6 /In the Shadow of the Shaman

Riding the Wheel of the South

We sit in circle, wisps of sage and cedar smoke drifting among us.
We begin to steady our breath as the drumming softens and slows to
the rhythm of a heatbeat.
"Lok for the child within," we are told. "Journey inward, and
awaken the sleeping child."
I reach deep into my memories, carefully releasing the cords of
adulthood that snag me along the way-analysis, expectation, re­
sponsibility. I seek the free child spirit. Then I find myself standing in
front of an antique dresser in my grandmother's house. I am eye level
with the dresser top, unable to see more than a few strawberry curls of
hair in the mirror.
On the dresser is a jewelry box, pale pink with gold flourishes.
Standing on my tiptoes, I can just reach it. I take the box down from
the dresser and sit on the floor, cradling it in my lap. I unhook the
clasp and lift the lid very slowly, hoping to catch the ballerina inside
unaware. But she is ready for me, as always, and begins to spin to the
music from the jewelry box. I watch her for a few moments. Her gold
hair and pink net tutu reflect lights in a mirror inside the lid.
I take my gaze away from the ballerina and examine the treasures
inside the box. There, among the pearlized popbeads and an old
lipstick tube (Revlon Love That Red!), are other prizes. I find bluejay
feathers, a bit of a robin's eggshell, a four-leaf clover, and a variety of
special stones, flowers, and twigs. I reach into the pocket of my Dale
Evans cowgirl shirt and pull out a small pine cone. It is incredibly tiny,
even in my child-sized hands. I carefully nestle it into a bed of dried
gardenias from the summer before. I can still catch a bit of their
fragrance, deep and sweet, a flower of love.
I hear myself being summoned to return from this journey. The
drumbeat is faster now, insistent.
I carefully close the lid of the jewelry box and put it back in its proper
place. I stand on the very tips of my toes and shove the box up against
the dresser mirror, where I can no longer reach it. I am satisfied that it
will be safe in the protective fortress of my grandmother's dresser.
I breathe deeply and return from my journey to the child within. I
am complete in the knowledge that the free child still dwells in my
heart. She walks beside me on my Nature path. I can see her reflected,
like the little ballerina, in all of the Nature treasures that make their
home with me now.