One Woman’s Quest for a Vision

At the Arise Music Festival, my friend, Cheryl, asked if I’d be interested in doing a Vision Quest. My soul emphatically responded, “YES!” I was simultaneously excited and intimidated which always means something powerful will take place.

Native American culture fascinates me; I love the deep connection and appreciation of Mother Earth and the animal kingdom. I’ve had the honor of participating in a couple of sweat lodges and a Vision Quest is something I’ve always wanted to experience, but never actively pursued. My husband, Greg, decided he wanted to do it too. However, the original selected dates didn’t work for us, so we released it. When the dates shifted it easily fit into our schedule.

Michael Farmer, founder of Dancing Coyote Canyon, and the facilitator of the quest shared, “Whatever path brings you here, whether you feel called or driven, you enter a process that is solitary, unique, and universal. Buddha, Christ, Moses, Mohammed, Black Elk — many have walked before us, their footsteps leading to the forest, the mountains and deserts. There we stand alone before our mother, the Earth; we stand before our gods and goddesses; we stand in our authentic selves. As kindred souls have done for millennia, we come to experience an allegorical dying and rebirth.”

We were instructed to bring a hat, sunscreen, bug repellent, sleeping bag, jacket, and water bottle, insulate pad and a tarp in case it rains. No tents, no books, no journals, no food. This was the Hilton of Vision Quests. The traditional custom is isolation in nature with only your skivvies.

Greg decided the timing wasn’t right for him. This upset me because he informed me after I made all the arrangements for my mom to fly in and care for our youngest daughter and the furry family. Thankfully, it didn’t take me long to realize this was no place for my hormonal control freak to show up, and I soon got back into alignment.

Prior to the actual quest, I needed to create 404 prayer ties. I cut 3” x 3” red cloth squares, took a pinch of tobacco, stated my prayer, placed the tobacco into the cloth and tied it onto a string to create a continuous string of prayer ties that would encircle me during my quest. The prayers contained my heart’s desires, appreciation for my physical and non-physical family and friends, and my planetary dreams for humanity. Greg, my three children, Brandilyn, Davin and Tabitha, and my future son-in-law, Miles, contributed to my prayer ties, which made it especially powerful to carry and surround me with their energy, with the added bonus of a little less work for me.

The entire process was incredible. Observing how my preparation was happening on multi-dimensional levels, as I received downloads of information and prayers. A good friend commented, “The amount of gratitude you felt while making this (prayer ties) is enough to heal us all.”

There was the aspect of physical preparation for my fast, continuing with my morning green juice, drinking my usual 4-5 liters of water a day, and enjoying one meal for five days prior. Thankfully, we were allowed to take a bottle of water with us on our quest. “Are you going to take a five-gallon bottle?” Brandilyn wondered. I considered it, but I’d make due with a 1.75 liter bottle.

The biggest question: What to wear? Comfy yoga pants, Michael Franti t-shirt, fleece jacket, swimsuit for the sweat lodge, shorts, tank top, a pair of socks, and two Sisterhood of Sacred Scarves, “Spirit” and “Rainbow Dancer”. I packed mala beads from a dear friend, two Andara crystals to play with, Sacred Mountain Young Living Essential oil, and coconut oil to keep my lips moist.  I also figured I could eat it, if I got really desperate. I just finished reading “Unbroken” the story of a WWII veteran who survived 47 days at sea before being imprisoned by the Japanese, I thought I could manage a couple of days without food. To not be completely spoiled, I didn’t pack a comb.

My husband offered to give me a knife to ward off any predators. I respectfully declined, as my knife wielding skills are limited to kitchen cutlery, and it posed a bigger risk to myself than the wildlife. I’m well aware of the nocturnal predatory dangers, and I don’t go traipsing around my mountaintop in the dark, but I felt that if any wildlife appeared, it would be for connection and information, not harm. The only thing I feared was not receiving a vision.

