MIRROR

With each step that I took the sky expanded before me. An ocean of robin’s egg blue caressed the soft white clouds. Each one was uniquely shaped, and every detail was intricately painted by Mother Nature herself. Even though the sun was high in the sky with its rays of warmth that caused me to squint my eyes, the crispness of the harsh landscape was all that I noticed. My brain, having been jolted awake, was absorbing the delicious views that some might refer to as “desolate.”

A dark blue pashmina was wrapped around my upper body to cover my bare shoulders and braided head. Aside from protecting me from the unforgiving sun, it was also an indicator to the Earth Spirits that I was a human and not one of them. Unless they deemed it worth their energy, a Spirit rarely revealed itself to a human. However, people told stories of traveling to this sacred area during the time of a Solstice and catching glimpses of Spirits.

The desert was nestled next to a large mountain range in the west that slowly wound around the perimeter only to gently fall onto the far horizon where the portal to the Spirit Realm was said to be. No human dared to venture too close or risk showing disrespect towards the guardians of our world. Ever since the Spirits divulged their powerful influence over the earth to help humanity survive, there has been a power struggle between them and the human leaders. Not only are our leaders in denial of their incompetence at healing the Earth but they would also prefer to ignore the truth that they are responsible for triggering the Spirit’s appearance. The existence of the spirit world that lives adjacent to the human one depends on the delicate balance of the earth’s cycles. Humans have been tipping that scale in a dangerous direction since their inception.

I adjusted my pashmina to shade my eyes as I dropped my gaze to trace the earth’s floor, now cracked in oddly octagonal shapes. The lakebed that had been drained centuries ago had left a vast basin, covered in delicate crevices that were weaving and winding like cracks in shattered glass. But my footsteps were soft and quieted by the layers of fine, white dust. I wondered what had become of the Water Spirits that used to dwell here before the lake disappeared.

There was pale green undergrowth, various brown trees, and brush on the outskirts of the basin and ridges of the mountains. But there were no plants or greenery in my direct vicinity. There were no mammals or birds to be spotted because to be out here, in the middle of the basin, would mean being without water or food for an extended period. I saw almost no insects either. All valuable resources could only be found beyond the edge of the dried lake and virtually all the living creatures in the area already knew that. There was no reason to be out here because there was nothing to hunt or to gather. So why did I feel drawn to come out here?

The faint rhythm of drums floated gently on the wind towards me. Once again, my senses felt heightened. I turned around with the mountain range to my left and squinted into the distance. I hadn’t realized how far I had wandered away until I saw the blob of the caravan in the distance. Heatwaves blurred the dark outline of camp where the Solstice celebration was in full swing. The annual trip is taken by my people to offer thanks for the changes of the past year and to celebrate the coming of new energy in the season ahead.

I slowed my breathing down and centered my focus, opening more space for the bass to hit my field of sensation. I recognized the beats to a familiar song and I smiled. A hearty giggle slipped past my teeth because it seemed so silly that I was out there all alone while everyone else was having fun together. And then I remembered why I wandered off in the first place...

It had felt like hundreds of needles were pricking at my brain. The music was suddenly too loud and I could feel its uncomfortable beat deep within my chest. The previously warm laughter and familiar faces seemed to have morphed into jeering undertones from strangers. And with every glance that came my way, a disembodied voice seeped into my consciousness. I recognized something, a sense of déjà vu deep within my psyche. It was the first Solstice without my grandmother, the matriarch of my family, and I grew more and more uncomfortable with the feeling of subtle dread and sticky isolation. Remaining within the confines of the camp became suffocating. Until finally, I grabbed my canteen of water and left without a word. I walked straight into the desert, keeping the western mountains to my right. I distanced myself further and further from the group until its cacophony of sensations that had been surrounding me slowly ebbed away. I felt my tensed muscles relax as my body tried to return to homeostasis after the previously unbalancing overflow of thoughts and emotions. I walked until it was nothing more than a gentle buzz behind me.

