• Home
  • Soul Readings
  • Soul Mentoring
  • Soul Tending Retreats
  • Soul Empowerment Blog
  • Events
  • Living Future Pull
  • Book Store
  • Giveaways
  • Art
  • Soul Links
  • Interviews
  • Contact

Monthly Archive for: ‘October, 2014’

The Soul Call to Camp Out Comments Off on The Soul Call to Camp Out

When friends ask me how my summer in Maine was, I reply, “It was the best summer in my life.”

The next question is usually, “What made it so pleasurable?”

“Sleeping in my L.L. Bean pop-up tent during July, August, and September,” I reply honestly. “The best way I can summarize my outdoor adventure is that I no longer belong to myself or the universe in the same way as I used to.”

Before anyone asks another question, I explain that I have a long history of avoiding sleeping outdoors. In fact, I have only camped out three times — always at the insistence of friends — never alone. I have tented out twice in Chaco Canyon, in New Mexico, because there were no motels, and once in Scotland, because it was easier to acquiesce than to argue with my partner. I felt safe knowing other campers were close by. Memories of snores and stars intermingled in my memory as well as the aroma of campfire bacon.

Seldom did any of my friends ask to join me. June Bro, my 93-year-old soul friend, was the exception. When I returned to my beach house in Virginia Beach, she grabbed my hand and said, “If I lived in Maine, I would join you, Dear.”

Then she told me about her one-month camping adventure in Canada when her four children were young.

Many friends warned me of the ever-present dangers of bears, moose, coyotes and someone even added the possibility of a rabid mountain lion to the list of nocturnal predators. I comforted myself by remembering that I had befriended bears during my vision quest in Taos, New Mexico, and deer are my totem as well as my middle name. That left the band of yowling coyotes and they, too, were my familiars since I co-existed with them for seven years when I lived in Arroyo Seco and San Cristobal, New Mexico.

Who knows if the soul call had its own timing or was destiny’s response to the questions that I had written earlier in May in my teal blue journal:

  • Is it possible for me to substitute clock time for Nature’s time and live the way my ancestors lived?
  • Is it possible for me to slow down and count clouds and stars as my familiars?
  • Is it possible for me to co-exist with Nature so I feel Mother Earth as my second skin?

Greetings from my tent!

I recognized the familiar beckoning of a soul call and eventually surrendered to my next jumping place. I knew from experience that words often diminish heart-centered, numinous encounters. I yearned to experience — not understand. Therefore, I declared my tent off-limits for writing or reading. Then I replaced my usual delights with a vow to surrender to the vastness and beauty of the nocturnal mystery.

Camping out felt like a lazy woman’s vision quest — minus the prayers, the warrior sweat lodges, the fasting, and the night vigils. The first week I was sleep-deprived. I shifted between being scared and awed, and being mesmerized by shooting stars and listening to the eerie sounds of a hoot owl and reminding myself that I needed sleep.

For weeks, I was fascinated by the liminal transitions from dusk to dark and dawn to day. The border times between day ending and night beginning and night turning to dawn felt sacred to me. I was filled with adoration, humility, and silence.

For months, hours slipped by. I had nothing to note and nothing to prove. I was content sitting on the ground, surrounded by massive granite rocks, towering pine trees, admiring the uninterrupted starry sky, with the fireflies as my only company. I even let go of wondering if I was emptying or filling up — or both.

Many times I wondered if the zillions of stars think that the fireflies are their relatives, and then I remembered that Native Americans related to stars as the campfires of their ancestors. Then I marveled that fireflies know how to be fully lit and I am only learning the art of high beam living and loving. Somehow my body remembered that we are all made of the dust and light of far off stars and I now include “stars” when I end my prayers with thanksgiving to all my relations.

My basketful of reflections include:

  • The night sky is lighter than my bedroom at night.
  • The earth smells different at different times during the night.
  • Just before 3 AM, an audible “hush” happens as though the earth herself has neglected to exhale.
  • Thousands of fireflies that frolicked for many hours surrender their light two hours before dawn. By August, the airborne fireflies are no more and I notice their lights decorate the ground-not the air.

Twenty-seven nights have passed since I felt at home in the earth and awed by the night sky. The feeling of remembered radiance accompanies me. Nature offered me another dimension of befriending my soul. I am adjusting to sleeping inside again and the sound of ocean waves has replaced the sound of the pine branch that patted my tent every night. I believe that camping out was another way to expand my practice of taking my silence and gratitude into the night. Deep bows to the earth.

