Tag: spiritual search

More about my sacred pipe

by 8hummingbirdway

[Back in early February, I started to write this post. It links back to a prior post about the Native American leg of my spiritual journey in this life I’m living. I have thought often about finishing the story, but it was hard to write. I did not navigate events in the way I would have liked to.

If you want to know more about my religious background and my starting place, you can also read about my early experience with Christianity.]

My spiritual search began in my late 20s. I was drawn to Earth-based spirituality, and I knew enough about the practices of those who inhabited this land before us that they honored Earth, Nature, the cycles of the seasons and of the sun and moon, as well as animal and plant spirits. I researched and studied about various tribes for a couple of years.

It turned out that my destination was not to align fully with Native American spirituality, as you will see. However it gifted me with a sacred pipe ceremony. I learned (from the book Return of the Bird Tribes by Ken Carey) this ceremony and a beautiful story of it’s origin in my 30s brought me a way to connect with my deepest self, and to make decisions with an awareness of “All that is.”

This is the part of the story I didn’t share earlier, about how I moved on in my 30s from the Native American chapter of my search …

I shared this sacred practice of the pipe ceremony with friends and family. It was a beautiful way to navigate life and to approach decision-making and sometimes even to speak difficult words or resolve disharmony. Read more about my experience with the pipe and the pipe ceremony here.

Eventually I extended myself to share the pipe ceremony with more people. I arranged with a friend, Steve, who offered a space for classes and small concerts – to offer the pipe story and ceremony there. In the small empty carpeted room I constructed a circle with branches and marked the 4 directions, each person entering at the East, the place of beginnings. We all sat on the floor and I read the story of White Buffalo Calf Woman bringing the pipe to the Soiux …then we smoked the pipe together as the ceremony instructs.

It was lovely. I met a neighbor who I hadn’t known and about 8 or 10 other people showed up. Afterward we talked and then people dispersed.

I had a jar for donations and I raised about $12 that went toward paying my babysitter that evening.

I decided to do it again and Steve advertised in the Hartford newspaper that I would be sharing the pipe ceremony for donations. And the trouble began. A non-native was making money from the sacred tribal traditions.

I knew that people had co-opted native practices, such as sweat lodges and vision quests – and capitalized upon them. I didn’t perceive myself in that light, but I can see from where I now stand that there is a fine line …and who knows where I was going with this?

The descendants of the people my ancestors and their leaders betrayed saw yet another betrayal. People started calling me in concern and anger. Some people were openhearted and listened to my explanation of how I came to share the pipe with others. The pipe-carrier of the Mohegan Nation and I had a very long talk and he was fine with what I was doing.

Some did not want to know what I had to say. Suddenly I was facing anger and threats against my family and my home.

I managed to turn the advertised sharing of the pipe ceremony into a meeting with some tribal leaders in the Hartford area. I was young and did not navigate this meeting well. I was afraid and did not speak when I could have.

Later I realized that I should have led the meeting, explaining my journey to the pipe (as I had with the pipe-carrier). But the threats had frightened me. I sat and waited, disempowered by my fear. I was told that a chief was here. I was made to understand that he was wasting his time. Later I understood what happened, and I have forgiven myself for my lack.

I did not attempt to share the pipe again with others not close to me, although my relationship with the pipe continued for many years after I left Connecticut.

I was looking for a spiritual home, but this did not show up as being a path for me. I did not find a person who would share with me, or invite me to share in Native American spiritual gatherings or experiences. I assumed they were closed to outsiders because of my experience, but I don’t know that it was true. With all that occurred on this continent I would not blame them if it was true. Or maybe I was simply too scared to ask.

I cannot recall who told me that I should turn to my own heritage, but that’s what I did.

Later, a teacher of sacred ways of some earth-based European traditions said to me that we were born on this soil and we live our lives on this soil and some of the voices and elements that speak to us carry Native ways. This helped me to make peace with myself and what had happened with attempting to share my pipe.

