I feel like giving a synopsis of where I’m at and how I got here. There are many stories to branch off of this post, coming one by one. I have no idea if this will make sense to anyone who doesn’t know me, or even to them, but here goes. It’s both long and incomplete. Part 2 soon.
In the summer of 2017, I got my “empty nest” a year early. Wait. How can that be only 3 years ago? It feels like another lifetime.
My daughter was 16; I had just gone through months of bureaucratic runaround to get her finished with high school at the end of 11th grade by arranging for her to get her G.E.D. (a high school equivalency certificate.) It’s a 2 day test, which we had to travel to get to, which she aced, no problem. She is smarter than most teachers, very talented, and *super* sensitive, so school is very troubling for her. She had all the requirements necessary to apply to nearly any college or university in the U.S., except for 1 English credit which she made up for with her high SAT score. So she was all set.
Life had been mostly stressful for her from day 1. The plan was that she and I would have a gap year to relax and enjoy our new life on Hawai’i Island and each other’s company for once, without all the external pressures. Go on a trip so she can get another taste of life outside of the U.S. bubble. She was thinking of Thailand. I know, it’s full of tourists and ex-pats. It’s still Asia. Think of it as a starter course. But first, she would go visit her Dad in California.
Well, let’s just say while she was there, the plan was re-written without me. She stayed with her Dad. I discovered the new plan by accident. She mentioned doing something in CA at a time when she was supposed to be back with me. When I asked for clarification, she went silent then hung up on me, too panicked to speak of it.
It is the biggest personal heartbreak I’ve ever had. I was devastated.
(In addition to the state of the Planet and Humanity which can be excruciatingly heartbreaking as well.)
I couldn’t get her to respond to me more than a trifle, for weeks. I cried long and hard for weeks. The precious mother-daughter time I’ve been holding out for… gone…
Bit by bit I found out from her Dad that she was going to do some volunteer work through the fall, per the recommendation of a college admissions counselor they had seen. The two of them suggesting this to her when it had been agreed she would return to me in August seems incredibly irresponsible and disrespectful (no surprise there.) And perhaps manipulative. (I’m being generous.) It was tempting to lash out. But. I know my daughter. I know she is a very powerful, gifted, beautiful Soul, with a mission. I know I taught her well by example, perhaps a little too well, to do what she needs to do. I trust her to know what’s best for her, at some level. Besides, her friends were there and she missed them so very much. Face it, at 16 friends are a lot more important and interesting than parents. So I blessed her on her path and turned to mine.
For years I had been planning-assuming I would move to Costa Rica when she went off to college. But when I started the actual plan, I kept getting a NO. For all of Central America. This was very perplexing to me, but I know to pay attention and try to follow such things. I am intent on leaving the U.S. I ask “the Universe” if not there, then where? Italy. This perplexes me even more. Europe was never on my radar. Perhaps I’d find a place to live? Is that why I was called? The call was strong. I decide to go. It turned into a Pilgrimage. Sometimes I referred to it as Mommy Gap Year lol.
There are detailed stories about this whole phase on my other blog, Summoneo Journey, so I will be brief here and leave it at that. Pop over there for a read!
On December 8, 2017, I left beloved Hawai’i and began my Summoneo Journey. I put my stuff in storage in a regular basic unit in Kailua-Kona, because I was only going to be gone about 4 months. I wasn’t worried about the heat of summer affecting my stuff nor the cost-benefit of storage in general. A U.S. citizen tourist visa for almost all of Europe is only 90 days out of every 180. So I’d be back shortly.
Nope.
It’s been almost 3 years.
Ouch.
I did not see that coming.
I miss my stuff. What of it hasn’t been ruined by the heat. Oh wells.
I have no idea when I’ll be back. This is getting ridiculous to store stuff this long!
But it’s been an adventure and healing beyond astounding.
So well worth it.
