Turtles and Stardust: Experiencing a Shamanic Journey #365Yoga

Photo of a Florida Box Turtle (Terrapene carolina bauri). Taken in Jacksonville, Florida, USA. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Despite my endless exploration of all things spiritual, I had not, as of last Saturday morning, experienced a shamanic journey. I'm not sure how I avoided it for so long, considering that I've been in the company of shamans a number of times. I really wasn't trying to avoid the practice; there was just never a good time to try. 

True North Yoga hosted a shamanic journeying workshop last weekend, so I finally got my chance. While being led on two journeys I experienced intense physical sensations, including floating, falling and dancing. And I saw turtles.

When I first got my Medicine Cards I pulled my seven totem animals. Turtle was the first card I pulled out of the deck, and is my totem in the East, or the guide to my spiritual challenges. But I haven't seen the turtle card for quite awhile.

Turtle represents Mother Earth in the cards and in a number of cultures. Hindu and Chinese mythology (and Terry Prachett's Discworld series) describe the world as being supported by elephants standing on the back of a turtle. Native Americans call North America "Turtle Island." I wasn't surprised to find turtle in a vision in which I was guided to connect to the earth.

Besides representing earth, turtles might also represent the lunar cycle, protection, perseverance and longevity. Turtles have been around 200 million years or so. They are wise old souls.

In my vision, turtle was stepping deliberately, to the drumbeat, and stirring up stardust. 

I've had a couple of days to consider what turtle means for me, besides the obvious earth connection. A few web authors suggested a need to slow down, to practice patience. Others point to turtle's ability to withdraw, to hide in its protective shell. Both explanations are fitting, but neither feels complete.

Turtle pose adaptation

This morning I led my yoga class into turtle pose (a preparatory adaptation of Kurmasana) and as we were holding the posture I thought about turtle's ability to draw inward. It seemed to me it wasn't so much about fear as withdrawing into perfect stillness, which sounds like Pratyahara, or the withdrawal of the senses, the fifth of the eight limbs of yoga. Perhaps this is something I'm being called to practice.

Sitting on my desk is a wax turtle, meant to be a candle but unlikely to ever be burned. It was sent to me by an internet newsgroup acquaintance, someone I never knew in real life. If you remember newsgroups, you know I've had this turtle candle a long time. (If you don't remember newsgroups, just know that I accessed the newsgroup with a computer that had dual floppy drives to accommodate both sizes of floppy disks. If you don't know what a floppy disk is, please don't tell me. It makes me feel old.) I received this turtle because the person felt I should have it. It has represented earth on my personal altar many, many times. I don't remember how the turtle candle came to be on my desk today, or how long it's been sitting there, but I've decided it can stay. It seems to belong there now.

Now if I could just find some stardust...

An Earthy Meditation

A group of us enjoyed yoga and meditation by candlelight during last night's Earth Hour. I wrote this guided meditation for the group and thought I'd share it with you. Take a few deep breaths and enjoy!

Guided Meditation for Earth Hour

Close your eyes and allow your breath to flow naturally. With each breath, feel your body become more relaxed.

Imagine you are standing on a gravel road at the edge of a forest. In front of you are five stone steps down to a path that leads into the trees. You start down the steps. At the first step your body becomes completely relaxed. At the second step your mind quiets. On the third step you feel peace flowing through you. At the fourth step you know you are in a safe place. As you step onto the fifth and final step your vision becomes sharp and clear and the light seems brighter and the colors more vivid.

You follow the path into the trees, fully taking in everything that you see. You notice each subtle hue of the green leaves and the brown dirt. Here and there a yellow leaf left over from the fall catches your eye. The light filters through the treetops and dapples the path in front of you. You look up and see bits of blue sky between the tall trees. You see the varying textures of the tree bark, some smooth and some gnarled, knotted and rough. You notice tiny flowers on delicate stalks nestled against the root of one tree and you wonder how they came to grow there. Twigs and pebbles crunch under your feet. You feel a slight, cool breeze that rustles the leaves. You become aware of mossy smells and the singing of birds high above you and the buzzing of insects around you. You can feel life here.

You continue down the path, stepping carefully to avoid the small green plants which have sprung up between rocks. As you move deeper into the forest the light fades and the air becomes damp and musty. The path becomes softer beneath your feet. Moving on, you notice the sound of running water ahead and walk down the path toward the sound. Suddenly you step into brighter light and find yourself on the bank of a wide stream. You can see the sun overhead here and the sunlight reflects on the water. The stream is rocky and the water tumbles over the worn stones in a series of small waterfalls. The spring sun is melting snow in higher elevations and the water runs quickly by, carrying leaves, small twigs and a few water bugs over the rocks.

You sit on the damp, cool moss on the bank and watch the water flow by. As you watch, a small green lizard scampers onto a rock, then you move slightly and he disappears between the rocks. The sun is warm despite the breeze. You are filled with peace just being in this place.

