Life: A Sacred Journey

We are all here on a journey, despite our awareness or our mechanicality.

Regardless of our backgrounds and our beliefs, we are all connected; our roots dig deep into this Earth.

Without the ground beneath our feet, we’d truly be the floating, separate beings we see ourselves as, disconnected.

But we cannot exist disconnected.

There is something that all religions and branches of spirituality have in common; they all reference specific plants and trees as sacred. We are organic, and like plants and all other organic living things, our composition depends on the environment we are situated in. Mind you, we are unique organic organisms, in that we have both internal and external environments that we “exist” in, and that our composition depends largely on the balancing act that goes on between these two environments.

In the most recent decades, we have seen a trend of people selling themselves out for positions of power and financial gain. We have seen people of the world used as whispering pawns, collateral damage in a game they didn’t sign up for.

And right along side, we see cancer and other incurable diseases on the rise. More and more people have clipped their own wings, and given the strings tied to their limbs over to the puppeteers.
We are all struggling for a different way to live. If we did not struggle, we would know nothing but darkness…

We can not keep saying that this suffering is inevitable, that it is too heavy to lift and move forward to a different way of living.

How heavy is the earth to a fragile seed?

Even the earth shifts. Waters change course and ware different paths. Winds lift and deposit dunes over time….so be watchful of the negative thoughts and emotions, they create tension and negativity that leave deposits throughout your body.

Be patient with yourself.

Honor yourself.

Recall positive memories in minut detail and infuse yourself with love and healing.

Honor others as you would like them to Honor you.

For we are not disconnected.

We are all here on a journey to remember….we are Sacred

By Kathryn Elizabeth Delaney 2008
~pure~house of light~on the path

Timelapse by Kathryn Delaney

Timelapse.....

There was a time, that feels like it wasn’t too long ago, that I couldn’t wait for time to pass. I looked forward to birthdays and summer vacations, for high school to end… even “growing up.” While back then, Time seemed to move meandering and slow, like a quiet stream, at some point it seemed to gain speed, flowing fast like a raging river coming down the gully of the mountains. When I consider it… Time, in all its scope, is revealing itself to be a profound teacher.

Some would say that I haven’t had much time here, at 37 years old, but I stand here in deep reflection of this thing we call Time and what it allows to occur in it.

Twenty years ago, I was already in my first semester of College while many of my high school peers were graduating. After having a tough Freshman year, I pretty much isolated myself and made an aim to hide, I focused on getting through my requirements and found a way to graduate early from another school. I couldn’t wait to get out of high school. My first year I discovered friends I had known for years wouldn’t speak to me because I wasn’t in the right “click,” and worse still, a close friend betrayed my trust in aim to become friends with those who were popular. I hated high school, and couldn’t wait to get out. So I did, as soon as I could. In looking back, I really wish I had allowed myself to enjoy making more art and more memories with new friends rather than letting other people’s actions effect my confidence and self-esteem.

Fast-forward twelve years, my mom passed away. At 56 years old, many would say that this is too young. I was just turning 29. Most of my close friends from this part of my life didn’t know my mom and had little but false encouragement to offer as condolences. I isolated myself again… but ironically, thanks to the wonders of Facebook, people from my past reached out to me… people from my childhood. They wanted to share what they remembered about my mom.

It took me a couple of years to get over that fall. You see, I had my own trials with my mom. I didn’t like her very much as a young girl, mostly because of how she interacted with my father in times of separation and finally in their divorce. Yet by some strange grace, in my early twenties I realized that most of the stories I shared about her were negative ones. One day I felt it in my shoulders, my throat, my gut… and I became conscious of how it made me literally feel to share these negative stories of my childhood… my memories. In an effort to get to know my mom in a new way, I decided to forgive my mom. I wanted to know who “She” was, rather than continue painting her picture with tales of pain and wrong doing. This opened our relationship up a bit… and on her 52 birthday, I decided to call her once a week… 52 times a year.

