Recently I was camping along a wide sandy wash with but a little stream of water that quietly made it’s way through the pebbles of it’s landscape. I was with four other women and in part, I was there to honor the tremendous part that this watershed flowing into the Escalante River had played in my own life’s meandering way. For 37 years I had moved in and out of these canyons and always all ways, it fed me and grew me. It has been instrumental in my soul’s uncovering, in coming to know the feminine’s compelling ways, and in finding my particular place to stand rooted, as a guide to Self.
I was there to give thanks.
The afternoon of wandering down the canyon was overflowing with reminiscences…as if watching a slideshow on my inner screen, I remembered the many ceremonies, journeys, faces that had been a part of my time there
The next morning, something further back in my cellular memory seeped into my intuitive awareness. We had finished breakfast cooked over an early morning fire. The remains of the previous night’s dinner was cold and stagnant in the heavy cast iron pot and it was my task to clean it. I gathered hands full of sand and tiny pebbles and put it in the pan to begin to scrub out the vegetable remains. Then when it seemed the sand had done it’s job, I carried the pot to the stream and washed out the sand and grit. I rose to my moccasined feet and gathered my wool poncho around me and began to walk back to the camp where the olive wood smoke and women’s voices wafted from. With each crunch of my foot in the sand and the pull of the weight of the pan, my body experienced something so familiar. I felt it was not of this lifetime but rather an embodied awareness that was immensely potent in me… this simple act of scrubbing in a stream and the weight of carrying something towards a fire of voices, was known in me beyond this life and perhaps was there in many lifetimes for me.
I knew this way.
How do we understand these things? Our mind and it’s logic and rational will quickly do away with it, but our bodies remember and from that place of cellular knowing, we birth our lives anew…if we dare.
The movement of soul sometimes happens as if in a dream…where later on down the road after a great change has taken place in our lives, we look back and wonder how that happened….so fuzzy is the remembrance in our mind. Something calls for migration and we move, never knowing quite what we will find when our body tells us to settle and we can listen, again.
And so we follow something greater and move with seasons of soul.
I am moving from this place that I have known as a soul home….I am heading to Arizona again. Why? I can't know all the reasons, nor can I always explain it…but move I must. The time has arrived. My soul loves the evolution required with change.
And so I go.
I am packing my travois…my horse is loaded.