For the next several years I worked with children.
Casie’s grandparents on both sides took care of her during the day. She was nestled in their love, and I was able to earn a living and forge ahead.
Children do not ask questions or pass judgment.
They live in the moment and if you make that moment feel safe, they emerge.
For them, the past and the future do not exist because they are immersed in now.
They mirrored for me what Casie and I needed.
Our past was gone.
It was impossible to see the future as we were just surviving the present.
The way through was to make the present feel safe so we too could emerge.
It is possible that I could have maintained some relationships if I reached out more but I just could not do it.
It was exhausting to answer questions about “why” when I did not have an answer.
It was humiliating to sit in people’s judgment as “someone had to be at fault.”
I did not want their pity, and their compassion came with strings.
My “disappearing” allowed them to move forward without choosing sides.
I spent as much time as possible alone because it gave me a reprieve from pretending I was OK.
I began to purge anything that did not have a meaning or purpose for now.
I burned photos and letters.
I placed trinkets large and small at the base of my driveway for passersby to take.
I disposed of anything no one would want.
When my neighbor asked me why I was “getting rid of all that good stuff” I told her – “it is just stuff. Stuff does not matter. People do.”
I downsized and moved away from what “was” to what I could afford and what fit us “now.”
I did not know what to do with the time that I did not have Casie. I knew she was safe with her dad but we both suffered separation anxiety and I was hiding from people I knew.
I began retaking Barnes seminars and was invited into their envelope of instructors.
In the past, the anonymity of my work and lack of like-minded therapists at home made me feel isolated and divergent.
Now it liberated me.
I was being paid to travel around the country on the weekends I did not have my daughter and I was integrating my work at a much deeper level.
My “seminar years” encompass a time of great exploration. Clawing myself out of depression and finding a new path for my daughter and I brought both rawness and revelation.
In the past I always had one foot on the gas pedal and one on the brake. I was terrified of “losing control.”
During this period, I was acutely aware that I had no control and never did. The containers I held so tightly were bust open and I really had nothing to lose.
I could be whomever I wanted to be “now” because no one knew who I was “then.”
My second realization was that the more I emerged and became “ok,” the more “ok” Casie became. My mirror was her mirror.
It is tempting to detail the experiences of those on the table, both in my clinic and during trainings.
After much soul searching, I realize that doing so is a breach of trust and respect.
Our internal voice and path are sacred.
One of the greatest gifts of my life has been the privilege of walking with others as they summon and reveal the history of their lives however far back that may take them.
Our mind can trip us up, but our body never lies.
Our cells go back through all our generations. They remember moments we have no voice for, either because we can’t form the language to explain them, or they predate our language centers.
Our thoughts are fleeting and imperfect and are subject to influence from outside sources but the cells in our tissue tell a different story because they exist to maintain our survival at the most primitive level.
I have learned that expression of these memories is possible when the therapist “gets out of the way.” By letting go of judgment and not imposing predictions on outcome, the client is free to experience their own truth.
Likewise, the therapist learns what is “their stuff” and what is their “client’s stuff.”
In doing so, the opportunity exists to explore and identify parts of yourself that would otherwise not be identified without this mirror.
We are beings of reaction. Identifying ourselves and individual triggers provide opportunity to respond rather than react.
Our critical mind wants to view our past traumas and events as a movie. A story with a beginning, middle, and end, neatly tied into a conclusion and appropriate action.
Hence the innate difficulty in allowing ourselves to take our brakes off and experience what our bodies have to offer us as a roadmap to healing our past traumas and realizing the patterns we have formed to protect ourselves.
The fight is really between our two minds – our left sided brain which wants to analyze, categorize, reason, discuss, and debate the best solution to problem solving – and our right brain which feels, sees, smells, and experiences the abstract. Our intuitive and creative mind. Our spiritual mind.
Many in our culture feel fear when asked to engage in the right brain. Maybe they think it is esoteric or simplistic or not scientific. As if it lacks validity and demonstrates a sign of weakness.
