Swimming with Elephants

by Sarah Bamford Seidelmann

  The embrace I am in is so sweet, so immensely tender, and so loving that I don't want it to end. I am marinating in intense light and love, soaking it in. Then, I notice that a few of the others in the room are slowly beginning to sit up and leave the circle as we had been instructed to do earlier in the evening. Part of me doesn't want to awaken from this dream. But I am still fully aware of the room outside my inner experience. My teacher's voice reverberates inside me, reminding me that there is a discipline to this work.

  My head is completely congested from crying by now. Slowly, slowly, I uncurl and sit up, preparing to leave the room. I am taken by the hand into the night air in silence by a fellow healer and rejoin the other initiates in a quiet room. I feel like an infant must feel after a warm bath and feeding, ready for sleep and resting sweetly in its mother's arms—the snuggly, drunk-on-milk peace that passeth all understanding. Eventually, as the minutes pass, I realize that this experience isn't transitory; it is in me, and I can leave it and return to it. I return all of my consciousness to the small room.

  I later journey to ask Alice what happened to me that night. She tells me that my heart was opened and filled with compassion. I was also integrating the belief that there is great love for me here and that the spirits are constantly conspiring on my behalf. She tells me that this heart-opening happened so that I can go forward without any fear.

  Since this profound experience, I have felt much less fear about my path. Someone said recently that we are the “great forgetters.” I rise each morning to remember with my practices and meditation, and sometimes I still forget. Fear still creeps in and, when it does, I am almost embarrassed for forgetting that I am loved. No matter what.

  This experience lingers like a subtle fragrance. I feel the presence of God, the Universe, the spirit more strongly now, especially when I am alone at night before bed. As I lie curled up on my left side, a strong memory of that comforting embrace emerges, and it soothes me. I now feel an intimacy with the Great Spirit that I had already experienced with my helping spirits. I am also aware of my own soul in a much more powerful way. I feel and see and know this beautiful lotus inside my chest, and it sometimes illuminates when I need to be reminded to reconnect with myself.

  This is the single most beautiful, joyful, and significant experience of my entire life, thus far. I've been rendered calmer and more sure of my connection to the Divine than ever. And this is good, because more things are starting to happen.

  CHAPTER 37

  Mollie

  Toward calm and shady places I am walking on the Earth.

  Anishinabe (Ojibway) song

  In late summer, I receive an email from a local man named Cleo. When I call him to respond as he requested, he tells me that he found my name on the FSS website. “My wife, Mollie, is very sick,” he told me. “She has cancer, and she's really wanting a shaman to come. She's at the Hospice House. Can you come?” His voice sounds calm, but I detect a note of urgency. I tell him I can be with her the next morning and ask if that works for him. He says it does.

  Just before I hang up, something prompts me to say: “And Cleo, if something happens and you need to call me tonight, just call. I can get over there, okay?” He gratefully accepts the offer.

  I wake up the next morning and get dressed, making an extra-special effort to look nice. I put on white jeans, a bright blue Indian block-print top, and red shoes. I want to honor this work and this family. I check and double-check my bag to make sure that my sacred things are all there—incense, earphones, the MP3 player with the drumming audio file, cloth for making an altar, a candle, my rattle, and a cloth to cover my eyes.

  I arrive a few minutes early and sit in my car, warmed by the autumn sun. I've come full circle. Now, when faced with a dying person, I feel capable; I know I have something to offer. I know how to become a bridge between this world and the spirit world. This is not to say that I know what's going to happen or that the healing will be successful; but I know how to help in this very specific way.

  I enter a sunny, beautiful room that faces into the woods and meet Cleo, Mollie, and one of their daughters, Katari. Cleo's kind brown eyes dart around anxiously, like a shepherd on watch. Mollie has been helped out of bed and into a wheelchair.