I didn’t understand until writing this post, how deeply this experience aligns with and informs my current orientation about tribal ways, the ancient ways that have gifted me with a way to heal and to help others. I am grateful now for my experience with the Mohegan community in CT. And I acknowledge this experience as a part of my path and understanding of the healing.

Since I am living on this continent, I expect that my studies on tribal experience and ways will focus to some degree on the tribes of this land, as well as on the African connections I now have.

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My Native American journey

by 8hummingbirdway

I have recently been writing about my spiritual search and journey in my life.

My search began as I was sitting in the home of my mother-in-law (from my first marriage) as she was dying. Her death raised questions for me that informed my search going forward. Mary Cuddihy Diefendorf was a Catholic mystic and she had some compelling books on her bookshelf – a couple about Native American spirituality. I took them with me after her death, knowing that she would be glad to have me take an interest. These books first sparked my interest in answering important questions and in Native American spiritual beliefs.

A moment to tell about Mary. She was a kind and loving person who carried wisdom. My favorite memory of her is the way she fully embraced my sister’s child, who I had adopted, as her own grandchild. (Not everyone in the family felt this way.) One of my favorite photographs is of her on the front steps of her home in heart shaped glasses – laughing along with my daughter and her cousin – both about 4. I also thank Mary for the start of my journey and for her books which landed me where I am today.

A book that will forever be on my bookshelf is Return of the Bird Tribes by Ken Carey. It holds many stories, including a story of Hiawatha as a young man. Hiawatha was a legendary chief (c. 1450) of the Onondaga tribe of North American Indians. He is known most famously for uniting the Five Nations—Seneca, Cayuga, Onondaga, Oneida and Mohawk—into a political confederacy of 5 chiefs which was the basis for the United States structure of government, with it’s 3 branches: legislative, executive, and judicial.

[Interestingly, the fact that the elder women of the tribes held the highest power was not adopted by our forefathers. Each chief worked with his clan mother and any chief could be removed by the women of the tribe. Of course American women were not yet free citizens, but were the property of their father or husband when our government was formed, and not full citizens until 1922, and not allowed to open a bank account until 1974. They couldn’t very well hold real responsibility.]

My favorite story in this book was the story of White Buffalo Calf Woman who brought the pipe to the Sioux. I don’t think I have ever been so moved by anything I have read. I have wept every time I’ve read it. For the beautiful telling, for the loss of so much – so many people, their ways of life and the nature of life itself on this continent. This story tells of how White Buffalo Calf Woman brought the peace pipe to a tribal gathering and instructed the Sioux Chief and his people in the sacred ritual of smoking tobacco together. There were seven rounds of passing the pipe. Each person in the gathering smoked once for Great Spirit, then one smoke each for Mother Earth, the animals, the Ongwhehonwhe (humans who remain true to reality), the spirit beings that surround the individual smoker, and 6 people you would like to see especially blessed. “The seventh smoke, she explained must always be taken in silence; for it was offered to the Great Being from which every being was drawn. For that sacred mystery at the source of life, it was better, she said, to have no words.”

The gift of the pipe changed everything for the members of the tribe. I know from personal experience that a question considered with these 7 aspects in one’s heart results in a wiser, more compassionate, and more expansive decision. This is the gift of the pipe ceremony and a part of the heritage of the Sioux.

I was in my 40s and I wanted to bring this practice into my life. A friend told me of a woman in Illinois named Elizabeth Standing Badger who made sacred pipes. He had her address and I wrote to her. I was asked to write another letter – about myself and about why I wanted the pipe. I did, and she consented to make a personal pipe for me. I had sent her payment, and months later I received a beautiful yet simple pipe and a letter telling me of her process in making it for me, including holding it outside through 2 thunderstorms. (If I had truly been wise, I would have saved that letter, and I would know what tribe Elizabeth was from.) There was a snake on it – as I had explained that I felt closely aligned with Snake – creature of change and transformation (as demonstrated by the shedding of skin). As I write, I remember other symbols that decorated the pipe in yellow, orange and red. It is packed away now, from our recent move, in a box with other sacred items.