On the first morning before I left home, I received a text from Cheryl to wear a long skirt, dress or sarong for the lodge. She was unable to make it because her first grandchild hadn’t arrived yet. I dressed in my Alex Grey “Wonder” skirt, a black tank, and the black and white plaid jacket I bought when I was nineteen. It entered my mind several times to bring it, but I opted for the warmer fleece already packed, now I would have two jackets. I kissed Greg and Tabitha goodbye in their warm beds, and drove into the fog and rain to Lake George, Colorado.

On the descent from my mountaintop, a large deer suddenly appeared from the hillside and ran directly into the road in front of me. I applied my brakes and swerved toward the center, as I held my course, and did my best to avoid collision. The ironic thought hit me, “I’m going to miss my vision quest because I killed a deer!”

My heart stopped as his soulful eyes met mine and we acquiesced along side one another before he disappeared back down the hill. My heart sped up and I found my breath.
The last time I came this close to hitting a deer, I did. I still have visions of that large buck, his core blanketed the entire windshield while my aunt, Lindy, and I screamed and silently prayed he wouldn’t join us in the front seat. He didn’t.

Around the curve, two grazing doe watched as I passed by, completely oblivious that I almost took out their man. I suggested they keep a closer eye on him. After this powerful encounter, I knew no harm would come to me during my quest.

The heavy rain formed rivulets across the roadway, which eventually led to clear blue skies. This felt symbolic of my personal adventure. Michael greeted me with his piercing blue eyes and powerful California-surfer-shamanic energy. I instantly knew I was in good hands. He introduced me to Paul, the fire keeper and talented photographer, Donna, a full-time land visionary resident, and Susan, who was an unexpected blessing displaced due to the recent Boulder floods. They were our supporters. Eric, another quester, was already there and we awaited the arrival of the third quester, Jessica.

With a little help from gasoline the damp wood of the sacred fire was ignited. Spiraling ash, crackling sounds, and the smell of campfire filled the hot air. There were several large granite rocks, known as grandfathers, at the base. It would be a couple of hours before they were ready for the sweat lodge. Eric and I discussed our wet commute, and Michael and Donna commented at how the land seems to be in a protective bubble, as stormy weather surrounds it while the sky above them remains clear.

Michael gave me his “Medicine Cards” book to look up the meaning of the deer. The deer medicine teaches us to use the power of gentleness to touch the hearts and minds of wounded beings that are trying to keep us at bay. The parable tells of a fawn being called to the top of Sacred Mountain (the essential oil I was guided to bring) to visit Great Spirt, who was guarded by a demon. Her lack of fear, love and compassion penetrated his hardened, ugly heart. Chills moved through me confirming the powerful message.

We began the opening ceremony by burying our weapons, a stick, rock or something that symbolized our cares and concerns that we wanted to leave behind during our quest. Then a serene walk through a grove of Aspen trees, their rustling leaves welcomed us. The early golden greetings, a reminder that Autumn is near, were scattered along the lush trail that led to the medicine wheel. Inside the wheel, the four directions, East, South, West, and North, were opened following with a group meditation. We walked back in silence to the yurt, where we were treated to an anointing foot bath. My toes were surprisingly pleased by the borderline hot water, exactly how I like it. Vibrant purple flower petals and golden Aspen leaves adorned the water; I closed my eyes, relaxing into the tranquil lavender field.

My Christ Consciousness lit up with every purposeful rub. I allowed myself to fully receive, a rarity for me. “Your feet are beautiful. I’m jealous,” Paul’s appreciation washed over me. They are quite exquisite as far as feet are concerned. Susan knelt before me infusing me with love through her nurturing blue eyes and golden smile. She lifted my right foot from the water while a clingy leaf remained. “It doesn’t want to go,” I observed. “They love you,” she said, as she kissed the center of my Om tattoo on top of my foot, using her crushed velvet red skirt to thoroughly dry it off. I felt like I died and went to heaven. She lovingly repeated the process with my left foot.

