For my final column, I'd like to focus on the topic of healing. More specifically, I want to tackle the question 'what makes for a successful healing?'

A little over a year ago our little dog friend Maynard was bitten in the head by another dog and almost died. I had no idea at the time of that horribly traumatic incident that I'd be learning a whole bunch about how healing works from a wiener dog.

Maynard's skull was fractured and his brain injured. After performing surgery, the vet said that he had no idea if Maynard would recover. In the two weeks following the surgery, Maynard couldn't move and was barely able to lift his head. I imagine that his pain was intense. Feeling like a helpless dog mom, I attempted to do some shamanic healing work for the little guy. I traveled to the dreamtime where my trusty spirit helpers went to work mending and creating new neural pathways in Maynard's brain. They also retrieved a piece of Maynard's soul that he lost as a result of the trauma (it was hiding on a low shelf behind the cookbooks in our kitchen). After the healing work was finished, my helpers told me to let him rest for a few hours. So we left him alone.

Later that afternoon, my husband heard a squeak upstairs where Maynard was camping out. We ran upstairs and found the little bugger about 3 feet away from his bed facing the opposite direction. We were blown away. Not only did he make a sound for the first time, but he was able to move (more like drag) his body. About an hour later, Maynard started lifting his head and pushing his upper body off the floor. His head was pretty wobbly, but he was doing it all by himself. Amazing. Then he barked when a train went by. Maynard was on his way back!

In the months that followed Maynard continued, and continues, to make mind blowing progress - which got me thinking . . . why did he respond so well to shamanic healing? I've concluded that there are two primary reasons: 1. Maynard loves being alive and he's one of the most determined creatures I've ever met, and 2. Maynard doesn't have all the mental trappings that we humans have. He doesn't have insecurities and doubts clouding his desire to get back to digging holes and hunting for snakes and mice.

This is something I think I knew intellectually, but wasn't able to really understand until I went through this experience with our little punk. Since I started on the shamanic path, I've wondered why some people have incredibly powerful healing experiences while others don't experience lasting effects. And now it's quite clear - how successful healing is depends greatly on how badly the person wants to heal. If someone requests that I do healing work on their behalf, but gives me all the power to make it happen, then the results are short-lived. It's not up to me. I'm not that powerful. However, if the person uses the shamanic healing session as a jumping off point because there's nothing he/she wants more than to heal, then miracles happen.

It reminds me of when I was learning how to fight. During our courtship, my husband John taught me how to spar the old school way (some people go to movies and out for dinner - we went in the back yard and hit each other). He had a 3rd degree black belt in kung fu. I was a lowly first degree black belt. John was a really cool, sweet, and kind guy . . . until we bowed in and began a sparring session. When he rose from his bow, his eyes were different. And I got scared. And he kicked my ass - repeatedly. I watched him fight other people and noticed that he could get his opponents to flinch and turn their heads away from him just by looking at them with those crazy eyes.

That's when I learned that fighting is only about 20% technique and 80% attitude. I believe the same is true for healing. If you approach your desire to heal like a warrior, you'll move right through the middle of your festering, oozing wounds and out the other side, all scarred up but with a ton of character. Now Maynard, he has some bad ass scars. And you know what that means? Serious character.

Here's to Maynard and his continued progress. After a year of rehab, including physical therapy in a wiener dog wheel chair, he's not only walking again, but he's got that ìI'm going to bite your anklesî glint back in his eyes . . . Sweet.

Thanks for reading!

 After my first visionary experiences I enthusiastically decided to follow the shamanic path. (Little did I know that I was already on it. silly me.) I thought, “Hey, there seems to be a lot more to this reality thing than I ever imagined. Wouldn’t it be cool if anything truly was possible?” The potential was staggering. Upon retrospect, however, I have to admit that in the deep recesses of my psyche the idea of pursuing the shamanic path appealed to my need to feel special.

 By the time I started having visions, I’d already been introduced to the ‘law of attraction’ – the concept that you can draw anything to you if you follow a certain formula (e.g., pronounce your desire in the present tense, see and feel yourself attaining what you desire, do 40 push-ups, and then surrender your desire to the universe and wait for it to manifest. Piece of cake.). And I fancied myself quite the ‘manifestor.’ Within a year of practicing the law of attraction I found my soul mate, created a new life for myself in a city where I knew no one, started the best job I ever had, and purchased my dream car – a 1967 Mustang.   

 The world was my oyster and I was ready for dessert. Unfortunately, for me – the only selection on the menu was Humble Pie.