I have not used the pipe for many years. The part of the stem that goes into the bowl needs work, which I started, and hope to pick up again when the time is right.

I was later told that a person should make their own pipe, but I would not have known how. My need felt immediate, and I am deeply grateful for my pipe. Deep thanks also to Elizabeth Standing Badger, wherever she may be.

I used my pipe as White Buffalo Calf Woman instructed for the better part of 2 decades, At times I smoked daily, and later weekly, or as needed. I smoked the seven smokes mostly on my own, but sometimes with others – especially when important things were to be said or decisions were to be made.

[I had smoked cigarettes as a teenager, had quit in my early 20s, and I initially used kinnikinnick in my pipe, a Native American combination of leaves. I was later drawn to smoke pure organic tobacco, and I experienced an ebb and flow with it for several years.]

I have taken out my pipe at this writing and reminder, and it now sits in my work space, calling to me.

When I return to the pipe, it will be with a more deep and full understanding of the 7 smokes, especially the 5th smoke to the spirit beings that surround me. These are my helping spirits, who I journey to and now know well – through my Shamanic training and work. This work aligns with all tribal origins on all 7 continents. My helping spirits are blessed allies who support me on my path. This help is available to all.

There is more to this story, which I will tell another day, telling of how and why my search turned to other sources of the sacred that are not strictly Native American.

Private sessions are offered in person and remotely by phone or video conference. Contact Annie to book a session, host a workshop, for sliding scale rates or to discuss barter arrangements.

My Religious Background

by 8hummingbirdway

I felt some hesitance to write about these classes I dreamed of that seemed to “train children up” – a Christian term you may have heard regarding education. This is how I envision Laura Ingalls Wilder being raised, which seemed good to me. (I only read a few of her books as an adult. I loved them – and read them to at least one of my children.) But I was not aligned with Christianity at the time, and “training children up” was something that in my younger days sounded somewhat harsh to me.

I have also written some thoughts on how children might be more fully educated as part of this thread of exploration.

Perhaps the Laura Ingalls Wilder books are what led me to seek out a church when my older daughter was approaching her teen years and my other two were 5+7. We spent a year or more attending a Unitarian church, where the sermons were soul-nourishing. We were just starting to make connections in the congregation when life’s demands did not allow the hour drive any longer.

I was raised in a family that attended a Congregational church on Sundays, but did not seem to truly embrace the values of Christianity. My mother said we went to church to engage with community – not a bad thing, but we did not give thanks at our meals, and the word God was rarely spoken in our home.

When I was a teenager, my mother said it was important to put myself in other people’s shoes – to imagine what it would be like to be them, with their challenges. This meant a great deal to me, and I took it to heart. I had heard of the Golden Rule and I embraced it the best I could. But that was the only life lesson I can recall receiving from either parent. Of course I don’t remember everything – but I’m certain that the presence of God was not spoken about or acknowledged in any real or way in my childhood home.

There was one Sunday school lesson may have been the reason we stopped attending church. I came home and said to my mom “Now I know why people hate the Jews – Jesus was killed by the Jews!” She was very upset by this and explained to me that Jesus was Jewish. Mom was very vocal and I’m pretty sure she spoke about this with the minister. My mother came to adulthood during World War 2, and her German family were social outcasts to some extent during that time. Her best friend during my childhood was Jewish – the mom of “Jerry” in my recent story. Mom and Dad both believed that all people should be treated equally – all races, religions, and nationalities. I am deeply grateful for this aspect of my upbringing.

I am a lover of all people. Even those who go astray, or who I leave behind, who have hurt me or my loved ones. I can’t help it. I don’t stop loving those who I have loved. This does not always set well with others – and it is sometimes painful to me. I have learned not to always mention it. Such as my friend’s ex-spouse, or the friend of my daughter who betrayed her. But I still carry them in my heart once I learn to love them. Sometimes I carry anger as well – but eventually that falls away, and love is all that is left. I like being this way. It’s gentle and it’s full-hearted.

