years ago, I had a similar sense when less than two months later I was involved in a near-fatal car accident. I had felt his presence that day in the cab of my truck, wrapping me like a shield as the vehicle rolled out of control.

As I returned to camp another realization came to me. The day I had left to come to the mountain I had sent my intentions for an upcoming Vision Quest that I was participating in to my teacher. I had spent the past year preparing for the Quest, a workshop offered by Jan Engels-Smith, founder of Lightsong School of Shamanic Studies, to help participants become clearer about their path in life. Jan had told us that once we put our intentions out to the universe, things would start happening; messages would begin to appear in various forms. I felt my questions were significant. The lightning and glacier events confirmed that. The Quest was less than a month from that camping weekend. I began to wonder what else was in store for me.

By the time I returned to the camp, I had experienced a shift in thought and emotion that was so thorough, I felt like I was in a different reality than where I had started the day. Because of my mom’s death, I had been in a fog of grief, questioning life’s purpose, wondering why we were all here preparing for death. What was the reason for all of this? Why go on? As I was standing under that glacier, it was my grieving brain that said, “Go on. It’s a good day to die.”

My mom often said that we die only after our purpose has been fulfilled. On that mountain that day, I received the message that my purpose was not complete; I still have things to accomplish in this life.

What I also realized was that solutions to questions and problems come to me with much more clarity when I am in the moment, when I stay present with what is happening within and around me. When I am able to feel fully in my physical body what is coming through me, whether it’s a warning, a joyful feeling, or a realization about life. The glacier incident gave me as clear an example as I’ve ever had of what intuition feels like, and what the consequences are when I listen—or don’t.

In the days and weeks after my Mt. Hood wake-up call, I realized that I have spent much of my life allowing my brain to take the lead, analyzing, regretting, hoping, and taking unjustifiable risks. And then, sometimes for days, sometimes for years, I’ve lived with the consequences of choices made because I was doing instead of being, listening to my head instead of my heart.

Since that day, I have had numerous instances on a daily basis where my body gives me messages that my head would have overridden in the past. My first reaction is similar to what I told myself under that arch: “Come on! Go for it. Figure it out later.” Then I stop, breathe in, feel what my body is telling me, touch the earth, and finally, determine the best choice, versus the easiest or what seems more logical or most exciting.

The learning that was reinforced for me the weekend on Mt. Hood is profound, and really quite simple: Life happens in each instant. Each moment provides us with a new choice. And each choice leads us to new possibilities in the next moment. What is difficult is to balance where the body leads us with where the head wants to take us. Without knowing how to stay in tune with our bodies, to feel that intuitive sense, to be clear about what is coming from our brain versus our natural senses, we often move back to the habits that are familiar, no matter how harmful that place is.

This was confirmed in the Vision Quest, which I participated in at the end of August. What were the intentions that I sent out to the universe that fateful day before my trip to Mt. Hood? I asked my guides, my angels, God, my spirits (there are many ways to express the energy of our higher power) to show me answers to these questions:

1. What have I been chosen to do in this lifetime?
2. To do that, what must I let go of?
3. What must I embrace?
4. What is my next step on my path to accomplish this?

As my teacher pointed out, Questers frequently ask these types of questions. We all want to know why we exist. The Mt. Hood weekend provided the first answers: That my purpose was not complete, and that to find more information I must be aware and paying attention to signs in whatever form they might take. And to be fully aware, I must be ready to receive the answer. My preparations for Quest were now well under way...

Preparing for My Vision Quest

After returning from the camping weekend, I continued with greater energy to prepare for my four-day Quest less than a month away. My awakening on the mountain led me to new insights on a daily basis. There was much preparation to do, in all aspects of my physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual being.

Physically, I had already begun to prepare. On the Quest I would be fasting for nearly five days, and would be staying in a small area (6 x 10 feet) the entire time. I continued reducing the amount of food I ate every day and limited my physical activity to slow my metabolism. I stopped eating carbohydrates and processed sugars and began to eat a diet of fruits, vegetables, nuts, and protein. This resulted in an immediate difference in how clear my thoughts were, in addition to feeling more energetic and lighter.

Spiritually, I worked with my teacher and supporters (classmates who would be in support camp, sending prayer energy to the questers), including my main supporter, my good friend Timido, to accomplish all of the tasks that were given to us to connect with our inner being and the surrounding energy of spirits and guides. As much as I could, I spent time in nature, allowing my connection to Mother Earth to ground me. Every day I saw animals and symbols that reflected messages leading me to new awareness about ideas or problems that I was experiencing.

We were also given the task of creating the prayer ties that would define the space that we would be in during the Quest. Prayer ties are pieces of colored cotton cloth, filled with tobacco or other herbs, then tied with a string. For each tie, a prayer is said. The prayer ties are strung together on one continuous cotton string. In this case, 101 prayer ties were made for each of the four directions (each direction is a different color cloth) and I continued beyond that to make 111 each for Grandfather Sky, Grandmother Earth, and for my internal being.

The prayer ties for the four directions are what make up the energetic boundaries of the hochica (the space I would stay in during the Quest). At the end of Quest the prayer ties are burned so that the energy is released into the universe. There were additional rituals, ceremonies, and tasks that were performed in the weeks leading up to going "on the mountain," as a Vision Quest is referred to.

Emotionally, I completely opened myself to the range of feelings I was experiencing after my mom’s death: sadness, joy, fear, gratitude, and more. Emotions, like intuition, are reflected in the body. I found that the more I allowed my emotions to flow, the more quickly I was able to recognize what my intuitive voice was telling me.

In the time between the glacier collapse and the Quest, I focused more on the first three areas, not realizing how critical the mental aspect would be. But that became abundantly clear once I was on the Quest, and even more so after I returned.

More on that next time...