Archive for May, 2012

Once you have connected with your helping spirits, it’s important to honor them in your everyday, ordinary reality.  Here are some suggestions:

  • journey to them and ask them how they would like to be expressed in your life
  • put an image of them on your altar or some other place where you will see it on a regular basis
  • dance them a dance
  • paint them a painting
  • write them a poem or story
  • merge with them and go for a walk, letting them experience things through your eyes
  • journey (or meditate) to them regularly, asking for their help and expressing your gratitude for their relationship with you

Like any relationship, it will take time to get to know them – to understand their language, their vibration, their sense of humor.

The same holds true for soul parts that might have been retrieved for you – get to know what makes them happy as they become integrated back into your core soul.

Let your relationship with your helping spirits deepen day by day; let it infuse your ordinary reality.  Honor and thank them for their help, energy, insights, and surprises.  Enjoy the magic!

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I recently returned from two nights of camping in Joshua Tree National Park, a very frustrating trip that was like trying to camp in the middle of a Chuck E. Cheese restaurant.  Kids ran through my campsite whacking nearby cacti with sticks; parents played techno-trance music and 90’s rock as the Super-Full Moon rose between the Joshua trees.  On my way to hike outside of the campground, I passed a small child busily smashing bugs with a rock.

It’s hard to find space in the wilderness unless you can backpack out into it, which most of us can’t.  And although I’m glad people go into nature in whatever capacity they are able (after all, nature is what we’re made of; we are nature), I miss having the opportunity to hear sounds other than those made by other people.

For this post, I’ve decided to share a poem I wrote a couple of years ago after an encounter with a bobcat in Joshua Tree.  On this trip I write about in the poem, I was able to get a bit closer to the sights and sounds of nature despite being in a campground.  I re-read this poem to remind myself that camping in California isn’t always as loud and busy as it recently.  I hope you enjoy the poem, which is a bit longer than those I’ve posted in the past.  I’ve also posted a couple of photos from last weekend’s trip.

Joshua Tree Full Moon Rise, © Lynda Skeen


Joshua Tree Bobcat

Words to address you are as elusive
as sightings of you
darting in and out of shadows,
merging with wordless, formless space.
I have been smitten by you and your landscape,
and baffled why I continue to choose another life
even after staring into your spotted face in the bushes.
The final gift on the final day of my desert camping trip,
you crossed the road.
I stopped my car and followed you into the brush.
We stared at each other.
I held my breath.
Neither of us ran away.
Now I understand that the gift you gave me
was choice, and a memory that can bring you back
even in the middle of my life here in the city.

A creature living without an instruction book,
as sure of itself as the sun of rising,
as the rain of falling,
you remind me of my own Nature.
Remind me to take the time to be reminded,
to pull back the curtains and embrace my own Wildness.
Your beautiful spotted face helps me remember
the crunchy warm sand that feels good beneath my feet,
the night sky full of stars and mystery
that humbles me into awe.
How wealthy I feel under the desert’s lavish sunset.
How magical to see what’s usually hidden –
the orange-red flames of the cactus’ first bloom;
dark caterpillars soon to emerge as something other
than what they were;
baby jackrabbits close enough that I can see the
red marks on their ears.
It is my aesthetic – my palette.
Sandstone and cactus flower.
Empty skyline.
My outsides and insides finally in synch.

I love the potential for getting lost.
To lean against danger.
to get dirty and know my own scent.
Stripping off the layers and paring down to happiness.
To eat when hungry; sleep when tired.
To spoil myself with the simplicity of Enough.
To immerse myself in Darkness at night.
To close my eyes and see nothing.
To open them and see nothing but
a sky filled with stars,
To hear my thoughts,
then let them quiet.
Nestling up next to the sound of wind and flames.
To release them into the wild
to become something I cannot control.

Leaving the urban hypnosis of self-imposed to-do lists,
I am one step closer to what I’m made of,
less surrounded by what I’ve made.
In the desert, things are more connected to their meanings –
clattering of pebbles means something moved,
cave means staying dry in a thunderstorm.
One step closer to Source,
away from mind’s creations.

The desert is where I know I know these things.
When I get home to the city, they are camouflaged,
insight moving in and out like an itch
I can’t quite scratch.
An unspeakable sadness
fading in and out like light on your spotted face.
For I chose to return to the city.
I didn’t follow you deeper into the brush.
I returned to my car filled with camping gear and fresh water.
Thank you for the gift of choice,
for the memory of your beckoning face.
My memory of you, Bobcat,
is a bread crumb leading me Home.

And this, I now realize, is your gift.
I have your face to both pine for and delight in.
A face that reminds me that Nature, Wildness,
surrounds me, even here –
squirrels chasing each other in the purple jacaranda,
pigeons drinking from puddles of water at the car wash,
palm trees gently swaying in their tall wind,
white clouds in deep blue sky.
The threat of exile might keep me from climbing trees at work
or running up and down the street with my magnifying glass,
looking closely at what I can’t usually see,
but I can at least kneel over in the dirt in my back yard,
pressing my nose against the window of what the rest of existence is doing.

Sitting in the cool green grass,
beneath power lines,
surrounded by apartment buildings –
even here –
I can breathe
the sunset.

© Lynda Skeen

Venus and Joshua Trees at Sunset, © Lynda Skeen

Joshua Tree Landscape, © Lynda Skeen

Super-Moonrise at Joshua Tree, © Lynda Skeen

Cactus Bloom, © Lynda Skeen

Juniper Berries, © Lynda Skeen

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