Friday, August 12, 2016

On the Move

Tall Grass Prairie Preserve, Pawhuska, Oklahoma

by Stephie Bigheart, aka Stephie Goldfish

Is this the way? I kept asking myself, as I was led by a Yellow Butterfly out to the Tall Grass Prairie Preserve which took me out along seemingly never ending roads less traveled that went for miles and miles without a soul in sight.

: :

Last year, at SouLodge Medicine Gathering, hosted by Pixie Lighthorse, during our Honoring Ceremony, I had a vision to honor my Wisdom and bring my walk in sync with my wisdom.

That vision took me out into a plains of tall grass where I was guided by a yellow butterfly, where I met a herd of buffalo, and I saw White Buffalo among them, and Eagle flew overhead and the buffalo began running and so did I, and I jumped up onto one of the buffalo and flew up with Eagle.

Eagle said, "Honor your journey, where your heart has been, where your feet have walked."

And I asked Buffalo, "What do you want me to Honor?"

And Buffalo replied, "Your wisdom — walk in your wisdom — your wisdom needs to match your walk. Bring them back in sync."

"There will be someone always along your walk to walk you home," Buffalo continued, "but sometimes, your energy comes higher when you walk alone."

: :

That day at SouLodge Medicine Gathering, while being in the direction of the North, Pixie taught us that "in our Winter time of life, we sit with our decisions, and we see clear our areas of new growth, and new paths."

On this day, during our Honoring visions, we were anointed with Clarity oil, created by Bliss Blossom Botanica, to honor our wisdom, connection to act and do right. Pixie also said to "wear our wisdom during our trials, our mountain times, when we are with the Elders during this time of our life."

: :

So, this finds me about a year later, and I feel I am getting closer to home.

This year, after turning the half century mark of my life, I am entering into the realm of Elders, and I've been telling myself to listen with my heart and speak with my heart.

: :

On this recent journey to return home, again, to help care for loved ones, with also caring for myself, I felt like it was an ending and a beginning like no other. It was a time of being alone and in solitude for parts of three days. One finds themselves observing and asking a lot of questions.

Is this the way, we keep asking, when we're feeling lost, and letting our instinctual and internal compass guide us, and feeling found.

In my life, I have often felt so so small, and not feeling brave at times.

But lately, having been seeking some positive Co-Active help from a dear friend, Clarity Beaumont, I have been seeing how strong and brave I have always been, and so when I got to the border of Oklahoma, driving from the West, I stopped at the Welcome Center and I had a destination in mind. I asked one of the ladies at the information desk if there was another area in Oklahoma, besides the Wildlife Refuge near Lawton, Oklahoma, where they have Bison. She mentioned two exits along I40 where they have one or two buffalo in caged areas to view, but that didn't feel empowering, and she said if I really wanted to take an adventure, she recommended going up to the Tall Grass Prairie Preserve, up north of Oklahoma City.

I had it in my mind to go, no matter how scared or timid I was feeling to go there. To be in the presence of bison.

And as I left the Information Center, right there on the sidewalk was a little mouse being so brave and it walked up close to me a few feet away, looked up, and it stayed there about a full five seconds.

And I said, "You are safe, Mouse, I am a friend, I won't harm you."

And the mouse seemed to bow, as I bowed, and it took off running out to the field.

: :

When I reached the tall grass plains, where the bison were supposed to be, I was driving at a speed of about 5 miles an hour over gravel dusty roads that seemed to go on and on forever without knowing where they lead, and I kept asking myself, Is this the way?

And up ahead I saw a passenger van coming from the opposite direction, and I waved to them to stop. And a woman, who reminded me of the beautiful Sage Goddess, was driving, but I wasn't sure it was her.

But I asked her, "Is this the way to see the buffalo?"

"Yes", she said, "Just gravel, though, so drive slow and keep your windows up and you'll be fine, you'll see some bison!"

"Is it safe?" I asked.

And a young boy about 10 or 11 years of age, said, emphatically, "Yes!"

So, I felt God and Goddesses with me all the way.

: :

When I reached the area, finally, where about 3,000 bison were on the move, I sat there in awe, and as I drove slowly, around them and through them, I sensed their centuries of carrying the burdens of this land and this people.

And I asked, Where are they on the move to?

And I ask, also, Where are we on the move to, individually, and collectively?

