Several people have already contacted me, very concerned about how we’re doing in Goshen after 60 tornadoes plowed through Illinois and Indiana today. Thanks for your concern. We’re doing well here. I always tell people I cut deals with the Nature Spirits, and I’m really not kidding. Thor is the God of Thunder, associated with the THORN Rune of protection. I mentally draw that Rune all over our property every time I hear of or sense any sort of major storm. Synchronously, just as I sat down to post this announcement, Yahoo news flashed some story across my screen about THOR the movie. Yes, thunder and lightning and wind were very active today! But not so much right here.
I talk to the Nature Spirits like I talk to the bees who get mad at me for interrupting their meal while watering my bee friendly flowers: “Hey, don’t sting me. I planted these flowers, and I’m keeping them alive for you. Don’t sting the hand that feeds you. C’mon, live in harmony, eh?” and the bees let me do my thing without stinging me, just like the wasps when I remind them who planted the plants that house the insects the wasps eat. When storms come, I always request that the Nature Spirits protect our property, especially our home and gardens. I remind them that I can much more easily advocate for Nature if I have adequate living quarters and food. So far, so good. Although much of Goshen was tucked away in basements, I felt fine wandering around upstairs figuring what to wear for tonight’s outing. I just knew no storm would hit our house.
Tonight we had our Inner Transitions book group meeting scheduled in Three Rivers, Michigan, and we received an email saying they were on if we were. Driving there, we saw some pretty intense damage — the roof of a silo ripped off and insulation strewn all over the road; closed roads; miles and miles of downed power lines; a tower toppled over; branches and entire trees scattered across lawns and in ditches; pitch blackness all around. The house hosting the meeting did not have power, but they did have a wood stove and hurricane lanterns. They ran their generator so we could flush the toilet, since there were a dozen or so of us visiting from various locations. We had a lovely, lovely time! Somehow, having fluorescent lights replaced by the warm glow of a fire and oil lamps was just perfect. The people hosting expressed gratitude because they had consciously designed their home to be able to host such gatherings even in the event of a long term grid-down scenario.
I won’t discuss our Inner Transition processing, because that’s private, but tonight’s meeting underscored for me the sense of joy and return to soulful community that life without electricity has the potential to cultivate. The massive power outages, likely to stay out for weeks, also affirmed my own urge to get some extra preps in place last weekend. It was weird, because even while posting about the GridEx II drill, I didn’t really feel like that was it. I just felt like we ought to have some alternative heat and extra food and water available for us and for David’s parents. Unlike so many in Illinois, Indiana and Michigan, we didn’t end up needing those preps today; however, we sure would be happy to have them if we did. David’s parents’ garage window got smashed by a flying canopy, but they, too, are fine and have power. We are all grateful, and my heart goes out to those who lost their homes or who will need to survive without the grid at least for the near future.
Many people have spoken today about the Philippines, since the unexpected storms reminded them of how suddenly life can shift. People have asked me how to process such large scale devastation, and I have a bit of a different take on it. When such a large group of people pass unexpectedly, I truly believe they carry on in a different collective reality. They are on a different timeline, because their collective sense of reality hasn’t really had time to separate. When something that massive and that sudden takes 10K people at once, I really believe it’s like Avalon fading into the mists. That’s why I’ve never been afraid of dying in an “Earth destroying catastrophe.”
First of all, I’m not afraid to die. I’ve spoken to the dead since I was a child, and the dead speak back. It’s a transition, not the end.
Secondly, I have faced my own death on multiple occasions. The day after my brain injury, I awoke in my old bed at my parents’ house, feeling so cognitively different and not remembering how I got there that I actually thought I was dead. I wandered around the house and, finding no one there, really thought I might be dead. My parents have a graveyard behind their house, so I wandered outside to see if I could locate my grave. I figured if I were dead, I would remember where it was, or at least I’d find some fresh dirt that would lead me to my headstone. As I wandered, I saw no one but a deer, and the deer stared at me. “Hmmm, so the deer sees me, but animals often see the dead, so that proves nothing.” I finally got the idea to return to my parents’ house and call them each at work. I figured since they don’t talk to the dead that if I were dead, they wouldn’t be able to hear me. They both picked up and assured me that I was still alive and that I very much needed to go to the doctor. Immediately.
The doctor ordered an initial two weeks off work, and I was bored. Very, very, exceedingly bored. I kept trying to read, but everything spun around. The letters seemed to float like bubbles and gnats around the room. I finally focused all my attention to clear the print and read “The Sun Also Rises” in one day. I had read it many times before, so I didn’t notice that I couldn’t actually follow the plot. I already knew the plot. When I stopped reading and looked up, the room began to spin. It spun and spun and spun until I finally passed out. The next morning, I awoke to the most massive migraine imaginable. I had never had a migraine before, and this, supposedly, was not a normal one. I thought I was hemorrhaging. I called my dad and told him I’d leave the sliding glass door open in case he needed to collect my body. I made peace with the Great Spirit in a moment of wonder, “Oh!!! You exist!” And that was that.
I didn’t die, at least not physically, but everything I thought I knew about myself and my life, all the external definitions died. And yet something remained. That something is the reason I don’t fear death. I see that something in every client, every friend and every stranger. While others fear a collapse of the familiar or a collapse of civilization or the grid, I relish the possibilities. Yes, I want systems in place to be able to handle sewage, food, clean water and some form of heating … you know, the basics … because I don’t like unpleasant smells or desperation. I know we can prepare our communities with backup systems that treat the Earth better and protect us from ourselves.
But I do look forward to people turning inward, as they inevitably do when “tragedy” looms or strikes. I look forward to how real people become when suddenly faced with their own mortality. I have helped so many people die, walked with them as they prepared to transition from this life into whatever lives beyond. I’ve relayed so many messages from passed animals, parents and children — messages with such affirmations and synchronicities that “prove” (to the Soul at least) that life continues. All is well.
As Julian of Norwich said, “All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.” We have agency. And life. We continue to co-create beyond the familiar. Who’s to say that won’t be our very greatest creation?
