Episode 4: Vision Quest Visitors
Welcome to MOONDAY CAFE a podcast that’s posted every month on the day of the full moon.
MOONDAY CAFE is devoted to the mind-expanding, mind-bending magical power of story.
Dovey settles into the vision quest camp, alone. As she prepares for the night, feeling brave and determined, but as the evening goes by, interesting visitors manifest and reveal themselves, taking her further into the magic of invisible worlds.
Our guide is author, inspired performer, and barefoot cowgirl, Dovey Conlee.
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Episode 3: Vision Quest Visitors
It wasn’t a magic carpet, but the vision quest camp site did feel like a portal to another world. The beauty was vivid. The beauty was insane. The sounds AND the silence was an MGM musical and Dovey took a few minutes to evaluate this strong, unusual decision to go into this jungle wilderness alone.
Hawaiian folklore speaks about loneliness and being lost, cut from the tribe and feeling abandoned. The legends, in several forms, speak to the courage of the warrior’s heart and the trials that inevitably present themselves as the warrior moves onward to self-discovery and greater mastery of life. Loneliness sets the stage for that. It strips the veneer of social acceptance and places the seeker in direct contact with spirit. There are no intermediaries.
The ‘tempering’ process that results can be life changing and life altering. And, the journey is vastly personal, yet essential. Facing the pain, according to this lore, is to conquer the pain, to take control of the soul’s evolution through the moments of trial, and inevitable error. To be honest, Dovey was doing her best to stay confident in her hope that her guardian angels were extremely powerful, on duty and willing to work overtime.
She stood still for a few minutes, holding her own space and evaluating her first move. Daylight was making its way out fast and the afternoon would draw to a close shortly. Shadows were becoming long and the winds were laying down. The stillness was offering itself in eerie silence.
Making the bed was the first best step to getting unpacked and settled, welcoming the night. A mosquito net hung from the ceiling and the bed was a full-sized futon, backed up to a far wall so that the view of the coastal cliffs was in full play. It was a tough moment of truth as the dark of night was rolling in.
When Dovey made this decision, she felt unbelievably fearless, convincing herself that this emancipation pushed her into the comfort of the familiar rituals of the shamanic curandera of the borderlands of her Texas heritage.
Soulful talks with the Mama San in Japan had opened up not just this Hawaiian healing journey, but also the congruent spiritual aspects that the Shinto and Buddha. The Texas Christian practices of her youth and the nature medicine and sacred rituals of the curandera had so many similarities to these ancient Polynesian beliefs. All these forms of spiritual rituals held their own truths that had congruent messages; we are one with creation
She burned some incense to clear the space. She lit a kerosene lantern, unpacked a few things, found the sheets and pillows, made the bed and covered the top sheet with a Hawaiian batik blanket that had a tie dyed pattern of tropical colors that mimicked the colors of the chakras which harmoniously mimics the colors of the rainbow. It brightened the camp.
She hung her hat on a hook by the doorway and poured herself some water then stepped out onto the deck. She had her rice paper journal and a traveling set of watercolors, art pencils and good quality pens.
Dovey knew this first vision quest was a powerful opportunity to align more closely with Spirit. She felt that this short, but powerful, event would lead her into a colossal state of surrender. She had to find herself by herself. Unknown to her would come the sacred hero’s dismemberment that is absolutely necessary to re-member the soul’s true purpose for this lifetime.
To recreate herself, she knew she had to grieve, she just didn’t know how deep the grief would be. Grief can be cleansing and grief can suck the life out of a soul if it is not addressed. No soul can run from grief, even though it’s natural to avoid it. Grief will show up in another form such as sadness or anger if grief becomes a shadow. It will get expressed. It demands to get expressed if not addressed.
She made a decision to linger in the hammock until sleep found her, still careful not to fall asleep unprotected from night insects and fruit bats. Prepared to write her thoughts, but unable to move a pen across the page, she just stared into the space of the inky night, deliberately memorizing the feeling of her truth: she was very alone in this world. She had no one but herself and at the moment, she liked it that way.
Her childhood wounds of feeling unwanted had always been crippling, but this new reality was also a blank canvas, she thought. Yes. Her intention was to dream her life into being.
