Wandering Siren

What does a girl do when she discovers 3 weeks after her wedding night that her husband has been trolling craigslist for lovers and has had a “SNM playmate” their entire 4 year relationship? In my case? This girl cashes in her honeymoon ticket and wanders South America for half a year. 

And what pray tell does this girl learn? Well if you listen I’ll tell you…

South America and I have tumbled, spun around, danced, napped, and discussed. Our conclusions? I am terrible at learning languages but brilliant at loving people. I may emerge from this journey STILL terrible at Spanish but I have grown in deeper other ways.

I have rediscovered this jungle girl from top to bottom. I have learned how strong, beautiful, sexy, and spellbinding, I have always been. I have danced barefooted in the deep red soil of Argentina. I have heard the rumbles of the giant waterfalls. I have traveled to the land of the condor, the puma, and the snake. I floated naked under the light of the full moon and tasted the medicine of Pachu Mama with a lime chaser. I am no longer a wife, lover, and partner but instead I stand a goddess of light and my heart shines brilliant green. 

I will never forget these lessons. The lessons of simple strength, connection of mind, body, and heart. As my body wakes to find the world no longer a distant cold place but instead a presence in each breath. This woman is awake. I sit up and cough up endless lies, shake my life into contiguous awareness. Guess what? The begin has arrived and the starting gate is open wide. The future calls.

And I am ready. I prepare for home, for those I love and the hugs I crave. The problems that are there be claimed, reality waits at my doorstep ready to be brought in. Nothing left behind, only set on a shelf for a little while. The pause button must be released and the movie plays on. But, I come back ready to face the credits. I return home after a life changing adventure with the strength to root my feet and the faith to let my heart sore.  

All that has been lost was only misplaced in order to learn. I now stand on this mountain with lessons tucked into my pockets and the wind against my face. I am ready to jump, out into the vastness of my future prepared for the loveliness of the unknown. My heart floats in the bliss of a grateful balloon that clings to the curves of this rough road knowing that all is possible only when we surrender. I am yours. I am open and free. I am all that I need. 

What if Little Red Riding-hood was a different story? What if Little Red was a wolf. What if as a little wolf pup, wrapped in a red bundle, she had been found and adopted by a human family? What if her whole life she felt different? But, was unable to explore the option of being a wolf because it was the one thing that terrified her more than anything else?

I was raised Jehovah Witness. It was never my home. I heard voices from very early on but was horrified by them. I was told anything supernatural was from Satan and the voices were demons who sought to destroy me. Try putting that on for size at 3 years old. But, beyond even the fear of supernatural, all things pagan were deemed untouchable. To celebrate birthdays, holidays, anything that could be traced to pagan roots was forbidden. Imagine a small girl hiding from the moon all her life because it made her want to howl.

I don´t blame my parent´s for this upbringing, they too left it to find their own paths. But, somehow the fears were still planted and the denial rooted. I couldn’t be pagan, I could be almost anything else but never pagan.

This full moon I joined for the 2nd time a group of incredible women to release, to join as sisters, and to worship. I have never felt so at home. This month alone I have dived deeper into the sea of self discovery then I have my entire life. I have come up for air only to float contentedly on my back grateful and desiring more. All the fear has been fuel for me, it burns away the hurt and refines my goals. I stand now a woman in love with the roots that connect her to her future, past, and present.

Yet, I still find it hard to explain these incredible discoveries, to be honest about the waves that are shaping me. How does one even begin to define a belief like Pagan? We must define it without walls perhaps, a wind that stirs and pushes in it´s own way and in it´s own time. To me to be pagan means to love the earth, not with a bumper sticker but with ritual. Ritual that cements these elements as a part of your life. Ritual that is flexible and intuitive. Ritual that sets you free. And in this ritual you bring together others that also desire to honor the earth and one another with respect and equal footing. Each of us being teachers and students. Each of us being mirrors to the other. This is what it means to me to be pagan.

I am the little girl who howls at the moon…

In Vilcabamba, we wake each morning at a snails pace. Here the sun shines gently through the window panes as each guest climbs out from under their mountain of wool blankets that have provided a cocoon of warmth from the night’s rain. Sleepy eyed and rested the slow zombie walk progresses up the cobbled pathways flanked by outrageously colorful flora and floating butterflies. We continue on, stumbling up the stone steps towards our house of worship. The place where we absorb the divine and the holy and take on the ritual of gazing. Here in this simple dining room we all turn to face the views of the valley below us and the mountains beyond it. Colors of green, indigo and purple heal our beings and give rest to our souls. 

