Category: Memorable Experiences

These posts are true stories concerning unusual experiences that I have had during my life. I consider these experiences to be unusual because they don’t agree with my understanding of how the world works – each experience left me wondering just how much I know about the world. They have made me question my entire understanding of “reality.” It is my suspicion that we all have these kinds of experiences, but normally we just ignore them as some kind of mental “glitch” – a temporary hiccup in our otherwise logical and consistent flow of experiencing from the world around and within us. For some reason I found these rather odd experiences to be interesting at an early age, so I have always wondered just what they mean, if anything.

Auto accident

Posted on

This event happened during the last week of June while my wife and I were vacationing in South Dakota on the western boarder of the Pine Ridge Reservation.  We were traveling through the Badlands National Park and stopped at a Park Service office to use their facilities and eat our lunch at one of their picnic tables.  The countryside consisted of rolling grasslands for as far as the eye can see.  We were on a rather remote section of highway with very little traffic.

I am standing in the parking lot looking south about 50 feet onto the highway with a “T” intersection to my left.  A stop sign warns the eastbound traffic to stop for the through traffic.

All of a sudden, a car flashes past me going east into the “T” intersection at a speed clearly exceeding the available stopping distance.  The driver is an older man frozen in concentration on the road ahead, apparently realizing that there is no possibility of stopping in time to avoid going through the intersection and into the ditch on the far side.  As I turn to watch the upcoming wreck, I notice a pickup truck entering the intersection heading south.  It is apparent that they were on a collision course, both traveling at approximately 60 MPH and now unable to swerve or stop. 

The driver of the automobile finally applies his brakes, but not in time to have much of an effect.  I clearly see the car crash into the side of the pickup, T-boning it right in the middle of the truck.  There is a great crashing noise with billows of dust and things flying in the air.  I expect to see the car and pickup in the air and a terrible wreck with serious injuries to the occupants of both vehicles.

However, what I actually see leaves me in total amazement.  The pickup continues down the road, up over a little rise in the road, and disappears as if nothing has happened.  Then I look to see what sort of crumpled up car is left behind only to see the car driving out in the field to the east, slowly turning around and heading back toward the road. 

Another guy, who also standing in the parking lot, and I run over to the scene of the “crash” to see what we can do to help the obviously seriously injured occupants of the car.  There is a typical wire and board ranch gate allowing a vehicle to drive into the field from the highway.  It lines up nicely with the road, but is mysteriously intact even though at that moment the car is calmly driving through the field on the other side of the gate. I wonder how the car could have gotten through a closed gate.  The other guy looks at me and shrugs, indicating that he has the same question.  He opens the gate so we can go through to assist the driver and passenger.  As he opens the gate, the driver slowly drives through the gate onto the road and drives south in the direction of the pickup.  The driver doesn’t acknowledge us or say anything, not even a “thank you” for opening the gate for him.  He just drives off down the road with a woman passenger. 

All I can do is just stand there watching them disappear in the distance, dumbfounded, wondering what I had just seen.  I finally explore the ditch to see what I could find.  It is about five feet deep, running parallel to the N-S section of highway.  At the bottom of the ditch is a collection of plastic car parts, including a fender, parts of a bumper, and other odds and ends that got ripped or knocked off of the car.  At the bottom of the ditch is a rectangular, 6-inch deep depression the size of the car, clearly indicating where the bottom of the car impacted the ground with significant force before rebounding up out of the ditch, through the barbed wire fence and out into the field beyond. 

We pick up the car parts and take them back to where the garbage cans are located in the parking lot of the Park Service building; cleaning up the litter from the accident.  I go into the office to notify them that the wreck had torn a hole through the fence and that whoever owned the property to the south should be notified so that their animals, if any, would not get out onto the highway.  The park ranger is quite surprised to find out that there was a wreck.  She said that they have had a lot of problems with those neighbors and won’t be calling them.  After about 15 minutes, the car returns to the parking lot.  The older man gets out, picks up his car parts and then drives off without a word.  This event left me feeling somehow disconnected.  I felt positive that I had witnessed a terrible crash with a car traveling at high speed crashing squarely into the side of a pickup.  However, nothing happened – it felt as if the car passed cleanly through the pickup, much as physics says is possible because of quantum effects.  Obviously, that didn’t happen, but in some way it did happen like that for me.  What I “saw” was a terrible wreck.  The only explanation is that it was a “near miss” – so close in space and time that my mind just made up the difference.  While this easily explains the lack of a major outcome, what isn’t so easily explained is my unmistakable feeling that I had just witnessed a miracle and was somehow in an “alternate universe.”  It was actually quite surreal.  Lots of action and noise, car parts, noise and high speed action filling my world for a split second – but then “nothing.”  The pickup not changing direction or speed, and the car driving calmly off into the grassy field beyond and then just driving away as if nothing had happened.  The event was so rapid, violent and unexpected, that it felt like I was been catapulted into another dimension.  It was as if there was a discontinuity of some sort, and that I was temporarily watching from an unknown, new, vantage point. 

Emily

Posted on

I had an interesting, and rather unsettling, encounter with a young lady named Emily while on vacation in Mexico.  My wife and I had taken a trip to Cabo San Lucas with some of our daughter’s in-laws and family friends. Altogether, we made up a party of 32 people ranging in age from about 25 to about 65 years old.  A mid-winter trip to Cabo had become a bit of a family tradition for my daughter’s in-laws.  They stay in an “all inclusive” hotel for a week.  That pretty much means that there is plenty of food and drink all day long, except when napping.  Even the pool had a swim-up bar so you didn’t have to do more than drift over to that end of the pool to get another drink.  Luckily the drinks were very `weak.

I didn’t expect to enjoy the time there because this sort of vacation doesn’t seem very interesting, but it was actually quite pleasant.  I mainly sat in the shade and read.  We didn’t do much talking with the rest of the folks in the party because they sat in the full sun while (being blonds with very light skin) my wife and I found shady places – thus we spent most of the day in separate locations from the main party.

The hotel had various activities during the evening and into the night.  Generally, we all went our own directions at night – the “kids” went off partying and we “adults” went to our rooms.  On several evenings I would sit by an outdoor fire circle for a couple of hours and talk to other hotel guests.

One of the evenings was karaoke night.  I have never sung karaoke, but I decided to go watch for awhile.  Most of the rest of our party was there, hooting, hollering, and singing their hearts out.  Our group was made up of a bunch of cowboys (actual, honest to goodness cowboys with the boots, hats and big belt buckles as proof) and farmers.  The cowboys got right into the spirit of the event.  They rather dominated the evening, singing solo and in groups – not particularly well, but with a lot of enthusiasm.

Things were rapidly going down hill as the evening wore on until a lovely stranger stepped up to the microphone.  I was pleasantly surprised at her appearance – young, tall, and beautiful.  Then she started to sing and I was blown away!  Her voice was even prettier than she was.  It was an amazing change from the cowboys we had been listening to; she sang loud, beautiful and crystal clear. 

