I am not always a positive person, in truth I am in perpetual fisticuffs with my gripping anxiety and overactive mind. Struggling to remain present in these places I may never visit again, trying to do anything but fret over the what may come.
Before I debuted in the role of my short lifetime thus far, I cried hysterically over the phone to my Saintly lover and Friend, Gavin. “I don’t know why I’m so upset!? What if it’s not any good? What if no one understands the story? What if I SUCK? WAAAAH!!” The three days that followed were some of the most thrilling and ecstatically transcendent days of my life, what transpired was and is; magically indescribable, you really had to be there.
Five months later I packed my life into seven boxes and sold the rest. I inherited a vintage MEC backpack from my mountain climbing father and sorted through all I planned to bring with me on a year long journey into the unknown. Again my Saintly man-friend stood as the proverbial pillar of strength, while I threw real-life temper tantrums crying; “I don’t understand how I’m supposed to pack this all myself!! I’ve never done this before! What am I supposed to do?? WAAAAAH!” It now takes me approximately 5 minutes to re-pack and re-organize my sack, I can see a pattern emerging here.
164 days into my SE Asian journey I find myself coming to the end of the savings I worked back to back shifts; serving brunch and slangin’ pastas till midnight, to acquire. I don’t regret a Dollar, Kip, Baht or Rinngit spent and though I know myself to be a textbook Spendy Wendy, I’ve filled my life with such richness over these last six months that my eyes are welling up as I write this. Travel, do it now. Do it with student loan payments coming out of your bank account, do it with whatever you’ve got and spend it all. Do it and meet the people you’ve been waiting to meet, see the places that you’ve been while dreaming, the feeling of accomplishment and self-actualualization is unmatched, your spirit will soar. All this being said, I’m still terrified, about to cross another threshold, entering into another descent, more unknown awaits. This time (as of yet) there have been no temper tantrums or unabashed wailing, only quiet admissions of fear and doubt, seizing in my guts and hot tears pricking in my eyes. What is next, what will come?
One massively significant leg of this journey was spent in quiet reverence, in the jungle, in perpetual ceremony, with a beautiful woman Soul; Noot, the Shaman. What crystallized for me at this time was the sacred nature of this journey upon which, I’ve embarked. Before I left Vancouver I received the message; “come home to your Spiritual Family.” All along the way I wondered where they were, of course I met many soulmates and beautiful beings who rocked me in ways I’ll never forget, yet I had not felt the familiar knowing feeling from deep in my core- this is it, I’ve come home. Then, on September 19th 2015, the day before I turned 24, dressed entirely in white, surrounded by at least 50 others in the same, listening to seven monks chant tirelessly over our heads while we each sat cross legged on the floor in meditation, it hit me; this is what I saw, the Spiritual Family. The series of Divine events which led me to my place on the floor among the local village people are what I can only describe as beautifully imperfect. A jagged and zig-zagged path through three countries that led me to Sacred space. My heart so grateful and overjoyed, in this moment I must bow to the wisdom of it all. I may never see most of those people again, but they are no less family to me.
I met my favourite Monk in all of Asia during that time. I’ve not met all the monks in Asia but I don’t need to to know that this man is the One. Unusually tall and very thin, missing most of his teeth and constantly smoking Thai tobacco from a banana leaf, his exuberance and laughter filled the space around him with brilliant light. I never learned his name in those four afternoons we spent with him, but I did his age; somewhere in his sixties, the Monk with no teeth looks maybe 45. He loved John Denver and would often rap “black skin, white skin, yellow skin HU-man-kind” to make his point. He’d bust out song lyrics to punctuate the wise and sagely guidance he doled out casually, as if he weren’t seeing into your soul with his penetrating gaze. He told me, in a mix of Thai and broken English, that I have a powerful guardian Spirit (this I knew, but found no less fortifying to learn from him), I’m a dreamer and not so much the doer and that life is not Cinderella. “TO DREAM THE IMPOSSIBLE DREAM!” This he sang out loud. I must begin to take small steps toward success and the achievement of my dreams, to stop setting goals so lofty I won’t achieve them and then use the failure as an excuse to lie back in the grass and stare into the clouds, lost in my imagination.
What I know is this: we are guided, guarded and protected. There is an abundance of support available to us in both the seen and unseen. I know this in my heart and sometimes I still spiral deep into the recesses of my monkey mind, the place of deep conditioning, where pathways deep as mountain crags stubbornly fire on saying; “get a real job, what are we going to do for money?! How will we survive, we’re going to get stuck on this island and then what will we do?” I also know this: there is nothing that brings light to my eyes and fire in my belly more than song, dance, performance. Something wild happens to me onstage, though I am usually playing the role of another I never feel more myself than when I am engaged with an audience. It lives in my blood and has since I chose to come to form in this life. A lucrative career in this medium requires several key ingredients but perhaps the most important being a dogged work ethic, it takes hard, Capricorn-esque dedication. As told by the Monk and I do have to agree, I am much more the dreamer than the doer. I believe myself to be on the precipice of my tutelage in becoming the practical, self-made woman. Wild Woman waits for me in the shadows of all that terrifies me, she is waiting to hold me, to mend and tend my wounds and to thrust me forward into descent, running on four legs alongside me. She waits for us all in this way.
I’m asking this; What is it that you love so much it terrifies you to have it as much as it does to live without it? For me it’s the stage, it beckons to me around every corner, it sets my heart pounding and blood pumping wildly when I imagine myself there; reaching to the far fringes of myself, liberating my soul from its earthly shell, living and breathing the craft so fully I feel I could burst like a supernova and drift down like fairy dust to cover the souls who stand in witness. I don’t know what will come, tomorrow is a mystery as is the future itself, but I do know this; it won’t do for me to place energy into anything but that which I love. I will no longer ignore the call I was born hearing, I understand now- scary as it may be, that these rumblings are what we must listen to in order to live a rich, deep, full and meaningful existence. We’re all a little lost and afraid aren’t we? But we are not alone, our wild nature lives inside us in perpetual sentience, speaking to us through our beating heart, feathers on the ground, tears in our eyes. If it’s struggle and hard work that wait for me across this threshold, then I am ready, I’ve done enough dreaming. I am ready to do.