​I was sent home with mesa homework yet again from the 7th fire (animistic energy training) a number of months ago… and, an interesting practice of feeding a swirling wild feminine energy that was put into my mesa called a 
huaca....

My life this past year has been like a huaca, a 'pachacuti' - a turning over.... and has been literally turned upside down…  My relationship of almost eight years rapidly dissolved right before my eyes… it went in a direction that i couldn't seem to steer in any way… During most of those years, i’ve tried my best to do what some might call, “make the best of it” and be the best person i can be…

I strive to grow as any human can… with courage to honour my self and my spiritual path and my calling… questing for answers that continually nag at me… and, can’t ignore the stirrings that rise within me… i have to listen to my gut… and somehow honour and find my own true way… how can i not listen to my inner being and be who i truly am?

Many times i questioned why is it, that it had to be sooo hard to share that with someone who is not on the same path?…  i never understood why i was continually judged for being on my own path?  I often felt like i was the one giving support in many ways… I gave up long ago offering invitations to this person dear to me, to share a path that has helped me so much in my growth... and now, to have come to a place of realization that i must honour this person's own path…  I have to admit that i sometimes get jealous that other partnerships can share a similar path together… but i guess that this is not to happen for me, and i do my best to honour and allow that…

And… so… i continue to respect and practice my spiritual (shamanic) path as best as i can… and i exercise my daily homework… this one day, i open my mesa, the mirror of my becoming of my healed state… and oh, how i yearn for that healed state… especially now… during this emotional roller-coaster pacha of time… and so… through my beloved and caring stones (khuyas),  i consciously feed and care for them within the swirling hurricane that is presently going on in my life…

This is not an easy path of late… it seems no matter what i say or do… i'm not heard or seen in the way i have truly intended… when i feel i have intended in a most loving way that i can… I question often where all the rage and disdain hurling towards me comes from?... What the heck happened to the communication - where and how did it all break down?... it can be crazy-making to say the least… I keep ducking the relentless sticks and stones and continual verbal and energetic abuse...

As i sit in mindful contemplation with my altar of beloved… i am unexpectedly and immediately journeyed way back to a time of my childhood… to an age when i was about 11 or 12… i’m smack-back at summer camp on Vancouver Island at good ol' Camp Moorecroft… a wonderous place full of fond, fond memories… a place that offered me respite from the shouting-times of my childhood... it’s evening and everyone is at campfire time inside the big meeting hall… the fire is roaring in the stone fireplace and there is a girl, a little younger than me, sitting hesitantly on the edge of the front stage with her head down, looking at the floor…

This particular campfire night, small groups and individuals are sharing skits, stories and songs with the whole group… i have already shared my contribution… and there sits this little girl on the stage… in great fear… she wants to share but keeps fleeing the stage because of being so shy and afraid… the whole group keeps cheering her back to the stage as she repeatedly attempts to go back to her seat, giving up…

After numerous times of her back and forth dance… i am compelled to go up and and just sit beside her to lend some support to offer her sharing… and as i sit there beside her and the room goes quiet... she finally musters up the courage to share and after, everyone is on their feet cheering and applauding her… she is so thrilled and oh, so proud…

The next day… the camp nurse came up to me to say that what i did to support that girl was one of the most loving things she had ever seen a kid do and then thanked and congratulated me for it…

I'm now transported right back to the present moment with my mesa and the 13 churning loving khuyas embracing me with their light as they always do… and an overwhelming realization comes over me as to maybe why... one reason (of many), that being part of and in this relationship for so many years… was maybe... perhaps... that i was to lovingly “hold space” for her, someone else yet once again... to support them and hold space... to allow them to find their way to what they love and do… and she did get to do what she loves for her own path... big-time!... and... i am honoured to have been a part of supporting her path...

And so... an irony... a life-time dream project for my partner finally did come to a completion for her... it was created and manifested... and arrived to where we were living, a finished product the very same day that we, as a couple separated and parted ways.......... wow.....

​I give many thanks and appreciation for my dear mesa—my blessed altar that shows and teaches me about my becoming.... to spirit... for the teachings and learnings received...

brightest blessings....weaver (((o)))

When I was around say, the age of 10 or 11, my mom asked me, (or my brother and sister) as she often did, to run over to the barn to get some milk out of the dairy. So, off I went with a blue plastic jug in-hand and headed down our short drive-way towards the barn when...

Almost half way, I heard something rustling in the tall grass off to my right, just past the gas tanks. I stopped to check it out and about four feet in, was one of our tabby barn cats pawing at something tentatively on the ground in front of him/her. Cautiously, I stepped into the deep grass to find out what was really going on.

I saw that a tiny, little gray mouse was standing upright on it’s hind legs with his dukes up – swinging back at the cat who was nervously poking back.

I couldn't believe what I was actually seeing and how I was now, a spectator to what seemed an implausible bout.

At one point, I'm sure that I saw the mouse make contact with the cat's nose! I stood there shaking my head in disbelief. I thought I could also hear the mouse chanting, "Put ‘em up! Put ‘em up... Just try it... Just try it!"

Still clutching the milk jug (now-squashed) under my arm, to not disturb the event, I carefully squatted down cross-legged and watched in awe for quite some time – mesmerized with the silent, slow-mo match. I cheered the little gray guy on.