Passing the heart-shaped alter, we entered the sweat lodge and sat upon blankets. Paul slid a pitchfork through the doorway with the first glowing grandfather resting on it, we welcomed it as Michael used antlers to place it into the center pit. Heat wrapped around me like a protective blanket. Michael swept the braided sweet grass over the ember rock. Earthy sweetness blessed me. Repeating this process as three more grandfathers were placed for the first doorway before the lodge was closed in darkness. Michael poured water on the grandfathers and thick steam instantly created cleansing streams along my face and arms.

The first doorway’s theme was gratitude. We simultaneously stated our prayers of appreciation out loud. There was room to lie down, if needed; I bowed my head to the cooling ground layer. My soaked skirt was useless, I used my hands to wipe along the sides of my face, and abundant drops of water tickled the inside of my arms as they flowed to my grounded elbows. With our prayers stated, Michael awakened the heart of the drum and Donna began an enchanting song, we soon joined in. My mind and body entrained to the rhythmic vibration, my soul was already there.

We planned to go to our individual spots after the lodge, where we would spend the next forty some hour’s alone in nature. A torrential downpour came instead. Apparently the land’s protective bubble burst. There’s no need for suffering, so we waited it out in the yurt. The heavy rain harmonized on the taught canvas roof, lulling me into a meditative state. With the recent monsoonal storms and several flash floods, I could only hope that it wouldn’t rain the entire time.

At the last minute, I grabbed an umbrella and rain jacket from my car. I had every intention of leaving my cell phone behind, but I kept getting nudged to bring it with me for the camera. Even with intermittent service in this location, I set it to airplane mode after I responded to a text from a friend who was concerned about us being affected by the flooding. A break came with only minor rain and we set out to find our spots.

Michael offered his two tipis and a tent, but we declined, as we attempted to not completely do a watered down, white-man version. I was led uphill, toward the rock formations, similar to the landscape surrounding my home. Eric and Jessica stayed at the base. Michael helped me set up in a spot that provided a level sleeping space. He told me I could move my prayer ties to the rocks during the day. Thank goodness, Paul loaned me an additional tarp, which gave me one at a 45-degree angle above me, and one underneath me that I could fold in half over me for additional protection.

As soon as my site was set up, it started down pouring. I slid into my sleeping bags—yes, I brought two—put my socks on, two jackets, which I was incredibly grateful for both, and hoped to remain dry. The rain pummeling my overhead tarp soothed me, but my damn beautiful feet were freezing, making it impossible to relax. I wrapped my “Spirit” scarf around them as my sisters’ spirited energy warmed me from toe to head.

An image of a stage illuminated with bright orange lights came to me, and then my analytical mind shook it away insisting a vision can’t be that easy. Skepticism was replaced by sleep and twelve hours passed, an all time record for my bladder. I was startled awake by a chipmunk that encroached upon my tarp. My sudden movement sent him up the closest tree as he attempted to call in reinforcements, or simply bitch me out, for a few minutes. I raked my fingers through the wet tangled mess on top of my head; a comb didn’t seem too luxurious right now.

Thick, chilly moisture surrounded me and made me want to stay wrapped up for another twelve hours, but my bladder wouldn’t even consider it. The mountaintop was framed in fog, but fortunately it wasn’t raining. I stuffed my socks and fleece jacket inside my sleeping bag to keep them dry. I put coconut oil on my lips, wasn’t tempted to eat it, and saw the bottle of Sacred Mountain oil. I have had this oil for over nine years, only used it a couple of times as I wasn’t particularly drawn to the scent, but It kept coming to my mind whenever I mentally made my packing list. I put a drop on my left wrist and rubbed it with my right one, I took in a deep inhalation of the most divine aroma perfectly intertwining heaven and earth. The top of my head began to tingle. This essential oil was meant to be appreciated here.