In 2007, I got a bit of a health scare. I had an intensifying soreness in my breast that was calling my attention to a place of consistent concern. I shared this in confidence with a close friend whom very pointedly suggested that I call my mother. When I did this my mom became very stern with me, commanding that I promise that I would line up insurance and get checked out. After ending our conversation, she called me an hour later to reveal that 6 months prior she had been diagnosed with 4th Stage Breast Cancer. During this time, I really wanted time to slow down, but it didn’t. My mom passed away in December 2008.

Here I am now, in 2016, eight years later… and I still miss her. I think I always will. I’ve come to learn that everyone has their own personal experience with loss, and that I am fortunate to have gotten to know my mom differently than how I remembered her as a child. Thanks to a willingness at forgiveness, I had a great chance to heal old wounds… through the course of Time.

Just a couple of weeks ago, when I entered my 20-year high school reunion, I didn’t know what to expect. I walked in with a napkin of old memories tucked in a place that recalled high school as a purely painful experience, and had some trepidation upon walking in. However almost immediately I was greeted by a familiar face, and something began to remember high school a lot differently. It is truly humbling to witness in oneself how one bad high school experience angled our direction into a storm of illusion, despite everything else that may have been good standing there to anchor us. As I reconnected with people I shared memories with, some people whom I knew all the way back from the times of elementary school, I was nourished on some subtle soul level by what we all have all overcome to become. Honestly I didn’t have any idea I would have missed them all so much.

Last night I was cruising around Facebook at the end of a long day. As the cost of living continues to rise in Colorado and work is a consistent struggle to earn a fair means, I have made a habit to fill my time with ways of earning additional income… a side aromatherapy business, reading tarot cards and astrology charts, sewing, part-time work at a plant nursery... I have to admit, with much reflection as of late, that I regret making work the focus of my time.

In the midst of liking people's posts, I came across a post regarding a friend that I made in college… A post which spoke of gratitude for knowing him, and gave a lasting wish that he Rest In Peace. My friend, whom I’ve been able to see post pictures of the big Bass that he catches… whom I just “liked” his new profile picture change featuring his catch of the day, the other day… is dead at 37 years old.

After scanning his Facebook wall for an hour I couldn’t find any details, only more mystery. I remember a funny, light-hearted, wise man. I am floored by how quickly things can happen in the passage of Time.

Today, I give thanks for those I have met, for those that I have yet to meet… Today I give thanks to what we have learned, what we have come to understand, and the growth and strength that I have witnessed in myself and others. I give thanks for this breath, and am humbled knowing that I have more Time… frankly I think it is the most precious thing we have.

May we make a conscious shift from spending it, to sharing more of it.

<3

 ©2016  

Sailing into 2016

So I'm curious... looking back at 2015, if you could make a list of where you saw growth or positive change in your life... and if you can make another list of where you want to anchor your attention for growth this year?
It's easy to get swept away in life, and far too often we forget to check in with the grande scheme of things and take notice of our own triumphs ... even if they are little. Like keys to unlocking gears, these shifts ripple throughout our lives.
I ask you ...to do this, because I, for one, can be a bit hard on myself at times, and I imagine... though I could be wrong, that you have one of those critical voices too. We have lots of voices in there... one that gets us out of bed, one that gives us reasons to stay in bed...
And depending on which one we give the weight of our token of attention, our day builds on it... ebbing and flowing and spinning in the current, and perhaps at times.... still.
So as we sail into 2016, I ask that when you look back in time... rather than staring at landfills or graveyards or hardship or trauma... or drama, or regret... that instead a veil be lifted, a subtle texture of threaded weaving light become seen... that you take a moment to reflect on your own becoming, your own journey...
Breathe it in.... fill your heart, and take a step toward you, with love.

Happy New Year, 2016
Love, Katie

Why I believe in Magic: Part 2

At thirty-seven years old, you might presume I stopped believing in magic a long time ago, however it is just the opposite. As a child I witnessed magicians do their tricks and kept a close eye on their maneuverings, catching slights of hand. That's not the type of magic I'm speaking about. I'd like to tell you a story about how magic revealed itself in my life.