That was an interesting interlude, but soon the guys were back at it again.  I decided that since I was with the group I should play along with them rather than just being a wallflower observer.  I started looking through the list of songs hoping to find something that I might know.  I like music, but seldom pay attention to who is playing or the names of the songs – so it was a bit of a challenge for me to find something that I might be able to sing all the way through.  I decided that I might know some old Beatles songs, so was looking through them when one of the ladies in our group suggested “All You Need Is Love.” The idea was that it is simple and others would join in.  So, I chose that for my introduction to the karaoke game. 

It started off easy enough.  I at least knew the introductory chorus, but it quickly degenerated once I got past the few words that I knew.  All of a sudden I found myself madly trying to read the words on the screen, but getting further and further behind.  Then it dawned on me that there was an abrupt change in vocal range coming up. I remembered that there is an octave or so jump that has to be made.  Well, that was a real problem because I don’t have much of a vocal range.  I have a really deep voice that just kind of hangs around there at the bottom of whatever other people are singing.  I guess you might call it a bass, and a low one at that.  I was already singing an octave above my normal range, so the idea of going even higher was a bit stressful to say the least.  As I was singing along worrying about this shift, it felt a bit like being pushed into a box canyon where I had no way out but would have to jump to the top of the cliff.  I began to feel panic rising in me.

When the time finally came for that shift, a rather odd thing happened – I just jumped for it and went into a falsetto that I had never experienced.  I just gave it all and bang, there I was singing another octave (or maybe two!) above where I had been.  The really weird thing is that I think I might have even been on the correct notes and in key.  Who would have expected such a thing?  Then I noticed that pretty girl, who was sitting next to the stage – watching me.  When I made that jump, her face totally lit up, she broke into the most amazing, and approving, smile that I can recall ever seeing.  She liked it!?  Of course, once I saw her smile I completely forgot where I was in the song and ended up just kind of dribbling out the end.  I don’t even know if I finished the song – probably not.

I just kind of shuffled back to my seat, relieved that I had been a “good sport” and wouldn’t have to repeat the attempt.  Soon the karaoke portion of the night came to an end, and it turned into a dance party.  I was there by myself and really didn’t much feel like dancing, but decided to stick around and watch for awhile.  However, my plans were interrupted when that girl came up and asked me to dance.  I did, but felt pretty self conscious because she was so pretty and I felt out of place and married.  I finally agreed. However, when we stopped dancing she stuck around with me, and we chatted about nothing special – that was when I found out that her name was Emily. 

I then started noticing an interesting activity in the night club.  Several men had also noticed Emily and were making their moves.  They came and got her to dance, but she always came right back to me.  They came and tried all sort of approaches – which I had never seen before, but she was probably totally familiar with.  However, it soon became clear to me that they could do whatever they wanted, but she was with me for the evening.  At one point one of the guys even tried to get me into a fight with him to prove his prowess.  One guy came and talked religious talk, another talked about how much money he had.  Others talked about athletic things.  All were useless; Emily was with me for the night – and I knew it. 

I tried to make sure I mixed in with the rest of our group, not wanting to make it too obvious that I had a beautiful girl being nice to me.  Whenever she went to dance with someone, I would go talk to a friend or mingle – but she always came back and pulled me back out of the crowd.

It was kind of an amazing thing.  I have heard about meeting a soul mate from a past life, and never much paid any attention to it.  However, Emily was like that.  It just felt like she was a good friend from somewhere in the distant past.  We picked up our conversation at a point that felt like it had been going on forever.  There was no feeling of lust (well, not a lot of that at any rate), more of a feeling of great friendship.  When she went to dance with another, or she went off and talked to some other guys, it was obvious that she would be back and that there was no reason to worry about it, or fret. 

Finally it was closing time, and we were standing in the hall with a group of my party.  I realized at that moment that it was over, there was no way that I could continue that into the night – and really didn’t have a need or desire to do so.  She offered to go get some beer she had in her room and continue with the party (which she did with some of the guys) – but I knew that was the end of it for me. I just walked off through the dark and quiet halls to the elevator to return to my room and my wife.    

That was the end of the story, she was gone – but I still have the very strong and rather odd feeling that she is gone “once again.”  I heard that she was up until 5:00 am partying with the boys, still singing as the sun was coming up.  The next day was the day to travel home, so there was no more chance to see her or talk to her any more.  Then, as I was leaving, she was standing next to the pool in her bikini – as pretty as she was the night before.  I went up to her to say goodbye and thank her for the evening.  She just kind of looked blankly at me for a moment, then broke into the same smile as the night before and threw her arms around me in a hug to say goodbye.  She had just put on suntan lotion, so my shirt stuck to her belly – we were momentarily “glued” together.  Then I turned and left for the trip back home.

It has been a couple of years since that night, but there is still a lingering feeling.  There is still a feeling of loss, of having made an important connection of the soul, but it just pulled apart once again.  Maybe we will meet again in yet another life, maybe not.  In any case, she brought an energy and connection that I am not likely to forget. 

I think the most important part of this event to me was a reminder that there is more to being with people than just being with them.  I had been noticing that my connections with people – friends, loved ones, strangers, those I don’t much like – had become somehow “flat” emotionally.  I enjoyed them, and liked to be around them, but there was not much “energy” involved.  For a few years I had been wondering if this was because I had moved further into my Buddhist and Toltec practices so that strong emotions had become dampened, or if it is just a natural thing that comes from growing older.  I wondered if maybe I had somehow become too self-centered to respond to people with strong emotions – love, compassion, interest, hate, disgust and all the rest.  It has been pleasant enough to be a little disconnected from others, but a little lonely too. 

Emily somehow shook me awake again.  I feel like she kind of slapped me around, reminding me to pay attention to energy and emotions, to fully engage in life rather than sit on the sidelines and watch.  Not that I really did that, I usually get engaged in life – but it had become muted.  That night my connection with Emily was certainly not muted!  I was all of a sudden wide awake again.  I am a little melancholy that she was just a vision passing in the night, but am grateful for the experience and reminder. A couple of weeks after this encounter I was driving to town early in the pre-dawn morning when I realized that Emily wasn’t really a stranger to me, it seemed like she was the angel that I had encountered years earlier in an automobile accident (see “Angel Lady”).  As soon as that thought came to mind, the hairs all over my body stood on end – and tears welled up in my eyes.  It seemed that I had recognized the connection, that whoever this lady is – she has been there to help me before.

Dream at the Lake

Posted on

I had a very long and involved dream that wasn’t lucid until at the very end.  The dream played like a movie, but from the point of view of me rather than as a camera watching me.

When the dream started it was the end of spring, the beginning of summer.  I was working as a handyman/owner/manager of a campground located on the edge of a lake used for fishing, swimming, water skiing, etc.  I was cleaning the grounds, working on boats, pumping gas on the boat dock, etc. 

Little by little, important people in my life started showing up.  They arrived in old cars, walked in, hitch hiked, or whatever.  They were all having various problems in their lives, and were looking for something.  Not having a place to go, or money, they came to camp for the summer.  It ended up with about a dozen of these folks (both men and women) who stood out as the “regulars” at the campground, separate from the weekenders who kind of flowed through.

