My First Shaman

When did I first get pushed into this strange and mysterious shamanic world? It is hard to say.

It was suggested by an acquaintance that I attend a weekend workshop on Soul Retrieval. Sounded interesting. They were going to miss the Saturday event, so I would know no one. I arrived on a beautiful fall sunny day. One of those perfect days in Minnesota when no one wants to be in an old warehouse. The doors were locked. Sigh of relief. I could enjoy the weekend.

But another arrived on my heels, and then another, who by chance was an artist in the building and had been given a massage by my new friend. The doors were open. And so it went.

We needed a blindfold, a pillow, and a blanket. I was given everything I needed. The two days were segmented into four parts 1) find your power animal 2) healing physical trauma 3) healing sexual trauma and 4) healing emotional trauma.

Our Shaman was Wilbert Alex. I was pulled apart and put back together on a cellular level and healed from a lifetime of trauma that years of therapy could not fix. I went through a worm hole, re-experiencing every childhood terror visited upon me while knowing that I was perfectly safe. In that old warehouse I screamed. We all screamed as if our lives were at risk. And we were healed.

It was the most transformative moment of my life.

I am a Shaman

I am called by many names.  Shaman is only one of them.  I am also a writer and an artist.  I am a mother, step mother, mother in law, spiritual mother, grandmother, wife, ex-wife, member, contributor, creator, searcher, mentor, sponsee, sponsor, encourager, waiter, walker, meditator, sewer, knitter, painter, beader, follower, leader and much more.  Labels are so limiting.

Toss all of these asunder.  Sit quietly.  Now notice your gut, deep within your belly.  Who are you?  I mean, who are you?  I mean, who are you really?  Who do I need to know?

Welcome.  Let’s form a circle.