You see years ago I had an idea come to me, a performance of sorts to depict how people are shaped by those that they are surrounded by. I imagined a character interacting with a stage of characters dressed in various costumes and with each interaction the key character would adjust how they portrayed themselves. I envisioned two sides of the stage, the left side... being “Essence,” a little girl playing dress-up in her room simultaneously while the main character, “the Personality” interacted with the various characters. I considered it an interesting thought and kept it tucked inside of me, not knowing how I'd ever bring it to become.

Some of you may know that I have been a performer of many sorts throughout the years. While I was at an event I met a gentleman that was moved enough by my presence within my prayerful dance, that he invited me to perform on stage at an upcoming festival he was organizing. Puzzled, and also delighted, I summarized the story above, and said I had wanted to create it into a Play. He thought this would be the perfect outlet for it, the festival was going to be at City Park on the stage Pavilion.

It was 6 months away, and while I had an idea... I still had a lot of work to do in order to bring it into reality. The following months were filled with work, as it usually is, but I also reached out to people to see if they wanted to participate and thankfully, was met with many willing friends who thought it was a beautiful concept. My younger brother was dating a woman with a flare for theatre and she offered to play the role of the lead character (she has since become my sister-in-law). I also asked my young niece if she wanted to play the part of Essence to which she obliged.

As the week approached, every spare moment I was not at work I spent fine-tuning costuming and coordinating the costumes with performers. Not more than a month away from the date I was asked by my mother, “What is this play that I hear that my granddaughter is going to be in? I hear you are writing, directing and costuming it?”

“Oh, yes... it was just this idea I've had swirling in my head for awhile. It's a Play depicting how we shape ourselves by those we are surrounded by.” I responded. “My friend offered me a spot to perform it, and the Little is going to play a part.”

“What?! When? I'm coming to Colorado!” My mother exclaimed. 

My father, also being interested in what was going on, along with my other siblings, asked if it were okay for him to come and bring my brother and step-mom with him.

I was so busy organizing everything that I hadn't invited people, I was relying on the draw of the festival for our audience. I also grew up with three siblings... one of us always had something going on and I guess as a kid I just decided to stop inviting people to things that I was doing. To have my whole family show up... my two brothers, my sister, my niece and nephew, my mom, my dad, my step-mom... blew my mind. We hadn't all been together in one place, with all of the parents getting along... ever.

As the Play came to a close and I walked out onto the grass, I gave a marble to each of the audience members as a token and reminder of their own essence. While the audience was only 50-75 people, I was in awe of this idea actually coming to form. (I included a link to the pictorial representation of the play below if you would like to see it. )

Now to get back to what I was speaking about a little earlier... Magic.

There are some who would say the story above was a work of manifestation, or perhaps a strong wish had brought this Play to come to be... However within months I realized that the greatest outcome of the Play itself wasn't in the performance of We Become. You see... while that day I was in awe of my family coming together, what I had yet to learn... was that day would be the last day any of my siblings and my niece and nephew, would see my mom, and though she was sick then, she was still well enough to walk and get around. She passed away just a few months later, December 6, 2008, and while I was with her when she passed, none of them were able to be there.

Today I give thanks for that part of me that embraces creative ideas, and nourishes them, bringing them into form...I also give thanks to the people who participated in the production and in the creation and capturing of the event, because ultimately, it allowed for a healing space in my family history.

We Become photos were taken by Scott Strohmeier.