Any sound that traveled into this space was virtually muffled by the air, even when there was no Wind Spirit at work. There was nothing physical for any sound to reverberate off, except for the dense and still space that surrounded our temporary home. To speak out loud meant having your words travel slowly and fade away mid-flight. So I walked in silence and was accompanied by only my inner voice and the unseen Spirits on this expedition into the vastness.

I was mindful to tether my body to the ground with every step so that I didn’t let myself drift off with my thoughts into the immense sky. My stream of consciousness seemed to float freely, mirroring the clouds above. To feel so unrestrained in the presence of the Spirits meant that I had to be cautious because they could sense my vitality. Even if they liked to ignore humans, the Spirits naturally gravitated towards our life source, especially the negative aspect of it. They were not restricted to the laws of this earthly plane and while some brought beauty and magic to our existence, others would prefer to cause mischief and mayhem.

As I turned back towards the southwest direction, I focused on the earth below me and witnessed the octagon-shaped cracks take on the forms of flowers. Without hesitation I began to use them as steppingstones, hopping from one to the other, each foot landing in the middle of the flower where a bee would land to collect pollen. I began jumping faster and faster following the path that lay before me. I heard myself laughing, basking in the childlike nature that I felt enveloped by but seemed to be witnessing as a separate entity.

‘That part of the flower is called the pistil.’ My grandmother’s voice dripped like honey over my unrestricted awareness. I was so caught off guard that I suddenly stumbled on the petal of a flower and sucked in a harsh breath. I half-smiled as a tear slipped from the corner of my eye and my throat seized with a sob that I could not release. According to legend, to hear an ancestor’s voice after they have left this plane is a special gift that the Spirits give us, bending time between the living and the dead. I believe that while they were alive, we continuously embroidered the memory of our loved ones into the fabric of our souls, so that we may wrap them around our hearts until we see them again.

Months had passed since my grandmother had died but the loss was still fresh and I let myself cry out her name, lowering my body closer to the earth. I felt the residual waves of grief flow through my body, building up and rolling down both cheeks. Everything in my life that had changed became glaringly harsh to my reality. Truly, I was still shedding many layers of my being that no longer served my higher self. Crouched in the fetal position, I hugged my knees close to my chest as if to hold my tender heart in place. I missed my grandma dearly. I worried that I was unable to keep going on without her and that I had somehow failed her. I felt ashamed because I believed that I was incapable of being the mother that she knew I could be and even if I did happen to live up to her expectations, she was no longer there to witness it.

I watched as the tears dropped down to the dusty terrain beneath my boots. That was the moment when I saw a small rock, slightly protruding from the desert floor. I had noticed the various rocks scattered throughout the terrain, but none held my attention like this one. It was dusted to a brownish color, and I could see that it was partially smooth, like it had been tumbled and shaped by flowing water.

I sniffed and wiped away my tears. “May I have it, please?” I whispered to the Earth Spirits, a split second before I gently grazed it with my index finger. The rock effortlessly broke free from its position in the packed dirt. I felt a warm delight tingle within my body as I rolled the rock between my fingers. I cupped it in my palm and gingerly poured some of my water over it. The rock glistened through the liquid in a bright maroon shade. I used the edge of my pash to clean off the rest of the dust and as I looked closer, I could see white circles, varying in size and embedded in the stone. They freckled the side of the rock that was rough and jagged. The circles had the look of fractured glass windows, splintering out from the centers. I studied the rock for what seemed like ages but was probably only mere moments and during my inspection, I found another intricacy of the stone. I could see the shape and coloring of a tiny mushroom that almost seemed to be pressed into the stone the way a flower is pressed between the pages of a book. I gazed in awe at the small treasure that I had just been gifted by Mother.