In her prayer, Honoring Wisdom, Pixie Lighthorse says, "We are ready to be like the Old Ones."

And I ask myself, AM I?

I am, I said.

: :

Did you ever read about a field mouse, who dreamed about being a buffalo, and then became one?
Well, except for the names, and a few other changes, we can talk about me, the story's the same one!
But, I got an emptiness deep inside that I tried but it won't let me go.
And I'm not a woman who likes to swear, but I never cared for the thought of staying so small.

This is adapted from Neil Diamond's song, I Am I Said

Saturday, July 25, 2015

Sisters Circling in the Sacred Meadows

A Vista in Oregon
by Stephie Bigheart

Beyond the mountains, and more mountains,

up over the high desert plains, we begin our journey.

Out through the gate, along an unknown pathway,

past the cow pastures and hay fields,

out to the Lighted Tipis and Juniper trees,

at the entrance of The Sacred Meadows,

we are greeted by The Wolf Lady,

The Wise Woman, The Magician,

The Nurturing Mother, The Pioneer,

The Sacred Healer. And she smiles her humble smile,

as she waves an Eagle feather around you,

front and back, clearing and cleansing old energy

and creating space for new, and her voice begins with,

"Eagle welcomes You!"

"Aho!", w
e say,

and we enter the sacred meadows

joining the circle of sisters.

Around the fire, I see in her eyes sadness and pain,

from long ago, that still remains.

Sparks in the flames ignites and heals our hearts,

our ideas fostered and planted,

our faith built up,

our fear broken down, expelled.

Our tears composted into the Earth.

Sweat drips from our burning rage,

and drums drum up, fast beating hearts.

So we pace our breaths and measure our steps,

remembering our past and our future.

A glance, a flicker of light rose, and at just the right moment,

a Sacred Clarity shared between me and The Medicine Woman!

On the darkest night, air as cold as ice crystals,

I awake to the soft hooting of Owl, as if she were so close by,

worried about my low pitched labored breathing,

sounds I make while sleeping.

And I remember my mother's words:

It's always darkest before the dawn.

We rose that day full of love,

our lips sealed with a kiss.

And up high above us soaring in the big blue sky is Eagle.

Out through the sacred circle of women,

out through The Sacred Meadows,

and back out through the gate we sing our sacred song.

We turn along a new pathway, a never ending,

long and winding road.

There we are greeted by the New Moon.

And so it is.

We are on a new journey, sisters singing a new song.


I wrote this poem after I journeyed out to the pacific west to a retreat hosted by Pixie Lighthorse. This retreat will crack open your heart and heal you and ground you and draw you close to Mother Earth and Father Sky and fill your heart up with so much love. I say, go, if you are ready for the adventure of your life. I am so happy I journeyed to be there for the very first SouLodge Fire Circle, and where I had one of the most endearing heart connections I have ever had with a sister. May the journeys begin. Aho!

Tuesday, June 16, 2015

The Three Headed Dragon Meets The Loch Ness Monster

Kure Beach, North Carolina
by Stephie Bigheart

I escaped.

Leaving my mother's was like flying out of the fiery pit. And, I headed to the deep watery sea.

Living at my mother's, I've been gasping for breath. Breathing fresh air, aka oxygen, is a precious commodity, at my Mom's — one in which I know everyone needs. So, I made one of the hardest decisions, if not THE hardest decision.

Mom was lying on her sofa, adrift in sleep, even though it was already late morning. I started to walk out without an official goodbye, or without an embrace, but I stopped, turned, and walked over to her, touched her forehead, caressed her hair, and said, "Mommy, I am leaving."

She looked up out of her loose sleep she's been dealing with, as of late, and her eyes looked so lost and searching, and she asked, "Why?"

"Mommy, I have to go to my doctor's appointment, in North Carolina," I replied, softly.

She registered this way back, deep in her heart and soul, and her face relaxed into a soft, compassionate nod, an understanding only a mother knows about her daughter's needs, over her own, almost like she's come to terms with both of our choices we've been battling our hearts and minds and grieving over, the past few decades.

I need a clean place to breathe. That was the final, and only, reason, in leaving my mom, this time.

We had tried to get approved for several apartments in Huntington, and we had gotten approved for one we were going to move into with our mom and help her from Huntington, but we all couldn't agree on this decision. Then, we got turned down at the last apartment, close to our mom's, where Kim and I were going to share together, so we'd be able to help her more 'round the clock.