 Let me tell you about my relationship with Mustangs. I wanted one since I was 6 years old. You see, the Mustang gene runs dominant in my family. My mom got one the first year they came out when she graduated from high school in 1964. It was a burgundy coupe with shiny chrome rims. She muscled hers out by jacking up the back end, throwing on a hood scoop, and installing a loud throaty exhaust. You have to picture my 26-year-old mom dropping me off for my Brownie meeting in this car and then peeling away in a cloud of dust while all of us girls stood there transfixed in our little brown and orange outfits. My mom was one very hip lady. Hip and powerful. I was intoxicated. This image of coolness burned into my developing ego like a cattle brand.

 Twenty-five years later I was sitting behind the wheel of my very own vintage mustang. I had it painted burgundy, bought some chrome rims and low profile tires which were actually too big for the car’s frame and would rub against the wheel wells whenever I hit a dip in the road. But I didn’t care. I had my bad ass Mustang. This car made me smile all the time. I couldn’t keep my eyes off it. I’d even take little breaks at work to look at it through the window. Pathetic, but true.  It was as if I was unconsciously checking to make sure it was still there, like I thought it would suddenly disappear.

 I’m sure you’ve figured out by now that this car was an external manifestation of my identity – which was born out of my desire to be like my mom. When I bought the car I felt, in a sense, complete . . . like I had arrived.

 So it was an absolutely brilliant gesture on the part of my higher self when a year and a half after buying my Mustang and investing about $3000 to make it a reliable daily driver that it was stolen. I was devastated.

 But wait, it gets better. With my new found manifestation skills I came to the conclusion that the ‘universe’ intended for me to have a BETTER Mustang and that this was obviously the reason my car was stolen in the first place. Of course!

 So I ‘manifested’ a handsome check from the insurance company. They not only reimbursed me the price I originally paid for the car, but they threw in an extra $3000 for the repairs I’d made. Sweet.

 Check in hand, I went on the hunt for a better Mustang. This time I decided I wanted a car that had been converted – a vintage chassis housing a modern motor and transmission. I found a white 1966 coupe whose owner had installed a 1990 motor and 5-speed transmission. Perfect. Just what I asked for. And guess how much it cost? Exactly the amount of the check I got from the insurance company!

 I was convinced that my magical thinking had created this situation and I had no doubt that it would all work out. My faith was so strong that I ignored some very blatant signs telling me that I should run far in the other direction. First sign: The owner of the car wouldn’t let me test-drive it. I had to beg him to let me drive the car. Second sign: My boss found out who I was buying the car from and told me, “Wendy, don’t buy that car. I know this guy and he’s a liar.” Third sign: I ignored the promise I made to myself that I would never buy a vintage car without first having my mechanic check it out. On so many levels ignoring that promise felt wrong. But no, I had the universe on my side. The universe and I were pals.

 Three days after buying my shiny new Mustang I walked out to find a puddle of coolant under the front end. Fortunately, I was able to drive the car to my mechanic. He lifted the hood and after a quick glance shook his head. My heart sank as he said, “Wendy, why didn’t you bring this car to me before you bought it?” He explained that the conversion was done all wrong – that the fan was the wrong size and the electrical system was wired incorrectly. And then when he sat in the driver’s seat he yelled, “Holy shit, is this the fuel line running through the interior? You could’ve been killed!”  

 At the risk of sounding dramatic, I felt like everything came crashing down around me. My belief in a magical and abundant universe, my sense of identity, my dreams – all destroyed within five minutes of pulling into the parking lot of a service station. And this was just the beginning. I’ll spare you the embarrassing details, but for the next six months I spiraled down into a pretty dismal place where I ended up standing face to face with my shadow self – and she was a wretched mess. I wasn’t feeling very special. I felt like a tool.

 Although I didn’t know it at the time, I had entered a phase in my spiritual development commonly referred to as the dark night of the soul. Not only had my Mustang – my identity – been stripped from me, but I discovered that my magical thinking was hollow. Everything I had to come to think about myself and the world was put in question.

 It was EXACTLY what I needed – a little initiation in the form of ego dismemberment. This is when your ego – who you think you are – is shred into tiny little bits in order to make room for who you really are. Come to find out that in order to be an effective healer you need to clean your own house before you can go traipsing through other peoples’ houses.

 It was also EXACTLY what I asked for. When I made the commitment to walk down the shamanic path I unknowingly invited my higher self to enroll me in spiritual boot camp. Here’s my take on spiritual boot camp: First you’re assigned a bunk and a locker to store all your self pity, then you stand in line for a really long time, then hundreds of rats come and rip you to shreds with their tiny little teeth and you die a symbolic death, and then your spiritual corpse marches for miles and miles through the middle of all your fears and insecurities in really uncomfortable leather shoes, then someone throws mud on you and calls you names, and then when you’re about to throw in the towel and go AWOL . . . you notice a pinprick of light in your heart.

 What a relief to discover that underneath all the layers of crap was my true self. It was there all the time just waiting for me to uncover it. This insight has been my anchor through every subsequent initiatory experience I’ve been through and continue to go through.       

