Category Archives: Jan’s Blog

Welcome!

Archived here are the blogs I write about inner life and outer life, inner nature and outer nature. Perhaps my writings on life, as I see it and experience it, may offer you some small insight or different perspective as you take your own journey.

With gratitude for all that life teaches me, I share my experiences.

Jan Ketchel

Jan's Blog

A Day in a Life: The Stubborn & The Curious

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Today, I switch from the subject of nature outside of us, which I have been writing about for the past few weeks, to nature inside, as it exists in its many forms inside our physical bodies. I define nature as that which is simply present, that which we are born with, and that which we cannot stop.

As I wrote about a few weeks ago, while watching a doe and her fawn in my backyard, I see nature as unstoppable. It lives and it dies and it lives again. I also feel that we humans have this same unstoppable force of nature inside us. Much as the seasons recur, we are positioned, over and over again, to encounter things about ourselves. Often these are things we do not like about ourselves but know we must confront in order to change. They may be well known issues, perhaps already acknowledged but conveniently ignored until we are ready to go more deeply into them, or they may only exist in our subconscious, blocked, suppressed, and left to smolder. In either case, nature has a way of revealing them to us, in ways that are really quite personally relevant.

First I must state that I believe we are all born with a core issue, one core issue, and although there may be many surrounding and resounding issues, each of us is challenged in our lifetime to resolve this one issue. It may even be an issue or challenge that we have carried over many life times. I feel that nature, our inner nature, in collusion with the forces of nature outside of us, is bound and determined to challenge us to confront this issue, teach us how and why it belongs to us, and ask us to evolve beyond it. This is the basic tenet of recapitulation, to recognize the core issue that is holding us back in life, to confront it, to leave it behind without regret or attachment after being fully relived and resolved, and to move on to new life.

At this point, I must make note of Chuck’s recent blog regarding the contention of the seers of ancient Mexico that everything resides within the human body. This is what I write about today, how our bodies tell us, over and over again, just what our core issue is. We can find out everything we need to know about ourselves by contemplating, studying, and paying attention to our own natural state, our physical body. Our bodies contain all the answers, in our physical, in our psyche, in our energy. Our bodies can tell us where we are blocked, why we are afraid, what our spirit asks of us, and why we are here. Of course, it is much easier to see where others are blocked, to guess at their core issues, and wonder why they so stubbornly refuse to change. I will give some personal examples.

In my family, I am dealing with two very old women, one in her eighties and the other in her nineties, who are nearing the ends of their lives. One of them is in denial, stubbornly pretending that everything is fine; this has always been her way. The other is curious, eagerly attentive to anything she can find that may help her understand where she is going; this has always been her way. When I look at them I have to admit that I see myself in both of them. In the stubborn one, I see my own potential to dig in my heels and kick and scream that I don’t want to go; essentially I see my own fear. In the curious one, I see my enlightened self, eager for the adventure ahead, because this side of me has always known that there is something exciting beyond the veils of this world. In these two women, I see the duality of nature, two very powerful forces in a grand tug-of-war, and they are inside all of us.

It’s natural to be afraid, to fear the unknown, but it’s equally natural to be curious. As I watch these two women struggling through old age, maintaining their dignity while confronting their natural and inevitable physical deterioration in their own ways, I know that nature will win out, but I also know that nature is both sides of this process. In spite of the strong desire to remain in control, nature does not allow us to hold onto anything, it forces us out of the physical body. However, nature also gives us the option of capitulating to our energy body, to finally evolving beyond our need to continue reincarnating in the physical human form with our core issues. It offers our curious selves the option to remain alive, vibrant, and engaged in learning about the possibilities that lie ahead. Energy too is the natural way of things, if we care to engage it.

So who wins the tug-of-war? Well, that is up to each of us; it is an individual choice. Do we allow the tug-of-war to hold our energy in eternal conflict, or do we reconcile the opposing forces, confront our core issues this time around, and evolve? Once we recognize what our bodies are trying to tell us, in all our aches, pains, and tensions, and what our psyches are trying to tell us, in our fears, and embrace the experiences that these two opposing natural forces offer us on a daily basis, we come into alignment with nature, with the opportunity for the stubborn and the curious to finally be reconciled.

If you wish, feel free to share or comment in the Post Comment section below.