And it’s not just stuff. It’s my gongs and singing bowls and treasures. Some junk too that needs to go. I tried to clear out my storage when I went back a couple of years ago, but 3 weeks wasn’t enough to go through it all! Still some boxes of my Mom’s to go through too…
I went to Europe 4 times in 2 years and I never made it to Italy. Many other places in Europe and Scotland. I did make it to Costa Rica the second year out. Backfired big time. I jumped back to Scotland for round 2 where I fell deeply in love with the Highlands and Islands and Fae. But cannot stay. Visas, you know. So many beloveds there I miss so hard. I found a mountain-encircled safe haven and soul-full community in gorgeous British Columbia, Canada. A huge blessing for pandemic time. But my visa AND passport expired (they stopped printing passports in March when I was about to renew it,) and I decided against applying to the Canadian government for amnesty or staying illegally. One of my handful of regrets. But I know it really was time to move on. Maybe I’ll be back someday? Hawai’i is not a good place to go during the pandemic, even if I am technically a resident of that state. So here I am circling Seattle in my California van, with the wildfire smoke, until my next move lands. No escape from the U.S. for now. Many times I’ve lived through the wisdom of no escape. Life is strange and beautiful and generous.
I’m trying to size up and sum up what all happened. I don’t think I can.
My 4 trips to Europe? For the first trip I thought I was going there to find a place to live. On day 2 I discover my actual mission: Massive past life experiences and subverted history teachings, especially about dolmen and death rituals. Wombs not tombs!! Memories going back three to eight thousand years. That was the first 9 weeks, in Spain. Some again later in Prague and the U.K. What else?
Going to extremes of the Land. Farthest south, west, whatever. Even to Finisterre “end of the Earth.” 4 hemispheres (N-S-W-E) in one year.
Learning deep things about myself and my power and purpose.
Global trauma I did my bits to aid in healing.
A good time with my daughter.
Patrilineal ancestral healing. I now feel complete in that department.
Meaning of life connection with the Fae.
A life-changing Gift from Life, experiencing pure beauty and natural earth life, through a magical trip through the Hebridean Sea on the Silurian research sailboat.
Finding and healing forgotten or unknown sacred springs.
Learning about death portals, for both humans and Faerie.
Learning about the history of my name.
Energy work for the Planet.
Heart connections with new beloved friends.
Singing transmissions with so many mountains.
Processing huge rage from a huge wound from ten years ago. The inner storms and outer storms were historically huge. 42 meter waves in Portugal (that’s over 100’.) Yep, I was going big.
When Spain/Portugal was complete, there wasn’t enough time on my visa for a worthwhile trip elsewhere in Europe. Besides, it was an unusually snowy March that year. I am so sick and tired of being cold oh my gooodddddddd. I called a friend to help me decide what to do. We both had the intuition to go visit her. She is in the Peruvian Andes. I always wanted to go to the Andes. I was on a plane two days later.
I got to her place in time for Equinox Ceremony. In Spain I had come in contact with their “discovery” of the “new world” and all the horror that ensued. And now I’m in Peru. I did a ceremony to contribute to the healing of that wound. I was in the midst of my own ginormous wound. And my friend’s boyfriend turned out to be not safe. All that New Age love and light facade and unconscious malicious programming. Totally unconscious, he’s a nice man at heart. Yark. But since I was so upset already about someone similar, they convinced me I was just projecting. Instead of minding my own perception and wisdom, I took their advice and tried to work through it with them. They were not aware of their own boundary violating. I did not have good boundaries. My friend is a lot more traumatized than either of us realized. It did not go well at all. I eventually extract myself.
I wanted to get a tattoo on my hand where a baby blue centipede landed to remind me that My Emotions Are My Sacred Guides. I can’t ever let myself forget that again. The tattoo artist and I missed each other so that part didn’t happen. But I’m not forgetting.
Later on in my trip I met yet another man echoing the wound I was working on. He even looked and acted much like the man I was mad at. That was fascinating to witness the fractals and archetypes and psyche manifestations at work. I handled that one much better. Whew. None of these man wounds are about love and sex, mind you. More about honesty, integrity, self-awareness or lack thereof. Resources and self esteem. New Age invasive thought forms feeding suckers like me to the parasites. Only I was no longer a sucker. Mostly. Ugh.
On my way out of the jungle, I made a video trying to explain this pattern play and the source of my rage. It’s on youtube here. It turned out to be 25 minutes long and still missing key points I wanted to make. This was a doozy!!!