At first we all didn’t necessarily get along all that great, we kept pushing each other’s sensitive places – causing anger and hurt.  However, we gradually became friends, learning where the sensitive places were and helping each other with those areas.  We worked on fixing boats together, cooked and ate meals together; I bought a little old outboard so we could take boat rides on the lake, or just go fishing.  I helped a neighbor who had bought a big, fancy old cabin cruiser that was in terrible shape – with dreams of refurbishing it back into a luxury boat.

We eventually fell in love with each other, completely and thoroughly enjoying one another.  It was so much fun because we were all so different, so quirky, and so full of life.  As we played and worked together people started getting their lives and directions sorted out.  We were all slowly waking up to life that summer.

By the end of summer everyone was anxious to get on with their new-found directions and desires.  They ended up going off in three or four general directions, forming little groups based on that.  As the end of summer approached we started helping the car owners get their cars up and running again. We bought gas, fixed tires, repaired transmissions, etc.  One girl decided to take a bus, most were riding in the cars.

Finally the day of departure came and they all climbed into their selected transportation with great laughter and joy.  Everyone was so happy and full of adventure.  They drove out the driveway laughing and waving.  I was standing on the road watching them go, knowing that the loves of my life had just driven down the road into their bright and wonderful futures. 

I heard footsteps behind me, and turned half hoping that someone has stayed behind to play with me.  However, it was just a weekend girl camper who walked by me without a glance. 

At that moment I woke in my dream, which became lucid and I knew that I had just witnessed one of the ongoing stories in my life.  I thought, “this has been an interesting dream, it was put together just like a movie – and in fact would make a good movie.”  I then walked back to the dock, right where I was when the dream started.  I felt melancholy because my friends had gone away, joyful that they were off on great adventures, and blessed that I had the opportunity to spend part of my life with them in love and joy. 

I then realized that this is how life goes.   We are doing something kind of mundane activity, then magic happens for awhile, but then the magic is over and we are back on our path.  It is sometimes frightening to think about losing the joy of the magic, but the magic is always worthwhile, these are the times that make life all worthwhile.

Spirit in the Sweat lodge

Posted on

This is a story about my first sweat lodge ceremony with some Native American friends who showed up at my door during the summer of 2007.  We had met a few times when they called and invited me to attend a sweat lodge ceremony to be held on the coming weekend, starting at 8:00 am and going until that evening.   They invited me to a sweat at one of their homes. 


The first thing that struck my eye was that the lodge had a different shape than the one I have in my back yard.  It was made of tied willows like mine, but much bigger.  They commented on how big it was, so I guess that it is larger than normal.  It was approximately five feet tall, and twelve or so feet in diameter.  The shape was a little bit like a flattened pumpkin.  The ends of the willow sticks making the structure of the lodge came out of the ground angled away from the center and then bent back over the top.  This made the walls lean back when on the inside so you not only could sit up straight, but you could lean back on them in a semi-reclining fashion.  That was an improvement to comfort over my lodge which leans inward from the ground up, making it impossible to sit up straight next to the wall.   The main structure was round like ours, but had two sets of four main sticks going parallel in the east-west and north-south directions, forming a square made up of nine squares of about a foot on a side at the top, with one square right in the middle.  Then there were two circumferential sticks to hold it together, just as we do.  They tied it all together with a natural fiber twine, and had no special colors at the connections.  The lodge was made light tight and insulated by covering it using old blankets, with a final layer of old canvas on the outside.  The door consisted of an opening with a large flap that could be opened or closed as desired.  The door opening was pretty large; you could walk in and out stooped over rather than crawling like you do with ours.  The large door opening allowed the lodge to cool down quickly between rounds of sweating, which was a relief.  The door opening was on the east side of the lodge.


The fire was in a large pit dug about ten feet away, due east from the door.  The pit was over two to three feet deep, six to eight feet in diameter, with steep vertical walls.  Once the fire was going the line between the fire and the lodge became sacred and could only be crossed by the fire tender.  If you wanted to get to the other side, you had to go around the lodge.  The rocks were volcanic, from nearby Mt. Lassen.  They were much larger than ours, in fact about as large as you could pick up with a pitch fork.  They ranged from about seven inches to ten inches or so in diameter.  The pit in the center of the lodge was much larger than ours to accommodate the larger rocks.  There was an altar consisting of a little hill in front of the door, to the north side of the line between the pit and the fire.  It held sacred objects – feathers, special jewelry and other things.

While the rest of us were busy putting on the covering, setting up the altar, setting up the covering and stuff, the singer assembled a water drum.  He used a cast iron cooking kettle with three legs for the body of the drum.  The kettle was about nine inches in diameter.  He filled it about 1/3 full of water and soaked a round piece of tanned hide in it to wet and soften the hide.  He used seven white, one-inch diameter round pebbles to help tie the hide to the top of the kettle.  He wrapped the hide around a marble, wrapped the tie rope around the hide to hold the marble and then went to the next marble. When he was done he had seven hide wrapped marbles tied around the perimeter holding the stretched hide onto the top of the kettle.  He then took the long end of the tie rope and went from the center of section of rope between the marbles, pulled it under the kettle and around a leg, then back up to the next section of rope between marbles.  When he was all done he had pulled the hide taught with ropes (using a piece of antler as a handle) crossing around the legs and under the kettle.  He tied it very tight, using his foot on the rope to get enough tension.   The drum was played by hitting it with a stick that was about a half inch in diameter and a foot long.  Once in awhile while playing it he would tip the kettle so that water wet the hide again, making a really neat change in tone.  This drum works only when wet, perfect for use inside of the sweat lodge where it is too humid to keep a normal drum taut.  As the ceremony went along, the water would evaporate and during the breaks the drummer would pour more water into the kettle, right though the surface of the hide – it just poured in like it was through a piece of cloth.   The drum would also lose air.  The drummer periodically stopped and blew air through the hide into the drum to fill it up again. 

Earth Mother

Posted on

I was invited to an all-night Native American ceremony held in a teepee on the night of a full moon.  The site selected for the ceremony was in the mountains of Northern California, not too far from the snowcapped Mount Shasta.  There were about 25 people in attendance, sitting on the ground in a circle facing the fire in the center of the teepee.  These ceremonies are an opportunity to spend the night singing, praying, and talking about emotional or physical ailments that could use some medicine and healing.

During the middle of the night during the ceremony, nature called so I went outside to relieve myself and to stretch my aching legs after sitting for several hours on the dirt facing the hot and bright fire in the center of the teepee.  When I got outside I found it to be a marvelous and beautiful scene.  The ceremony was being held in a large green meadow, surrounded by a dense pine forest.  The night was crystal clear, with a gorgeous full moon lighting up the surroundings.  The teepee glowed a mellow orange color, showing the outlines of people’s shadows as they continued the songs as I enjoyed the view and peaceful mood.