Sending you all love and good wishes as you take your journeys to reconciliation,
Jan

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A Day in a Life: The Warrior Bird & The Cat Who Could Talk

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The Warrior Bird

Last week, in Life & Death, I wrote about the snake attacking the robin’s nest. By the end of the day I had seen that one tiny bird remained still alive. Having thwarted death, it was given another chance at life. I wondered if it would make it. From my own experiences, I also know that we are given many opportunities to defeat death, and that, even without our consciously knowing it, we may choose the path of spirit and that once that path is chosen there is no turning back. We are given every opportunity to wake up and notice that the world we live in is set up so that we can evolve, which in my experiences eventually leads us to the opportunity to experience energy. Once we become aware that we are here for reasons beyond reason, our next challenge is to recognize and accept that we have chosen what the seers of ancient Mexico call the warriors’ path. As Carlos Castaneda writes in The Wheel of Time on page 55 in a quote from A Separate Reality:

“When a man embarks on the warriors’ path he becomes aware, in a gradual manner, that ordinary life has been left forever behind. The means of the ordinary world are no longer a buffer for him: he must adopt a new way of life if he is going to survive.”

After an early morning walk on Saturday, Chuck and I decided to sit in my studio. It was a rainy morning, the first rain we’d had in weeks. The windows were wide open and we were enjoying the sounds of the pattering rain, the thunder and cool dampness. We sipped our coffee and settled into our favorite chairs in the corner of the room by the open windows to read, write, and talk. As soon as we sat down I heard tiny bird peeps coming from the bush just outside the window where the robins were nesting. I feared that the snake had returned, but to my surprise instead saw the small fledgling sitting on the end of a flimsy branch, shaking the rain off its stubby wings, its parents nowhere in sight. The baby bird peeped away, incessantly calling out, looking lost, hesitant, and uncertain. I wondered if the parents had abandoned it. Did bird parents simply fly off and leave their young to fend for themselves when the time came for the babies to fly?

As we watched, the baby poked its head out from under the branches and opened its beak wide. Suddenly the mother bird swooped down, hovered in front of it for a few seconds and dropped some tasty morsel into its hungry mouth before flying off again. I then saw that she and the male robin were sitting in the nearby oak tree, a mere few yards from the bush where the baby fluttered and floundered about. They were gently calling to it, encouraging it to come to them.

We watched, fascinated, as the baby bird made many feeble and unsuccessful attempts to fly toward the parents. It popped its head out of the leaves, flexed its wings, and then dove back into the foliage, again and again, shaking the rain from its wings and head, hunkering down, not quite ready yet. The parents called and the baby seemed to answer back, saying: “Really, is that what you want me to do? You really think I can fly over to that branch? Are you crazy? Nope! No way. I’m staying right here.”

Over and over again, it stubbornly refused the call. It was like watching someone stand on the edge of a swimming pool, unable to make the dive into the cold water, knowing that eventually they would take the plunge, but avoidant, reluctant to experience the shock and thrill of the first dip. The baby bird was like this. One moment it looked like it would go, vigorously shaking the rain from its wings, feeling their full length, tipping forward as if to take flight, but just as it seemed that it would let go and fly it would retreat back into the leaves, grabbing even tighter to the tiny branches.

I realized that the baby would not be returning to the nest, that once it had left it there would be no turning back. The parents had lured it to the opposite side of the bush pointing away from the nest. There was nowhere to go now except out into the world. This was, indeed, its day to conquer its fears and learn to fly. As Castaneda writes: “One of the greatest forces in the lives of warriors is fear, because it spurs them to learn.” (From The Wheel of Time, page 238)

Our encounter with the process of this warrior bird was interrupted by an appointment with death. What Castaneda writes, also in The Wheel of Time, on page 239, is the following: “For a seer, the truth is that all living beings are struggling to die. What stops death is awareness.”

The Cat Who Could Talk

Our elderly cat, Abby, at eighteen, was deaf, blind, and increasingly incontinent. For months we had struggled with her difficulties, knowing that she was showing us obvious signs of her imminent demise. For the greater part of a month we’d been hoping she would die on her own while fearing that we would have to make the final decision to put her to sleep. It is an agonizing decision to have to make, with questions arising about quality of life (hers and ours); about what is more humane, putting her down or letting her live on in obvious discomfort? We also knew that had she lived a more natural life out in the world, she would have been picked off a long time ago, too weak to survive. Did she still have some good moments? Yes, but we knew it was getting closer and closer to her time to be released from this life.

