Compass & Quill

I’m absolutely drained, so this will be quick. I just wanted to jot a few notes so I don’t forget. Had my first visit with a shamanic healer today, and it was a really interesting experience. We spent about 45 minutes discussing my beliefs and goals (for life and for the session). We discussed my previous journeys and meaningful dream messages. We talked about the science behind entering a trance state. We got a feel for each other, and I really felt that we were on the same wavelength, so that’s cool.

After talking for awhile, we started to work on a game plan for this journey, and she decided to keep it somewhat basic and see if I could meet my spirit guide. She drummed and led me into a trance state. I entered the Middle World, which looked like the front yard of my childhood home. I saw the two big hedges with those sour little berries, the walnut tree, the tangle of grass and weeds that made up that section of our “lawn,” the driveway with its sharp rocks (I was barefoot, and they stuck in my arches), the gravel road, and the trees across the road. I didn’t see the mailbox, so that’s weird. The air smelled of sassafrass.

Once I’d bathed in the ditch (next to a giant green bullfrog) and put on my ceremonial outfit (again a kimono, but this time in darkest navy with goldwork shooting stars, and a floral lining in cream, pink, and red), I looked up to the sky to see my path to the Upper World. The shamanic healer told me that I’d see the way, but at first all I saw was sky. After a moment or two, I saw a giant beanstalk curling up into the sky, with a building at the very top. I climbed the beanstalk, and at the top was a serene Japanese tea house with moveable wood and rice paper partitions on all four sides. The light was late afternoon on the kind of day where the sun has set but the light lingers on just a while longer.

The center of the tea house was a raised platform that had been worn smooth by years of use. I got the feeling that it had been polished by generations of butts, like maybe this was my space today, but it gets repurposed for others as the Universe sees fit. I waited there for a guide to arrive, but instead there was a shift in energy. I couldn’t see anything, but it felt like one whole side of the teahouse was being taken over by a towering mass of storm energy. I realized that it was trying to scare me, but only because it was scared. The shamanic healer told me that if I thought it was pretending to be something it wasn’t, I should tell it that I meant it no harm and offer it a present. So I gave it my favorite Care Bear from when I was little–Tenderheart.

The energy shifted, and I was looking at my 11-year-old self, serious, sad, and worried about the school year ahead. She told me that she was scared of what would happen if she had to go back to that school again. She didn’t think she’d live through another year like last year. No matter what she did, it was wrong. She had no friends, and the bullying was relentless. Her clothes were cheap and out of style, she acted weird, she didn’t know any of the “in” music or jokes or cultural references, she couldn’t play sports–every attempt to fit in seemed like a new opportunity for the class bully to point out her failings and for everyone else in her tiny private-school class to fall in line, lest they end up an outcast, too.

The tryouts for the school play hurt the worst, though. That’s when she knew that the teachers were in on it, too. She knew she’d nailed the audition. She knew the songs backward and foreward. She didn’t look like Belle, but plays are make believe, right? The audience would forget her looks when they heard her sing. But she didn’t get the part. The teacher who disliked her the least was the one who let her know the decision, and her eyes darted back and forth the entire time, refusing to make eye contact with the heartbroken little nerd.

The shamanic healer asked that I talk with her about exactly what was making Preteen Me fearful. Sure, there was bullying and being an outsider, but why did that matter? It mattered because it made her feel isolated and ashamed, and this made her terrified of abandonment. If she could just get things “right,” then she might have community. She might not be alone. We talked about the fact that she didn’t have to be right, and it wasn’t her fault that she was surrounded by jerks. I told her that she actually didn’t have to go back to that school again, and by this time next year she’d be surrounded by friends who actually liked her style and didn’t make fun of her.

Then we talked about books. She was holding a copy of The Black Cauldron–her favorite. She was bored of this conversation and wanted to get back to reading, but first she wanted me to see the book and remember how much I loved it once. She didn’t exactly believe me about next year, but she was feeling a little more hopeful, and that was enough. The shamanic healer suggested that Preteen Me might be protecting a younger version or versions of me. It was clear to me by now that the mass of energy was representative of multiple versions of me at different ages; they just weren’t all ready to be seen yet.

Finally, a very young one came forward. She was maybe two and a half, and wanted to talk about a shaming incident that happened while she was potty training. I won’t go into it here. I know it wasn’t intended to be child abuse, but it was quite scary, she was crying hysterically, and both of my parents were present. Today it would definitely be seen as abusive, but things were different forty years ago. At the time, this little version of me was terrified. She’d made a mistake and was being punished for it pretty cruelly. I can’t remember what was said to me, but I can’t put it past my dad to have been threatening to leave me by the side of the road if I had an accident again, or something like that. He would have thought that kind of thing was funny. All Little Me knew was that she was being treated unfairly by people who were supposed to love her, and that if this is what love looked like, it was unpredictable and scary and you could easily be unloved at any time. She was frightened, but underneath that she was ANGRY. She was little, but she knew what injustice felt like, and this was it.

The shamanic healer gave me some methods to present to Little Me to help work out the anger, like digging a hole, throwing things, or maybe bringing a version of my parents to the tea room to listen while Little Me told them off. I chose the latter. She read them the riot act and seemed satisfied afterward. I told her that she hadn’t deserved that kind of treatment. She was beautiful and sweet, and deserved to be loved. During this whole thing, Preteen Me sat in the corner and pretended to read her book while evesdropping. Typical.

Just as the session was winding down and it was time to come home, the cloud of invisible me(s) pushed this boy forward. I didn’t know who he was, and he looked confused to be there, tbh. The shamanic healer told me to quarantine him until we could make it back to find out more about him. I also saw the college version of me. She was pale, serious, and asking for help. I told her and everyone else that I’d be back soon.

I journeyed back from the Upper World to the Middle World, then back out to this plane. The shamanic healer and I discussed everything that had happened, and we talked a little more about shame and abandonment, and holding space for the parts of ourselves that are still struggling with fear, while offering love, support, and the promise not to leave or give up on them. And now I’ve journeyed, journaled, and it’s time to just melt into the couch for the rest of the night.