It was time to get back to San Francisco to pick up my daughter to take her to Le Louvre as a gift and support for getting into a great art school. I told her she could pick any museum or event she wanted. I was thinking Chicago Institute of Art or maybe New York. She picked Le Louvre. I told you she is smart. I’m taking her on my Mom’s money, and my Mom LOVED Le Louvre, so I figure she would approve. Good thing I left Europe before my visa ran out so I had time left on it to take her! Yes, it’s been less than 180 days and I’m going back again.
Voila! Wow was that a fantastic trip. It was a year later than planned and only a month, but hey, it’s a pinnacle in our relationship. Precious. She wants to move to Paris. I think we only spent 3 or 4 hours in Le Louvre. I think she must hold the world record for speeding through that place. Oh wells. On the other hand, she really loved and lingered in the museums in Prague, and was inspired. Mission accomplished. I want to move to Prague. Croatia is quite the land of the Fae, I did not want to leave there either. We only spent a couple of days in Montenegro, but my daughter thought it was so wonderful she said I should move there and learn to sail. LMFAO. Considering a sailboat is a central character in what I was so enraged about in Portugal and Peru…. Ya ya I’ll get to that story someday. It’s loooooong.
I had to get her back to San Francisco in time for something and also in time for me to house sit for one of my oldest dearest friends. Our timing was pretty good. I spent the summer there, where I got the invitation back to Europe for trip #3, this time to Scotland, for a conference at the Findhorn Foundation on co-creating with the Fae. My god that was a big yes. My god that was life changing. I need to write those stories, it’s why I am writing my mythology and this blog. I’m getting there.
At the end of my 3rd trip to Europe, I got the invitation to Costa Rica that I thought was my destiny. Finally arriving after patiently waiting so many years: the ceremonial training and community I am built for. I went back to Hawai’i to pack up. But I kept getting mixed signals about Costa Rica. Yes No Yes No Yes No. Yes. WTF?? I just went. How could it be wrong? It seemed so perfect and aligned! Oh maybe not absolutely perfect, but what is? I didn’t bring everything because I wanted to get oriented first, learn what fits in where I live. It’s expensive to move large gongs around.
I landed in time for the 2018-19 New Years Eve Ceremony. It was EPIC!!! Then I got sick, likely with giardia, for 5 days. Ugh. This is generally a sign something is off. It could have just been my weakened body from traveling and eating at the hostel. But still. Questionable. Especially since I can usually kick it in a couple of days. A parasite. Making me “purge.” Important symbolism.
The longer I was there, the more I saw beneath the veneer. These people I had stayed with on my trip 7 years prior had changed. People were being mistreated. There was way too much money involved. The clientele were not humble. The camp kitchen I explicitly requested and they promised was non existent. They wouldn’t let me in their kitchen to even boil water for my special dietary “tea.” This does not work for my body’s needs. The woman I was there to learn from was mostly absent. I was nervous about a section of the course I did not vibe with – playing the guitar. Just not my thing. She assured me it would work out fine once the school got officially started in ten days. So I ran off to visit a friend in the mountains and then to the ocean while I had the chance. School was going to be long and intense.
While I was at the Flutterby, on 1/11, another destiny walked through the door. One of my goals was to learn to play the hang drum (more my vibe!) and here I meet a fairly world famous hang drum maker who offers to give me personal lessons. No this was not a sexual come-on. He had put down the drum making to build an eco-community and was recruiting people to join him. After a few days of discussion, I decided I would, along with the friend of mine who had already joined him. I told my teacher I was going to postpone and join the repeat of the session in a few months. No problem.
Soon after that she contacted me, saying that she was being forced out of the school and was going to move out of that community. Ok then, I’m not going to that training and living in that community after all! Good thing I had the prescience to not pay for it until it actually started. That was quite a bullet I dodged. Later I was told some other very troubling things about the remaining head teacher. I was never quite comfortable with him but I respected his skills and thought I could go with the flow and learn some really valuable skills with ceremonial music. I was so looking forward to it.
I felt heavily crushed for a long while. Shell shocked even. How could my destiny have tanked like that? Even weirder, it turns out the woman did not leave the school after all. Something definitely kept me out. I assume it was for the best. Thank you to those unseen forces of Life. Note to self: Yes No Yes No Yes No means No. Not “try it and see.” Ha! I thought I had learned that lesson already…. Oh wells.