The new day gave me the opportunity to explore and appropriately set my prayer ties. A large boulder directly behind where I’d slept drew me in. It was split into three sections and a pine tree had grown in the crevice. The tree had become a breathtakingly natural sculpture after lightning struck it. I gathered three good-sized rose quartz crystals from the hillside, placing two on the north and south sides of the large rock and one on the branch of the tree, surrounded in a powerful triangle of energy. A smaller crystal gave me something to hold. My prayer ties perfectly encircled, actually “oblonged,” around my sleeping quarters and the boulder. Creating my ideal quest playground. Perched upon the rock, I saw Lake George in the distance illuminated with streaming sunrays. Through detached observation, I noticed my feelings around the sunless sky and remained hopeful the sun would stop hiding at some point.

The tight cloud cover remained above me. Whenever a patch of blue sky became present, I loved and appreciated it, encouraging it to grow bigger. A variety of birds dancing and singing in the trees around me were unaffected by weather, teaching me to do the same. By mid-morning the sun broke through with the infamous Colorado sunshine blessing and warming me.

Bernie, the resident guardian dog, and Michael visited. He admired my sweet spot and thought it would be a beautiful picture. I didn’t confess my contraband for fear of judgment and confiscation. Selfies would have to suffice.

He refilled my water bottle, which with the dense humidity, little was depleted. When he left, I was alone with my thoughts and the knowingness that I would remain isolated until the next day. Time to strip and let the sunshine envelope me, not for very long, as there are parts that should never sunburn. I draped my Rainbow Dancer scarf around me for some protection, while embracing my uninhibited state.

It was interesting to notice my stomach grumble at my body’s conditioned eating times, but I never felt deprived. Our supporters were consciously eating for us, praying for us, and kept the fire burning during our quest. I felt their supporting awareness and didn’t fear for my well-being. When I’m away from home, I always check in with my family, it was a little strange not to, but I was grateful that Greg was at home and I knew he could handle anything in my absence.

The afternoon brought the predicted rain showers. I retreated to my cocoon, dozed off for a while, and woke to a blue sky. Back on the rock to enjoy more observations before the evening shower hit that sent me back to my shelter. As I lay there listening to the rain, I received a nudge to peek out from under my tarp, and at that moment, I watched a great horned owl swoop along the hillside. I reveled in its majesty. Then my logical mind argued that it probably wasn’t an owl, it wasn’t dark yet, but it didn’t look or feel like another large bird of prey.

When the evening storm subsided, I hung out on my rock some more, appreciating the beauty around me and savoring the last morsel of daylight. I looked up to find a cloud formation floating by in the shape of an owl. I smiled. Then I saw a heart beside it and my heart filled with joy. I knew then, without a doubt, that I received my vision.

To me, an owl represents eternal wisdom, a master teacher. This was confirmation of what I have been consistently told, yet continued to resist. It’s time for me to remove the cloak of self-doubt and share my wisdom with others. An owl is a creature of the night, symbolic of the shadow side, using keen discernment and heightened awareness into the unspoken words of others. The yellow eyes reflect light in the darkness, their silent flight reminds us to get quiet and turn within. There are many reasons why an owl is a powerful totem animal and messenger for me.

With the setting sun, I was encouraged to place my sleeping bags on the rock. It was contoured where I could support my neck while it cradled my lower body, before elevating my lower legs over the top. It felt as if this rock was made just for me. The humidity was tangible, I cocooned inside my bags and wore everything, except for the swimsuit and shorts. I wrapped “Rainbow Dancer” around my feet and encircled my face in “Spirit” with only my eyes exposed to the cold dampness.

The periwinkle sky began to illuminate with one star after the other. I breathed in the wet ponderosa pine. A bright waxing moon shone behind me, highlighting the mountainside. red Mars winked at me, and a shooting star hopped across the sky. I don’t know if I ever fell asleep or simply rested in the embrace of nature. After several hours, my neck complained. Condensation had puddled on my outside bag and the howling coyote seemed closer, I moved to my protective tarps and fell asleep to an owl hooting in the distance.