  Mollie and I clasp hands and look at each other. I introduce myself and explain how, together, we can do the work that she's requesting. Her eyes are alive—alive in a way the eyes of those who've forgotten about death are not. She understands how she and I are going to proceed. I step out of the room with Cleo for a moment to ask the nurses at the desk to help us create privacy for the healing.

  Out in the hallway, Cleo tells me quietly, but with urgency and amazement: “Right now—I mean this morning—this is the most awake and lucid I've seen her in weeks.”

  I nod and smile at him gently: “Her soul is ready to do this work.” I learn that Mollie's mother was deeply connected to the Anishinabe (Ojibwe) Native American tradition and had taught Mollie many things as a girl about living in the world through that tradition.

  When we return to the room, I look at Mollie. “Let's begin by you telling me what it is you want to ask from the spirits. With what would you like help?” In this moment, I suddenly realize that I have no idea what she may be asking for.

  “I feel as if there are parts of me that are missing somehow.” Mollie looks at me, her eyes searching to see if I understand.

  I repeat back for clarity: “There are parts of you missing, and you'd like them restored?”

  “Yes,” she responds, closing her eyes tightly for a moment and then opening them again, satisfied that I understand her request.

  I tell her that I will begin by calling my helping spirits. “You'll just hear me rattling. Then I'll put in my earbuds so I can listen to the drum while I ask my helping spirits what kind of healing they recommend. Then I'll let you know what that is and you can decide if it's something you want to proceed with, okay?” She nods.

  We draw the curtains to create as much darkness as possible, then I light the candle. Cleo and Katari are sitting at the edge of the room; I stand next to Mollie's wheelchair. I've laid my kantha quilt made of women's saris down to journey on. Using my rattle, I begin to call my loving, compassionate spirits from the six directions. I feel them, one by one, gathering in the room. I feel as if every prior event in my life has contributed to the unfolding of this precise moment.

  The sound of the drum helps carry me to the Upper World, where my spirit helpers gather around me and give their counsel. I return and report back to Mollie that they recommend a soul retrieval, and ask her if she wants to go ahead. She nods her willingness.

  In the shamanic view of the world, soul loss can happen for many reasons. In fact, many indigenous shamans believe that it is the most significant cause of illness today. When we are conceived, our souls are complete; imagine them as golden balls of pure light. Over time, different things happen to us that can result in soul loss—trauma, fear, assault, verbal abuse, surgery, accidents. Even experiences that may seem “minor”—being teased, being shamed by a teacher—can cause pieces of the soul to splinter off.

  Soul loss can also be the result of “soul stealing.” Or perhaps that is too harsh a term. For example, a mother, out of love, holds onto a part of her son's soul when he leaves for college because it's too painful to let him go. Or a partner holds onto a piece of a lover and then dies, still holding onto a part of their soul. A shaman may have to travel to the Upper or Lower World to fetch that fragment after death. And sometimes, you give a part of your soul to another (out of love) or surrender a part of it out of fear. However the soul parts are lost, shamanic practitioners can return them with the aid of their helping spirits.

  Soul power enables us to journey effectively in our lives—to do what we came here to do. Without sufficient soul power, we are vulnerable to being influenced by suffering spirits and to negative energies consciously or unconsciously sent to harm us. This can lead to physical illness as
well as depression, anxiety, and other forms of mental illness. That's why this healing work is so important.

  Alice and I fly over the landscape in the Middle World (the earthly realm) to search for Mollie's missing soul parts. Because the soul is so exquisite, the spirits often use beautiful objects to symbolize its different aspects. The first of Mollie's soul parts appears as a piece of raw, sparkling amethyst. This stone shares with me that it represents the part of Mollie's soul that knows she is beautiful. The second soul part appears in the form of a vibrant, fragrant sage bush. This is the part of her soul that knows how to walk on the earth in complete harmony with all of Nature. As each soul part is identified, I share what it is, describe its significance, and return it to her by blowing it with strong intention into Mollie's heart space. I sense each breath returning the power and light of Mollie's own soul back to her.