Blessings from the Divine

Nearly nine years ago I made my way to Tikal, Guatemala to participate in a Winter Solstice Activation Ceremony. It was in this mighty jungle that I received a true blessing from the Divine.
Our ceremony was seven days long, and each day we focused on a different Chakra. I had intuitively decided to bring my oils there...the set I had made for a Reiki Practitioner earlier that year, with the assistance of Archangels and my personal Guides. The Shamans holding ceremonies decided we should use them in the gateway of each ceremony.
I had initially traveled to participate in an acoustic performance that Kan'nal would be performing on the final day of ceremony, in the ruins of Tikal.
Because we had to prepare for it, I left the group of participants to join the crew of Kan'nal for set-up, and trusted the final chakra oil to be applied at the gateway for the Crown Chakra, by another participant.
When I crossed paths with her again, I asked about the oil...and she couldn't find it, suggesting that it was an offering to the jungle.
In one sweet moment, my heart tugged at me to please focus on the beautiful experience that we were preparing for rather than my frustration with this individual, as the ceremony was about to begin.
My roomie in the hostile asked me about the oil, I let him know that it was lost... and he quickly reprimanded me for trusting such a sacred object would be safe in the hands of another. I agreed it was unfortunate, and asked if we could just be here, now.
The ceremony was beautiful, dancing at the base of the pyramids around a sacred fire, anchoring the magic of Kan'nal, I felt truly blessed.
At the end of the performance we made our way out of the jungle on foot, each of us sharing the burden. Each and every instrument and object had to be trekked in, and out, as vehicles didn't have access to where we were.
Like a quiet dance, we each would carry something, someone would take it from us, and then we would look for another, who seemed to be carrying too much, and bare some of the weight.
When we finally made our way out of the jungle, a good 45 minutes later, we loaded up into the van to head back to the hostile.
"Today was so amazing," my friend said. "The only thing that I would have changed, is that you wouldn't have lost your oil."
"I know, I appreciate that you got to experience it though, and that you understand what it means to me."
"What are you guys talking about?" asked Cora, a woman who was staying at the hostile with us.
"One of my oils... I had let someone else administer the blessing while I was up the mountain," I replied. "She had lost it somewhere in the jungle."
"You didn't lose it." She rustled for something in her pocket. "I saw it on the ground and picked it up, it's right here!"
And in that moment, my heart filled, my tears fell... and I realized that the work I do, is truly blessed by energies on a whole different level. <3

The Horizon ~ A Short Story

As a child I didn’t remember getting into the carriage, only waking… when the galloping horses I rode in my visions suddenly became real, their rhythm calling me from slumber. Now that I have grown a bit, I stay awake to see the sunrise, and feast my eyes on the impressions along the journey. The landscape comforts something within me as I examine every shadow and glimmer of light in this ever changing tapestry. It was a full days’ journey to my grandmother’s house, and I relished every moment.

The carriage stirred the mornings’ still air. Breathing as deeply as I could, I took in the scented blossoms as if drinking them. The lilacs caressed a smile upon my face. I longed for my nose to rediscover them again and again. They nurtured some part of me.

We stopped briefly to water and check the horses, and sat in silence in a meadow. As I began gaining interest in my surroundings, likely given away by the delight revealed within my eyes, the driver motioned me to return to the carriage. He did so by purposefully removing a watch from his pocket, examining the angle of the sun, and resting his eyes on me only briefly before opening the door. We would continue on for several hours.

A subtle change of quality of light signaled we would soon be approaching our destination. As the galloping rhythm lost pace, the carriage slowed down. We turned onto a pebbled pathway, the gateway to my grandmother’s land, and began passing through pastures and forests that filled my childhood with many discoveries.  After an hour’s time passed, the forest grew so dense I could no longer look out into the far reaches of the landscape. I focused on the sky directly overhead, knowing that soon the canopy would prevent nearly every cloud and speck of light from reaching us. I drew my eyes inward, the carriage would be engulfed in the darkness of the forest for several minutes before light would find us again. The path lead to an opening, a grand view of my grandmother’s home.

As we approached I distinguished the slightest detail of a figure standing within the opening of drawn-back curtain in a room upstairs. Instantly my eyes dropped to the entrance of the house where my grandmother stood.

Overcome with excitement, I leaped from the carriage and ran into her arms.

“How was the journey, Dear?” She asked.

“Wonderful, Grandmother. I am amazed by the variety of scent, every year.”