The morning sunshine welcomed me, along with an energetic grid in my vision. At first, I thought it was a side-affect from fasting, and then I remembered experiencing this before during an expansive growth phase. It’s hard to put words to it, but it’s as if there is an invisible grid with intersecting horizontal/vertical pulsating points overlaid upon whatever is within my visual field. It’s fun!

I spent the morning on the rock enjoying my energetic vision, basking in deep appreciation for myself for investing in this special time.

The plan was that Michael would retrieve us and go through the closing ceremony. I carefully packed my site, everything, except the prayer ties were ready to go. I used my rolled sleeping bag, the purple Coleman my mom gave when I was thirteen, with it’s palm tree and Hawaiian hut designs, my Barbie bag according to Cheryl, to sit upon my rock. I leaned against the tree and thanked it for all the love, beauty and support it unconditionally shared with me. I was getting antsy, my luggage looked like it was waiting for the bell boy. I decided to hike back to the sweat lodge. It felt important to me to come out on my own, or maybe I needed more than one prayer for Patience.

After a short while, Michael and I went to retrieve Jessica and Eric. On the path coming toward us was a bright blue discombobulated tarp wearing a bouncing sunhat, Jessica hidden behind it, doing her best to manage her things. She thought she had missed her wake-up call. Michael had her leave her stuff while we went for Eric in a grove of Aspen trees further ahead. We found him sitting cross-legged, inside the center of a perfect circle of his prayer ties. He placed twigs along the perimeter to secure them and his things were neatly packed next to him. I marveled at the contrast.

We walked together in silence along the sacred ground to the resonating beat of the drum. Allowing our individual experiences to permeate our souls before we went through our closing sweat lodge. I observed how the three of us had completely different approaches, that reflected our unique personalities with the common thread of self-discovery tying us together.

After the lodge, the lovely goddesses presented us with platters filled with a variety of delectable fruit to choose from. The biggest grape I had ever seen was begging to burst inside my mouth, but the golden orange piece of cantaloupe in my right hand held with the belief that I didn’t like it, won my attention. The penetrating smell captivated my taste buds as juicy explosions dripped down my throat. I’m in love. The grape didn’t disappoint either.

We each had the opportunity to share a few words, if we chose. All of us felt tremendous gratitude for one another and our individual and shared experiences. We were gifted with a deerskin pouch sewn by Donna that contained a quartz crystal that’s birthing another crystal, symbolic of our rebirthing journeys, and some ash from the sacred fire that brings blessings and protection.

The initiates bathed and anointed Michael’s feet, a supremely heartfelt honor. Donna gifted him with a sculpture of the profile of a man with a white eagle perched above, a true representation of this powerful medicine man. I gifted Michael with the rose quartz crystal that rested upon the giving tree. Michael invited me to teach at Dancing Coyote Canyon next summer and I am honored to do so. We had the option to burn our prayer ties in the fire, but I chose to bring mine home to hang around our property.

Together, we enjoyed a tantalizing feast of lovingly prepared food contributed by everyone, complemented with delightful conversation. I am deeply humbled by this opportunity, and the tremendous gift of love and support from all that accompanied me. For a powerfully unique and individualized experience, it could not have been done without my tribe, seen and unseen, near and far. It’s an honor to know that my quest will continue to unfold with me for days, weeks, possibly years to come.

When I arrived at home, Greg met me in the driveway, as he was anxious to see what I looked like after three days in the woods without a shower. “You look feral,” he stated.

I giggled, “I do?”

“Yeah, it’s a good look for you,” he smiled and hugged me. Tabitha was happy I didn’t get eaten by a mountain lion. The answer to their burning question–perhaps yours as well–is “Once. Buried with the toilet paper.”

A special thank you to Paul Kemnitzer for use of his photos. You can view all photos from this quest at Paul’s photo gallery. And thank you to Michael Farmer, the magic of Dancing Coyote Canyon, Donna and Susan.