  As I work with Mollie—and Alice—soft sobs come from Cleo and Katari. Their tears flow into the peacefulness that envelops the room. The spirits seem to be healing each of us, all at once. I can feel all-that-is, the whole Universe, holding this room and those in it in a sweet embrace, returning us to love and wholeness. Unity.

  I softly speak: “Mollie the healing is now complete and you can take your time. Just let me know when you are ready to speak.” She remains quiet for a long, long time. I wonder if she's drifted off to sleep. After a while, I gently touch her arm, and she slowly opens her eyes and says to all of us—steadily and clearly, with a smile: “I never knew what baptism felt like until now. Thank you.”

  A few weeks later, Cleo calls to let me know that Mollie has died. “We burned sage and tobacco in the room as we waited for her body to be taken.” I can hear the anguish in his voice. I offer my sympathy and my gratitude for having had the opportunity to know her and to be included in her life. And I thank him for letting me know she has passed.

  A few days later, Cleo calls again. He's having a tough time getting words out between his tears. I finally understand that he's requesting that I speak at Mollie's memorial service. I tell him that I am deeply honored and agree to speak. I hang up the phone thinking to myself that I am not exactly sure what he wants.

  “It's weird,” I tell Mark. “I have the feeling that maybe Cleo wants me to do more than just speak. I think he wants me to do the entire service.”

  “But why would they want you to do that? They hardly know you,” Mark says. I think to myself that he is right. Days later, Cleo calls me again and asks me if, in fact, I will lead the memorial for Mollie. Once again, I agree and tell him I am honored.

  Though I know that I'm meant do this, I'm a little afraid, as I've never done anything like this before. I also worry that Anishinabe tribal members may think I'm some sort of New Age fraud, or someone attempting to plunder their traditions. I check in with some of my fellow shamanic-healing friends, one of whom is Native American, and they all put me at ease and remind me that my spirits will help me with all of it. One teases me and says: “The key thing is, because you're a blonde, you need to speak softly to the elders and not make too much eye contact. Oh, and don't show up drunk.”

  I head into my healing room at home, light a candle, and journey via drum to my helping spirits to ask for help. Later, while walking the trail near our house, the spirits give me a prayer from eagle to use as a benediction. I quickly type the words into my phone and email it to myself.

  As I plan the memorial service, I think about Mollie's soul and its whereabouts. In the shamanic view of the world, when the soul leaves the body, it can hang around in the Middle World, where there is suffering and pain, or it can transcend and leave this reality for one in which there is unlimited love and compassion, where it can continue to grow and learn. Some souls stick around the earth for a while to deal with unfinished business, appearing in dreams or in other ways to loved ones, business associates, or others. Some stay here by choice, because they believe they can help or care for their ancestors—like the one I suspect I saw in the cave in India. Some are stuck here in this plane because they died accidentally (or in a suicide) and don't yet realize they are dead. These are suffering beings—soul ghosts—who may or may not want help transcending.

  I also long for some input from Mollie. How does she want this memorial to look? I suddenly remember that I can ask her. I lie down again, with the drum pulsing in my ear, and ask Alice to take me to her.

  Alice immediately takes me to a level in the Upper World, where I find Mollie. She's doing some kind of detailed handicraft in a circle of grandmothers in the deep, cool shade beneath a towering stand of evergreens. These trees are absolutely enormous and the peaceful space beneath them is lush and sweet.

  Mollie looks very different from when I last saw her. She looks as if she's in her twenties—vibrant and luminous, with shining eyes—but she has the same warm smile, and I'm able to recognize her. I am overjoyed as I look at her. I know she's already made her transition successfully.

  I explain to Mollie that I'll be speaking at her funeral and want her input. She pauses thoughtfully, and then beams: “Tell them how beautiful this place is where I am now and tell them how much I enjoy my work here.” Then she smiles and returns to the group of women seated on the deeply shaded forest floor. This exchange puts me at ease. There is nothing sweeter to me than knowing that Mollie's soul is at peace.