As for the drum maker turned community builder… OK I’m not so great at discernment with people. The thing that got me to sign on with him was an agreement we made: I tell him I tend to be the person who uncovers your blind spots, reveals that you are not who you think you are. I don’t do it on purpose, it just turns out that way when people make promises they don’t follow through with, and I’ve been a sucker for unfulfilled promises. This guy says “Bring it on.” So we make an agreement that it would be my role to keep him honest. My friend who had already joined him was kind of a personal assistant, helping him keep track of his ideas and schedule. He’s a very intense man, and neurologically diverse. He’s building a team. A few other people join too. This seemed very promising. We got started buying supplies and moving onto the property. We planned an opening ceremony asking permission from the land and blessing the land, at my suggestion. That somehow got left behind. Then I discovered he did not have permission from the owner to build on the property.
Aaaaand it went downhill from there. But I’m the type who will persevere. Try another angle. The landlady did want us there. She liked us. She liked having people present to deter theft and unwelcome squatters. We were basically squatting while waiting for plans to materialize. She did want to build, but she meant a house for herself, not the community my friend talked about day and night to everyone he met.
I thought it was a long-abandoned property. Nothing but the remnants of a foundation, shards of tiles, and piles of trash from those unwelcome squatters. It turns out that the neighbors had recently, literally, stolen her house, down to the foundation, while she was in the U.S. visiting her daughter. Yes, this is a very bad neighborhood.
I was living on bare land across the road from the beach. No running water, no power, not even a toilet. The neighbors were known drug smugglers and thieves. They had guns and machetes. My friend and I were sitting on the beach one night and noticed a boat come ashore and cars driving out to it. Undoubtedly drugs. Their headlights were right on us. Were we going to be murdered for witnessing? We just took a breath and remained calm. Nothing we could do about it now. It did not seem like that would be our fate. And it wasn’t, thank God. As weeks went on, I was left alone on the property for longer and longer periods of time, and the promised security man was not coming. One day the landlady pointed out to me that the main thug had recently come through our camp and cut up one of the coconut trees near my tent. This was not cool. I am not security guard material. I did not agree to be left alone here like this.
And then there was the scene about the absent toilet. My friend talked a lot about the paramount importance of composting toilets, that it was reprehensible to shit in fresh water. His task was to build a composting toilet for us all. You know what he did? Nothing. One day he told the landlady on the phone that he finished building it. My other friend, whom he wanted to help him keep track of things, said “Hey, you just told her you finished the toilet but the buckets are sitting right here. You better go do it NOW!” So finally he did something. He built a pretty dome of palm fronds and put the buckets in it, sinking them into the sand a few inches. That’s it. No wood chips. No compost pile. Just shit in the bucket and throw some sand on top. And oh, you can only shit in that bucket. You have to pee in the other bucket. This does not work well for women. Especially those like me with interstitial cystitis.
Up until now it had been fine to take a shovel and go find a place to dig a hole for my daily poo. But the property was just cleared of grass and brush, and suddenly there were no private places to shit. I’ve had other times in my life where finding a place to shit was very difficult. It’s a basic human right to have a safe place to shit.
So I am relieved that there are finally private buckets to use, just in time. But. The asshole had the pee bucket sealed shut. I did not have my knife on me to cut it open. I was getting desperate. I decide to try finding a place to dig a hole. Nope. My bladder is screaming at me pretty hard. I retrieve my knife and go back to the buckets. Like a good girl I manage to shit in one and pee in the other. Then I dump the pee in the sand a few feet away. Now I have a dirty bucket and no water to clean it, when I could have just peed right in the sand like usual. (In random places off trail of course.) And the shit bucket? Pile sand on top? How is anyone going to get that out and where would it go? This is bullshit. I got mad as hell.