After a while I noticed a girl coming toward me across the meadow.  I had noticed her earlier in the teepee, but hadn’t seen her leave.  She must have taken a break about the same time that I did.  She was coming toward me in a way that made it obvious that she was going to give me a hug.  I am normally a great fan of hugs, but in this case I was hesitant because I had judged her to be a hippy, nature girl who would likely have body smells that I wouldn’t find pleasing.  She was very nice looking, but dressed in the clothes of the Northern California hippy earth mothers.  I enjoy talking to these hippy people, but sometimes their odor can get pretty overpowering.

In this case I decided that I had no choice, so I just resigned myself to the experience.  When we embraced in a big hug I first noticed that I was correct, she smelled “natural” without the normal chemical perfume smells that I had grown used to in town.  However, it wasn’t a bad smell – just different.  As I stood there contemplating the aroma, I noticed that I could detect the smells of her kitchen.  She smelled like freshly ground whole wheat, herbs and natural things from the forest.  It was very intoxicating in an interesting way, it made me think that she smelled like people are supposed to smell. It caught my attention and forced me to feel our humanity.

My imagination turned to what it must have been to live with native people who didn’t have any access to the soaps, deodorants, and perfumes so prevalent in our society.  I found that I really liked the experience.  I started to feel like I was connected to this lady in an oddly energetic way, we seemed to form a single entity.  That feeling of unity seemed to spread out from us into the field, then into the forest and nearby river.  Finally, it felt like I was physically connected to the entire world and all of humanity.  It was a really peaceful, powerful, and all-encompassing experience of the oneness of myself, that lady and all of nature.  There were no boundaries or divisions – just peace and an overwhelming feeling of love.  Not love for the girl, or lust, or anything like that. Rather, it was a pure and simple physical feeling inside of me of love – not of being in love, but being love. 

I have no idea how long we stood like that in the meadow; probably not very long.  I also have no idea if she experienced anything like I did, it didn’t seem appropriate or necessary to ask her.   There was a little break in the music that was an indication that we could enter and rejoin the group.   We both went back to our original positions among the others.

The rest of the night continued to be a joy for me.  The feeling of bliss and love stayed strong through that night, and through the next week.  For the first time, I spent the rest of the night with absolutely no pain or discomfort.  I was perfectly content to just sit and listen to the songs and prayers, adding mine when appropriate.  When the sky started to lighten, indicating the approach of dawn, I felt a little disappointment that it soon would be over and I would soon be back to “normal” – rather than sitting in the incredible state of blissful connectedness with the universe.

A few hours later, during the traditional noon feast, I found time to chat with that girl and tell her how her hug had turned the night around for me, and thank her for doing so.  I also mentioned that I was disappointed that the experience was bound to dissipate in due time and probably won’t happen again.  She smiled nicely, and said that the feeling might go away, until she comes to find me again someday.   I wonder in what future lifetime that might happen.

Spiritual Burial

Posted on

The weekend had been set aside to perform an all-night Native American Church ceremony on my property.  However, as I looked more into that I got “cold feet” because of the use of Peyote in the ceremony.  Not that I have a problem with the Peyote, but because of the legal implications of having a bunch of people over to my house to use an illegal drug.  The Indians have certain exemptions for its use, but it wasn’t clear to me that I would be protected by those exemptions.  However, since my Toltec friends and I had already set the time aside we decided to perform a Mother Earth healing ceremony instead.

The ceremony was to be a burial event where we would spend the night in shallow “graves.”  Our first task was to dig the graves.  We each picked out a spot and dug a long, shallow hole just big enough to lie down in and turn over in the night.  The dirt was hard clay soil and rather difficult to dig.  There were no rocks, but the dirt needed to be loosened with a pick, or a lot of hard effort on the shovel.  The hole was a whole lot more difficult to dig than it would have been when I was 50!  This was the first major lesson of the night, my body is changing and I will no longer be able to do things as easily as I had in the past.

We were supposed to have written a “will” before the event, which I forgot to do.  The will was not something about how to distribute goods after death, but rather a thing telling those that are left behind what we wanted to tell them, but never did.  It was to be in the form of thank you notes, apologies, or whatever else seemed right.  I worked on mine in my head while I dug the hole. I came up with some things concerning my children and my wife about how I have been ignoring them, or at least not giving them the attention and showing them my love in a way that I would have liked. 

We finally got our holes dug, and covered them with boards, covering the boards with dirt so that we could be entirely enclosed in the earth.  This took us most of the afternoon; the set up was done just before sunset.  We sat in a field and watched the sun go down, meditating as the sun set.  While doing this we were to meditate upon what we wanted to let die in our graves and what we wanted to allow to be re-born in the morning.

One of my current problems at that time was associated with my making assumptions about why people do what they do, and then acting on those assumptions as if they were somehow real.  This had been bothering me because it so often results in my doing inappropriate things in response, and just makes the whole issue of being clear with others that much more difficult.  Inevitably the other person does the same, making assumptions about what I am thinking in order to act the way that I do.  We just keep spinning further and further apart. 

Because of this, what I wanted to let die was my habit of making assumptions about what others are thinking and acting on those assumptions as if they are the truth.  I might make some tentative guesses, but need to check them out before I think I know the truth.  I intended to be reborn with the ability to just let them be without making the assumptions.  I want to respond to what I actually see rather than what I imagine.

The four us who were to be “buried” oriented our holes in the four directions, with a fire at the center.  Bob was toward the north, Lauren to the east, Adriana to the south and I was in the west.  Everyone but me put their heads away from the fire; I aligned my head to the east – toward the fire.  My Native American friend, Irvine, later said that I had done the right thing.  Apparently there can be problems with sleeping with your head toward the west.

As dark came upon us, we started the fire and got ready for our night in the earth.  We each had sleeping bags, and the men had “pee bottles.”  I don’t know what Adriana planned on doing about that.  Adriana wanted to know what we should wear.  Ramin answered that the appropriate attire was as we were born since we would be “re-born” in the morning.  She wasn’t willing to do that so she changed into some sort of long sleeping garb.  I think the problem had more to do with lying with bugs than with being shy about being naked in the hole in the earth.  My choice was to wear only my underwear because I was concerned that otherwise it would get too warm.


A couple of the others were nervous about getting claustrophobic. I was confident that I wouldn’t have this reaction because I have always liked being in closed, confined spaces. That kind of situation seems to put me into a sound sleep.  I fully expected to sleep well that night.

It was finally time to crawl into our holes.  We each crawled into the space under the boards and Ramin covered the rest with dirt, leaving a small slit open at the head end for air.  I found that I was very sleepy.  Once we were all settled in, Ramin started to drum.  His job for the night was to sit up and watch over us, protecting us – helping if we needed help, keep; the fire burning – and drumming.  I heard very little of the drumming because almost as soon as he started I fell asleep. 

Some time later (I don’t know when because I didn’t have a clock), I woke up feeling like I was suffocating.  I started to panic, wanting to get out of my hole – but I couldn’t because I was covered with too much dirt to move.  I was hot, sweaty and breathing hard.  I crunched up closer to the air slit and decided that it was probably safe – even though I was still claustrophobic and wanted out.  I finally managed to relax myself again, and decided that I would just have to wait it out. 