  I arrive for Mollie's service early and help set things up, placing napkins and punch cups out for the reception. People begin to arrive and fill the rows of chairs arranged in front of a grand fireplace. I stand at the podium and ask that everyone invite whomever they pray to to join us for this hour.

  Cleo and both of his daughters, Katari and Donna, speak candidly. Mollie was a really bright light and brought much cheer to her family and to everybody at the Flower Shop where she worked. Donna also shares that Mollie never, ever swore. She had been raised a Catholic and attended strict schools growing up. Apparently, whenever she got really mad or stubbed her toe, she said “fire truck”—anything to avoid an expletive.

  Donna tells us about a time when her mother was in hospice care feeling very unwell. She hadn't been herself for weeks. “She had a loud alarm that rang each time she tried to sit up. It was meant to keep her safe, but the alarm kept going off. I kept gently pushing her back down on her bed to remind her to rest. Finally, after a half dozen alarms, my mom said loudly: ‘Donna—don't fuck with me.’ I couldn't believe my ears. My Dad and I started to laugh—hard. It was the first time I ever heard my mom swear—and the last time I ever heard her speak my name.”

  The whole gathering laughs with Donna through their tears. Listening to Mollie's daughters speak so honestly about their mom and her love inspires me to go home and be a better mom. She sounds like the kind of mother I am learning to become—softer, more at peace.

  We pass a bundle of sage and invite everyone present to blow their prayers for Mollie and her family into it. After the ceremony, I create a bundle with that sage and Mollie's favorite shirt, something Cleo can keep close to him for the coming year—sing to it and sleep with it. Guided by Alice, I invite him to burn the sage on the one-year anniversary of Mollie's death to mark the end of the formal grieving period.

  It surprises me when Cleo introduces me gregariously to several family members and guests by saying: “This is Sarah, our spiritual guide.”

  PRAYER FOR MOLLIE

  May we see the larger view with sharp clarity.

  May we see the things our hearts are being called to and go after them with fierce power and courage.

  May we see our place in the world and how to live in harmony with all creation.

  May we know how to ride the ever-changing winds and to rest when there is little or no wind to harness.

  May we care for one another patiently and endlessly—as eagle attends to her chicks.

  May we scan the landscape and look for opportunities to offer our gifts.

  May we say thank you—

  To the sun that warms us wit
hout asking for anything in return,

  To the water for quenching our thirst and washing us clean,

  To the earth and sky for holding us so beautifully,

  To all of the Beasties from mosquito to buffalo for their contributions to this circle,

  To all of the plants for sustaining us,

  To the trees who give us shelter and beauty.

  And, like eagle, may we know that life is a circle,

  And each of us has a place on the circle.

  And when the time comes, may we return with love and grace.

  And so it is.

  Miigwech (Ojibway word meaning “Thank you.”)

  CHAPTER 38

  Back to the River

  Commit to believing you deserve to experience all the love and connection your heart desires. No earning or repenting or serving time is required. Elephants never forget this.

  Alice the Elephant, in Born to Freak

  The deluge of rain that arrived earlier today has moved on. Post-downpour, the June peonies are standing tall, full to the brim with tight green buds ready to burst forth. A single bloom of elephant-tongue pink is just beginning to show its extravagance.

  I walk a few blocks through the neighborhood and then turn to enter the woods. I stop briefly to inhale the sweet perfume of a friendly and familiar clump of Queen Anne's lace.

  I invite Alice along, and we head down the muddy trail together. Alice, with her saggy pachydermal bottom, leads the way. My own spirit, ruffled today by endless problems to solve for the kids, dirty dishes, and a long morning of editing, is beginning to become more still. I'm soothed by the wet forest and the beautiful clear droplets of rain on leaves and iridescent buttercup blossoms leaning into the late afternoon light. Mark's favorite thimbleberry bushes are already thigh-high and blossoming. I'm aware summer isn't waiting.