Just Begin!

In boldness there is genius…

There’s a lot written these days about soul and the need to descend to the underworld as opposed to looking up and seeking “higher awareness.” I have written about this for years, and the ideas are useful, but they’re relevant only because we’ve – personally and culturally – committed to ignore the body, live in our heads, and examine it from the ivory tower.

Partway through a Ph.D. program in my early 20s, I saw that this path was soul-deadening and had the courage to drop out in search of something genuine. I sought out indigenous and Native American teachers, studied ritual and earth-based practices, undertook wilderness adventures and shamanic training for 15 years before I found my way back to western mythology, archetypal psychology, breathwork, and philosophies and practices big enough to include the upper and underworld.

Oh, what a catastrophe… we are bleeding at the roots because we are cut off from the earth and sun and stars … because, poor blossom, we plucked it from its stem on the Tree of Life and expected it to keep on blooming in our civilized vase on the table.” ~ D.H. Lawrence

It’s been a rich and beautiful adventure, this journey of the soul, and — starting from the earth — in some ways, I’ve taken it in the opposite direction of many I meet today. I’d love to share a story from almost 40 years ago about some of those first beautiful and bumbling steps.

In the winter of 1979, I read Black Elk Speaks, the story of a Lakota holy man born in the 1860s. His story, transcribed by John Neihardt and one of the first books about Native American vision quests, struck a deep chord in me. I felt a call and, when finished, said, “I have to do this.” When summer finally came, I hitch-hiked to Harney Peak with little preparation other than my hope and enthusiasm. It was the top of this mountain – in the Black Hills of South Dakota and since renamed Black Elk Peak – where Black Elk had been transported on his great vision.

I began to hike a little before sundown, but soon all light was gone. I was in the forest, clouds covered the stars. I knew there were drop-offs along the trail, and my pace became tentative, feet probing the ground ahead, trying to make sure it was solid before I took the next step. Occasionally, I squatted to feel the earth and locate the trail with my hands. I had no idea how far I had to go before I arrived at the top of the mountain.

I felt a drop of rain, then another. Soon, the sky let loose. My clothes… blue jeans, shirt, light denim jacket – all cotton – were soaked. I had no choice but to continue, driven by a headstrong will to “do a vision quest.” I was woefully unprepared for rain and – from my perspective today – totally ignorant of what doing a vision quest actually meant.

The sky cleared as I finally reached the summit of Black Elk Peak. An almost-full moon bathed the rocky landscape in silver. I had little idea what to do beyond the sketchy guidance of Black Elk Speaks. I hoped for a sign, a vision, a direction. I sat and spoke to it all, staying awake through the wee hours, shivering in my wet clothes. It was one of the longest and most difficult nights of my life. But I sat, prayed, walked in a circle, and didn’t leave.

I continued through the next day and night, and the day and night after, without food, water, or sleep. I was nothing if not stubborn. Toward the end of the third night, as dawn brightened the eastern sky, something happened. I entered an altered state, my awareness flowing out from my body and merging with the summit. It was not an “out-of-body” experience because my body was very much part of it. My physical form, my “self,” my being, included the ridgeline. I felt the rocks as if they were part of my back, my boundaries dissolving as I became the mountain. Soon I was part of everything.

I don’t know how long I stayed that way, but when I returned, I knew I’d been given something. I didn’t have words for it, but it was alive and real. Later that morning I prayed, gave thanks, and prepared to end my sojourn on the summit. As I put away my pipe and told the mountain goodbye, a flock of birds crested the ridge, and – in a spinning column –wheeled and whirled around me before flying off to the east.

I began the hike down, slowly making my way back to the world. I didn’t know if that experience had been a “vision,” but I knew Spirit had spoken to me in some language I didn’t understand. And deep inside, I was sure that understanding it was crucial to my life. And I strongly sensed that the process of going on visions quests, and perhaps leading them, would be a major part of this journey.

As I gaze back at that first quest, I see how little I knew, how foolish I was, and how fortunate I was to not die of exposure or exhaustion. Since then, I’ve learned a lot about fasting, safety, and how to do the whole process with little danger. I’ve learned about ritual and ceremony, developmental processes, medicine wheel teachings, psychological archetypes, and many other things.

But the path turned there, born from a longing to connect with something deeper, stronger, and more eternal than what I knew. It was there I first recognized the seeds the Mystery had planted in me, and I began to explore ways to nurture, sustain, and cultivate them so they might grow and bear fruit I could give to “my people.”

For me, the taste has been sweet. That calling resulted in a vision (and tasks) I’ve followed – with a quiet joy – for decades. I’m much older now and, I hope, wiser. Since that summer I’ve undertaken over thirty-five quests of my own, and I’ve led hundreds. And like those sparrows who whirled around me and flew off to the east, I’ve been walking a path toward the rising sun, filled with faith and gratitude for the beauty and possibilities inherent in each new day.