Abby was not an easy cat to have in the household, ever. She was narcissistic, the queen, insisting that she have it her way. She lorded over the other cats, snarled and swiped at the dog, and let us know, in no uncertain terms, that she was not happy with sharing her house with other pets. But aside from that behavior she was the only cat I ever knew who could express herself in a language that sounded very much like English. She used to sit in the window and talk to the birds. “You look so yummy. If I were outside right now you would be in my mouth, a tasty morsel! Yyy-um! Yyy-um! Yyy-um!” she would croak. When she wanted to go outside she would stand by the door and yowl: “Rrr-out! Rrr-out! Rrr-out!” If she needed us for something she would call out, increasingly louder and louder as she got older and deafer: “Hello-Oo! Hello-Oo! Hello-Oo! I need you! I need you!” She used her parrot like talk to warn us many times when something was not right with the other animals, that someone needed us, or that there was imminent danger. She would call incessantly until we came and addressed the issue, and only then would she settle back into her favorite spot, mission accomplished.

For about a week I’d been finding her hiding in small places, inside closets, tucked into tiny spots behind furniture or far back underneath a kitchen counter. I’d hear her calling, “Hello-Oo!” and I’d go searching for her, sometimes finding her, sometimes not. I knew she was looking for a place to die. I remembered this from childhood; dogs suddenly wandering off, going to die; sometimes they’d be found in the places they had selected, sometimes not.

By Friday, I knew it was time to help her, to make the agonizing decision to put her down. As I said, it is never easy. I looked for signs, did some research, waited for her to tell me that it was indeed her time, and then I called the vet. Once I let her know what was happening she calmed down and spent the rest of the day beneath the kitchen cabinet, barely breathing. When I told the kids that she was telling us she was dying, they both accepted it. “Yup!” my son agreed, “I’ve been telling you that for a long time.” My daughter said, “I know, Mom. She told me last night.”

So we left the baby bird to its struggles to launch itself and took our old cat to the vet, to help her launch into her own new world. “What will you be in your next life, another cat?” we asked. “Or will you perhaps be a dog?” She settled calmly into my arms as we drove, wrapped in a towel that Chuck had chosen for her, a maroon one with a golden crown embroidered into it, fitting wrappings for the old queen. She remained calm until the moment of death, and then she fought it, hissing and pulling away, tugging at our hearts, we who dared to put the queen to sleep. Even if it was her will to die, she was going to fight it, because that’s who she was. Once again I quote Castaneda from The Wheel of Time where he states, on page 134: “A warrior dies the hard way. His death must struggle to take him. A warrior does not give himself to death so easily.”

We struggled with the outcome of our old warrior queen’s final seconds, unnerved by the experience, agonizing again over the decision we’d made on her behalf. The vet, a gentle man who does not take this task lightly, confirmed our concerns over whether or not we were doing the right thing. He said that animals rarely die in their sleep; the end we so wished for Abby. “It would be rare to wake up in the morning and find her gone,” he said, “much as we all wish that for our pets.” He too is struggling with his old dog, having to face making the same decision, having to determine that the time is right.

We took Abby home and buried her in the backyard, facing south, our other cat Cosi, her companion in life, opposite her, facing to the north. Our sadness was heavier because we face this dilemma with our old dog, Spunky, who at seventeen has already lived far beyond her expected age and we know we must undertake this most difficult task again in the not too distant future.

Later we retreated to the studio, to see what had transpired with the fledgling. It was still there, still struggling to make the leap, still tentative and still fearful. The parents patiently and gently called to it, allowing the process to take the time it must take. Unfortunately, though we would have liked to have waited with them and watched this most amazing feat of nature, we had other things to do that day, so we left the bird, sending it good wishes for its journey into life. Later, upon returning home, we discovered that it had flown, that this was indeed the day to fly!

I looked for the baby bird in the trees as we sat in the yard that evening, hoping to get a glimpse of him on the wing, but he was nowhere to be found. Every time I heard a tiny peep I’d whip around, until Chuck told me to cut it out, I was driving him crazy. At one point I saw what I took to be his mother, come to speak to us from the oak tree, telling us that all was well. And later, perhaps it was the father who perched in the pine opposite us, singing of his brave fledgling’s journey, having taken flight, now on it’s way to becoming a warrior, the first step taken, no turning back. And later that night I heard Abby purring, letting us know that she too was on her journey, freed to take flight, aware, transformed into energy.

If you wish, feel free to respond in the comment section below.