Coffee is sipped slowly and breakfast arrives in layers. Fresh juice, fruit, eggs, and toast blanket the table on tiny plates. My friend Pam and I chose the largest table which we loving refer to as the “family table” so named because it creates family encouraging new friends to join each meal and community to form and reform. We grow as a family and then shrink and then grow some more. We are pregnant with transient community continually in cycle and flux. 

The hostels beloved dogs lounge at our feet always full and content. Butterflies fly with earnest wings towards the countless flowers in the hillside garden below. While strange rust colored birds continuously loop by as if they are paper airplanes tossed haphazardly by a bored child. 

And it is in this magnificently special place that we attend to ourselves. We attend to our souls, to the deep hurts that are too hard to fully discover but are instead sensed and smelled out slowly. People cling to this place to it’s magic. It is lovingly referred to as Valcro- bamba. There is something here in this place that heals and roots you. A valley located between two fabulous mountains, one male and one female. Here the water contains a special life and you never seem to tire of it’s taste. No, we do not wish to leave this comfort and fear the desert of our lives separate from such beauty and peace. 

Today I was drawn to my circle of trees. It was a goodbye of sorts, since I’ll be traveling for the next five months and won’t be seeing my sister trees for awhile. I started calling them that awhile ago when one day as I walked along beside them and underneath them I suddenly realized that we were family. There is for me a kinship with these beautiful trees that surround my Mom’s home here in Twain Harte. They speak in hushed tones and quaking whispers of permanence and time. My sister trees remind me that time is not linear but instead a circle, a cycle of birth and death that never ends. Even after fire, wind storms, and floods the cycle is ever present. The circle is always in movement from one phase to the next.

The Celts believed that the tree was the most sacred of all living things because it reached into all three dimensions of existence. The branches reaching the upper world, the trunk present in the middle world, and the roots digging deeply into the underworld. They also spoke of a “thin place” a place where the walls between worlds are forever gossamer thin and it is possible to touch and experience things that we often miss when focused on that which we see easily. My time here in Twain Harte, among my sister trees, has been a glimpse of this thinness, for this place has brought me comfort that I never dreamed a place could possibly supply.

As I softly tread towards my circle of trees I am hit with such gratitude that I can not hold back my tears. This gratitude is so deep and so true that it is very difficult for me to explain it to you with mere words. My best explanation is that I have now come to a place where I no longer feel separate from what surrounds me but instead I am enveloped by it. I am a tiny piece of play-dough rolled into a magnificently colorful ball. This change for me has created a deep sense of acceptance and love. I feel free from striving and free from judgement.

I am.

Just as my sister trees are.

Once, in my circle I let my tears fall freely because I am safe within these boughs and rooted in this ground. This circle has become my church, it gives me release, ritual, and a thin place to feel and sense. It is in this place that I stand and form the tree pose. I turn and face the direction of my past and acknowledge all that is was and is. I have come to understand that all of it has been the natural rhythm of life and my path for growth. I realize that I do not need my wounds to heal up completely but instead to leave just a little opening to remind me to love others and understand their pain. Then, I turn and face the direction of my present and future. I embrace what the road ahead holds and see a rushing river flowing swiftly forward because it would never dream of anything else. I will try to let go and be moved forward by it. Fighting it’s currants just wears me and there is no reason to fear this circle we are all part of.

We haven’t heard a word from our Siren for awhile now, that’s because not much has changed. She remains at the sacred spring for several weeks soaking in the cool water mingled with her tears. Until just this morning when she forced herself up and started walking yet again.

The forest creaks softly underneath each step and Ena sucks in the air deeply. The lullaby from her first night of mourning softly glides through her mind and she ponders its meaning. Some part of her realizes that the story she’s living in now is only a very small part of a very long tale. This gives her courage. There is also a stirring inside our Heroine’s being that she can’t explain, some part of her realizes that there are places to go and things she must see. The Fates grab hold of her hand and gentle pull Ena forward towards all that awaits her.

As night begins to fall Ena approaches a strange new grove of trees. These trees are so unlike the Evergreens, Furs, and Oaks that she has seen so far. They have tremendous roots that seem to settle above ground before plunging into the deep earth. Leaves begin only at the very tops of the trees creating a roof canopy that seems to block out almost all the light. Tiny wisps of light poursthrough little breaks of the canopy like golden spotlights. Ena feels goose bumps crawl along her arms and legs as she places her first step into the grove. Yes, the temperature has dropped, but it’s more than that, there is a presence here.