Posted on: 10-23-2014
Posted in: Blog

Synchronicity At Play on Virginia Beach 0

Synchronicity At Play on Virginia Beach

 

Synchronicity is my playmate, especially when I listen, watch or intuit.  Surprises co-exist with an inner recognition as I reflect on a recent synchronistic encounter.

Picture me writing outside on my deck when my intuition interrupted me with the words  “beach time.”

I quickly put on my bathing suit and walked twenty feet to Virginia Beach since merging pleasure and leisure is one of my current lessons.

The tide was coming in and I watched a woman toss bread to the hungry seagulls.  I clapped as one caught a piece of bread crust in mid air. She got up from her chair and walked over to my blanket. We greeted each other as naturally as children do when they meet each other as strangers at a park or playground.

“Are you from around here?” she asked politely.

“Right down the street,” I said.

“And you?” I inquired.

“I was born here. My Dad was in the Navy. Actually I was born in the old hospital that used to be on 21st Street.  Now I live in Asheville, North Carolina.

“So you have come home?” I responded.

“Guess you can say that. I’ve come back to the ocean. I hope it can bring healing and some resolution to my shattered life,” she added as she closed her eyes and bowed her head.

“Water is a natural healer,” I said. “No expectations and it will support you while you float.”

We both looked away from each other and out toward   the crashing waves.

“I am trying to put my life back together. It’s complicated. My husband of 34 years died six months ago. We were separated when he learned that he was dying. He moved out and we did not reconcile. I have four grown children and they are the best. The school I worked at put me on a leave of absence and said I was too distracted to work. Her words were labored and felt chiseled with grief.

Since I realized that I was on “God’s time” which is always aligned with synchronicity, I asked,

“So you are free to choose who you want to be and what you desire to do now?”

“Not exactly…. Well, maybe if I were not so exhausted from selling the house, disposing of all his precious belongings, and dealing with the myriad details of death.” She sighed.

I reached out to hold her hand saying, “Grief is demanding in all ways: emotionally, mentally, socially and spiritually. And I can imagine that your decision to separate from your husband before either of you knew he was dying makes your grief really complicated.”

“Exactly, we did not do a legal separation although we both knew our marriage was done. Consequently, I don’t know if I am an ex-wife, a widow, or still his wife.  And family, friends and even people who did not know us have stories about who I should be. And I will run smack into the middle of all their stories as well as my own memories next weekend when everyone gathers to celebrate his life at a memorial service.

 

She took a breath and said, “I can’t believe I have just told you my whole story and we are not even on a plane.”

“I’m curious, if you had one wish about how you might live the next few years of your life, what would it be?”

Without thinking, she replied, “I would write. I’ve always wanted to be a writer and there never was enough time. But I don’t know if I am being realistic or just running away from my life.”

I shrugged and smiled at her.

“I have another question for you. Are you game?”

“Sure, why not? It seems like we were destined to meet and become beach buddies,” she replied.

“I wonder if you dare to risk being delighted?”

She sighed and then said, “Nobody ever asked me that question before. But I get survivor’s benefits so I can support myself financially if I am frugal.”

I nodded my head and then said, “I am a writer and I would have deep regrets if I had not followed my dream of being a writer.”

“What motivated you to write?” she asked.

“The sudden death of my 14 year old son, Mike. I desperately needed to create meaning and figure out a way to heal my broken heart and learn how to trust life, God, and the future again.”

She sighed and then I sighed. Then she said, “I knew you were wise.  A passion for writing and living through grief are two things that we share.”

“Yes, “ I said and I think we have another belief in common.”

“What’s that?” she asked.

“We both believe in the possibility of healing and we both returned to the ocean to promote our healing. I am glad you escaped to the beach, “ I said quietly. Want to go for a swim?”

“Someone warned me of the undertow earlier,” she said.

“Can you swim? “ I asked.

“Of course, “ she replied with a slight smile.

“How about you?”

“I am a strong swimmer and also a cautious one. Besides how can we expect the ocean to heal us if we don’t jump in?”

We scrambled to our feet and ran to the water’s edge hand in hand. The last sound I remember as I dove into an oncoming wave was the sound of our laughter.

Posted on: 10-21-2014
Posted in: Blog

My Grandmother 0

I am enjoying a book, Of Water and Spirit: Ritual, Magic and Initiation in the Life of an African Shaman by Malidoma Patrice Some and dreaming about my grandmother. He writes about his nurturing relationship with his grandfather with deep reverence. Ancestors are honored in his country in Africa.

His stories about his grandfather remind me of my grandmother. She is my ancestor and I believe I am her legacy. Recently I purchased three aprons— the long ones that cover me from neck to knee.  Decades of memories of my grandmother danced in my memory. Nanny (I named her that) always wore an apron. Many times she decorated herself in an apron from morning until night. One day I reminded her to take it off minutes before we departed for church!