Wishing you all love and a good week,
Jan

NOTE: The book mentioned in this blog is available for purchase through our Store.

Jan's Blog

A Day in a Life: Life & Death

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Last week, while strolling the length of the deck in the morning sunshine, enjoying the last day of beautiful summer weather before the heat wave hit, I looked down into the yard below and saw a young fawn staring up at me. She seemed to have been there for a long time, just standing and observing me. I had been combing and drying my hair in the sun as I walked at a slow, meditative pace. I wondered if my white hair had attracted her, if it looked like the white on the underside of her mother’s tail, the white tail that went up and said, come, follow me.

I stopped walking and stood looking back at her, her spots large and white on her slender back, her ears pricked as she listened to the sounds around her. I saw her mother further down in the yard, nibbling at the bushes where the grass slopes down to meet the tree line. She was walking on one of the paths we’d cut through the tall grass back there, munching on the black caps that we too have been enjoying. Turning on her thin but sturdy legs, the young fawn ran to her mother, frisking about, happy, not alarmed at all. In a moment she reappeared at the top of the yard with her mother in tow. Now the two of them stood and looked up at me standing on the deck looking back at them.

We stood unmoving for several minutes, just observing each other. I sent silent messages that I would not harm them, that they were perfectly safe grazing in my yard and eating the delicious, juicy fruits. I sent energetic feelings of love and compassion to those two wild animals, allowing it to pour out of me and float down upon them in a wave of appreciation for their presence on this day, my birthday. I asked them to stay awhile and just enjoy this moment with me.

The fawn, bored with staring, began to nurse. The doe, feeling safe enough too, began licking her fawn, cleaning her as the fawn bucked and pushed against her. Occasionally the mother would prick up her ears at the sounds in the neighborhood, a car door slamming, a hawk screeching, a saw buzzing down the road, but she stood her ground, not fearing, just alert, aware.

As I watched this little vignette of nature in action, I knew that through all the disasters that mankind does and could put Mother Earth through, the earth and nature will continue. We are not so powerful as we think we are, for here is something that will go on long after we are gone, I thought. Here was life itself, having birthed anew, letting me know that nature will survive, that life will continue with or without man’s interference or man’s participation, that nature can go on just fine without us. And this doe and this fawn did not fear me, for although they were in my yard, eating my berries, they were letting me know that I did not own any of it, that the earth belongs to all living creatures. And I, in turn, fully accepted this, knowing that my own technologically advanced life paled in comparison to nature, for they were showing me what life is really all about.

Monday came and I channeled a message from Jeanne. When I had finished typing and posting the message on the website, I decided to do as she suggested and take a few minutes of quietude before I started my day. I went out into my sunny studio. It was early enough that the room was still cool, the morning sun not yet pouring through the skylights, and the open windows around the room let in a gentle breeze. It was the perfect time to be there because by the afternoon, with temperatures expected to climb into the nineties, it would have been almost unbearably hot. I sat in a comfy chair, settling in for a quiet fifteen minutes of peace when a racket arose outside the window.

Our yard is full of nesting birds this year. It seems as if almost every bush and tree is occupied by robins, blue birds, phoebes, doves, nuthatches, catbirds; you name it. In a small bush outside the window a pair of robins were nesting. They had been busily tending and feeding their young for many weeks. Now they began squawking and screeching, dive-bombing at their own nest, flying to the gutter above the window I was sitting beside and then back at their nest again. I wondered what the heck they were doing. They were acting crazy, their voices shrill and piercing. Over and over again they flew directly at the bush, as if to knock something out. My first impression was that maybe this is how they get their kids out of the nest, perhaps they force them out, but it didn’t appear very likely, not at all like nature, which in my observation is much more gently nudging.

I noticed that other birds were also getting into the act. A pair of catbirds flew to the base of the bush and mewed and snarled, flapping their wings. Blue jays circled around in the yard, cruising like blue and white patrol cars, their voices like sirens sending out calls of distress. A tiny wren perched on a branch of the bush and chirped loudly, fluttering up and down, having a hissy fit. What is going on, I wondered, why are they all attacking this nest? And then it dawned on me that they were protecting it, or trying to, and then I saw it: a long tail hanging down. A cat? It sort of looked like our cat’s tail, but how could a cat get up into that tiny bush? Then it moved and I saw that an enormous snake was entwined around the bush, obviously after the baby robins.