I stood up suddenly and twirled with my arms out wide as the delicious warmth that I felt deep within my bones could no longer be contained. I closed my eyes and lifted my face to the sun, letting my pashmina fall off my shoulders. I bathed in the rays of sunlight and filled my lungs with as much air as I could. Slowly releasing my breath, I pushed the sensation all the way down towards my toes and then felt a familiar shiver return up my limbs and my spine as my nervous system rebalanced itself.

This.

This experience is why I had decided to come here. Not just out in the desert but to the Solstice celebration itself. I needed a drastic change in my environment to something that would get me out of the autopilot mode I had been living in. I needed help to regain some footing in the life that was currently put on pause. I hoped to return to my son with a renewed sense of life that he could look up to.

The ceremonial mushroom tea that I had prepared and taken earlier that day continued to progress through my bodily structure. Chain fences and heavy barriers within my mental perception continued to shift and their links cracked as the psychedelic healing properties assisted in the development of new neural pathways within my brain.

When I opened my eyes a flash of color caught my eye. A blood-orange butterfly flitted right below the horizon about fifteen feet away from where I was standing. Its delicate wings were stark against the tan backdrop of the landscape, making it seem out of place. It was like a glitch in the environment. However, the purity of this moment was not lost on me when I remembered the symbolic nature that the butterfly had on my grandmother’s life. The visible presence of this petite but significant Spirit unshackled me from the sinking loneliness of my grandmother’s loss. I held the stone close to my chest and sent out waves of gratitude in all directions.

Follow the rocks.

It wasn’t so much a voice this time, as it was a whisper from the wind. A simple command that required a simple action. And as I looked ahead, I could see that there was a black rock every ten feet or so, stretching out in a straight line, like part of an invisible grid. I followed the illusory line that linked the rock closest to me and trailed on to the next. I clutched the red stone in my left hand near my breast, above my heart, and followed the new pathway that was previously hidden from my sight. By giving into this unknown impulse, my route had veered to the right so that I was walking with the mountains and the far-off campsite in my view.

I followed the rocks and did not deviate from their path. Again, each stone was unique in its own right but none of them made me pause for longer than a moment before I moved on. Until eventually, I stopped at a stone that I imagined to be a perfectly shaped cube, but only one corner of the cube was visible above the surface. It was colored a deep black, visible even through the layer of dust. I stooped down and laid my red stone at the base of the black one. I lined my ankles up with my knees, toes pointed slightly outwards, and placed my palms together in front of my heart. I used my elbows to push my knees out as I breathed in deeply. As I straightened out my spine, my tailbone sank towards the ground. I tightened my pelvic floor muscles and pulled up through my belly, creating a solid base for my spontaneous meditation practice.

I stayed there for a few moments, guiding my breath towards my Root Chakra, and bringing it up through the other energy points of my body. By keeping my eyes gently closed I tried to be a witness only to my breath as it flowed through me. I had nowhere to be. I had no responsibilities within that moment other than to quiet my thoughts. Even without mind-altering substances, this task alone is difficult for someone with a hyperactive and anxious brain. But the purpose is not to dismiss or ignore your thoughts entirely but to continuously come back to center with every breath.

So, I did not restrict the flow. Instead, I slowed it down with each inhale so I could get a closer look at my inner being with every exhale. I have lived long enough to learn that the best way to feel safe in this world is to quiet the realm outside of ourselves. But to find true peace amid the chaos, you must be in tune with your inner rhythm and in sync with your vessel. You can build a shield that is impervious to intrusive thoughts and muddled emotions. But I haven’t yet lived long enough to master the art of knowing myself without a predisposition for self-doubt and judgment. Until then, I will have to sit with the reality that the outside world can creep through the cracks in my field and influence my inner one.

Flickers of pain crossed over my awareness as I involuntarily recalled the things that life had taught me up until this point. Inhale. Feeding the feelings of hurt and sorrow that I experienced at the hands of other humans was not going to heal me any faster than retaliating back at them with negativity. It was time to neutralize and let them go. Exhale.

