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What terrifies Me?

As I have begun this adventure into the writing and publishing world I find myself realizing that most people have trouble focusing on their projects.

I’ve seen many tweets about this very topic.

I would have to agree that this is a tough one.

Luckily, I have the velvety black and red bag from which I can pull a Rune for guidance.

The past few days have been rough. I have felt a lot. That’s not quite the norm for me.

I’m finding that I keep most people at arm’s length. I didn’t think that was the case.

Anyway, before I dive into all of that...the Rune I pulled was Gar.

Gar is above all else for me my connection to the Otherworld.

It’s my connection to my psychic abilities.

It’s my connection to the Nornir, those who weave the tapestry of life we live.

And it grows more and more to be a connection to Odin.

So what did it tell me?

How did it prompt my writing today?

I was instantly focused on the center. That very much focused my mind on one point.

I was no longer chasing streams. I stepped into one.

Let me take a moment to explain the streams. This is the best way or visualization I have found to describe what happens.

Some of my other psychic friends describe it as reaching out and grabbing a string that is connected to someone or something.

I really do see myself stepping into a small stream.

This stream contains the energies of and/or around someone. This is where the information I get psychically comes from.

What stream did I step into? A stream that has gone from muddy as fuck to semi clear.

I have been in the mud.

I believe the reason concerns the Rune Ansuz.

One aspect of Ansuz is that of clearing. It has definitely been clearing things.

In this instance, I see it as water running down the hillside in sheets. It is picking up all manner of dirt and debris that then end up in the stream.

It has been muddy.

Another aspect is that Ansuz helps one find their voice. Definitely appropriate.

Last week I caught a cold. That put a bit of a damper on my plans to get things settled. I still got some shit done but I really needed some rest.

One message I am getting from my body is that I need more rest.

Some days I need a nap, others I don’t.

I keep thinking of that saying, “I’ll sleep when I’m dead.” That was my excuse for being “busy.” My reason to run myself ragged.

Getting some rest helped. I needed it for some of the shit that I experienced over the last few days.

Last Sunday was an eventful day. I had planned to go to Portland to record an episode of Web of Resonance and then go to a storytelling class.

The morning was nice. We worked on clearing some overgrown blackberry bushes.

After that I drove to Portland.

I think I wasn’t quite prepared for that. I live fairly isolated.

There are a fuck ton of people who live in Portland and they all have the movement from their lives swirling around them.

I became overwhelmed quickly.

I stopped for some food to ground me a little and then was on my way to record the podcast.

Web of Resonance is a podcast I record weekly with my friend Theresa Carmody of Elemental Journeys.

The show is about connecting to the current energies of our world and using our tools of divination to do so.

This is mostly done while standing in the stream. Whichever stream that is.

This doesn’t drain me. But, most times I cannot always remember what we’ve spoken about until I listen to the recording. That can be one side effect of standing in the stream.

Needless to say I would normally need to ground into this physical realm. This was going to be a different day.

Right after the recording I was heading down to a class on storytelling.

I was taking this class because some of us were wanting to experience storytelling from the shamanic point of view.

To detail it out, I wanted to dive into storytelling while connected to or channeling a being from the Otherworld.

Also, quickly, Otherworld just refers to some place not in this realm.

You see, being in this state of altered by standing in the stream was, in my thought pattern, going to be good.

This was maybe too altered for class.

The class was a great class.

I say that from the perspective of a teacher/facilitator.

The exercises were spot on. The students participated. It ran on time.

The teacher, a friend of mine, was fantastic. I had a lot of mud and debris slough off into my stream during class that made it semi tough for me to stay present in that moment.

After the introductions and expectations part of the class we were asked to go on a little mediation/journey.

The goal of this exercise was to pinpoint which of our senses were strongest. This would aid in forming more whole stories to provide connection opportunities for everyone in the audience.

I’m super visual so I need to make sure to add things like scent, sound and tactile descriptions. Make sense?

Ok, so the journey ended in coming to a stream. Do you see where this was going to be a problem?

I reached the stream and without thinking stepped in.

I could hear her continue to guide us but that was in the background.

My focus became the stream in which I stood.

Another goal of the exercise was for us to allow story ideas to surface.

The facilitator stated that she knows the story that needs to be told because it’s the story that terrifies her.

I don’t mean as in horror movies, of course. It’s that story that makes you vulnerable.

That vulnerability is the thing that terrifies us most.

What terrifies me most? Who knows.

Maybe by the end of this article I’ll be closer to answering that question.

The first chunk of mud that floated past my leg was a memory from childhood.

I was maybe 5 or 6 years old. In this memory I was walking with my dad.

We were coming home from my grandparents house only a block away.

He asked me what I had done that day. I had played with my cousin.

As most kids do we pretend to be adults. One of my favorite shows as a kid was Dukes of Hazzard. So that’s who we pretended to be that day.

I told my dad that we played Dukes of Hazzard and he asked who I had been.

told him Daisy Duke.

He told me that Daisy was a girl and I was a boy, so next time I should be one of the boys.

I don’t remember the exact feeling I had. It was strong enough to burn that conversation into my memory though.

I didn’t see what was wrong with pretending that I was Daisy.

I know now the implications of breaking that social norm.

I died a little that day.

My dad was and is an amazing man. He worked hard to make sure he provided for us. I grew up in the small town he did.

There were 300 in our small community. There was no way in 1980 that he could have known that conversation would be part of this article 40 years later.

He did the best he could. I appreciate that and do not blame him for anything.