As I ran out of the room, first to grab my camera, and then to go outside to get a better look, I remembered don Juan admonishing Carlos Castaneda to let nature take its course, to not interfere. In The Second Ring of Power, on page 301, Carlos says that don Juan told him that, “every effort to help on our part was an arbitrary act guided by our own self-interest alone.” Don Juan once laughed at Carlos as he removed a tiny snail from a sidewalk and tucked it under some vines because he was afraid the snail might get stepped on. Don Juan suggested that perhaps the snail had spent all day getting that far across the sidewalk and here came this idiot putting him back were he’d started from. Perhaps he was escaping sure death by poison from the leaves of that very vine, or perhaps he had enough personal power to cross the sidewalk. I knew I would not interfere in what was happening, but I also was intent on observing it. For some reason this was what was unfolding before me on this day when my intention was to simply sit quietly.

I stood a respectable distance from the bush, trying to get close enough to get a shot of the snake but also far enough back so I did not interfere in the attempts of the birds to unseat this most uninvited guest. The noise and fury coming from the robins was intense. They flew back and forth numerous times, sweeping the top of the bush, their extended wings like knives cutting into it, but their attempts were to no avail. As many times as they dove at the snake in the bush it was not going to cease the hunt. The other birds, come to help this family in crisis, set up a loud lament, crying and screaming, a Greek chorus pouring out there sorrows.

I am not frightened of snakes but I find them unpredictable, unknown entities. This snake had obviously crawled up into the bush while the robins were out foraging. By the time I saw it, it was well entwined around the bush and, from the lump a few inches along its length, it was obvious that it had already swallowed at least one baby bird. I could see its head moving around in the area of the nest. Suddenly it swung down, a gray snake about four feet long, a tiny bird clamped in its mouth, the small feather covered creature half consumed already. Its yellow legs dangled limply, surely already suffocated. The snake held firmly as it began swinging and unfolding itself from the bush. The birds continued to fly at it, but it would not drop its prize. As I watched, it dropped from the lowest branches of the bush into the ivy below and disappeared.

The robin parents continued to wail and express their deep sorrow at the invasion of their nest, their children taken by this creature of nature, death coming unexpectedly. The other birds soon disappeared and only the stunned robins remained. I sent energetic sympathy to these two birds, feeling their grief, as they cocked their heads in disbelief, keening and pining for their young. And yet I knew that this too was nature in action, the other side of life.

Death is as natural as birth; it is part of the natural order of things. Indiscriminately selecting, coming like the snake in the grass, it will spare none of us. This is what modern man has chosen to ignore, that death is a natural part of life. We must all take our definitive journey as the seers call it, but I feel we have lost our reverence for and our curiosity about its transformational process, and we have forgotten that we are as innocent as those baby birds in the nest, all of us.

Eventually, the mother robin returned to the bush. When I peaked in at her she was sitting perched on the edge, guarding the last of her babies. She voiced a gentle protest at my intrusion, though by now she knew I would not harm her. On Tuesday, each time I looked into the bush, she no longer feared me, but sat silently, just the thing I intended to do before death came so unexpectedly to my yard. I knew she was waiting for two things, for her young fledgling to mature enough so it could leave the nest, and she was also waiting for the snake, for it would soon be hungry again. Death will come again.

If you wish, feel free to respond in the comment section below.

Wishing you all a good week,
Jan

NOTE: The book mentioned in this blog is available for purchase through our Store.

Jan's Blog

A Day in a Life: Memorable Events

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In the introduction to The Active Side of Infinity Carlos Castaneda writes that don Juan Matus encouraged him to prepare a special album, a collection of the memorable events in his life, an album that “reveals the warrior’s personality, an album that attests to the circumstances of his life.” (p. 6) Eventually, The Active Side of Infinity became that album. In the recounting of his conversation with don Juan, Carlos has a hard time understanding just what this might mean. At first he protests that every event in his life was profoundly significant. Don Juan retaliates by suggesting that, in reality, there may only be a few events in a person’s life that actually change things for them, that illuminate the path before them. “Ordinarily,” he says, “events that change our path are impersonal affairs, and yet are extremely personal.”

In last week’s blog, I wrote about an out-of-body experience (OBE) that changed my life. It was a memorable and momentous event. This week I pose the questions: Why do we have these moments and what do they mean to us personally?