She had the courage to do this alone, she just needed time to think. And to rest. And to come up with a plan.
Sleep soon fell upon her. She had no idea what time it was. Intentionally, she had removed her watch, there was no clock. She had time, just chose not to constantly measure it. Real time was suspended; all a part of the process.
The moths and other nocturnal insects found their way to the lantern and soon the sleeping area was pelted with the aerial dives of a variety of moths and beetles and bugs in many variations and colors and sizes. It was an airshow.
She wrapped the bed in the mosquito net to protect it from the bugs. She had discovered the outdoor restroom earlier, taking note to try and not need nighttime relief. The pathway to the building was a decent walk; nothing to attempt unless it was essential, so now it was time for rest and reflection.
When she blew out the flame of the lantern, she was in the deep velvety darkness of a high altitude rain forest. Alone, but surrounded by life. She kept the matches close and did find a nice size flashlight in the box of provisions, which was the ultimate reassurance. She tested it before extinguishing the other light and kept the flashlight beneath her clean pillow.
In a solemn prayer, she asked for protection. She asked for the presence of the Holy Mother, the Christ consciousness and protection and the ancestors of her family and the love of God the Father to see her through this night. She lingered awake for a short while, then plunged into a deep, reassuring sleep.
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After a short while, she heard the sounds of a horse’s whinny, just a few feet from her left shoulder. Her eyes popped open in the total darkness. In another moment, she felt the moist breath of the animal and could smell the coat of the sweaty beast. Her heart was fluttering like a bird’s. Holding her head very, very still, but cutting her eyes to the left, within her peripheral vision, she saw the outline of a paint horse standing next to that side of the bed. Behind the horse was a faint glow of light, as if the horse was standing inside a misty cloud. Sitting on top of the horse was a bare chested American Indian, a Native American dressed in buckskin pants and moccasins, he had some feathers in his long hair and had a stone head hatchet on his belt and a long stone head spear resting across his lap. The horse occasionally shifted his weight from foot to foot.
It was a very real presence and she layed in the bed motionless, barely breathing, paralyzed with disbelief. Instinctually, she felt that if she turned to look directly at the mounted Indian, that the apparition could disappear and she felt comforted that he was there, not concerned of any harm that could arise because he felt peaceful and just curious.
Lying on her back and looking at the ceiling, she asked him softly about who he was. She asked what his name was. After a bit of silence, Dovey ‘heard’ a communication that came to her like a thought. The Indian identified himself as a guide. He felt like a ghost, but his presence was real. For a long period of time, she laid very still and just let his presence be felt. They stayed in silence.
After a while, she asked the Indian why he was there.
She heard the telepathic answer; the Indian had been one of her guardian angels assigned to her since the day she was born. He had lived and died on the land that was her family’s ranch. So? Yes. This was a ghost, a spirit, a protector, a friend, an angel. From the moment her mother died, Indian had been by her side.
Dovey started to weep, the tears filled her ears. She hadn’t been as alone as she thought, but then this was some creepy shit. There is a horse and an Indian from the 1800’s INSIDE a canvas tent on top of a deck, in the rainforest highlands of Kuai, Hawaii. Only the Mama San herself could believe it.
And?
Then, it gets better.
By now, the full moon that was just showing at the sunset was moving through the trees and broke through the thick canopy now and then, casting a phosphorescent light on the deck and through the screens of the tent. As the light came close, then faded, so did the apparition of the Indian and his paint horse; when the moonlight was strong, the image was thin and wisp-like and much like a holograph, but still….the Indian was there. As the moonlight ducked and dodged behind the foliage, the image of the Indian was more dense and real and palpable, but looking in the direction of the Indian felt, to Dovey, like his image could dissipate and she did not care to be separated from the image of the Indian’s presence. It was THE most comforting bit of knowledge she had acquired in her entire life. She was not alone.
She had plenty of questions, but felt it best to honor his presence and allow the Indian to receive her gratitude and appreciation. To that end, they just held the space together and they held silence together. This was a sacred time of peace and caring and love. And sacred stillness.
She heard herself asking Indian about her mother. Did he know her? And, if he did, where was she and why wasn’t she present?
There was no answer.
