Decisive Moments

“Living awakened, ultra-aware, purpose driven, choice filled lives...”

“…the difference between merely reacting to something, and actually being present and aware enough each and every moment to choose to have the ability to respond.”

These words are what it means to be a shaman according to the Animá path. One that I have embraced whole heartedly. A path that has brought much depth and self-exploration to my life. Yet a path that means I can’t sweep under the rug the parts of myself that I don’t like. A path that has been the most challenging ~ and rewarding ~ of my life so far.

I started my studies with Animá not quite a year ago. I found Animá through insightful articles by two remarkable women, Kiva and Loba in the journal Sage Woman. They introduced me to their home, the Sweet Medicine River Canyon and Animá, which led me to explore their website, which led me to the Shamanic Path course. I feel it was no accident that I happened upon Animá, many experiences had led me to it, it was time in my life to commit more fully to a shamanic path of study ~ and living.

These studies, and their application, have given me the gift of holding myself accountable for every action I take, each choice I make, how I define who I am, and for the very way I in which I pursue & define my purpose in life. Every moment in life is decisive, and can be a lesson as well, and I’ve chosen some to share that stand out in my life recently that have offered me the greatest insight and “aha” opportunities.

Making each moment decisive means being completely in the present. Worrying about the future, dwelling on the results of past decisions, these take me very far from the present. One part of a recent lesson was on “presence” and I created a list of ways to remember to remain present. Ha! That has been easier said than done! My list is filled with good intentions: I would “breathe” each morning before jumping out of bed; pause before I speak; walk slower; wear shoes that let me actually feel the earth or go barefoot or; and listen to others - really listen, not just wait for my turn to speak in a conversation. The reality? Having a four year-old means usually he comes in and wakes me up before the alarm and I jump up to tend to his needs, rather than asking him to wait while I breathe! Pausing before I speak, this has been fun! I still find myself responding immediately, but have been trying it out when I remember. Slowing down, walking slower, hmmm…when I don’t have a lot to do. Wearing shoes that let me feel the earth? Okay, twice I’ve done this? We won’t even talk about bare feet! Listening, really listening ~ this is actually going well, except when I get excited or find myself not heard, I tend to jump into conversations quicker, responding without thought. So, I have learned that intention is all good, but manifesting takes much more of a commitment. The greatest lesson though? Forgiving myself when I am not perfect.

A very different way of making sure each moment is decisive involves how I perceive myself and my interactions with others. For all of my childhood and much of my adult life I have been intimidated by strong-willed, outgoing, and bullying type personalities (to me they have all felt the same!). I could feel myself physically cringe in their presence, hoping to go unnoticed by either their passion or fury, depending on the moment and the person. I was easily knocked off center, and did much to avoid anyone that might fit that description. Yet I have also been good at hiding this part of myself. I would say most people who know me would not describe me as someone who is intimidated by others. I have come to realize however, that my fear of strong-willed people, actually stems from my own undeveloped sense of personal power. My strength or passion for life has gone unexpressed. I saw myself as powerless, rather than power-full. Learning this about myself means that each time I come across someone who intimidates me means physically grounding myself in the moment, staying centered, stepping back and really seeing who they are, not reacting to them, feeling strong, and not giving over my power to someone else. What a shift it has been. How much more comfortable I am in my own skin. And what a relief to be able to stay centered, and not take on others’ “stuff.” Yet sustaining this new found power-full-ness has been the greater challenge. Discovering it once and applying it, then expecting it to be there unconsciously each time thereafter has not been my reality. EACH time I find myself face to face with someone full of zest or magnetism or meanness means choosing to be centered. Choosing to be present. And choosing to be power-full.

Another decisive moment that I encountered recently weighed much heavier on my heart. A question in my last lesson called me to notice if something contributes or detracts from being present. Can I move toward that which contributes to being present, and move away from that which detracts? For myself I know that worrying about future results, when it's time to make a decision, detracts. Where feeling the present moment, really getting in touch with how a choice feels, contributes. Recently my son has been going through quite a rough spell, and I was faced with parts of myself that up until this point I had pushed down and away. He needed to go to the emergency room in the city, after a visit to the local hospital the day before had been less than successful, but it coincided with the first day of a new session of classes that I teach. I weighed in whether I needed to be there at the hospital or not. I knew he was in the best hands there are, his father is fabulous and nurturing and would be there for him. I felt torn between my creative outlet, my identity even, and my son. I also knew that I have the pattern of taking care of others before myself (and actually in this instance it would have meant letting down 25 or more women who were expecting a class that night). I realized that my fear was that they wouldn't come back, that they would see me as unreliable, and choose not to return. I was also experiencing a tremendous amount of guilt, for not making the "isn’t it obvious?" choice of putting my son first. In making this choice, what I was focusing on ended up taking me very far from the present moment. I had to let go of all of it—fear, guilt, self-judgment—not easy—and really feel at this decisive moment what was right for me. Not for my son, not for my students, but for me. I needed to be VERY present to make that choice. And it worked. I was completely at peace with the choice I made. So for me, worrying about others’ needs, worrying about the future…these take me very far from the present. Conversely, listening to my heart, my feelings…this keeps me present. This contributes to it.