In Black Elk Speaks, Black Elk recounts a vision he had as a nine year old boy. The vision begins when he hears a voice calling to him: “It is time; now they are calling you.” (p. 21) He elects to follow the voice. Over the next few days he becomes very ill. For twelve days he lies sick, as if dead, but meanwhile he is in another world, receiving a vision. In this vision he is shown that he must lead his people through four ascents, or times of great difficulty. When he returns from this vision he is afraid to speak of it for fear that he will be considered crazy.

Over the next eight years, he receives many messages and he increasingly realizes that he must pay attention to them. He follows the guidance offered; training himself to trust the messages he receives, saving his people and others from death, devastation, and starvation many times. Although he does not speak of his vision, others notice that he seems to have a certain power and it is only when this power can no longer be held back that he dares to speak of his long-ago vision.

This time comes when he is bombarded with calls from the Universe itself, calls that he cannot ignore. The thunder beings from his vision call to him from the clouds. The stars call to him. The crows call during the day and the coyotes call at night. And what do they say? They all say the same thing: “It is time! It is time! It is time!” (p. 164) This goes on for quite a while, until he thinks he must be going crazy. He begins to fear everything. He becomes withdrawn and isolates himself. His parents, noticing his distress, call an old medicine man to their tepee and ask him to see what he can do for their son. By now, Black Elk is so afraid of everything that he cannot hold back any longer; he fears he will die if he does not speak. He tells the medicine man about his vision and everything else that has been haunting him.

The medicine man says: “Nephew, I know now what the trouble is! You must do what the bay horse in your vision wanted you to do. You must do your duty and perform this vision for your people upon earth. You must have the horse dance first for the people to see. Then the fear will leave you, but if you do not do this, something very bad will happen to you.” (p. 165)

Now that his secret is out, the vision can be shared. While the vision is being acted out by members of his tribe, Black Elk looks up into the clouds and sees his vision once again, as he had seen it the first time. He says: I looked about me and could see that what we then were doing was like a shadow cast upon the earth from yonder vision in the heavens, so bright it was and clear. I knew the real was yonder and the darkened dream of it was here.” (p. 173)

What Black Elk discovered was that our fears are leading us. Carlos also discovered this, for when he related a fearful experience, don Juan pointed out that it was indeed a memorable event in his life and worthy of being included in his album.

Jeanne wrote on Monday that this is the time for us to change, that it is here. Later that evening, as I read this account of Black Elk’s confrontation with the Universe telling him it was time to reveal his vision to his people, I could not help but feel that it was a synchronistic, momentous moment, worthy of passing along.

So why do we have these momentous moments in our lives, whether they be synchronicities, experiences, visions, OBEs, voices, animal messengers, or simply our own fears calling to us? I believe, and this has been my personal experience as I have heeded the calls from Jeanne to pass along her messages, that we, as we listen and follow the guidance given, are offered the opportunity to experience that other world, the “real” world, as Black Elk refers to it. By facing our fears we offer ourselves greater access to our own energy too and this, in turn, allows us the confidence and trust to keep opening ourselves to more experiences.

And how do we face our fears? Sometimes all it takes is finding someone to talk to. We work so hard to fight our fears, as Black Elk did, but one day we just know that it is time, and instead of turning away from them again we make the momentous decision to find out where they have been trying to lead us all these years. I know many brave people make that decision every day. And I also know other people, equally brave, who elect to keep the fear in their lives; for whatever reason, it has its purpose for as long as we need it. Either way we are challenging ourselves to have energetic experiences, one of which can be energy-giving, allowing us access to the unimaginable; the other can be energy-robbing, and often we do feel that we might die if we do not find some form of relief from our issues. Black Elk went on to see his vision unfold in reality. Carlos went on to write about his experiences. Both of them changed their personal worlds.

What does life have in store for us and how can we make this lifetime meaningful? Personally, I elected to face my fears, to recapitulate and relieve myself of sometimes crippling habits and behaviors that kept me from listening to the truths of my inner world, rejecting my own visions for many years. Now, I’m allowing myself to take a different journey. I still must face what arises to lead me, but the more experiences I have with Jeanne and my other forms of guidance, the more easily I flow.

I most humbly offer this essay and my own experiences as examples, but also as incentives to keep going. There really is so much else to experience. That other world truly is real, and it is attainable now, which is really what Jeanne, Black Elk, don Juan and Carlos are suggesting. We have access to it; we just have to get beyond our fears. Is it time? If you wish, feel free to respond in the comment section below.