The first bug to visit me crawled into my ear.  I tried to get it out, but it just went deeper.  When I tried to get it with my finger, it started going around and around inside of my ear canal.  That got my attention for a long time.  It finally either crawled back out, or stopped moving.  In either case, it stopped “bugging” me.  I was on top of my sleeping bag instead of inside of it because it was too hot and humid to stay inside.  Things started crawling over me.  It felt like spiders or something small moving the hairs on my legs.  They were too light to actually feel them walking on me, but I could definitely follow them because I could feel them in my body hair.  I thought about swatting them, but since I really couldn’t reach down because of the cramped space, I decided to just let them be – wondering if they were going to bite.

After a bit I got pretty thirsty, so I reached around to get my water bottle to get a drink.  As I did so, my arm cramped.  The sharp pain made me straighten it and hope that the cramp would go away.  It finally did and I found a way to use the other arm to get the water bottle.  However, it really started to worry me because I sometimes get really strong leg cramps that demand that I stand and walk on the leg to get the pain to go away.  I started to worry about what would happen if I got a big leg cramp.  This put me back into the claustrophobic mind set once again.  About that time my leg did start to cramp as if on cue.  I managed to get it positioned to let the cramp subside, knowing that I would have to be very careful about what position that I got into. 

After awhile I noticed that Adriana was up with Ramin. Apparently she had decided that she had enough time in the hole.  I rather envied her courage to just give in instead of stubbornly staying in the hole.  I could see a tiny bit of what was going on through my air slit.  Pretty soon she went to bed in her sleeping bag next to the fire, and Ramin resumed his vigil sitting and keeping the fire burning. 

After successfully peeing in my bottle while lying on my side, I started to think about what it must be like for people who are trapped in a collapsed building or that little girl who fell down the well shaft.  Those people would really have to find a mind place where they could just let it be.  Otherwise it would be absolute terror.  Being trapped and unable to move would be terrible.  I was not really trapped because I knew I could get out, and I could move; but it was still pretty scary. I spent a lot of time imagining how it would be to be trapped like that.  It was funny, but those thoughts brought me comfort.  I had it easy, what was I being so upset about?  All I had to do was relax and things would be just fine.  I finally did relax and fell back to sleep for awhile.  

The next thing that I was aware of was the rising sun streaming through my breathing slit into my hole.  It was really wonderful to all of a sudden be bathed in the light, and it felt like I was awakening again.  Maybe I even felt a little like being re-born.  It filled me with peace and comfort.  Pretty soon Ramin came by and unearthed me, so I could slide back out into the world and enjoy the new morning.  

Once we were all out and stretching, we did some little ceremonies and then filled our holes back in again. I wanted to go get the tractor to push the dirt back in, but Ramin said that part of the ceremony was in filling up the holes.  He was right, it was an important step – but it was once again painful and tiring.

I am still wondering what that night brought to me.  Was it an actual “rebirth”? Or was it just a long, uncomfortable night?  Did I learn something important?  How will I know?

What does it mean to “be a man”?

Posted on

A few years ago I went to a Toltec “Summer Celebration” weekend retreat.  I have attended these kinds of events several times in the past few years, and always come home with a new understanding of something that I didn’t realize I didn’t understand.  This was to be the case again.

I managed to get tied up in traffic on the way to the retreat center, so showed up a bit late – and was told that I should join the ongoing “men’s group” taking place on the grass near the dry creek near the meeting rooms.  I usually avoid “men’s group” activities because I find that they are often too exclusionary and unbalanced in their approach and discussions.  However, in the spirit of participating in whatever came my way for the weekend, I joined and participated as much as I could without dominating the conversations (one of my personal faults). 

The main points being discussed were how we came to our personal understanding of what it means to be a man.  There were a lot of interesting stories of growing up with stern fathers, absent fathers, weak fathers, and fathers like mine who participated, but with a very clear separation of male-female roles.  I explained that I learned a lot about how to be a “man” from my mother.  She would take the time to discuss the topic and to point out examples of what she meant.  I found this quite helpful since my father was not one for talking about anything personal.  He would talk freely about all sorts of “man things” such as fishing or boat building, but not about how he felt unless it was when he was in a rage, and all that came across then was that he was angry.

I found the stories to be interesting, but not particularly captivating, so I just sat back and let my mind wander.  It wandered to a place of new insight.  As I sat on the grassy hill in the shade of an oak tree, I slowly came to understand that I was taught that there is a clear-cut, and strict, demarcation between men’s and women’s responsibilities with regard to family life and relationships.  Men work and bring home the money.  Men do the “manly chores” involving tools and heavy labor.  They are also the ultimate disciplinarians. Mom would say things like, “if you don’t do so and so I will tell your father when he gets home.”  The threat of stern action and possible violence was obvious.  This rarely occurred because the threat worked for me.  Women tend the yard, fix the meals, take care and play with the kids, socialize the kids, deal with kids and school issues, keep track of household budgets, and bring whatever beauty there is into the house.  The list of male and female tasks is quite long, but had very little overlap in my family.

As I sat there thinking about this and my relationship with my wife and children I realized that I had agreed with it implicitly.  What I had been taught was so obviously true that it didn’t even rise to the point of requiring consideration or discussion.  How else could it be?  Listening to the other men in the group describe their upbringing made it clear that there are an infinite number of ways that it could be, my way was just one in a sea of possibilities. 

I have always felt that I had somehow transcended my strict male-female role upbringing.  I do many things that my father categorized as “women’s work.”  This includes things like changing diapers (although I avoid this with my grandsons), washing dishes, ironing clothes, food shopping, cleaning toilets, etc.  I also do the manly tasks of making the bulk of the family income, working on cars, cutting firewood, mowing lawns and building fences.  Because I find myself doing these “cross-gender” tasks, I felt that I was somehow a “liberated” man – and my wife is a liberated woman because she also shares by doing many of the “manly” tasks.  We were a balanced family, each sharing the tasks as they came up.

However, as I sat and looked more closely at my life, I came to understand that while I did these womanly tasks, I did them to “help” my wife with her work.  I did them, but I didn’t “own” them.  They weren’t my jobs; they were her jobs.  I was generous enough to assist, but expected a “thank you” in return and maybe even a little bonus such as a special meal, back rub, or some personal time off.  When she helps by doing the male tasks, I felt the same – she was doing me a favor and needed a special “thanks” or something in return – often in the form of an exchange of tasks.

How odd I thought; all of these years I had been thinking that I was sharing the tasks with my wife, only to find out that I was just helping out. In reality I was still following and agreeing with the divisions that my parents had taught me in the early 50’s based upon what they had been taught when they were young during the ‘20s. 

It became clear to me that the tasks to be done are both of ours, not hers and mine unless we have specifically decided to divide some for our own personal reasons.  I feel like I have shifted my understanding of the male-female roles in our family, but will have to wait and see how much has actually changed and how much remains the same.  I don’t know if I will be able to shift my point of view and fully take on the jobs as truly shared responsibilities, but I do know that I will now recognize them as old agreements when they come up.  At least I am now in a position to better see and understand what I am doing when I am doing it.