A rustling in the trees on the opposite bank catches your attention, and you look up to see an animal emerge from the trees. What kind of animal is it? Let it be whatever first comes to mind. It sees you and moves cautiously toward the stream. You catch its eyes and it stops, watching you. You know you are safe here and do not feel fear, just awe at being this close to this animal. You have a clear, unobstructed view and can see it in detail. You can see the shape of its body, muscle and bone. You can see the shape of its feet, its tail, its jaw. You know there is power in that body, the power it needs to survive in the forest. You notice its texture – fur or scales or feathers or skin. You imagine what it would feel like if you could touch the animal. You can see its colors – not just the body colors but the color of its eyes. And you look into those eyes and feel a connection, and know this animal has a message for you. What is it telling you? What would this animal have to say? Perhaps it is just a message of mutual respect, perhaps it is something else. Let the message come to you. Trust that whatever message you hear is the right one.

You repeat the message to yourself a few times, wanting to remember it. Then you look down, breaking eye contact, and the animal turns and wanders back into the trees. You watch it go, grateful for the opportunity to see it so close and for the message it shared with you. Knowing your time here is done, you stand, turn away from the stream and walk back along the forest path, through the darkness under the thick trees. A few more steps brings you back to the place where patches of light illuminate the path ahead and before long you can see the stone steps.

You walk to the steps, taking one last look at the trees behind you, then put your foot down on the first step and start to climb. On the next step you become aware of your breath. On the next step you feel your body. On the next step you become aware of the room. As you reach the top of the steps you are back in the present, bringing with you the animal's message and the sense of peace you found in the forest. Take a few deep breaths before you move back into your day.

* * *

I've noticed that I am drawn to certain animals during times of stress, other animals when I am feeling introspective or down, and still others when I am happy. Sometimes, like last night, I will dream about an animal. Bear has been with me all day today, telling me to head into a dark cave and listen to my intuition for awhile. I should probably listen.

Then Sings My Soul...

Image via Wikipedia

Today is the first full day of spring. Since snow was falling in the Adirondacks this morning it looked like winter was hanging on. The pastor at our church wore one of his Hawaiian shirts this morning so we would know that, despite the snow, spring had indeed arrived.

The snow was short-lived since it's been unseasonably warm for the past week. Other than a few spots on the north side of the house the snow piles have all melted into mud puddles. Yesterday we spent a couple hours raking up the thick layer of leaves that had been under the snow. Since it was late fall when we moved into this house we have no idea what the yard will look like in spring and summer. As I uncovered the dirt I saw signs of new growth and the promise of pleasant summer surprises, but there are lots of empty places that will be perfect for gardens. I introduced myself to the trees and plants around the house and promised to care for them. Soon I will have my hands in the dirt, working with nature to create patches of color where none previously existed.

One of this morning's hymns was "How Great Thou Art." What a perfect song for the beginning of spring. I really like the second verse:

When through the woods and forest glades I wander,
and hear the birds sing sweetly in the trees;
when I look down from lofty mountain grandeur
and hear the brook and feel the gentle breeze;
Then sings my soul...

I must have zoned out a bit after that hymn because I couldn't tell you what the sermon was about. I was thinking about things that make my soul sing. Even though I see them every day I am always in awe of the mountains. Sometimes, when the light is right, the view takes my breath away. The lake is beautiful whether ice covered or blue and rippling in the breeze. I can't help but smile when I see the local wildlife - woodpeckers, huge deer, fox, scampering chipmunks, snakes and even an occasional bobcat. What better surroundings for my yoga practice than these?

This is why I came here. When we moved out of New Jersey we could have gone anywhere. There are plenty of places where it would be easier for a yoga teacher to find work. I could have joined a group of teachers in an established yoga studio with hundreds of students rather than struggling to build something from nothing. My soul just wasn't settling for the easy way.

It's interesting to note where you can find the meccas of the yoga community in the United States. New York City and Los Angeles are so packed with yoga studios that you can't walk into a Starbucks without tripping over a rolled mat propped next to a latte-sipping yogini. In the suburbs, the yoga studios are found in shopping centers and office buildings. Simply, studios sprung up where people are, making it convenient to squeeze in an hour's practice after work.

In contrast, the stories from India tell of seekers struggling to mountaintop caves where sages lived in isolation, becoming wise through solitary meditation. Paramahansa Yogananda (author of Autobiography of a Yogi) tells of his many attempts to escape to the Himalayas during his youth. For yogis like Yogananda, the spiritual, quiet mountain was the place for a yoga practice.

Ironically, it was my suburban yoga teacher who inspired my own mountain quest. While we worked through our chakras in teacher training, one thing kept coming to the surface. I wasn't satisfied living where I was. I felt like I was missing something. I felt scattered, uncentered. I needed different surroundings to really live my yoga.

I didn't come here to be a yoga teacher with hundreds of students. I came for the mountains themselves. I came to feel the sun on my face as I sit, in lotus, on the flat rock of a summit. I came to ground to the energy of the earth by being with the earth. I came to stick my feet into spring-fed streams and watch dragonflies dance over cattails. I came to let my practice evolve organically, to share that practice with anyone who's interested and to build a community of yogis and yoginis where none previously existed. Then sings my soul...