The presence is powerful like the Stag but since it seems to be alive in the air, sunlight, trees, and earth it is almost overwhelming. Our Siren is suddenly so very very sleepy. Ena ventures only a few steps forward to the nearest trees. She wants to be able to see the edge of the forest still and the meadow beyond. She snuggles into the roots of the monstrous tree and breathes deeply the scents of warm earth.

That night Ena had a dream, though she would swear that she was awake for everything felt so real. Ena could feel the dirt beneath her feet as she chased a wild hare through the forest. It had suddenly appeared without warning and now she found herself focused on the hunt. Leaping over the massively rooted trees was difficult but she kept the Hare in sight. Ena’s stomach growled at the thought of barbecued Hare. But, just as she came within lounging range of her fast food dinner it popped down a hole. At this very moment our hungry heroine woke up.

Grumpier about her empty stomach then she would usually be, Ena began to search for roots & berries. She climbed near a small waterfall and drank deeply of the cold water. As she returned to the bottom of the falls she glanced something red near a fallen tree. There hidden in the dark contours of the crumbling tree grew a clump of strange red topped mushrooms. Ena picked them gently and examined them closely, turning each mushroom over in her hand. She did not know this plant and the alarming color suggested danger but her stomach rumbled and she felt drawn to these perfect little red bulbs. Sitting beneath the trunk of a great tree she slowly chewed and swallowed the red topped mushrooms.

To Be Continued…

This morning, I awoke awash with grief from a strange dream.

Tear’s fresh tracks on my pillow and emotions resonating clearly in mind. In the dream I was walking down a dirty unlit street with some children. We were talking quietly and I knew them all well. They had lost their Father and the grief was fresh. I also knew that they were not being loved and cared for by their Step Father, signs of neglect showed in their clothing and gaunt faces. But I also knew I could do nothing to change the situation. All of this pain was magnified only by how much intimate love I had for them all. I couldn’t stop hugging them. To push this feeling of powerlessness even further we were walking along knowing that soon we would have to part permanently. As I gave my final hugs, with tears streaming down my face, I told the oldest boy to light a candle for his Father every night so that he could remind himself and the younger children that even though our loved one’s may leave this physical realm their energy (their light) never leaves us. Even now I cry as I write this because the impression remains so strong.

It seems I can’t escape the memories and emotions I experienced in Belize even in my sleep. I blame my mind’s fixation on the upcoming journey through South America. All the lessons I learned in Belize will soon be called upon again. I haven’t reaching into that pocket of my mind for sometime now. 

It’s hard for me even to explain how powerless I felt there at times. Like an ant watching a tsunami. But, as the waves crashed down around us I discovered parts of myself that I never knew existed, strength that surprised me. The hardest lesson I learned in Belize was how to love. I learned that loving someone is hardest when we can’t change the things that haunt them and hurt them. I learned that when you are powerless to change the pain, you have to let your love pour out in an endless way with no conditions attached. It was exhausting. I burned out and I learned that you can only do this for so long. But, I would do it again a million times over because it was also cleansing. As I ready myself for South America I feel my heart getting ready. The fire of sorrow refining my inner places, burning away the unnecessary.

I’ve been thinking a lot about Religion lately. Not Theology or any vein of it, nor even the rituals of any belief system. No, instead I have been thinking about personal history, our human narrative. We all seem to desire some knowledge of where we come from and where we are going. I admire cultures with strong oral traditions, they define themselves easily through these narratives and because of this often have an unwavering grasp on their own story.

I wonder if this is why so many of us with little cultural reference seek Religion. Just think for a moment of Religion as a Culture. It truly is that. Religion tells us who we are and what we are to become. It defines our perspectives on how life is to be lived and how we feel about said life. The stories of our own mix of nationalities are no longer as important as the stories that define our Religious beliefs. Religion is stronger than our quarter Irish, quarter French, European mutt heritage. Why? Well, because Religion defines us completely.

I’m not saying that this definition is wrong, that is a personal choice. I am just coming to the realization that I have never truly explored my roots, because I didn’t feel the need to. I knew the answers to the basic questions of who/why and that was enough. But, now these answers no longer fit my story and I am forced yet again to wonder.