My Grandmother also wore nylons that hooked to a garter and although she seldom weighed more than one hundred pounds she always wore a girdle.  I remember the one and only time I saw her in slacks, although I no longer remember the occasion.

I dedicated my first book, Healing Grief—A Mother’s Story, to her, writing, “To my grandmother, Shirley Jellerson, who has loved me unconditionally since the beginning of time.”

She loved me unconditionally for fifty-six years.  I was perfect in her eyes, which caused unrest in our family where nobody felt entitled to be perfect and everyone yearned to be.

I know I am living her legacy when

I love like her

I listen without criticism or judgment like her

I begin and end each day with prayers like her

I forgive like her.

I make a lemon meringue pie like her

I openly grieve the loss of friends like her

I write Thank You notes like her

I nurture my grandchildren like her

I shop for Christmas presents in July

I believe we chose each other well. She is my ancestor and I am doing my best  to live her legacy out loud.

Posted on: 10-15-2014
Posted in: Blog

A True Story from Virginia Beach Comments Off on A True Story from Virginia Beach

Yesterday at Virginia Beach, I watched a lone surfer playing in the waves.

Then I spotted shiny, black bodies surfacing and then disappearing. The dolphins are back! The surfer, too, must have spotted them, because he began paddling fast in their direction. They were about fifteen feet in front of him.

I continued to watch the race until I realized he would never catch up to them, even though he was a powerful and persistent paddler.

I wanted to scream, “Stop pursuing. Surrender. Invite the dolphins by your stillness.” But I knew he could not hear my voice over the crashing waves. However, maybe he intuited my guidance, because he abruptly stopped paddling and stood up on his board.

My eyes wandered to the dolphins and I wondered if they would respond. Imagine my excitement as I watched eight dolphins change course and swim in his direction. I sunk my feet deeper in the sand to remind myself that this was really happening. When the dolphins were within three feet of the surfer, he laid down on his surfboard.

I watched as the dolphins surrounded him, and swam round and round his surfboard for nearly five minutes. From shore I applauded and did my own version of a dolphin dance. Then I applauded again, unable to contain my glee.

When the surfer returned to shore, I greeted him. As he reached out to shake my hand, he said, “I had this feeling that you somehow were part of that once in a lifetime adventure.”

I nodded. Then I said, “I appreciated the whole thing, every moment of it.”

“It was awesome, huh? Who knew that if I remained still, they would circle around and visit me?”

I smiled, satisfied that now two of us knew. Just then my imaginative heart reached out to the dolphins that had disappeared. They knew. So now we are ten knowers.

Thank you for this day and this lesson.

Posted on: 10-15-2014
Posted in: Blog

Recent Writings

  • Vulnerability As A Teacher
    03-30-2018
  • THE FUTURE PULL CALL TO JOY FILLED SERVICE
    01-26-2018
  • A Risk of Illumination
    01-8-2018
  • There’s Nobody Alive To Ask
    12-12-2017
  • Crone Bones
    12-5-2017
  • Loons As Divine Messengers and Emissaries of Future Pull
    10-3-2017
  • Synchronicity
    06-21-2017
  • Courageous Creativity
    04-27-2015
  • The Soul Call to Camp Out
    10-23-2014
  • Synchronicity At Play on Virginia Beach
    10-21-2014
  • My Grandmother
    10-15-2014
  • A True Story from Virginia Beach
    10-15-2014
  • Shared Consciousness
    07-3-2014
  • The Pleasure of Leisure
    06-4-2014
  • The Pregnant Nun: A Story Within A Story
    05-3-2013


Painting: Leslie Rosenberg

Connect on Facebook Connect on Twitter Connect on LinkedIn
Email Rosie RSS feed
Tel. 207-730-2288
Pages
  • Art
  • Books by Rosalie Deer Heart and friends, available here for purchase
  • Channelings
  • Contact
  • Events
  • Excerpts from Soul Befriending
  • Giveaways
  • Home
  • Interviews
  • Living Future Pull
  • Meditation request
  • My Philosophy
  • Soul Empowerment Blog
  • Soul Links
  • Soul Mentoring
  • Soul Readings
  • Soul Tending Retreats
  • Synchronicity
  • Vulnerability As A Teacher
Recent Posts
  • Vulnerability As A Teacher
  • THE FUTURE PULL CALL TO JOY FILLED SERVICE
  • A Risk of Illumination
  • There’s Nobody Alive To Ask
  • Crone Bones
© Rosalie Deer Heart - All Rights Reserved.