 My initial dark night experience is what led me to write the article “Navigating the Chaos” featured in this month’s issue of Golden Age Today. I believe the human race is currently going through a collective dark night of the soul. As a result, we’re grasping for anything we can get our hands on to feel a sense of control, which is why the ‘law of attraction’ is hugely popular right now. The thing I realized, though, is that creating your reality is much more complicated than simply wishing and visualizing it in a new way. Changing your reality is about discovering your soul’s purpose and then taking the necessary risks to actually live it. It’s about becoming aware of and stepping through your fears and insecurities. And it’s about recognizing the difference between what your ego desires (e.g., a vintage mustang) and what your soul desires (e.g., being of service to others).   

 There’s no handbook for this stuff.

 Until next month, may your path present you with magical opportunities . . .

A week after my first healing session I was back on the massage table ready for my next experience. Of course I had the customary internal battle raging in my wee little head. My inner skeptic was certain that my first rather unusual experience (see last month’s column) was a fluke and was most likely the result of an overactive imagination, while the more receptive part of me was completely fascinated and secretly hoped for another vision. Of course, I was rooting for the receptive part of me to win. Skeptics are a buzz kill.     

Deb, the shaman’s apprentice, began her ritual of burning sage, rattling and placing crystals on my energy centers. This time, instead of smelling burning hair, I smelled the heavy sweet scent of incense. I knew the scent was frankincense but I don’t know how I knew this since I had never smelled frankincense before.

Not in this lifetime anyway . . .

The moment I shifted my focus inward the vision began.

It was nighttime and the air was hot and heavy. I was inside the body of a man who was crouched behind a tall rectangular boulder. He was sweating and out of breath. Torches on the far side of the boulder created flickering patterns of fire light on either side of the rock where he hid in the shadows.

Like the last vision, this man was familiar. I knew immediately that he was another one of my identities from a previous lifetime. He lived many thousands of years ago in what we now refer to as Egyptian society. His body was dark skinned and scrawny. He was physically unattractive and emotionally and spiritually immature. This was someone who most certainly did not make his mother proud. It was difficult to admit any connection to this guy, but when it came down to it I had to accept the fact that, as this man, I had lived a pretty unsavory life.

Crouched behind the boulder I could hear voices in the distance. I quickly realized that my compadre was being hunted by a group of royal guards or soldiers. The language they spoke wasn’t familiar, but somehow I understood what they were saying. I felt fear rise in the man’s body as our hiding spot was discovered and he/I was surrounded.

One of the uniformed men grabbed me and slung me over his shoulder with ease. My body was deposited into a large linen sack and carried away. They carried me into the desert far from civilization. After the long walk my body was dropped on the ground with a thud and I heard them start digging.

The guards joked with each other as they dug their hole, “If our friend here believes he’s royalty then let’s give him a royal burial.” I started to hyperventilate. They all laughed and another man added, “Yes, a burial fit for an immortal king.”

What had I done? The memory came in a rush. In an attempt to obtain physical immortality I had captured and killed a cat and then drank its blood. A million thoughts raced through my contemporary mind as I struggled to understand the significance of this crime. At the time of the vision I had no idea that cats were considered sacred in ancient Egypt.

When the digging stopped, one of the guards opened the sack and said with a smile, “Your royal tomb awaits.” He pried my mouth open and another guard shoved an oval object inside. It was a hand carved scarab. They told me to swallow and I started to gag. The linen sack was closed back up and my body was thrown into the shallow grave. The panic was intense as I struggled to breathe. I felt the dirt hit my body as the guards buried me alive.

Back in physical reality, Deb recognized that I was having difficulty breathing and helped me to focus on relaxing my breath. Once I gathered my wits I shifted focus back to the vision and accompanied my former identity through the death experience. I came to understand how during that lifetime I struggled to feel powerful and important in a world where bloodlines dictated status.

After the session ended, I thought about the previous week’s experience with the young slave girl and intuitively felt that the two visions were connected. The common denominator was the cat. In my life as the Egyptian man I was driven by a desire for power and status. I concluded that my decision to kill the cat in order to meet my ego’s shallow needs showed the inexperience of my soul. The spirit of the cat, in essence, gave my soul the opportunity to evolve by allowing me to directly experience the law of karma. However, as the young slave girl I was unaware that my death was a consequence of actions taken in another lifetime. It took me having these two consecutive visions in my current life to start putting the pieces together.

Aside from gaining an understanding of karma, I was also being given the opportunity to heal old wounds. In these former lifetimes I believe the traumatic nature of both death experiences left an energetic imprint on the landscape of my soul, specifically in the area of my throat and neck, which needed to be healed. This imprint prevented my throat chakra from functioning as it should. Hence my recurring dreams of choking and life-long dealings with throat-related illnesses and neck injuries. The energy of my throat was trying to get my attention all along. The healing wasn’t instantaneous, but gradually over the next year my recurring choking dreams and throat infections went away. 

