Seattle Girl on Cape Cod: Dropping Down Deep

 Dear fellow Earthlings,

Has it really been six months since I've written on this blog? What happened? I can't even really summarize it all. 

All I can say is that I was on a long journey and that journey was very extroverted on some levels, but there was some inner work that did take place.

I stopped writing here in April. By June, summer was in full swing and I was getting ready to leave my Cape place for six weeks and rent it out. Scott and I traveled by car from the Cape to Washington State and back. That was not a short journey. We went to meet friends and family and to clear out our storage units there, but there were definite adventures along the way in both directions. Looking back, they seemed like initiations to get me to where I am now. 

After we returned from our long trip, several friends from Seattle and Florida came to visit us. My best friend from elementary school just left on Halloween. It was such a joy to have a life-long friend here in my new stomping grounds. I love this place so much and I wanted her to experience what I have experienced. I can honestly say that we both had a really good time.

But now it's November 1st. Time to drop down inwards. Time to see what wants to come out.

On Halloween, after being inside all day working on my college class and catching up on other work I avoided while enjoying with my friend, I decided to head to Mayflower Beach and walk along the shore to Chapin Beach. It was around 5:30pm and the sky across the bay was jet black with only a sliver of white against the emerald green water.

 It looked like the sky might fall at any minute. It had an eerie quality that was appropriate for the holiday. There was not a soul on the beach, save for one man dressed in a lion suit sitting melancholically on the beach next to the shore. He looked unflinchingly into the distance, hands wrapped around his knees. He had an air of disappointment about him. Upon seeing me, he gathered his lion's tail in his hands and wandered down the shore in the opposite direction. 

Now there was no one.

There was also no wind.

I listened to the waves lap against the shore and watched as the clouds got darker and darker. They were so dark now that they seemed they might burst.

When I got to Chapin Beach, I turned around and started walking on the street. The air was thick and warm and crickets still chirped. Did they know it was almost November? Did they know winter was coming?

I closed my eyes and felt the moment. The sultriness of summer was still in the air, but the darkness of the skies and the dead leaves on the ground indicated the change coming that was inevitable.

I wandered as far as Bay Beach. Just before I entered the beach a fox crossed my path. I hadn't seen one since 2020 when I lived in Eastham. I didn't have any friends there and spent most of my time talking to animals. I was tuned in then in a way I am not now, but just for those few moments, staring at the fox across from me as he sat looking at me intently in the sand dunes, I realized that I hadn't lost all connection to the natural world. I was tuning in again. I felt deep gratitude for this creature's appearance on Halloween. Foxes, to me, exist between both the physical and spiritual worlds and at a time when the veil between the physical and spiritual is so thin, it felt very auspicious to see him there.

But just as he appeared, he disappeared, almost as if he were never there to begin with.

I carried on down the beach and came upon dozens of sand pipers screeching loudly under the moon. I had no where to walk without running into them, so they flew in formation over the sand and landed in a perfect line along the shore giving me a path to walk. 

I know this new month marks the start of a very different time. I can feel I will be writing quite a bit. I can feel I will be uncovering more than I know. I will start teaching a new intuitive writing class on Friday at Ritual in Yarmouth. This time it will be in person. The class is called Conscious Creation. I may also offer it online. I have been working at a deeper and deeper level with the idea that we completely create our reality. I have tested new tools that give clear evidence for this. I'm excited to explore more deeply with conscious creation and see where it leads.

For now, I am grateful for the opportunity to get back in to a rhythm and routine. As the days grow shorter, I'm ready to drop down deep....

Reflections of 2020: Following Nature's Pulse

 

For me personally, when I tune into nature and let it be my teacher and guide, I find most of the answers I seek. Nature is highly intuitive, so it makes sense that my own intuition would be heightened in nature and my own personal vibration would be higher by merely tuning into my environment. Reflecting on 2020, I chose nature over news. Some may think this is crazy. How could I have possibly avoided the news?  It was everywhere. The truth is, I got it all without needing to watch it all. I was and am aware of what is going on. I found that when I watched news images, it put me in a place of fear and helplessness and I did not feel empowered. I chose to focus inward more and it helped me immensely during a time that was and is difficult for many. Instead of getting battered by the waves on the ocean, I chose to dive deep down where things were quiet. And not so surprisingly, I was able to help others during this tumultuous time from this place of balance and peace.

Instinctively, I chose to move away from Seattle in December 2019 and move to Sequim, Washington, to my parents' house. They were in Arizona for the winter and spring. This was a few months before the pandemic hit. I also arranged to teach online at my college for winter quarter without intellectually understanding that I'd be the first in my college department to be teaching a mostly online class several months before we'd all have to be online. Spring quarter, after the pandemic hit, I'd be asked to assist teachers in navigating online classes. I felt happy to serve in this way and to serve students from many different countries, some who found themselves alone in a country that was not theirs in the midst of a pandemic.

It wasn't a surprise that during this difficult time, I was surrounded by the incredible and nurturing beauty of Nature. I sensed what was coming and there were clear markers along the way and in my dreams that I've written about on this blog that perhaps prepared me in some way to be where I was.