She dissolved; so sad, so numb, so unloved, she though. The silent response made her anxious, but she reflected on the Mama
San’s advise to be patient and steady and to receive all the messages in the many ways they would appear.
The mission of this vision quest was to meet, and know, her true self, to meet her shadow self and to discover her purpose for experiencing life in this physical form.
She returned to her breath. Indian swung his leg over the withers of the paint horse and appeared to close the distance by lowering his head a bit. He spoke to her through a telepathic thought. She ‘felt’ him say it is not time to know.
Dovey felt bewildered that she trusted this spirit guide so easily and mainly because the power and the caring of his presence was so peaceful. It felt odd, but it felt soothing. In a short time, fatigue got the best of her and a Biblical type of deep sleep came upon her, like she was mystically drugged.
In the midst of that deep, strong sleep, suddenly through the end of the mosquito net at the foot of the futon bed, out of nowhere jumped a large, seething lynx, a wildcat. It burst through the net, sprung though the air and pounced on top of Dovey’s sleeping body, using its claws and fangs to attack her torso, waking her from the sleep and causing her to instinctively fight back with furious anger. The panic she felt was terrifying; she wrestled with the giant cat, tumbling with it on top of the bed until she forced it to retreat and it disappear through the wall of the tent and into the jungle.
It was a spiritual attack in the form of a vivid, life-like dream.
When she gained her wits after the big cat retreated, while sitting up in the bed, she shouted at the Indian……WHY DIDN’T YOU HELP ME?! as she checked for injuries. YOU SAID YOU WERE MY GUARDIAN; YOU SAID YOU WERE MY PROTECTOR.
She heard the Indian say I AM ONLY HERE TO HOLD SPACE FOR YOU SO THAT YOU CAN LEARN TO TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF. THIS IS YOUR SHADOW. ONLY YOU CAN CONTROL YOUR SHADOW. IF YOU DO NOT CONTROL IT, IT WILL OVERTAKE YOU.
Dovey fell back onto the pillows, hands on her face. In the jungle she heard the frogs singing. A soft rain shower tapped notes out onto the broad leaves of the banana trees.
Her father had been stationed in Hawaii in WWII and unbelievably here she was in that same world, finding her way alone in this magical wilderness. The feeling of the flora and fauna felt like a soulful connection. She remembered some of her father's stories and coveted his island photography he kept in an album which was secreted away in an old trunk that held the only pictures she ever saw of her mother.
Hawaiian energy had impacted Dovey as a child. When Christmas arrived, the local grocery store near the ranch would order pineapples and hard brown coconuts for seasonal enjoyment and cooking. Dovey would watch her father in the ranch kitchen as he would escape back to a pleasant memory of his time in Hawaii. She would watch him as he cut a fresh pineapple and crack open a coconut, first drinking the coconut water and then shaving the soft meat of the coconut to mix with the fresh pineapple. She wondered if he had ever experienced the spiritual power of these islands.
Now, here she was on this island, at a portal powerpoint, grasping for answers about her life. Hoping for discovery.
After a few more hours of exhaustive, but reflective, slumber, another surreal encounter jumped into the bed. The wildcat lynx burst through the tent again and, this time, pounced on her throat, wrapping its front paws around the back of her neck, locked in a death grip.
In that moment of attack, Dovey was her own SUPERHERO, defending herself, grasping and reverse twisting the giant cat at it’s right shoulder joint, sending it fleeting in retreat.
She looked to her left, where the Indian stood with the pony, and while Dovey was still breathless, the Indian nodded in admiration that she had sent her ‘shadow’ away. It was a good lesson.
This was only the first night of the 3 night vision quest, but she felt strong enough to continue the spiritual battle to discover herself.
By this time of the evening, she had developed a direct relationship with Indian and the paint horse. No longer afraid of looking at him directly, she sat up straight on he futon and turned to lock eyes with the magic spirit guide.
His hand lifted up towards her in a gesture of caring, his palm out, facing her. Then suddenly, as if wispy smoke cleared in a breeze, the Indian and his pony were gone.
And, Dovey was once again alone in the Hawaiian rainforest jungle of Kuaui, listening to the sudden, pouring, pouring rain.
It would take hours for the sun to return, but she had so many things to think about.
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