In the year and some months between asking for an initiation and going to WolfDance for the ceremony and week surrounding it, many things occurred in my life, or presented themselves that I took to be significant signs of spiritual connectedness.  Some of them I talk about here.  Some of them I keep to myself. J

In making prayer ties, I'd sometimes go out to the park at the Bay on a clear and warmish day and sit under a willow tree or next to a big old cedar.  I'd pray my prayers, fold up the felt bundle, tie it off, and let my eyes move over the lush rolling expanse of land that bordered the marsh.  I let my attention by called by birds, or breeze rustling leaves, or clouds making shapes, or in the higher elevations, wind dancing with cottonwood trees. 

Sometimes these things told me what to pray about.  Sometimes they gave me messages I was to act on or journal about.  Often the messages were:  be joyful, time spent with us is nourishment for your spirit, all things---even people---shimmer and shine with the most amazing beauty, worry less, be grateful more.  One group of cottonwoods to the northeast of my favorite spot swayed and rustled, putting on quite a show, as if to say to the Earthmother:  Watch me dance, watch me.

When I go for walks in other deeply wooded areas, I usually pause at the entrance, if only for a nanosecond, to ask permission of the creatures and energies resident there to enter their home.  Sometimes I've been told "We do not want you here; no visitors today."  And when I get that response, I respect their wishes, and change my plans.  Usually, though, I've had a sense that at least one voice---as if selected to represent the whole community---has answered in a almost formal way, "Enter, Two-Legged.  You are welcome to visit with us for a time."

This kind of asking for permission and getting a response had been a profound experience for me years earlier when I made a pilgrimage of sorts to New Mexico.  I'll tell you that story now, if you don't mind a little diversion.  You see, I had planned to make a counter clockwise circle in traversing the state, driving from Albuquerque, up to Santa Fe, across to Farmington, down to Gallup, and back to Albuquerque.  But 2 days before I left, I started getting strong urgings not to travel the route between Santa Fe to Farmington.  But, I protested, I have it all planned, and I don't want to double back over the same routes. 

"No," insisted the urgings that grew stronger and became a chorus of loud, firm voices.  Do not cross our land.  You are not welcomed here."  Why I was getting this message, in such an intense way, was a mystery to me until I realized that the only highway from Santa Fe to Farmington crosses through the middle of an Apache reservation. 

The land at WolfDance and some of its residents spoke to me from the very first moment we arrived on Friday evening, beginning with a large mule deer who stood in the road as we approached. 

This beautiful buck had about 6 inches growth on his antlers, and he was so close to us and stood so still for such a long time that we could almost feel the softness of the velvet.  He stood smack in the middle of the road, as if he was the appointed welcoming  official.  He considered us for several minutes, then nonchalantly moved off the road, but only long enough to let us pass before he unconcernedly returned to his guard post (and no doubt, to some juicy flora growing in the path).  It was an auspicious beginning to a magical week.

To get an idea of what WolfDance is like, see the pages and photos posted here.

This dragon nipped at my right ankle once, a day or so after the initiation, or maybe I just stepped in the unexpectedly soft dirt left behind by the ground squirrels.  Either way I somersaulted down the steep but short incline leading up to the main, kitchen and meeting place cabin.  Right ankle, left brain.  Hmmmm…..was I over thinking at the time?  Was one of the land spirits trying to show me I could ground myself  with right brain processes, and that if I didn't, they would do it for me? J

A twisted ankle made it more of a challenge than it might normally be to climb up Sacred Mountain-----and normally that trek in my ankle-throbbing opinion needs a sherpa, two strong walking sticks per person, or a jet pack.  The trail……..WhiteWolf swore we were on a trail, but I couldn't see it much of the time……..went along a sharp hillside and over uneven ground covered by loose rocks, unstable pinecones, and fallen trees and branches.  But sidewise across and down one mountain we went until the trail crossed a gully and then ascended Sacred Mountain, the highest point at WolfDance. 

The first morning at WolfDance ---the morning of the regional Medicine Wheel ceremonies----I awakened about 830 and after lighting a fire in the wood cookstove in the main cabin to start heating water for all the day's uses, I was returning to my cabin when I heard one lone hoo-hoohooooo from the woods to the southwest.  Owl was inviting me onto an adventure.  I felt called to take an unplanned hike. Up a small hill, rest, over many fall trees, sit in a clearing and listen, go further and carefully avoid the dried cowpies, find a grassy spot where fallen small trees lay in a natural if irregular circle.  Sit in the middle and meditate.  Breeze friendly on my skin, sun just warm enough.  Wow, cool.  This is the life.  There's such a feeling of being at home here.  Such a sense of welcome.  Later,

WhiteWolf asked if I'd seen the Horse that had sauntered by his cabin that morning.  I'd missed it.  I had followed the Owl.

A morning or two after my initiation I was awakened at 445 am by the very persistant hoo-hoohooooo, hoo-hoohooooo of an Owl that seemed to be in the large fir tree directly to the south of my loft bed.  Owl seemed to be telling me a few things about the initiation and wanted me to get up and journal them before I forgot.  When a guide comes to you that insistently, and that early in the morning, you don't roll over and go back to sleep even tho I thought about it until 530.  But by then, it was warmer to leave the nest, so to speak, and hike up to the main cabin to start the fire than to hide under the covers.