She grinned, “My how you’ve grow up! Aren’t you seventeen years of age now? Please hold onto that sweet appreciation of this divine earth, my Dear. It will spare you many sufferings.” She kissed my forehead. “Now, it’s time to wash up. I filled a bath, the water should still be warm.”

As we gathered my things, she shared, “I’ve had a guest, I’ll introduce you tomorrow.”

“Who is it?” I asked.

“A young woman. I fear she is not well. Her spirit has been stricken with a mysterious air as if she no longer wants for any sweetness in life. It’s my hope that by some grace she awaken from this spell.” She looked at me with a solemn gaze. “Perhaps the delight in your eyes, fed by this sweet earth, will help her to rejoice in this world again.” She enveloped my shoulder within her arm and continued speaking, “We shall discover more in time. In this moment though, I am just so delighted to rest my eyes on you.”

We turned and walked together into the house. 

  ¬¬¬¬---

As I descended the staircase that following morning, my fingers lingered over the smooth carved wood. I wondered who the woman was, this guest in my grandmother’s home. She was absent at supper. I considered that perhaps she had already eaten before I arrived.

The smells carried from the kitchen stirred something in my stomach, and the thought of the woman drifted away. Somewhere in the midst of chewing, swallowing, and pure appreciation of my grandmother’s cooking, I recalled the woman and laid down my fork and knife, suddenly becoming aware that our guest had a habit of being absent during meals.

“Where is she?” I asked.

My grandmother lifted her eyes. “Whom are you referring to?”

“The woman staying here. As we approached yesterday I saw someone in a room upstairs looking out across the grounds.”

She laid down her napkin and rising from the chair, motioned to take my hand, “Come, let me introduce you.”

We left the table and climbed the staircase.

Knocking ever so lightly on a wooden door just down the hall from the upper landing, my grandmother turned the knob and opened the door.

A woman was standing at the window, she looked to be ten years older than I. She did not turn to acknowledge us. I could see in her profile some sense of longing, perhaps a sadness.

I took my grandmother’s hand into mine, weaving my fingers in between hers and whispered, “Maybe now isn’t the proper time.”

“She has been standing at that window all spring. She never takes her gaze away from the horizon.”

“What has her attention?” I whispered, trying not to disturb her.

“It is mysterious … this longing in her eyes. When you arrived yesterday your eyes were filled with delight having feasted on the bounty you witnessed on the journey. When she looks out upon the same earth that filled you, rather than being filled she is starved and seemingly searching for something.”

“Whatever she is searching for appears to bring her great suffering” I said, sorrow shrouded me as looked upon her.

Grandmother squeezed my hand. I turned toward her and asked, “Did she perhaps lose someone?”

Her eyes softened, “I’m concerned she may have lost herself.” I observed the woman a while longer, and took a deep breath, releasing it with a heavy sigh. “Perhaps she lost herself so that she can find herself.”

I wondered if she realized we were standing there, but the woman’s gaze remained on the horizon even as we turned to close the door.

---

The following morning I went to the stables to say hello to Firefly, my horse, and readied her for riding.

We basked in the sun, tromped through creeks, and rode the wind, yet the woman’s face was embedded in my mind. Upon returning mid-afternoon I couldn’t help but want to draw her attention off of that transfixing horizon.

We galloped full speed toward the house, coming to an abrupt halt just under where she stood. I hoped that the movement would awaken her from that sleep, but her eyes were fixed on a point well above me.

Feeling determined, I withdrew a satchel full of berries and began throwing them toward her window. One by one they speckled the glass with red juice; she didn’t notice.

Determined, I scaled the stairs two at a time, and burst into her room. “How many berries must I throw at that window to wake you up?”

She remained motionless.

“Wouldn’t you rather come collect some berries with me? Can’t you enjoy even pie?”

Short on ideas, I walked over to the bookcase and withdrew the first book my fingers rested on. I opened it to a page at random and began reading it out loud, ultimately finishing the story. “They fell in love and lived happily ever after.”