Until next week, wishing you all love, dreams, and visions,
Jan

NOTE: The books mentioned in this blog are available for purchase through our Store.

Jan's Blog

A Day in a Life: I Asked For It

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It seems that this blog, which I began in an effort to highlight how Jeanne’s messages relate and intersect with everyday life, is more or less turning into a blog about setting and awaiting outcome of unbending intent, as the seers call it, at least for now. Over the past twelve weeks I’ve been exploring dreaming intent, in which I had sent out a proposal to the women seers of don Juan’s generation of the sorcerers of ancient Mexico, to come and teach me in dreaming. I was utterly amazed as the nights unfolded and I did, in fact, learn invaluable lessons from those women. That process took place last fall and since then I have continued setting dreaming intent each night that I feel I want to go exploring, and although I do not specifically intend to dream with those women, I know they have continued to lead me on some pretty cool adventures. Some nights I may just want to sleep soundly and dreamlessly and that, too, becomes my intent. On the night of June 2, 2010, right before midnight, I had a most profound out-of-body experience (OBE). It was more vivid than any other OBE I have ever had. Clearly, the shamanic work I am doing and the books I have been reading are major factors in how the experience unfolded and how I reacted to what was happening.

In keeping with Jeanne’s message on Monday of this week, to not hold back, I write today about that experience, sharing it with you not only because it was so profound, but also because it is perhaps the thirteenth step in learning a shamanic practice. Before I describe the experience, I quote a paragraph from The Second Ring of Power, the book I was reading just before going to bed that night. Carlos Castaneda is talking to la Gorda and the women of his own generation of seers about the various stages of learning dreaming from the nagual, don Juan. On pages 269-270 Carlos says:

The final stage was drawing the “attention of the nagual” to focus on the total self. Don Juan said that that final stage was usually ushered in by a dream that many of us have had at one time or another, in which one is looking at oneself sleeping in bed. By the time the sorcerer has had such a dream, his attention has been developed to such a degree that instead of waking himself up, as most of us would do in a similar situation, he turns on his heels and engages himself in activity, as if he were acting in the world of everyday life. From that moment on there is a breakage, a division of sorts in the otherwise unified personality. The result of engaging the “attention of the nagual” and developing it to the height and sophistication of our daily attention of the world was, in don Juan’s scheme, the other self, an identical being as oneself, but made in “dreaming.”

Don Juan went on to encourage Carlos to practice, saying that there are no definite steps for teaching that double, or dreaming self, just as there are no definite steps to teaching ourselves how to be aware in our daily lives; we do it by practicing it from the time we are born. Don Juan also encouraged Carlos to practice without fear getting the best of him. After reading the above quote, I recalled how other out-of-body explorers generally suggest that looking at the self asleep is to be avoided because when attention is drawn back to the physical body it may arouse fear, causing us to snap out of the experience and land right back into that sleeping self. In contrast, I saw that don Juan was actually suggesting that looking at the sleeping self was part of the process in learning to fully “dream.” When I fell asleep that night I merely put out my intent to “see” and to “dream.” Here is my experience, which I will attempt to capture in as much detail as possible:

I wake up and look outside through the sliding glass door of the bedroom. I see what I perceive as an airplane blinking behind the trees in the distance; it blinks quickly and then swings sharply to the left, low on the horizon. As I watch this unusually strange maneuver, I think that perhaps it’s not an airplane after all, but a shooting star. But even that idea does not fit what I’m seeing, because the light doesn’t shoot and burn out, but flies directly towards the deck, which is right outside the sliding door. The light flits about and I wonder if it’s a firefly, but I’ve never seen one this big nor one that zips about so happily, bouncing in the air, its fat body large and bright, a luminous elongated egg-shape, and not blinking on and off like the light of a firefly.

During all of this I am partially sitting up in bed, feeling extremely uncomfortable and awkward, blinking my eyes over and over again in order to clear them so I can see better. I feel very heavy, drugged by sleep, and it’s a struggle to stay sitting up, but something is drawing me to the window. With great effort I get out of bed, still feeling clumsy, as if very intoxicated; my legs don’t work right and yet, somehow, I step over the sleeping dog lying on the floor next to me and make it over to the sliding glass door. From this vantage point, I see that not only one bright light is fluttering and swooping outside in the darkness above the backyard, but more are starting to come from the same spot in the sky. Suddenly, but without fear, I realize that this may relate to what I’d been reading before I fell asleep, that I am “seeing” as the seers see. With that thought I wonder if I’m out-of-body. I recall what I’d just read, that when one can tolerate seeing one’s body lying asleep then one is truly “seeing and “dreaming.” I decide that I’ll turn and see if my body is lying in bed, as don Juan suggested, reminding myself not to be frightened if I see my body lying there, because I don’t want to snap back into it.