I worked through my triggers of shitting rights and bladder flares. I calmed down. I went to confront my friend that he did not do what he said, the bucket was sealed, and the system was flawed. That was our agreement, remember? He had said “Bring it on!” to my m.o. of finding people’s illusions about themselves. He refused to take responsibility. I refused to let him deflect. It escalated. It got out of hand. This man who thinks of himself as a spiritual guru could not handle this situation and broke down, literally on the ground, in tears. I obviously went overboard holding him to his word and not letting him keep denying his responsibility. Eventually we calmed down and he shared with me his empathy, how much it hurts him that I had such a hard time going to the bathroom. On top of that his dog had been trapped in the tent that morning and peed all over his bed and he felt terrible about that too. Breathing.
Between this and the safety issues, I was finally done. My other friend went on an overnight trip and never came back. It’s been days. Now she was coming back to get her stuff and offered to take me with her. I jumped on the opportunity.
I’ve had plenty of meltdowns and breakdowns with people. One thing I have learned is to part ways without grudges and drama. No new karma! This is my goal! I relieved myself of all blame and resentment towards this man. I apologized to him for my part in our confrontation and vowed to not do such a thing again. I told him my time with him was complete. No hard feelings. He concurred, no hard feelings. We blessed each other on our separate ways. He seemed sincere in his all-clear with me. I have no way of knowing.
After about a week of going from the pot to the frying pan to the blender, I finally found my way to an actually safe, sane, well equipped place. And bonus, the man there was an uber tech-head and helped me break the lost password lock-out on my computer! Extra special bonus, he passed me on to stay with a friend of his who turned out to be someone I get along with super well. She is almost a mother figure to me. She invited me to live with her at her garden property along the river. Tempting. But my soul was insisting on going back to Scotland. It wouldn’t relent. I did not want to go back to the cold! My system got increasingly agitated with my refusal. I could not enjoy Costa Rica. Finally I relented. As soon as I bought my plane tickets back to Scotland, everything smoothed out and I could finally enjoy the last few days I had there. Kinda regretting leaving, having just found a good home and more new cool friends on the last day. Life is strange and beautiful and generous.
It turned out to be the right move. Definitely a Soul Calling.
So back to Seattle I go to reset what I put in storage there and what I take with me to Scotland. Yes I have storage units in 2 cities. Ugh. But so very helpful. I have a few nights to pass before my plane leaves. I decide to treat myself to something a bit nice. Near Mt. Rainier is an airbnb that looks super cool. When I get there, it’s like Rivendell. The cats are named Frodo and Sam. There is a hot tub out under the stars. I get along with the people great. I think I just landed in heaven. They invite me to stay and do work trade to help with the garden. Tempting. But, Scotland.
Scotland. I tear up just beginning to think about my life there and how I could possibly write anything that could convey even a morsel of the magnificence and magic.
I’m going to pause for a little bit. Soak it all in.
Fast forward through Scotland and British Columbia… Yes I’ll get to those stories, some are already on the blog. There are also a bunch on my FB I am copying over one by one. I feel the need to wrap this up for now.
Hmmmm. I’m noticing that most of what got written here is the challenges of plans with people, living with people, making choices that go horribly wrong. Not as many words for the things that went phenomenally well. Is it my mood at the moment? I would bet it’s something I’m chewing on, needing to look at a bit more. I think it’s because I’m nervous: Back in the U.S., the infamous summer of 2020. What to do? Where to go? Travel is challenging now. Working with people is not really an option.
After crossing the border, sitting at a beach park rifling through options, mind spinning into survival mode, I remember that offer to do work trade at Rivendell. I ask them if they still need help with the garden. She says “We always need help! Come on over!” So I got to do it after all! For 7 weeks. That was a trip of granted wish, life mirrors, absurdity, bad composting toilet shit, service, survival and revival. Not what I was expecting. Life is strange and beautiful and generous.
I left there to do this. Write. I’ve been starting and sputtering writing for decades. In 2000 I quit my job to write but had a kid instead. I’m now parked on someone’s 10 acre forest driveway on Whidbey Island. Writing. Finally making progress. I feel like I can’t go to the next thing in life until I’ve examined and learned from these last few years. Partly so I don’t keep making the same mistaken choices. I also want to reframe my entire perception of reality and how I navigate it. Writing is helping me do all that. Thank you for reading, that helps me too.
Bonus, I’m happy and content.
Life is strange and beautiful and generous.