CHAPTER

August 1999
PERSONAL JOURNEY

A Day in the Mountains

SHAMANIC TEACHINGS

Stepping Outside the Ordinary: Understanding Shamanism

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PERSONAL JOURNEY

A Day in the Mountains

The kind of day when I remembered why Alberta is known as blue sky country. In the midst of the Rocky Mountains, the peaks themselves were the only interruption to that vast expanse of blue, dotted with occasional white clouds. Hiking with a friend, meandering our way around one curve, then another, we slowly zigzagged our ascent of the mountain trail. It seemed like any other day, except that I was especially grateful to be outdoors, to be in the mountains, and under the warm shining sun. I was quiet, lost in my own thoughts. My friend Donna is one of those people who are comfortable with silence. I felt no need to fill the empty spaces with idle chatter. Watching my feet, taking care with each step to avoid any loose shale or protruding tree roots, I became acutely aware of the many hundreds of small stones and pebbles that dotted the trail. Marvelling at their subtle yet undeniable beauty and individuality, I contemplated picking some up or stopping to get a closer look, yet our pace was solid and I didnt want to disrupt it. We continued on. I looked up at the trail ahead, looked down at the carpet of stones, over and over. At one point, something in my awareness must have shifted. I dont know how. But the next time I looked down, I heard words echoing in my head like whispers, I have a story to tell. I have a story to tell. At first, it was difficult to know if those were my thoughts, as they seemed to be coming from both the inside and outside of me at the same time. But when I looked again at the stones, I could almost detect them waitingwaiting to know my response. A small flutter rippled though my stomach as I realized something out of the ordinary was happening. Curious to determine if the state I found myself in was real or imagined, I tried experimenting by closing my eyes briefly then opening them again. I watched carefully to see if the stones reverted back to normal. They didnt. I noticed that my senses were heightened, everything around me appeared brighter than usual. The trees seemed to be reaching their branches toward me as they swayed in the breeze, the green of their leaves more vibrant than ever. It was as if the rhythm of my step had been altered, tuned to fit with another, more primal rhythm. At the time, at the height of the experience, it seemed impossible not to accept it as real. It was real. But gradually it started to fade, and a few minutes later when I began to reflect on what had just happened, I wasnt so sure. I
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T WAS A BEAUTIFUL SPRING DAY.

Heeding the Call: A Personal Journey to the Sacred

knew I had experienced something. I could still feel the remnants of it, a gentle alertness that carried with it a profound sense of peace and calm. But talking stones? Perhaps I got carried away. To be certain, I decided to share it with Donna. She listened, grunted something unintelligible under her breath, and continued on. After hearing how it sounded when I said it out loud, I decided not to pursue it any further. About an hour later, a little wearier and thirstier for our trek, we were approaching the end of the trail. Not having been there before it was hard to know exactly where that would be, but I could see that the treeline was very close. Soon we would be able to see over the top and capture the entire vista of the landscape. A few more turns, a steep straight path, and in a step there it was. We had arrived at a clearing where we could see for miles, to the tops of the other mountains, the lake below, the highway winding into the forest like a footpath, and directly in front of us, a massive expanse of rock that was this mountains peak. It was close enough that with a few more steps we could reach out and touch it. Yet suddenly, I wasnt in any shape to do so. In the same instant that I glanced upward from the trail that had held me captive, and set my gaze ahead at the mountain summit, I heard something both silent and thunderous, a low, resounding voice that seemed to speak directly to my bones, I HAVE A STORY TO TELL. This was nothing compared to the gentle whisper of the stones that had tried to warn me on my ascent. As I felt these echoes reverberating through my body, I started to stagger, losing my footing. I reached out, groping for a tree to steady me. It was like reaching into infinity; I had lost my bearings in the world around me. The realization that I needed to sit down was a welcome burst of sanity. As I slowly eased my way to the ground I noticed my breathing had become rapid; my heart was pounding in my chest. My head felt light and waves of something seemed to move right through me, adding to the surreal nature of the experience. I tried to concentrate on the solidness of the earth beneath me, and after a few minutes, the disorientation started to fade. But as my body settled and my mind cleared, the inevitable question rose to the surface, What was I supposed to do now? What does a person do when a mountain speaks to them? A short while later, recovering, I shifted my attention back to the beauty of the land around me, and to finding Donna. As I turned to look, she was just a few feet away, oblivious to all that had happened. Feeling stronger by the moment, I stood up and called to her. We quickly found ourselves a nice open area where we could set down our packs, lay out a blanket, and feast on the unobstructed
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A Day in the Mountains

view of the valley below. Soon after, I gathered the courage to speak again of the strange invitation, and this time Donna listened intently. I did my best to describe it, but it was difficult to find words to convey the full magnitude of the experience and the effect it had on me. In the end, neither of us knew what it meant. It was one of those strange phenomena that we could discuss over and over without getting any closer to an explanation. While I was hesitant to dismiss it too easily, I had a strong inner sense to drop the subject and not let it spoil the rest of our day. Opening our packs and setting out our food, we had a picnic on the viewpoint of that mountain ridge. It was spectacular. The lake with its turquoise water, the eagles and ravens flying overhead, the sun so comforting I just wanted to lie down and drift off to sleep, feeling its warmth on my face. We easily moved into talking about normal things, mutual acquaintances, work, and the weight of responsibilities. What else would a person do after a mountain spoke to them? For the first few weeks after that fateful day, I thought about the mountain all the time. But the nature of the experience was so bizarre, so far beyond anything my rational mind could understand, that it left an after effect of unease. I considered filing it away somewhere in the deep recesses of my brain, but even there, there was no category for it. I couldnt share it with anyone, because I didnt really know what it was. I had more questions than answers. I began to feel that it was important to set it aside, get back to my regular life, to move through my days working with what I knew to be real and true. So I turned my attention back to my work as a herbalist and aroma therapist, and the healing practice I had established over a decade earlier. For as long as I could remember, I had been passionate about natural healing, natural foods and natural medicines. It was a defining feature of my life and required little effort to devote myself to it fully. The mountain episode shifted into the background and gradually started to fade. Months went by and I barely thought about the mountain. Summer and fall passed quickly, as they often do in the prairies, and the cold winter kept me focused on home and hearth. By the next spring, as the ground started to thaw and the new shoots of young plants poked through the earth, a small voice started to talk inside my head. It would whisper tauntingly I have a story to tell. Initially I dismissed the voice, thinking that if I didnt pay it any attention, it would simply go away. Yet gradually it became more insistentand compelling!
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Heeding the Call: A Personal Journey to the Sacred

I started daydreaming, fantasizing about what the content of this story might be. I imagined myself in all sorts of great situations that resulted from my knowing this special tale. Soon, the daytime wasnt enough and it entered my nighttime dreams too. Was I going crazy? When I finally sat down and reflected on what was growing inside me, I had to admit that I was intrigued. I really did want to know the story. What kind of story would a mountain tell? How would I receive it? Would I too, become a storyteller, as I shared the story with others? Would I write it down or follow an ancient oral tradition? As my daydreams, night dreams, and conscious focused awareness all became consumed with the story of the mountain, I knew I had to do something. I couldnt go on like this. Fortunately, I had met the man who was the perfect person to advise me. He was a shaman and would know exactly what to do.