tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6043649519859829020.post1708979826834436701..comments2017-02-27T22:20:21.538-08:00Comments on EarthSong Network Share: Welcome to EarthSong Network Share!Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger1125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6043649519859829020.post-69358919782386294732017-02-27T22:20:21.538-08:002017-02-27T22:20:21.538-08:00April 1995 found me on vision quest at Indians, a ...April 1995 found me on vision quest at Indians, a prairie in the San Antonio River Valley near King City California. Little Bear had dropped me off at the white bridge about 2 miles south of the Esselen tribal camp. I had traversed 2 stony ridges, assorted cacti, and packed adobe in the noon sun before I found my sit spot for the next 4 days. No food, no human contact, water where you found it, solitude. I was quite bushed upon arriving and thought about how I was going to get out, over the ridges, through the Prickly Pear cactus, over the parched ground after 4 days in the sun and no food. <br />I began work on my wedding shirt, sewing seed beads on the leather in various patterns. I used red for the east, yellow for the south, black for the west and white for the north. I honored earth mother with green and sky father with blue. All set. Slow process, sweating, thirsting, growling. On day two I was working on earth mother's green mandala when the vial of green beads slipped out of my hand and into the lush green grass. My hands are tradesman's hands, large, muscled, rough. Impossible to pick up the tiny beads with my thick fingers. Resorted to using my beading needle, finding one bead at a time, spearing it in the center, delicately lifting it, then turning to place it back in the vial. Green beads, spring-green grass. Painstaking. During a break when I asked Creator for help I was allowed to hear a sound, previously unnoticed. The sound of water, cascading water, not big, but ever present, and close by. I wobbled over to follow the sound and found a small waterfall in a rivulet of crystalline water. After drinking and giving thanks I glanced toward the northeast and saw a clear path through the lower Oak savanna heading northerly, back to camp. That's how I will get home I thought, and returned to my beading. The bead retrieval had turned into a meditation about patience and respect for each solitary bead. One bead made no pattern; many made a mandala of meaning. Mid morning of the fourth day found me carefully ambling easterly over stone and slippery grass toward the Oaks. As I turned north toward home I noticed that the stream's small canyon became narrower as I walked. The parallel walls became higher and higher as the canyon narrowed. After about 300 meters the canyon became completely blocked with interlocking poison oak vines. I scanned the canyon walls for a route, none on the east, crumbling sandstone on the west. I was guided to have a conversation with the local land spirits. They suggested that I could reach an agreement with the poison oak and pass through unharmed. I was very receptive and asked the plants if they would let me through provided I agreed not to kill any poison oak plants on my ranch. They agreed, I brushed my way through and arrived refreshed at camp about 2 hours later. No poison oak sap lesions ever appeared on my skin. I will never forget that vision quest. John Brennanhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/11076724993252999990noreply@blogger.com