I have found that learning to access this part of my mind and being a part in helping others do the same has been the very foundation for healing, self-realization, and spiritual growth.
Often it takes great pain to reach a critical mass which allows us to take our brakes off, because in that moment we have nothing to lose. Such was the case for me during an intensive advanced seminar I took on somatoemotional release.
October 1997
The White Buffalo Story
Two young braves. One approached the White Buffalo Calf woman with lust. She turns him to dust.
She rewards the brave that honored her with seven sacred ceremonies and the gift of the pipe – a symbol of prayer.
Without the contrast of being turned to dust there would be no “gift” to the brave of honor.
Look into the dark to see the light. Shadows are the same as reflections in the water.
The center of the storm where we each “see” ourselves thru the filter of circumstance, relive triggers, flex our egos, stretch our boundaries, bump up against each other’s boundaries, find blame and fault, feel insulted or slighted, disrespected, or revered.
It is all just a prism of reflections based on who is looking at the crystal and from what angle.
I am taking my prism and throwing it back to Great Spirit. None of the mirrors are real. I only carry with me my reflection from world to world.
I feel the white buffalo at my back which symbolizes strength, fortitude, courage, and unmovable groundedness.
The White Buffalo Calf Woman was kneeling by the side of a river washing clothes on a rock. She was clearly expecting the arrival of someone and frequently raised her head to the right in hopes of catching a glimpse of this special person. I could feel her purity, naivete, and vulnerability. She was aware of her beauty but was not tarnished by this awareness.
Suddenly there was a noise coming from the direction she previously had been gazing. There was a glow of wonderment, and I could feel how full of hope she was. I had the sense that she was awaiting her “Prince Charming.” Without warning an arrow flew through the air. I felt it strike her in the right side of her neck just below the ear, and knew it sliced all the way through her neck to exit out the left side. I could feel her fall heavily to the ground, where she remained motionless.
Drums began to beat, and I witnessed as the White Buffalo took shape. There was chanting and primitive dancing amongst intermittent firelight. The earth was vibrating under a common beat.
The White Buffalo began taking a defensive posture as if it was cornered and fighting for its life. It reared and snorted. There was massive power and strength. Intense vitality. And then a thunderous crash. As the White Buffalo fell the earth shook with its weight. An arrow pierced the White Buffalo and blood spilled all around and into the earth. A torturous struggle ensued with this massive beast attempting to rise, and falling time and time again, in a thunderous heap.
After trying unsuccessfully to pull the arrow out of the buffalo, stillness was a part of us for a long time. I then found myself chanting and dancing around this still form. I felt my feet become a part of the blood-soaked earth, and my arms were rhythmically chopping the air as if rattling a rattle in time with the drums. Around and around the buffalo we danced and chanted, connecting with a deep central core. A universal heartbeat.
Then the buffalo once again began to struggle to its feet. This time, however, it was like watching Bambi take his first steps. Up the buffalo would go, only to wobble on its gangly legs and fall flat on its face. I giggled and laughed as I watched this clumsy youngster find its feet and run off. Swirling and firelight again, as the White Buffalo Woman lay on what looked like teepees, and kachina-like figures were present in the fire spaces. There was chanting and dancing again. Around and around the body of the White Buffalo Woman, the tribe chanted and danced. Drumming to the universal heartbeat.
They were calling her back into existence, but she was frightened of hearing them. She was confused by their betrayal. She wanted to share her beauty but was speared instead.
She then became a turtle. Carrying a shield on her back and the safety of earth within her, so she could emerge a little at a time.
In a safe environment, in the presence of a virtuous man who could see her beauty and respect her being without expectation, she could emerge for short periods of time, growing and experiencing when it was safe, then hiding in the comforts of her shell when danger appeared eminent.
And so the White Buffalo Woman progressed through childhood and into womanhood. Experiencing the evolution of her sensuality and the depth of her beauty, internal and external, and was able to experience her whole being as an intact entity.
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