I am still feeling very clumsy and think that normally I’d turn slightly and glance over my right shoulder, but that doesn’t feel right in the state I’m in. As soon as I think that thought, I feel myself swing effortlessly around, counterclockwise, in a sweeping 360 degree turn, though I don’t actually move; only my “seeing” moves, as if my eyes can see in all directions. Halfway around, I quickly take in the darkness of the room, that the covers are pulled up, and I see my legs and Chuck’s sleeping form under the blankets, but the top of the bed is in such darkness that I cannot see our heads. When I finish the turn, when I finish seeing the room, I am facing right back out toward the deck and the yard again. I sense my “body” flattened against the sliding door, as if I’m but a thin sheet of cellophane stuck to it.

At that moment, I realize that I’m in my “double,” that I am indeed “dreaming,” and as soon as that thought crosses my awareness the first light-being flies right up to the deck and dances before me. A large egg-shaped luminous creature, about ten or twelve inches in length, it comes right up to the window. Flitting about, it twirls and loops in front of me and, as it begins to fly off to the right, I am struck by how similar it appears to the way I have always perceived Jeanne’s energy, a luminous being with white wings and body, butterfly-like more than firefly-like. As soon as I have that thought, the being flies back in front of me and seems to show me that, yes, it is exactly Jeanne’s energy. It pirouettes before me, flutters its wings and seems to laugh with delight, happy that I’m now perceiving it correctly. I feel its energy, so alive and so vibrant.

As I watch this show taking place, I blink repeatedly, constantly trying to clear my vision so that I don’t miss anything. My mind, however, is still trying to place what I’m seeing, to make sense of what these creatures might be. I have one final thought that perhaps they are luna moths, and just as I settle on that idea, I let it go and pay greater attention to what is happening outside the window. I see the light-beings still coming towards me, pouring out of the same point on the horizon behind the trees, their fat bellies luminously glowing, getting brighter and brighter and bigger and bigger, as they bounce through the air, swooping and dancing towards me.

I stand and watch this beautiful show for a long time, pressed up against the window, blinking and taking in, with a sense of wonder, delight, and amazement, the absolutely serene silent beauty of these creatures, these luminous beings, as they dance and float before me. I’m able to turn and “see” the show to the right and to the left, as well as straight ahead, without actually turning. I’m simply able to “see” in all directions.

As the show continues, I’m fully aware that I’m being given a gift of not only “seeing” and “dreaming,” but also of interpreting energy, that these creatures are showing me what energy looks like, and somehow I understand this. I know that I look like that too, that we are all luminous egg-shaped beings. I know that we are all full of such vigor, potent with energy, that we are energy, that we are incredibly luminescent. I know that we are all magical beings.

I don’t know how long I actually stand there pressed against the window, but somehow I get back into my body, though I don’t remember actually traveling back over to the bed. The next thing I do know is that I wake up, still feeling that drowsy soporific heaviness and I write down in my journal a cryptic description of what I’ve just experienced, not wanting to forget it, but already knowing that I’ll never forget it.

The next morning, the experience remained as fresh and real as it had been the night before. I puzzled over what had actually happened, my mind conjuring up the idea of luna moths again, wanting to settle on some rational explanation for what I’d experienced, but I knew those were not creatures of this world. I still held the truer feeling of having experienced pure energy, coming in a form I could handle, and that truth and that energy has lasted to this day.

This was a turning point. I’ve never doubted what I “saw” and what I felt. My awareness was totally intact, my thoughts were mine; I was always me throughout the entire episode. I truly believe that I received something energetically from those luminous beings during this experience, that I was invited into experiencing my own boundless energy body. I can truthfully say that since that night my personal energy, my physical energy has remained steadily vibrant and glowing. My fears have vanished and I am no longer holding back. This is the world I have worked so hard to enter and I know that I can’t turn back. I can no longer experience or interpret reality in the old way. I humbly report that I learned to “see.”

Try some dreaming. Might I recommend reading a little Castaneda beforehand, or a little Buhlman, then set unbending intent, go to sleep, and see what happens?

Until next week, I send love and energy,
Jan

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