When, I found out I was being lied to by my brand new husband and that the life I had been so cozy in was tossed on its head, there was of course shock, lots of shock. Now, though as the numbing occupation of shock is wearing away, I find myself struggling to define the simplest parts of myself. Who am I now that I can be anything?  My world has been blown open and everything sits before me ready to be ordered in a new way and I don’t know yet how to order it.

My new way to face the day is through my “shower temple”. Enclosed in the safety of my tile tomb I cry and scream. Then when it seems to be exercised out of my system I sit on the floor of my temple and imagine myself rooted into the Earth and as the warm water falls down all around me, I define myself.  I say who I am and who I am becoming. I force myself to concentrate on this, it is the only thing I require of myself each day, is to finished this prayer.  And by some miracle it seems to work, I feel different afterwards not better maybe but stronger.

I tell you all this because I think deep down we know who we are already, we all own this powerful knowledge and have access to it. But, many of us didn’t grow up with stories that reminded us of this innate knowledge. We were never told it was something already inside of us and so we have searched for it. We have searched for it in our career, in our faith, in our mate, in our friends, even in our clothing. Who am I, has been our life long phantom hunt. But, maybe we already know and have known all along? What if who I am looking for has always been there just waiting for a chance to show herself? I’m not sure I know how to travel this road, where the story has not been written and the definitions are not necessary.But, I have no choice.

“The Old God sleeps down in the dark, moist,  odorous underfoot,  waiting for us to put down our roots.”

With each step Brenna takes she begins to change. Strength returns to her frame and purpose to her step. The woods breathe with her and the ground presses back against her forming feet. Our Siren has one name and many names, and as she ventures into this new land her name starts to reshape itself. Each night spent sleeping beneath the strong oaks of this sacred grove strengthens Brenna until she is no longer the dark raven we first glimpsed. Fire burns in her soul and she is slowly realizing the reality that has been tucked away in this journey so far. Anger begins to tease at her belly running along her slender arms leaving her breathless and uneasy.

These woods have a knowing that whispers in the stillness. Our heroine is perplexed by the aching that travels within her soul. She screams silently into the night but finds little release. What do these oaks know that they are not telling her? The air is pregnant with expectation and Brenna feels the change coming.

Then, one day a mighty Stag appears just as the light begins to grow low and weary. He tilts his head towards Brenna and stares straight into her eyes. He is powerful and sleek a mighty creature of the wild woods, but the eyes that stare into hers are nothing like that of an animal. Brenna senses the same knowing that she feels among the trees that tower over her. As he turns to run she springs forward as well, unable to shake the feeling that an invisible line has been crossed. Change is coming.

The Stag glides through the trees like a ballerina in flight. However Brenna’s progress is not so graceful. Instead violent branches slap her face and rocks crush under her feet. She begins to feel that all is lost and the Stag has slipped through her fingers. Brenna’s heart is pounding powerfully against her chest and tears have begun to sting her. The world pitches forward and Brenna finds herself face down in the dirt. Anger rises from her crumbled form and blindly Brenna reaches out in front of her when suddenly a cool liquid teases her finger tips. A small cry of shock and wonder escape our Siren’s lips as she dives forward to feel the full pull of the water. Submerged in the cool liquid Brenna is ecstatic but only for a moment. A swift kick of reality crushes through the liquid pleasure as the truth sinks in. She no longer has fins. They are gone and they are not coming back.

A scream more animal then human roars out of our Siren’s mouth.  It is a sound that echo’s forth like an earthquake among the oaks, vibrating and traveling from root to root. The trees receive the scream and pass it forward through their strong quivering branches and out into the night sky. Suddenly Brenna knows her name has changed. She is Ena now and something tells her that is okay. Ena stands in the soft sandy bank and opens her mouth wide as everything stirring in the depths of her soul is pushed forward in a war cry.

Ena screams until she feels her feet planted and rooted into the sand. Her heart begins to beat in unison with all that surrounds her. All of the fear and sorrow is transmuted into the molten heat of her screams and with this release she is calmed. Ena is suddenly exhausted and mellow. She collapses into a ball, sinking again into the shimmering pool. Relief floods her being and the wind whispers gently to sooth her:

“Hail to thee, Jewel of the night!

Beauty of the heavens, Jewel of the night!

Mother of the stars, Foster-ling of the sun, Majesty of the stars!

Glory to thee for ever

Thou bright moon,

This night

Thyself art ever

The glorious lamp of the poor”.

The meaning of this lullaby is lost on Ena but there is a knowing growing inside of her. “I am more then I appear”, she whispers to herself as sleep wraps it’s sweet arms around her.

