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The crowning heads of the births of stars

Today the woman called me about signing up for her plant shaman apprenticeship, eager to offer a reduced deposit and flexible payment plan so that I could begin the wheel of the year with her in May. She talks in this breathy voice but underneath it is cast iron seriousness. I met her at the Women of Wisdom conference and was intoxicated by her energy and the possibility of deepening my spiritual practice, but when presented with the cost, I began to consider the possibility of joining the next round, which begins in September. Right now I am in financial transition and wary of making serious commitments.

But this is the second time she’s called. She keeps insisting that the money will come if I believe, and today she was saying it’s best to act soon, that “dreams have a way of slipping through the fingers.”

Now I’m not wanting to vilify her–but here’s the thing. I got to experience my own transformation today through this interaction. At first, I was excited to hear the message from her about the new payment option. And my mind started racing and I was configuring elaborate plans to bring this all into focus over the next month and a half and was feeling tight in the chest and panicky with her “act now or all is lost!” tone.

I did a tarot reading on it and the nausea emerged–the hooked feeling, being dragged along by someone else’s plans, being swept up, a fish with shocked gills trying to keep up the respiration rate, in time with someone else, in time with a different heartbeat.

I just left a working relationship built on disequilibrium and found my free! lightning rod spine again. It’s not about her. It’s not about this new person or that other person. It’s not about anyone else. It’s about me HEARING myself and honoring that voice. I have always acted impulsively and chaotically and dramatically–completely ungrounded and whipped around by windstorms.

I am feeling the call of the silence now. That trepidation I discovered through the mirror of my cards, hours after the pressurized phone call, was an indication of the solid column I’ve built connecting me to my own heartcenter, to the Great Mother’s womb, to the crowning heads of the births of stars–and all of it slow and measured. Cultivating Patience now. It is like the space between words. The unformed potential.

I heard. I heard myself. I called her back and left a kind yet firm message stating that while I deeply appreciate her flexibility and consideration in reaching out to me, and that I do look forward to working with her, that it has become clear to me that the September session is the right decision for me.

And it could be that simple. And the world didn’t come crashing to a halt. And the gates of her farm have not clanged shut as if in the grip of an angry tempest, barring me forever from the work of herbal shamanism (which in itself is the magic of LISTENING to the plants, of hearing their complex messages).

I listened and I spoke and I am.

I love you, sweet ones.



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Poet and Tarot Reader, specializing in Water Cartography
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