There was a lot of work I was meant to do out there. I connected to the Native energy and frequently meditated, played my elk drum, met with other like-minded individuals online.

 On this blog in March, I wrote a Healing for the Earth series for one full month and guest healers/psychics also wrote posts. Down the street from my parents' house is Jamestown beach and the grave of Chief James Balch, a Native of the S'Klallam tribe. I frequently walked on that beach and played my elk drum down there by the Eagle Totem Pole. I made a medicine wheel on the beach made of shells and branches. Eagles frequently flew over me while I sat there on a log. Something unexplainable was happening. Healing on a level that I didn't fully understand with my limited human brain was taking place. I wasn't the only one doing this work. There were millions doing the work in both the physical and spiritual realms. There were people chanting, meditating and praying. Things were SHIFTING RAPIDLY. Many Earthlings were going through crises of all kinds. Some that I know are no longer on this Earth plane. Some worked the front lines in hospitals. Some barely made it through day to day living. I chose to hold steadfast to Nature. One morning I woke up and decided to hike the entire 11 miles of Dungeness Spit to the lighthouse. I got there at low tide mid-afternoon and did not return until the sun went down and the moon rose. I was the last soul on the beach that night and trekked through the last stretch of forest alone in the dark. I still remember the sea lion that emerged from the water at sunset, as if to say, "Hello!"

 There's a rhythm in nature that soothes me. There's a life force that follows an order so high that nothing can mimic or duplicate it. Through technology, humans have somehow lost touch with this pulse that has so much wisdom. Our ancestors knew of this wisdom. They understood the wind, the stars, the moons cycles. They knew how to find food and how to create shelter. They respected the land and even respected the animals they killed and ate. There was reverence for everything in Nature. Now, Nature is there to serve us, not teach us. 

In May 2020, my family returned to Sequim and I tried to move into my boyfriend's house in the city, but the city was too harsh for me with its traffic and noise and excess of human consumption. I think perhaps I'd gotten rather sensitive to being close to nature and it felt like quite an assault to the system to try to go back. So in June, I rented a cottage on Whidbey Island and in July I rented a tiny house in Port Townsend. I was back on the other side of the pond close to beaches and old growth forests. There, I continued to do the work I had done in Sequim. I swam in Discovery Bay and biked the Discovery Trail all the way to Port Angeles. I ate wild berries and picked wild flowers and sat outside in the grass staring at millions of stars. I communed with herons and eagles and hawks. The deer made frequent appearances. I wasn't off-grid, but I might as well have been. I continued to teach online through my college. My boyfriend would come on weekends from the city and he'd always feel so energized from the Nature in each place I stayed. Because I chose to live in smaller towns, I did not encounter as many people as I would in the city. I could hike freely sometimes without meeting a soul. This was a luxury, I realize now. 

As August was fast approaching, I knew I needed a change. I didn't want to settle into my boyfriend's place in the city AND his place was going to be torn down anyway to widen the road for, guess what??  MORE CARS! So we made a big decision. We decided to pack up his truck and I sold my car and we drove across country on September 2nd to Cape Cod, Massachusetts, his home town.

 We rented a house in the off-season on the Lower Cape. It's wild and more primitive out here. We are literally living on a sand bar with only 3 miles of land between the bay and the Atlantic Ocean. Nature is not to be messed with out here. This is where the pilgrims landed. This is where many shipwrecks have occurred. The wind and the waves ask you to move with them, not against them. I've seen the wind have its way with birds that lay dead on the shore. I've seen red foxes in my yard and sea turtles in the dunes. Recently a dead dolphin washed ashore on our beach. Most likely it was hunting fish and got caught in low tide. I've seen waves freeze from air so cold it bites right through your skin. I've experienced 70-mile-an-hour gusts of wind out here that shook my windows so strongly I was sure they'd break. I've also seen the ocean like glass, soft and welcoming even in early November, when I kicked off my sandals and sank into its smooth folds, letting it envelop me in its deliciousness. I've biked and walked and kayaked my way around this spit of sand. I don't have a car out here, so those are my modes of transportation, unless I drive my boyfriend to work in his truck so I can have the car for a day. He's working for his college friend as a carpenter out here. He repairs beach steps and builds decks and fixes trim for people with summer homes that are no longer here. I'm still teaching online for my college back in Washington. I feel blessed to be able to do that and be able to live in such a wild nature place. It's the best of both worlds.

For me 2020 has been all about Nature. I can't really sum up all that I've tuned into. From the ladybugs that are found crawling into the house to escape the cold to the sunsets that burn the sky red and orange to freezing waves and whipping winds. This place calls me outside constantly, no matter what the weather is doing. It calls me to tune more into IT and less into what is happening in the news on the BOXES THAT WE WATCH—TVs, computers, cell phones. That's not where my attention has been this year.  Maybe I've missed out? Maybe I don't know what's really going on?

But when I turn to Nature, I feel more informed than I ever have been. I feel at peace and at ease and I feel guided. I see signs and symbols everywhere and my intuition is strong. I wait for my next move like an eagle waiting high in a tree to swoop down and catch a fish. From up there, the view is WIDE. I'm able to sense and see more. I come from Nature after all, so it makes sense to me to follow Nature's pulse.