When I was in middle school, I started attending a Baptist church occasionally with my best friend’s family. I was actually baptized with my best friend there. I remember taking classes to prepare us for baptism and I remember having a really hard time with the concept of accepting Jesus as my lord and savior AND with the belief that he died for our sins. But my best friend was going to do it, so I finally stopped questioning and just went ahead.

My friend and I attended a Baptist youth camp for several years. I loved the Christian songs I learned there around the campfire there and I sang them all year long. I still sing some of them. “Jesus walked this lonesome valley. He had to walk it by himself. Nobody else could walk it for him. He had to walk it by himself.” Love it.

But this was the place of my final separation from Christianity. One morning I was sitting at a bible study class. I can’t recall what exactly we were reading/studying, but it involved Hell – which was a concern of mine. When it came time for discussion, I asked a question that had been on my mind for some time. “If a person who was born to a tribe in South America or Africa never heard of Jesus, would he go to hell when he died?” The answer from the youth pastor was yes. And that was the end of Christianity for me.

My love of others and my belief in equality and fairness for all was stronger than any alignment with a harsh and punishing God.

Later my best friend’s mom told me that not all pastors would have answered this question the same way – but I had turned away. I didn’t want to belong to a group where any others felt this way, leaving me to sift through. Any paradigm I would sign onto would be a loving one, as would it’s followers.

And for most of my life the word “God” made me uncomfortable.

It has been a very long journey back to God. My spiritual search started in my late 20s. And only recently – in the past few years – has my perception of spiritual community expanded to include Christianity.

I do feel some alignment with the concept of “training up children.” In truth, I don’t know a lot about it, and I realize there are probably as many versions as there are families.

My children were raised in a family that valued honesty and compassion and respect for all. I would add discipline and devotion and prayer if I were to raise children today. Although it would probably be a conglomeration of what I have garnered from my spiritual search, not from a specific institution or book.

Wisdom and truth often come late in life. And there are as many versions as there are people. I am still learning.

Private sessions are offered in person and remotely by phone or video conference. Contact Annie to book a session, host a workshop, for sliding scale rates or to discuss barter arrangements.

My Personal Obstacles to Wellbeing

by 8hummingbirdway

I wrote recently about addiction and mental illness. My personal path has not been as profoundly marked with these specific challenges as others, although both have significantly impacted my life. I have had some experiences which bring me to a level of understanding of others’ paths.

We can be waylaid for a decades by something we perceive as an obstacle – to realize later in life that it can be sidestepped and become a teaching, a strength. This feels like my story, but I’m not even sure how to name the obstacle. There were various aspects to my obstacle – family disharmony, sexual abuse, physical abuse, patterns of deception + betrayal, lack of spiritual or ethical guidance, favoritism – they all resulted in “low  self-esteem”, “codependency”, and other catch-phrases of my generation that are true and yet don’t quite reach the core of what was at play in my psyche. 

I am ”fortunate” in having sugar be my addiction, along with patterns of behavior, misunderstandings, and fear. Cane sugar addiction has been the external substance that has been “enemy” in my life. Both of my parents were diabetic and I recognized the danger in my 20s, but did not fully conquer it until this current decade, my 60s. It seems so small compared to drug and alcohol addictions, and it is. However, it impaired my health, my clarity, my balance and my state of mind. It was an impactful substance to my wellbeing on multiple levels.

Unlike more impactful addictions, sugar didn’t stop me from having a stable family, being a loving parent, holding down a job, or coming to love myself.

The teaching, the strength that resulted in having these challenges, is still at play. I am still learning humility, service and forbearance. These are the answers for me. Stop focusing on self and focus outward. What can I do to be of help? It sounds preachy as I write it, but in truth is has been such a help to me to learn to focus less on self (woe is me!) and look for the proper tasks to do that move me forward and make me a contributing member of my household, my family, my community. This includes a focus on gratitude.

My spiritual search helped mitigate my imbalance and brought me eventually to greater wellbeing, for which I am eternally grateful. It is the basis of my love and generosity, which calls me to the blessed path of helping others.

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