These revelations brought an understanding of my intent for the weekend into clear focus.  I realized now that for me the purpose of the weekend retreat was to explore the relationship between my wife and myself, to get a better understanding of how we interact and what expectations I bring to our marriage.  I got a vague understanding of this purpose as I said goodbye to her on Friday morning.  It seemed that her attitude was one of resentment and feeling that I was doing something very selfish to leave her at home for the weekend while I went off to play with my Toltec friends.  There was of course some truth to this judgment, but there is also the truth that I am trying to find my path in my life, and share what I find with her.  While I am being selfish with my studies, I also see that what I am learning is helping our relationship in many ways – hopefully, there is also a mutually beneficial aspect to my studies. 

When “breakout sessions” were announced on the following day, I elected to join a group that was discussing relationships, including marriages.  The group was composed of couples, and myself.  I was a “couple” in my mind that weekend since I was specifically focused on that issue. 

The group started off a little slowly with everyone wondering what to say and how to start.  I decided to bring up my concern of the weekend, which was that I was being confused about how to follow my spiritual path while maintaining a solid relationship with my wife, considering that her preference is to not join me in my “fun and games” in group work.  I honor her desire to not join me (maybe in large part because she doesn’t want to interfere with what I am doing), knowing that she is progressing along her path side-by-side with me in her own way.  However, I have problems with feeling guilty about leaving her behind, and that she lets me know that it is her opinion that I am being selfish in doing so.

The first response to my concern was from a guy who I had judged to be a silent watcher, rather than a talker.  He told me that it sounded to him like we didn’t communicate enough.  He described a process that he and his wife do once a week.  He called it their “sacred hour.”  The crux of it is that once a week they set aside an hour to be with each other. One person talks for 20 minutes, uninterrupted by the other; then they switch; then they dialogue about whatever comes up for the final 20 minutes.  He said it was a powerful tool for allowing each to think of what they want to say to the other, and the other to just sit back and listen without having to think of a response.

The leader of the group then made the recommendation that when I get home to ask my wife what she did while I was gone.  My immediate reaction is that of course I would do that, I always ask her about what she did while I was gone.  However, in this instance I just accepted that recommendation and waited to see what else would unfold during the weekend.  There were a lot of other events of interest, but no more that seemed to specifically address my concerns.

On the way home I continued to think about communicating and letting my wife tell me what she had done, rather than trying to have a discussion with her.  I remembered all of those times when people have exclaimed how important it is to “listen,” “listen actively,” “pay attention” and other phrases indicating that there was some way to listen “harder” than I normally do.  I have never been able to figure out how to do that because I already listen as hard as I can.  I try to hear what is being said, try to line it up with my experiences so I can maybe “feel” what it feels like to be saying what they are saying and try to figure out how to respond in a meaningful and compassionate way.  I don’t know how to do this any harder, or with more intent.

Then it dawned on me.  I realized that I was listening so “hard” that I wasn’t listening at all!  My normal listening style is that I let the speaker talk a little bit until I think I understand where they are headed (which is often correct, but also often incorrect). Then I start thinking about myself in an attempt to find something in my life that is similar so that when I respond it is with empathy and understanding.  At that point I kind of stop listening carefully, rather I begin thinking (about myself).  My wife often tells me how rude this is, but I don’t get it because I am trying my hardest to be the total opposite of rude, I am trying to be attentive, empathetic and compassionate. It seemed what is missing is honor and respect, honoring the other by allowing them to fully express themselves before I once again start thinking of myself.

I decided to try an experiment when I got home.  I decided to hold the image of honoring my wife while letting her explain to me what she had done and how her weekend went.  I decided not to try to do anything, just honor her.  When I got home, she spent a couple of hours telling me about her weekend; I spent a couple of hours just letting her talk about all that had gone on.  When she seemed satisfied that she had said what she wanted to say, I asked if she would be interested in hearing about my weekend – which she was.  I told her about the important things that had transpired and then we just talked for a bit.  It felt like all of the anger, jealousy and disrespect had melted away from her, and the guilt had gone from me.

I then got one of the shocks of my life. She said that I had just done one of the most romantic things that I had ever done for her!!!  Romantic? Wow, that was the last thing that I thought I was doing.  I thought I was just honoring her as an equal, a partner and a friend.  In fact, it immediately turned my entire understanding of the term “romantic” on its head.  I have always thought that being romantic was something I had to work at, but never had a clue about how to do it.  I would buy flowers, candy, take my lady friends to dinner and a show, all in the hopes of being “romantic.”  I was confused because none of these things seem to end up being “romantic.”  Fun – maybe.  Flattering – possibly.  Expensive – usually.  Romantic – never.  The romantic thing seems to be to honor a woman by letting her express herself, and then to respond to her, rather than to myself.  This seems simple enough, but I apparently missed the point for the past sixty or so years.

Since then I have been remembering to keep my mind in a place of honoring those that I am talking to, and find that it feels so much better.  It takes the work out of listening, letting me just enjoy them and respond in ways that are guided by them.   Of course, I still slip up now and then, finding myself back in my old habits – but I notice them and try to just relax and let it be.   

Beside myself at Puno

Posted on

Out of body experiences are a popular subject these days.  Normally they seem to occur following near-death traumas, but can happen at other times. I have read that it might be common during hypoxia.  Given the high altitude of Lake Titicaca, mild hypoxia seems like a possible explanation for the following experience. I wasn’taware of the other symptoms of hypoxia while this experience of being beside myself was occurring, but it seems possible.  Knowing that there might be a medical “cause” for this does nothing to lessen the feelings involved.  I think the medical community would very much like to find rational explanations for these types of “spiritual” events that happen from time-to-time.  They are clearly not happy with the idea that there might be more to life, and death, than they can account for.  In any case, the experience happened and it was oddly comforting – even if it was caused, or allowed to happen, because of the high elevation.

I was on an adventure/spiritual trip with some Toltec friends to the high mountains of Peru.  We were visiting the regions around Cusco, Machu Picchu, and Lake Titicaca. The Toltec tour leaders had worked with don Miguel Ruiz for many years.  The tour “guide” was a gentleman from the Lake Titicaca area who was a very spiritual man (shaman), author, and hotel owner.  His personal teacher is a very old “shaman” from the area.  We stayed at his hotels in Cusco and Lake Titicaca.  On most days, the very old shaman squatted on the floor in the lobby of the hotel keeping a watchful eye on our group. He wore a traditional brightly colored shawl, hat and other clothing of the Incas.

The high elevation seemed to be having an effect upon me, especially once we got much above about 12,000 feet.  It obviously impacted my stamina and ability to breathe; just a small exertion and I would be huffing and puffing, forcing me to stop often to catch my breath.  Luckily, I didn’t get altitude sickness or anything like that; I just found that I was out of breath much of the time. 