Mom and I walked down to the lake today. It was one of those beautiful fall days that Mama Earth likes to hand out before the nights grow colder and the days shorter.  The quite up here is astonishing. It leaves my ears buzzing which I guess is a weird thing for quite to do, but nonetheless it does. The breeze had decided to gently pick up just enough to spirit leaves playfully around as we made our way to the lake.

Our meandering pace fits my mood and we stop every few minutes to notice the changing leaves in colors of amber and tangerine. Much to my amusement my Mom has made it her mission to see that the various animals are well feed. She accomplishes this by tossing wild apples at a lone goose with a broken wing that has decided to stay put for now and a unsuspecting deer. I think these poor critters are unsure of her intent as they dodge flying food and I don’t blame them.

The path takes us along the lake just as the sun has started its slow journey behind the hills. Through the thick trees only fractals of color shine through giving one the impression of a kaleidoscope.  My favorite thing; negative and positive space plays tricks on your eyes as the leaves form stencil like slices into the sunset sky.  This visual buffet is enhanced by the perfect bouquet of smells. Animals and humans alike seem to be a buzz preparing for winter and the air feels almost heavy with the sweet wooden notes of fresh sawdust.  The wood from neighborhood chimneys mixes with the outdoor scents of wild sage and thyme. The smell transports me to Guadeloupe Valley and I can almost taste the earth laden reds we drank there. I can’t help but smile at this sweet memory.

My memories of late have been bringing emotional hitchhikers with them, visitors who I can’t seem to remember inviting. I can ignore them only so long.  Strange aches and subtle melancholy latch on to the simplest thoughts and trailing not far behind are hindsight and reality. Party guests that I would rather stay away for now, Hindsight is always late and Reality is pretty harsh. But, they are there creeping around and reminding me that my marriage is over and that my future is bare.

The Fall here is enchanting. I am already dreaming of soups resting on the stove all day, reading by the fire, and cozy over-sized sweaters. But, Winter? Winter is coming; I can feel it in my bones. I feel dreadfully unprepared. I hope I can be brave and face it. There will be swirling snowbound weather that will sail through the trees and swoosh through my heart.

The trees speak to me now in the Fall with the soft clatter of woodpeckers and rustles from endless bushy tailed squirrels. There is something more as well, a gentle knowing these towering giants exude. They are wise and they ground me. The trees seem to say, “You are so small and your problems so little.” And they are right of course, trees are wise. I realize that in the big picture of the world and even beyond that the universe, that I am nothing and that this pain is nothing. I wonder if these wise giants will speak to me still in the winter, when they are laden down with snow? Or do they sleep like the bears deep within their caves? It all seems so inward everything turning inside of its self to rest and survive. Perhaps, nature continues to have the right idea.

I wonder whether you may have thought our Siren’s story was finished? After all she shed her scales and found her feet. She struggled against the heavy back cloak of death and choose to survive. What better conclusion to this simple allegory could there be? Everything wrapped up in a pretty bow, the girl finds the strength to move forward and so can we. But, you and I both know that the story doesn’t really begin until the first step is taken.

So, where does our Heroine go from here? Nowhere really, she just wanders. From clump of brush to pile of rocks she travels in search of food, water, and shelter. Survival is her Madam now and the goal is to stay low and keep going. There is no time for tears and her emotions seem like a place far away. The goal is not to feel too push it away until she is safe. Thankful the landscape seems to comprehend this need and the land remains still and unchanging. Tears only occasionally rest in her lashes now and there has been no rain since the first storm.

Well, if this story isn’t over then who is our Siren and where is she going, you may ask? I can answer only the first part of your question and even that is tricky. Let’s call her Brenna but that is only one of her names. Don’t worry my fair readers you will learn more very soon.  

So, Brenna wanders at night while the sun sleeps and the stars light the way. The desert terrain though vast is also calming especially at night. The moon’s shadows seems to stalk the night with luminescent movement. The pace she sets is steady and her newly formed legs drag forward with surprising swiftness. Then, suddenly one night the landscape begins to change. Where there was once a bush there is now a tree. The piles of rocks have been replaced with large boulders and the ground is growing harder under foot. What is ahead of her now? There is power in these trees, Brenna senses that something is changing even as the air grows colder and her breath more labored.

To Be Continued…

The Sacred Grove is NEXT

BRENNA- Celtic female warrior name meaning RAVEN and DARK HAIRED.