I know there are many other instances that I could write about…but thank you for sharing in these bits and pieces put to paper (or keyboard) so far.

Thank you to Wolf, Kiva, Loba and Rhiannon for all that you have shared with me, all that I have learned from you. The journey is the blessing.

Warmest regards, Indigo.

Sacred Circles for Women

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Signs of Spring

Spring always seems to catch me by surprise. Suddenly trees are budding, flowers are blooming, grass is growing, our wood supply is dwindling down...it can’t be spring already? I think I'm surprised by it each year because I know how quickly it will be over.




In the Sierra Nevada foothills where I live, fall is short-lived, winter hurries by in a similar fashion, spring barely begins and then summer hits, too hot, too soon. And it's too hot, for too long - in my opinion of course. And the real reason, I must admit, to not being a fan of summer, is that not much rain, if any at all, falls from May to October. And with spring’s approach, that means fewer and fewer rainy days to look forward too. So I love and appreciate the rain each year, especially because I know it will be absent for a long stretch every summer.

Yet despite my protests, spring is definitely on its way! And it is always so beautiful when it arrives, so I really shouldn't complain.

What’s interesting during these transitions from one season to the next is that my home is about 2000 feet higher in elevation than where I work, and yet only 16 miles from one to the other! So though spring is just starting to emerge here at home, down the mountain the fruit orchards are covered in blossoms, the daffodils are nearly spent, the flowering quinces are a blaze of coral, and folks have already begun putting their vegetable seedlings into the ground. Where at my house, we might still have another snow storm come through, and the frost-free days won’t be here until May. So I get a bit of a tease, each time I head down that hill, a taste of spring, and yet also know that I can savor winter just a bit longer where I live, not rushing headlong towards summer quite yet. At least that’s how it feels.

This year we’ve had lots of rain, at least, much more than the past couple years, it’s still a little low for the year, but enough to gift us with the seasonal creek near our house. The sound of that gurgling brook makes my heart sing! How I’ve missed you! So this year the signs of spring are bigger and more lush than ever: the chickweed and miner’s lettuce are popping up everywhere: the daffodils are ready to burst; the robins are residing in the oaks once again; the slopes around my house are a soft velvety green; the poison oak’s little red tips remind us to pay attention to where we walk, doing its job to keep humans out while a piece of mother earth retreats and recovers; the pink manzanita flowers sway gently in the breeze like silent bells; the yarrow coats the ground in it’s soft fern-like embrace; and traces of snow,




cling to the shadowy corners, remind us that though spring is coming, winter is not quite done yet!

Enjoy the season!

The Bend in the River

One of the many gifts of visiting the Sweet Medicine river canyon, in the southwestern part of New Mexico, home of the Animá Wilderness Sanctuary, is being given the opportunity to walk downstream, to the bend in the river. It is at this place, perhaps the very center and most sacred of an ancient people’s world, and quite certainly a place of intense and magnifying energy, where one may pause, reflect, and with purpose and intent, be silent, connected, engaged, alive, and still.

But to get to this place in the river, there is no path. And therein lies the magic, and power, of its gift.

I began my own journey downstream with gentle encouragement and the suggestion to take as long as I needed, to go with intent, and to quiet my mind. As I started out, there was still some semblance of a thin trail, and in front of me were footprints, both barefoot and sandaled, of others who had passed this way before me. Yet hidden under the soft river sand were scatterings of seed pods, potential for life renewed, but protected by prickly spines, sharp corners, and pokey thistles. In this high mountain desert, the need to survive scant rainfall and sometimes adverse conditions, calls for such protection. So off I went, barefoot ~ barely 24 hours after arrival from a place where shoes are taken for granted or used merely for fashion rather than function ~ stepping in places where others had preceded me, my feet, soft and vulnerable, tentatively crept forward one step at a time.