As wacky as this stuff sounds, these two shamanic healing sessions facilitated by a compassionate, open-minded healer allowed me to directly access, in a very real way, ancient injuries that were begging to be addressed. Until then I never would have guessed that we can unknowingly carry wounds with us for tens of thousands of years.

Until next time, may the gods smile down upon you . . .

It didn’t take long after my first visionary experience (see my first column – The Call: My Introduction to the Spirit World), for the dust to settle in my psyche. I put the experience to rest and got back to the grounding nature of my routine. But deep down inside, a part of me knew that life would never be the same again. I had experienced something that defied logic, yet felt completely real.

Less than a year later, during a search to rent workshop space, I ended up at a small healing center in Denver. After deciding to rent their space I asked them what kind of services they provided. I was told that the owner of the center was a shaman and that they offered both training in shamanism and healing sessions. I was intrigued and decided to schedule a healing session with one of the shaman’s apprentices (it was cheaper!). This was my introduction to shamanism and alternative healing.

I don’t think I knew what to expect. In fact, I don’t think I had any expectations at all, just curiosity. The session began with me lying on a massage table while the healer, who I’ll call Deb, burned sage and rattled over my body. Deb placed healing crystals on specific points of my body – one for each chakra. While she did this I smelled burning hair. I mentioned this to Deb and she said she smelled it too and checked to make sure she didn’t accidentally drop any sage ashes on me. After a thorough search she said she couldn’t find anything burning, which was strange because the smell was growing stronger.

The crystal that sat on my third eye started to burn and my throat closed up a little. I stretched my neck to try to open my airway more, but it didn’t seem to help. Panic crept in. I felt like I was suffocating. I did everything in my power to appear cool even though I wanted to tell Deb that I was probably choking to death and would most likely die in a few moments. Irrational? Hell no. Well, maybe a little bit. Instead, I tried to calm myself. While focusing on slowing my breath I started having a vision. I saw fire and thick smoke. I shared this with Deb and she asked me to stay with the vision and to tell her what I was seeing as I was seeing it. So I turned my attention completely inward and told Deb the story that was unfolding in my mind’s eye. At first, it was like watching a movie.

I saw a young black girl, probably between 8 and 10 years old, playing with a house cat. Where the woman on death row in my first vision felt like a complete stranger, this girl was very familiar. I knew right away that she was me. This girl was one of my identities. I was seeing a past life. I didn’t even give my rational mind a chance to wrestle with this information – I just went with it.

In this lifetime I was a member of a family of slaves in the south. I lived in an outbuilding behind one of those classic white plantation homes. The ‘masters’ of the plantation were seemingly kind to my family (as kind as people who own other people can be, I suppose). I wasn’t expected to work much, but was able to play and enjoy my childhood. I was even allowed to hang out in the main house while my parents worked.

In the vision it was nighttime and I was playing with the cat. I chased it from the kitchen into a parlor-like room. The parlor was filled with fancy upholstered furniture, a fireplace and two tall windows draped in heavy expensive fabric. The cat ran through the room and jumped up on a table that was against the front wall next to one of the windows. As he ran across the table the cat knocked over a lighted glass kerosene lamp. The kerosene splashed and ran down to the floor and the flame quickly followed. I stood paralyzed as I watched fire climb the drapes. It all happened very fast. I couldn’t move. I had the thought that this wasn’t how it was supposed to be. That it wasn’t my time to die yet.

I felt my throat close and burn as the smoke grew thicker. My physical body responded as if it were going through the experience. Deb noticed that I was struggling to breathe and she calmly reminded me that what I was experiencing was only a memory. She had me focus on my breathing which helped me separate my awareness from the vision so that I could observe the memory rather than participate in it. I saw the little girl collapse on the floor. My awareness merged with hers again and I knew she was dying. Her panic was replaced by a sense of peace as her/our spirit lifted up, and with a pop, we were floating in the bright darkness of the spirit world. She was safe.

I opened my eyes and asked, “What the hell was that?” Deb laughed and suggested that maybe the tragic way that that particular life ended was affecting my current life and needed to be healed. Hmmmm . . . maybe so. I thought about the recurring dream I’d had since childhood where I woke up convinced I was choking. I still had this dream several times a week.

And then I thought about my relationship with cats. My first and only cat, Charlie, used to attack me for no apparent reason. I remember one time as a little kid sitting in the grass staring at the clouds, probably drooling, when out of nowhere Charlie leaped up and clawed at my face. Charlie did this enough times to make me afraid of him. I always figured that I wasn’t a cat person, but maybe there was more to it . . .

Next month I’ll share my second healing experience with Deb and my introduction to the concept of karma.

Until then, may the gods smile down upon you . . .