On the flight to Peru I met a nice lady who grew up in Lima.  She had a lot of advice for me concerning what to do, where to go, and what to eat.  Her last, and most adamant, advice was to avoid Lake Titicaca.  She said it was far too high; almost everyone gets sick from the altitude.  She said that the weather was awful, it was too hard to get around, and there was nothing to see or do.  Her aunt had made the trip and warned her not to go.  This prepared my mind for a difficult and unpleasant adventure.  Of course, toward the end of our trip to Peru we went to experience Lake Titicaca.

We flew into the Puno airport located on the northwest side of the lake.  Since I didn’t have any maps, or see any maps, I really had no clear idea of where we were.  From the airport to the town where our hotel was located was a fairly long bus trip across a beautiful high plateau. The plateau was almost flat; ringed by high snow-covered mountains.  There were a few trees scattered about here and there, but mostly it was just gently rolling grassland set under a light blue sky.  Puffy clouds cast dark shadows as they drifted across the landscape.

We traveled across this plateau as evening approached.  The sun was low in the sky and there were many beautiful clouds overhead.  I thought we were headed south (which means we were probably going north since we were on the “other” side of the equator).  The light was totally transfixing to me.  There was something new about the color and feel of the light.  The difference was nothing that I can describe in simple terms such as “bluer” or “redder” than usual.  Rather, it was more of a “feel” of clarity or purity.  It felt like the air and the sky were not as “dense” as I am used to (which in fact was the case since we were above 13,000 feet elevation).  We traveled past scattered homes and saw round Peruvian ladies in many petticoatted skirts and Bowler hats along with their children tending their fields with their oxen. 

I was sitting next to the window by myself, just enjoying the scenery as it passed by the window.  The others on the bus were excited and chatting away.  I was in a quiet mood, happy to just sit and take in the view and feel of the place. 

After a half hour or so of traveling we were past the city and then the little villages.  Finally we were crossing open country.  It was at about this time that I first noticed that something had happened to me.  I realized that I felt strangely “empty” – it felt like it was just me, without my body.  I felt somehow clearer and fresher – a little like the countryside that we were traveling through.  Then I realized with surprise that I was not only clearer and fresher, but the “center” of “me” was no longer aligned with the center of my body.  It felt like I was sitting next to myself, rather than within myself.  There was a distinct separation in space between my body that feels and touches things and the center of my consciousness that thinks and feels emotions.  At first this was a bit disconcerting.  I wondered if I was having some weird reaction to the altitude, or that I might actually be ill.  I gently tried to realign myself with my body, but to no avail.  I guessed that if I were to do something dramatic, such as standing up, the two would have coalesced immediately.  However, since the feeling was so pleasant I really didn’t want to do that.  I was quite comfortable just drifting next to myself, enjoying the trip and the beauty of the place.  This feeling of calm separateness went on for many miles.  I just sat there next to myself, enjoying the feeling, with no desire to interrupt the feeling, or change it.  It was as if I was suspended in the quiet of space, immersed in a sea of sound and motion and sights.  I was there, but not really there.  It is difficult to describe the state of totally quiet observance, not even interrupted by being within my body.  It felt like I could drift like that forever without becoming anxious or bored – I was just in peace.

All good things come to an end.  We finally got across the plateau and started down a bluff to the shore just as dark came upon us.  By the time that we got to the next bit of civilization it was so dark that all that I could see were the lights of houses, outlining a dark void which I assumed was a bay on the lake.  My attention was then drawn more forcefully to the surroundings, the talking of others about our destination – I was back in my body and lost the feeling of floating in peace.  My feeling was one of thanks to this beautiful place for being so open and gentle to me.  I felt as if I had been welcomed to the place and was at home with the mountains, clouds and lake.

Lucid Dreams

Posted on

A week in December of 2006 was a week of vivid lucid dreams for me.  Two of these dreams stand out enough to get included in my dream journal.

The first dream started as a normal enough, although a rather odd, dream.  Since it was just a normal dream at this point, I don’t recall where we were going, or why.  About all that I can recall is that she was driving, the road was dirt and rough we were high on the side of a steep mountain, and the vehicle was a four-wheeled rig of some sort. 

We stopped at a service station in a small mountain town, pulling up in front of an old fashioned general store. Carrie went into the store to get something, I stayed in the car.  While I was waiting, I decided to get out and stretch my legs.  As I walked around the car I noticed that the wheels had been removed.  The car was sitting up on blocks, and there were just brake drums and disk brakes where there should have been wheels. At first I started to get worked up to find out who had “stolen” our wheels, but then it dawned on me that it was so bizarre that I had to be dreaming.  At that point I “woke” up in the dream.

While I was standing there contemplating what to do now that I was in a lucid dream, Carrie came out of the store.  I called to her to come have a look at the car and wheel problem.  She started to fuss about in normal dream mode, but I suggested to her that she settle down and take advantage of the opportunity to practice with me in my dream.  Her response was that it couldn’t be a dream, because if it were she would be aware of it.  I stuck out my hands and asked her to do the same as a test.  We both could plainly see that I had too many fingers, the extra fingers on my hands being a sure indication that we were in a dream.  Her hands looked normal, so I suggested to her that she might need to find another means of determining when she is dreaming.

We talked about the odd state of affairs for awhile, and I then pointed out that during our waking time she had expressed interest in learning about lucid dreaming.  I said that this was a great time to do some practices, which we then proceeded to do.  We decided to do a few dreaming exercises.  One of the first was to move about using intent.  We settled on a place just outside of town as our target and “intended” ourselves to the new place.  (This practice is a way to move without moving.)  We focused our intent on moving to this new place, and then we were there.  We practiced a bit with more moving around, with observing the details of some of the things that were there, and other mundane activities.  Mainly, it was just a practice of learning to more fully observe our surroundings while in a dream.  We then decided it was enough for our first time practicing together, gave each other a nice hug, and said goodbye.  I then woke up. 

The second lucid dream of the week was with my older (dead) brother.  I hadn’t dreamt of him for several years, so was surprised to run into him again.  In this dream he appeared to me while I was working in the back yard of my place.  We shook hands and made a little small talk.  It was nice to see him and talk a bit, but I finally got curious and asked why he was visiting me this time.  I told him that I thought he had gone when our mother had died.  He said that he did, but that he was missing working on things.  He said that he came by to ask if I would fix up my barn/shop a bit so that he could come by and work with me now and then.  He said that he wouldn’t be a bother to me, but that he would enjoy just working along with me now and then.  I told him that I planned on improving the shop anyway, and that he was more than welcome to come by and play if he would like to do that.

Then I woke up from this dream into yet another dream.  The location of the new dream was the same as the first one in my back yard, but in the new dream I was talking to a friend/neighbor Mark telling him that I had been talking to my brother and that I was looking forward to working with him.  We chatted a bit about that for awhile until I said, “Oops, that is going to be a problem, I had forgotten that my brother is dead.”  Mark said that sounded like a problem all right, but maybe something would come of it anyway.  I then woke up in my bed.

These are just a couple of odd little dreams. I don’t know if they were just goofy dreams, or if there is something about reality tied to them.  At the time I believed that these two people (Carrie and my brother) were actually with me in my dreams.  Of course dreams do that, so there is probably no special significance to either of them other than that these folks and activities were on my mind. 