The deepest wound that I was suffocating was the expectation that my parents were to provide a safe space for healing the mental and emotional wounds that they inflicted upon themselves and each other. And inescapably, my sister and myself. My inner child nodded in confirmation as I let out a shaky breath followed by a tear. Inhale. She took my hand and squeezed it gently. Exhale. I would provide the necessary space for us.

My heart ached as the face of the person whom I thought I would marry flashed in my mind. They were unable to protect me in the way that I had anticipated from a partner. Inhale. The sensation of loss was not just from the absence of my engagement ring. I had placed my sacred trust outside of myself. Exhale. And I vow that I will not give away my power again.

I shivered as I opened my eyes and wiped them to clear my blurred vision. Clouds had slowly rolled through to block the sun. I felt the wind caress my cheek giving subtle relief from the intense heat. I kept pushing and pulling my breath down into my foundation and through my womb space where my trauma was held. When my grandmother had spoken of her own experience of Reconnecting, she had been vague about the details. I wondered how she had faired against her own mind when she was my age.

After modern society had crumbled and the Spirits integrated themselves into the physical world, humans were given a chance to recalibrate the direction of their life path. While some had refused to see the writing on the bombed-out walls, others had turned inwards to try and repair the damage. It wasn’t just the earth that had been siphoned of its resources. Every man, woman, and child that was still alive was walking around as near hollow shells of who they were before. That is why the potency of our life energy is so important and contributes to the Spirit’s own source. They arrived at a time when the spark of human life was burning out and they were here to help us remember what it meant to truly be alive.

I stared blankly, thinking about how the previous generations brought us here when the tiniest bug landed on my hand. I kept still as it scuttled across the length of my finger, using its antennae to inspect the strange mountain that it had just landed on. The clouds that had been shielding the sun moved on and I was covered in sunlight. A small twinkle appeared on my other hand. A piece of biodegradable glitter from my forgotten ceremony paint had stuck to my hand. I slowly moved the microscopic diamond in the path of the bug. It stopped abruptly as the mountain rumbled and blocked its route. Its antennae moved back and forth rapidly to scrutinize the gleaming object.

I watched in pure delight as the tiny Spirit stayed there for a few moments. Suddenly, almost as if thrilled by what it had witnessed, it began racing in figure eights around my finger. I imagined that the glitter had acted like a mirror for this tiny being and having never seen the physical beauty of its own existence, it was enthralled. My heart swelled at this thought, and I remained in a blissful state even after the insect flew away to try and explain to its brethren what had just happened. I gently brushed the glitter onto the buried black stone, just in case the Spirit came back.

I stood slowly and stretched my stiff muscles. It was time to head back. I placed the red stone in my shirt above my heart. I removed my boots and relished the surprising coolness on my bare feet. As I walked in the direction of the camp, I replayed the last few hours. I couldn’t wait to share my experience with my son upon returning home. I thanked my grandmother’s spirit and any others in the area for allowing me to experience such a surreal place. I know that I had not worked through all my deep-rooted layers, but I felt that I had done some major work in this space in time. I knew that the rest of the answers lied within, buried beneath the programs that raised me. If I truly wanted to thrive and model what that looked like for the sake of my son, I had to break the remaining patterns and generational cycles that had been unconsciously operating inside my psyche.

I began to quicken my pace so that I was running back towards my group. The wind seemed to pull me further and it felt almost like flying. After hours of near silence, I screamed into the air with the force of all my ancestors as I released the stale and stagnant energy. I felt even lighter, and the possibility of flying seemed even more real. As I drew closer, I began to hear the music thumping in an upbeat tempo. I started to see the outlines of my friends as they ventured out to meet me. I threw myself into the arms of the people that I held close to my heart, no longer afraid of any false judgment. My outer reality matched the inner one and I was seeing my innate beauty being mirrored in the faces of the people that surrounded me. Things that were previously shadowed in self-doubt had been cleansed by the light of the heavens. I basked in the magnificence of this infinite moment.