How easy it was, at first, to get lost in my thoughts, a noisy stream (of a very different kind) of consciousness that had nothing to do with this river or this canyon. Until, slowly, the path began to disappear, the footprints left by others were harder to find, or left by someone walking the quickened pace of sandaled feet. The stickers started to seem more prevalent, my pace slowed. Finding the place where someone had stepped before me, a clear patch of smooth sand, more often than not hid a sharp pod barely concealed, ready to embed into my foot, clinging to the hope of being transposed to a new place for germination. In my focused intent to already be downstream at the bend, I realized that I had not been paying attention to where I was currently at. I would take a step, feel no pain, and then hurriedly take the next one, presuming it to be safe as well, only to be jarred into the very present moment with pain shooting through my sole. Balancing precariously on one foot, picking the sticker from my tender flesh, piercing my fingertips in the process, trying not to fall onto that same foot onto another sticker, trying to regain my equilibrium, it felt as if I would never get there, to that bend.

And the lesson of that was not lost on me, not then and not now, that the journey itself was being forsaken for a place, a goal, the reward. I was struggling against myself, resisting the present moment, caught up in an unrealized future. How many times do we live our lives like this? Waiting for weekends and vacations, a better home, more money, less worries? Caught up in the chatter of hopes and dreams, and worries and anxieties, ignoring and denying pain and suffering, rushed and numb through a busy day, oblivious to the glorious sites, sounds and gifts of nature and the present? And so I kept on, feeling at times triumphant for focusing on placing each step carefully, with intent, only to quickly revert to wanting to be there, to the end, wondering if I’d ever get to that final spot.

I realized after a while that I could instead, as suggested, walk in the river itself, calf-high at this time of year, free of prickly pods and scratchy stickers. The moment I stepped onto that cool, smooth, velvety surface of wet river sand, my heart sang, my feet rejoiced and I literally thanked the earth, the soil, the mud, for soothing my sore and tired feet. This reprieve however was short lived, and existed in only small pockets near the edge of the river. In order to move on, and never once did I question moving on to that bend in the river, I had to walk across large pebbles, small stones, uneven surfaces and slippery rocks. I waved my arms around in the air with each step, trying to stay upright, keeping my balance, finding once again not a comfortable linear path, but a slowed pace, pain ~ and awareness ~ with each step, and the necessity of being ever so present.

And then finally, at some point, perhaps half-way, I stopped and looked up stream, and looked downstream, amazed and overwhelmed by the beauty and magnitude of this river canyon, in the far reaches of the southwest, where so few people live compared to where I come from, and wondered, how is it possible, that I have lived 40 years of my life, without ever having walked down the center of a river before, barefoot and alone? What a sheltered life I have led! What a moment of profound awakening. I savored that moment for quite a while, standing in the middle of that river, not at the place I was “supposed to go,” but fully engaged in the present, grateful, alert, relaxed, and in awe of what life can offer.

Eventually I continued on, step by step, with a new sense of appreciation for this venture. And then I had what can only be called a moment of unparalleled discovery, a shift in perspective so jarring and strong that it still leaves me reeling at its implications for all the other areas of my life. I realized that I had been trying to walk with my eyes and not my feet. Both amongst the thistles and in the river, I had been making the decision of where to put my foot for each new step based on what I saw, and not on what my foot felt. Once this dawned on me, this perhaps oh so obvious and very significant detail, the actual way in which I walked changed. I let my feet feel the bottom of the river, the rocks, the moss, the pebbles, and seek out the best possible placement for each step. Where before I had been suffering through pain in order to move forward, now I slowed down and felt each and every step, each moment, ensuring that it was beneficial for my foot. I began to experience the natural world in a way that it is perhaps best experienced ~ by feeling it! Alive and present, fully engaged, forgetting about “getting there,” instead living in the moment, sensing, touching, really connecting to a place, to a moment.

I realized during that walk, and later, at the bend in the river where I sat for a great long time, that so often I go about my days, making choices based not on feeling, or intuition even, but on surface level observations. Now, with this heightened clarity, I seek instead to make sure I know how I feel about something before making decisions, before acting, before moving forward. It doesn’t come naturally by any means, and takes great effort, with some stumbling along the way. But it is after all, the journey itself ~ of learning to be present, engaged, and fully alive, fully feeling and sensing our world ~ that offers us the best gift of all.

A Visit to a Very Special River Canyon

We have just returned from a trip to the Gila Wilderness in southwest New Mexico. The place we visited is the Sweet Medicine river canyon ~ a wilderness sanctuary, ancient Mogollon site, and home to the Animá Center. It was a magical time, offering insights, quiet time, exploration and reflection for myself and my family. In future blogs I will be writing about my experiences in more detail, but for now, I wanted to share some photos.