To Succeed – Stop Trying

Posted on

In 2006 I received notification of a “power journey” with the Toltec nagual don Miguel.  The trip was to include several Yucatan peninsula pyramids, especially Chichén Itzá.  I had wanted to visit these pyramids for a long time, so I signed up for the trip.  I tried to convince my wife to go along with me on this tour, but she wasn’t interested.  I ended up going by myself.

As the day of the trip grew closer, I started to worry that I had signed up for a “tourist trip” rather that a power trip. However, I finally decided that any trip was going to be interesting, and if it is just a tourist thing, so be it.

I was very pleased to discover that my fears were unfounded; it was indeed a “power journey” with don Miguel, his son, daughter-in-law and several Toltec teachers.It turned out to be a marvelous time with a whole new group of strangers from all over the world. I found that I was blessed with joining a group of very spiritual and fun loving people. Once again, I had worked myself up into a worry that was totally unfounded – I was glad that I had decided to stop worrying and just go with the flow.

While it was a great trip, not a lot of overt “magic” took place as is sometimes the case with don Migual.  We had fun touring the sites, thoroughly enjoyed each other’s company and had great discussions with Miguel and the others – but I didn’t have visions or experience other interesting spiritual events.  I enjoyed visiting the ball courts, various pyramids, and the peninsula, but it wasn’t really a life changing experience.  However, I did have one very important epiphany on that trip that has changed the way that I think about much of what I do.

Chichén Itzá is a restored pyramid ceremonial complex that was built more than a thousand years ago by the joint efforts of the Mayans and the Toltecs.  It has been cleared out from the lush green, jungle-like surroundings. The days of our visit were warm and comfortable, with clear blue skies. 

Our tour of about thirty people broke up into two groups, a men’s group and a women’s group to do some spiritual “work.”  The men’s group was led by a teacher who instructed us in meditation, becoming centered and similar activities.  He did a good job and was interesting, but since I had been working on these kinds of things for the past forty years I really didn’t find anything particularly new.  While there wasn’t anything “new” in his teachings, the location certainly was new to me.  It was beautiful sitting under the big shade tree next to the base of Chichén Itzá, listening to the lessons and watching the people in the large grassy area around the pyramid.  The day was a beautiful warm day in a magical location, enjoyed with loving people.  I just settled in to enjoy the experience.

After resting for awhile in the shade the tree, we were asked to walk by ourselves around the pyramid, stopping at each side to contemplate whatever came up.  I walked around the first two sides, mainly in awe of the work and workmanship evidenced by the structure.  I found it amazing that the builders had gone to so much effort, at such as huge expense, to build – what?  Is it more than just a big pile of stones?  Obviously this thing had a great utility in their lives, but what could it have been?

As I walked along I started to wonder if there was something that I needed to know that I might learn in this place.  I recalled a problem that I keep running into about my “creative side.”  I have always wanted, yearned, and desired to be “creative” in an artistic sense.  I believe that I am fairly creative technically (I am a creative builder, designer, engineer and craftsman) but don’t feel competent when it comes to artistic endeavors such as drawing, writing, painting or doing any other “creative” activities.  I realized that I want to do these things, and was trying to do them, but was not feeling successful in my attempts.  My entire relationship with “art” was as a person trying to do something.  For example, when I talked to people about my movie making efforts, I explained that I was in the process of learning how to make videos – rather than that I was making videos.  The same thing applied to my drawing efforts.  I claimed to be doodling to learn how to draw, not that I was drawing.

Over the years I have been told that I am a terrible writer, and that I had no chance of ever getting better at it.  I was told by an art teacher that I had no talent and shouldn’t even bother with it.  I have been told many of these things, and agreed with the tellers.

With these thoughts drifting through my head, I sat under a big old shade tree and fell into a meditation while contemplating the pyramid.

All of a sudden it dawned on me, the problem that I have with my relationship with art isn’t that I can’t do art, it is that I am always trying to do it, rather than just doing it. I realized that of course I can be artistic, I can do art.Maybe nobody but me will appreciate it, but so what?  All I need to do is do things for myself, nobody needs to know, and I don’t have to judge it based upon what I think their opinions will be.  I don’t need to try to do anything, I just need to do it the best that I can at the moment.  That is all that I can do and it is just right.

Maybe it won’t be as good as I would like, maybe others will think that it is childish or amateurish, but that doesn’t mean that it isn’t art or that it isn’t important to me.  It all seemed so obvious and silly all of a sudden.  All that I had to do was stop trying.  It isn’t even that I had to start doing, I was already doing art with my videos, writing, doodling, woodwork, and many other things that I do in my life.  Rather than stop trying and start doing, it became more like “stop trying, and let it be.”  Nothing has to change except for the story in my head.

This little awakening made me feel like my feet had been loosened from the ground, I felt lighter and freer. It was as if a weight had been lifted from my shoulders.   The outcomes of my efforts no longer mattered so much, I could stop “trying” and start just being.  I could move from the future when I might learn to do these things to the present where I do them.

When we got back to the hotel that day I went to my room, got out my sketch pad and went back to the pyramids to see what would happen if I just started to draw and not worry about learning how to do it, or trying to do it right.  I decided to just let it come without forcing or really worrying about it.  I could always tear it out and throw it away if I didn’t like what I did.

I went back and sat under a big sprawling tree and started to sketch one of the pyramids.  What to my wondering eyes should appear but a reasonable sketch of what I was looking at.  It didn’t look at all bad, and in fact was a pretty good rendition of what I was seeing and feeling.  A couple of kids noticed what I was doing, and came over to watch. A small boy stood behind my shoulder watching the drawing appear with me, while his little sister sat on a large limb not far away.  All of us watched in fascination as the images formed on the paper.  I think I was probably more fascinated than they because they didn’t understand the mystery of it – to them I was probably just a tourist who came to draw the pyramids. 

As I drew the sketch, I noticed a very unusual thing about it – the vantage point was all wrong.  The drawing was from a point very close to the height of the pyramid while in actual fact I was sitting on the ground at the level of the base of the pyramid.  I could not see the view that I was drawing, that view came from someplace in my mind’s eye, but not from what I was actually seeing.  I realized that part of the “art” of this drawing was in creating an interpretation of what I was seeing, rather than just making a crude photographic like image of it.  I was unconsciously selecting objects and vantage points to render something other than just a rendition of what was entering my eye. 

During the rest of this trip I purposefully took the time to sit and make sketches of things in my surroundings, such as the ancient “observatory” almost hidden in the dense foliage across the road from the front door of our hotel.  I found that making these sketches had a way of slowing time for me, it seemed to open a space for me to more closely observe and feel the place where I was sitting.  Instead of rushing from place to place, thinking whatever thoughts were rushing around in my mind, stopping to sketch allowed me time to stop and just enjoy where I was. 

Looking back at those sketches brings back the feelings, smells, temperature and experiences in ways that photographs or post cards cannot approach.  Somehow the simple act of sketching the scenes formed memories that go much deeper and are more lasting than I normally form while moving through life.