Soul-death and Rebirth

"Build then the ship of death for you must take the longest

journey to oblivion. And die the death that lies between the old self and the new."

It was during my soul-death that I went to the woods with a vengeance. I awoke very early in the mornings, loaded the dogs into the back of the truck and drove a few miles down the parkway. The sun had not risen and as I sat on the cold paved road, stretching my barely-awake-limbs, I looked up at the moon and stars and thought about my sadness. My need to heal. I ran two miles every morning. Straight into the dark womb of mother earth, straight into the unknown, sometimes fearful, always grieving; returning to the car just as day was breaking, renewed somehow, ready to face it all over again. Every evening I read in the tub filled with salts or bubbles, hot and inviting. It was the beginning of rhythm through ritual that would help bring me to my senses. I picked up the book I had been carrying around for nine years. "Why," I thought, "had I kept this book for so long without reading it in great detail?" Women Who Run With The Wolves became my Bible, "keep moving forward," my mantra. Each night I ran my bath, poured a glass of scotch or cold beer and opened the book to just the exact passage I needed, each night I read about Skeleton Woman, Bluebeard, tenacious dogs, Archetypes and nourishing a creative life; each night I performed this simple ritual, putting my dogs in bed with me, creating my den, living with my pack. And each night I dreamed incredible, fascinating, meaningful dreams. One night I dreamed that I was riding a bicycle and lost control of it, the bike spun out over a hill and into a ditch. I got up, dusted off and picked it up. Walking down a path I came upon a man standing, waiting for me. "I don't want to ride it any longer," I said, "I'm tired." He looked at me and replied, "you have to Helen, there's no other way for you to get there." Later, I recounted this dream to my friend Jen who has studied different religions and she said the Taoist believe that riding a bicycle is symbolic of being at one with the Universe. 

Another time I dreamed that I was in my truck, when on the horizon I saw a huge tornado headed straight for me. It was destroying everything in its path and all I could think to do was hold on tight to the steering wheel. As it passed over it violently rattled the truck back and forth and all I could think was "hold on, hold on." Suddenly it was gone and I looked down to see my fingers had dug deeply into the wheel. I dreamed of bears (strength, protection and rage) injured dogs (wounded psyche), I looked for meaning in all of my dreams, paid close attention to details, wondered and researched how they could be of use to my healing process. It was during this time that flying dreams came into my subconscious. Initially, when I dreamt of flying I was in some type of transport, either a plane or car; but later I found that I could make myself fly without any of these encumbrances. Flying dreams are the most amazing to me as I feel fearless and free, and usually are a good indication that my inner work is going well. 

I thought about all of these experiences when I went to the woods with my dogs. Sometimes I would go late in the evening during the longer spring and summer days but would forfeit them when the days became short and daylight scarce. I tried once, to walk through them late on a winter night but was frightened when a heavy mist suddenly descended. I had a flashlight with me but couldn't make out the shape of Willa or Henry; only four greenish glassy eyes moving beside me. I rushed to the car, hurriedly stuffing the dogs in and raced off. I had a strange, creepy feeling because I know these woods are filled with spirit life, especially the areas where civil war soldiers fought and died. I have heard people say they can feel an other-worldly presence in these woods and I agree. There are levees and old wagon trails, bits and pieces of bullets, arrowheads from Indian tribes and other relics scattered around; and soldier spirits aren't the only ones dwelling there. I did, at times, feel an unseen presence and once had my own spirit encounter in these woods on a clear, sunny, spring afternoon.

These woods rejuvenated me from soul-death in many ways. At times I wandered along with the dogs, crying, oblivious to my footsteps. Crying so hard and deep I thought the vessels would burst in my eyes, crying so hard my strained center would double over. At these times I would fall from exhaustion onto the ground, mumbling to the earth my feelings. I wished to wrap my arms around the ripe, soft ground; the blades of grass digging, irritating my nostrils as the warm tears mingled with the dirt on my lips. I could barely lift my head, the grief was so intense. Willa and Henry watched with worried expressions, licked and licked and licked again to try and rouse me. But nothing worked. I'd lay a long time until the dried tears felt sticky and itchy. Then I would begin to breathe again, pick myself up and make the long trek back to the car; dirty and exhausted - while my true companions ever watchful and vigilant stayed close by my side.