But, instead of waiting it out at the hotel there in Huntington, we decided to come where the person we've rented from before has given us another chance. He rented us an apartment in the same hour we met up with him. They've also been godsends.

We really want to bring mom here, where she can be near us and we can help her 24/7.

I don't know if Mom's resigned to staying there in her apartment, but we've asked her, and begged her, to come here with us. And she wouldn't have to give up her apartment, right away, but we've promised her we would take care of her, here, if she'd come with us.

We all can't live in her small one bedroom apartment, especially with the cats. And all my team of doctors are well aware of my condition here: They specialize in handling cases like mine. They do more studies about my physical heart and lungs. They are more equipped to take care of me.

On the trip here, we didn't know for sure if our former landlord would rent us another apartment, but after we made it to the Raleigh / Durham area, and had gone to the hotel where I had reserved an extended stay type of room, for 60-90 days or more, I decided to just come on to the ocean, here, and take a chance.

An encounter, with the night manager, at the hotel, where I had the room reserved, helped bring clarity to this decision.

Kim and I walked into the lobby of the hotel. We didn't see anyone at the front desk, at first, but we stood there a few seconds, and out of the right side of my sight a movement began. A slow moving, shifting lady began her way from behind the counter where she had been sitting, and slowly moved towards the front desk. Meeting this woman was as if we had witnessed a resurrection of a behemoth mammal from the prehistoric age, sort of resembling the depiction of The Loch Ness Monster. She moved slowly, steadily, but surely. I wondered how much more of her would be coming around the corner, because of her massive, heavy size.

Seeing her struck me to my heart, and it brought to mind Eckhart Tolle's theory of pain bodies. This woman, in a sense, reflected and mirrored my massive, heavy heart, my pain body.

I don't know if seeing her made me run away, but when my sister and I went to add some additional funds onto a credit card, so that we wouldn't be charged a fee for paying in cash, on top of the hotel charges, we had a moment to breathe and think.

I told Kim I felt that it was a divine encounter meeting this woman, and that I had felt her massive weight and struggles and pain.

Kim promptly responded back to me, "Don't carry her weight. Don't take it on, Stephie! Stop carrying the weight of everyone. Stop carrying the weight of the world."

Kim's truth took me by surprise, but her truth hit my soul and heart through, like a dart hitting the bull's eye.

I got it.

We went back to the hotel, but because the room was not the room we had reserved over the phone, and because there was no other room available, she allowed us to cancel it without a problem.

The next morning, after a good night's rest at another hotel (where we paid for only one night) we saw clearly what we need to do: Get somewhere, besides a hotel, where at any point we could walk out, and get somewhere we can get stable, and breathe.

We three have tried to live and survive as The Three Headed Dragon, but it has been killing us.

I am not abandoning my mother. I am not bailing out of my responsibilities towards my mother. I am not jumping ship. I love my mother. I love her so much. But, I can no longer be the tug boat of this great ship, trying to bring it to shore. I need everyone to know my limits: physical, spiritual, emotional, and psychological, not to mention financial.

I am completely spent. I am at my wit's end.

Mom has choices. She's made choices in her interest.

And I have to do the same. I am making better choices for myself.

Mom gave me my first breath. And I give myself breath.

Yes. I choose life.

Sunday, March 29, 2015

Clarity, at Serendipity

Nags Head, North Carolina

by Stephie Bigheart

What are you holding on to? What keeps you from letting go? Is it the sound of a familiar voice that awakens your voice? Is it that you feel you can't let go, afraid you'll forget hers, afraid you'll lose yours?

When you're ready to let go of the tightness in your chest, the grip around your heart, the big lump in your throat, you'll realize how the holding on has kept you, and only you, from Freedom.

Open your palms from its grip. Sense the blood returning, flowing out and back in, again and again.

Remember the roaring ocean that week at Serendipity? You'd lie there at night in the softness of the light of the moon, listening to its deep watery waves rushing back and forth, pulsating to and from its shore.

The clarity of knowing she is still there.

Oceans and moons are held by an axis, an unseen force, but they are never in the same place at any given moment.

They learned long ago this wisdom:
There's no need in holding on to permanence.

I assure you, you'll recognize her voice and you'll find yours in the instance of letting go.

The clarity of knowing you are still here.