I was astounded as to how persistent both the cat and mouse were. That gutsy mouse was just not going to back down, no matter what, nor the cat – a definite stand-off. And still, no sound from either...

I couldn’t help it… I eventually broke the match up by shooing the tabby away... thinking I was ultimately rescuing the incredibly brave mouse... though, at the same time I also wondered if I was really redeeming the wimpy cat. I also knew I had to get back with the milk.

When I returned with the requested jug, my annoyed mom sighed, asking me why it took me so damn long to get back. I replied, “I don’t know.”

I thought about what I had witnessed that day for quite some time after that and sometimes still do. If I hadn’t broken up the match, who would have eventually won? Maybe there’s more to mice than we really know? Maybe that’s how the idea for the classic Disney cartoon "Mighty Mouse" may have come from?

I think what I really learned from that day is, that it really doesn't matter how big or small you are or how insignificant you might “think” you are – all that matters is how you “feel and know" who you are.

Truly, it was a moment that a tiny little mouse mightily roared – silently… and I got to see it, not hear it!

Written by carol weaver © 2005

poem...

the healing ears (not a typo either)

a hanging half moon night is
nagging away a blue sky day...

driving back home and stopping in on the way
a mallard stands at the store door...

mom with a butcher knife
still screams in my ears...

remembrance…

that i got way too close
to an unknown
full-swinging baseball bat...

and the many drums are healing once again...

yes please... the resonant.

-- © 2003 weaver

There are times I revisit moments of my childhood… my growing up on a potato + dairy farm just south of Vancouver… out on the mud flats of East Delta - in the Boundary Bay area…

I spent much time alone and by myself during those “grow-up” years… being a very shy and introverted kid, it was mostly to escape the 'dissonant episodes' in the household where I grew up… 

Time and again, I would flee those intense moments… And so… off I would go… in a ten minute walk or less… out to the back fields to just, be “away” from it all…

It was there in the wide, open breath of fresh air, I would find solace and some peace… and a different quiet… sounds that didn’t threaten, though embraced and held me… I looked forward to the joys of encountering nature from the spaces of flat fields and the domed, white-clouded blue sky…

Often I would take my kite or many kites, and put them all up in the wind, one at a time, and then tie them to the sharp barbed-wired fence or stake them out into the soft, rich earth … I'd lay right down, flat on my back between the angled strings… watching the coloured diamonds and their long tails dancing for hours on end… and if they would fall for whatever reason, I’d run and retrieve them…setting them up, a-flight once again…

​It wasn’t until my later years that, remembering all that “looking up”… that I had come to know the cloud people and their soft ways so well…I guess that was their “way”…’Cause I still know “them” to this day….  During the winters, with a hockey stick and puck, i'd skate forever on the frozen flooded fields...

Sometimes I would build a little fire and invent my own ceremony for whatever reason or not… dreaming up little celebrations that of course, needed celebrating… to sing my own songs to the unending sky, and, dance self-consciously knowing that i wasn't really alone... or incessantly stare at the sparkling flames, burning down quickly to eventual small glowing embers... until they would all die in a sudden extinguished puff of smoke… only… for me to start it all over again…to be a witness to the life-process of flame all over again… I loved being mesmerized by the fire’s tale and it's inviting warmth… how it cleared + fed me…over and over… and it was never the same story…

In the dark and rainy days of late Fall/winter, I would still venture out to my land of respite… I'd find myself tracking the giant, dignified snowy owls that would come from far away places… They’d put up camp on the barbed-wired fence posts… and wait open-eyed-still for the unknowingly next meal scurrying or flying by…

On my belly, like a World War II soldier without a weapon… I would creep…slowly… silent... invisible…and, track them... hoping, with a bit of luck, to get even closer for a glimpse of their kingly state… Though, never could I get any closer... as often as not with a snap 360-degree turn, the owl would see me… then swiftly launch a silent departure…fly low, a vast spreaded wing-span and glide over to the next fence post or flooded field… Once again, to sit in a perch of stillness, tolerant of the relentless stinging rain… teasingly wait for me… like a game to perhaps break their boredom... 

I swear I could hear their chucklings at their next expected quest by me… Eventually frustrated… I’d stand straight up and stagger over to where one had just been… only to find their tightly-woven pellets of last lunches and suppers strewn on the ground at the foot of the fence post… I’d sit down cross-legged, and carefully, like a scientist, tear open each small, greyish package apart… revealing their regurgitated matted fur-bundle of tiny bones, feathers, fur and hair of field mice and small birds…

I don’t think I ever got close enough to actually see one of those magnificent birds eye-to-eye… 

And so… I have much gratitude and thank sweet Spirit for the back field moments of my childhood - the gifts received in that place with sweet mount Baker holding my back… I thank the dear Goddess for the land and the beings (seen + unseen) that lived there that truly held me, who were my closest friends... I also give thanks for my family, who pushed me to the back fields, my home of refuge and respite, the places of my other Mother… my blessed Earth Mother… the beautiful land... as she fed me… she taught me… she showed me… and she held me… and she still does… she taught me to 'see' in ways I never thought possible...

brightest blessings... weaver x (((o)))

below, a beautiful video of the snowy owls of Boundary Bay - near where i grew up...