“Did they?” Her voice was strained.

I made a plea for her to continue. “What?”

“Those books… do you believe them?”

“What do you mean? They’re fairytales!” I said.

“Do you believe that your Knight will come and rescue you…? You will fall in love, and live happily ever after?” She turned back to the window. “Please just leave me alone.”

I hesitated for a moment before I lost control of my mouth. “You stare at the horizon as if waiting for someone, motionless…absorbed in some deep trance of suffering. Why? Are you waiting for someone to return from slaying demons that will rescue you from this tower-like prison you have created for yourself?”

She stared into me as if measuring how to rip my tongue out and then returned her gaze to the window before she spoke. “Men don’t slay their demons, they dine with them.”

I could feel her heart sink into a well of despair.

“It took me a day’s journey to get here. If I could somehow capture all I see and hear and smell while on that journey, with paint, I imagine I would be the most amazing of painters. I do not know how long you have been like this, but it has been too long. There are waters that will wash your wounds, the sweetest blossoms that will fill you. There is unexpected delight that appears in the most graceful of moments.” I took her hand and looked into her eyes. “Won’t you come with me to explore this place?

###

Written by Kathryn Delaney
1500 Words
2014

Mom's Little Secret: Part One

About five years ago, I started noticing some soreness in my right breast. I tried to keep track of when it would come and go, how consistent it was, and how intense it was. It became a concern, so much so that I started speaking with a few women I trusted. I even made the phone call to my mom; I was scared, didn’t have insurance and didn’t know what to do. My Mom convinced me to get insurance and to get myself checked out as soon as possible. Just about an hour passed by before my phone rang, it was my Mom telling me she had breast cancer that was in stage IV.

She had known for about 6 months and kept it to herself and her boyfriend. She explained to me how she bumped herself against a bed post, how the lump didn’t seem to go away and how the doctor’s diagnosis was not something she fathomed as even possible. She said she felt great and didn’t believe them, but the doctor was alarmed so much, that they questioned if she had started looking at arrangements for her own death. She decided to change her diet, and was using every natural remedy possible and seeing her numbers drop. She believed she was going to make it through it, and that we would all be going to Disneyland to celebrate when she was well again. For months she told me there was no need for me to go out to visit her, that she would be well in no time and that I shouldn’t lose the time at work or change my life around just because of this bump in the road. On one of our weekly phone calls she spoke to me in a tearful voice, “I’m starting chemotherapy, Katie.”

My heart sank.

“I met a doctor that told me he can get this out of my system in 6 treatments. I’m going to do it.” Her voice sounded stronger. “I’m going to kick this out of my system!”

At the time, I didn’t know anything about cancer. I didn’t know what stage IV was. I didn’t have any idea what my mom was about to experience. I spoke to her on a weekly basis to check in. It was something I started doing when she had her 52nd birthday…52 weeks in a year, 52 phone calls. Until then my memory box was full of pain and hurts, stories of negativity all wrapped up around my mom and her wrong doings to me, my dad and my siblings. Once, while retelling a story to a friend, I caught a glimpse of myself and what the negativity was doing to my body. I felt all wound up and full of anger and sadness at the same time…so I woke up in the midst of it and asked myself: “why am I remembering my mom in that way and doing this to myself?” I decided I needed to write my mom a letter to forgive her. Her response wasn’t what my ego wanted, instead it was only very telling of her oblivion what I felt over the years, or any wrong doing on her part. So I decided to let it go and to call my mom once a week, for a year. It changed our relationship and I began getting to know my mom.
I suppose that is why it was so painful to think of losing her, I felt like I was just starting to get to know her…outside of my own childhood stories.

I was persistent in my requests to visit, and she obliged with stubbornness. Finally I asked, “So if I show up on your doorstep with some bags for a visit…you’ll actually send me away?”

She responded with, “No, I’d love to see you.”

“Good, I’ll be there next week!” And I was off to Michigan for a visit, in the grey days of February, 2008.