To get the point.

TO GET THE POINT

Where the Spirit Dwells

My wife, Maria Rosa, and I carve out several weeks each August to go backpacking in a wilderness area. These eighty to ninety mile treks allow unharried time to escape the tyranny of the telephone and to retreat to a place of sacred power and beauty. We cherish these precious moments together in conscious connection with mountain streams, wild animals, wild flowers, lightning storms, rocks, trees, stars, and the spiritual ground of our being. Sometimes Spirit presents profound, albeit challenging, lessons along the way - if you can get the point.

In the summer of 1993 we began our annual adventure at 8600 feet of elevation in the lush Tuolumne Meadows of the Yosemite high Sierra. Graced with a rich array of purple, pink and yellow blossoms, our trail followed the Grand Canyon of the Tuolumne River along its spectacular downstream course into the Pate Valley at the 4000 foot level. We hiked beneath towering granite columns, through meadows of soft green grass, along hillsides alive with black bears, redial hawks, rattlesnakes and mule tail deer, and beside the white cascading water of the Tuolumne River.

John Muir especially loved this untamed and remote back country. Toward the end of his lifelong commitment to the preservation of the natural world, Muir experienced heart-wrenching disappointment when unable to prevent politicians from damning the lower, 3000 foot level of the Tuolumne - merely to supply toilet water for the city of San Francisco.

Maria Rosa and I greeted each morning of the thirty-two mile trail by silently offering daily prayers as we hiked along. "Beauty," was indeed, "all around us," as Navajo friends say in their own prayers. Inspired by the commitment to a shamanic apprenticeship, these morning practices include: purifying ourselves with the aromatic smoke of burning sage; calling in the wisdom and power of each sacred direction; giving thanks for the gifts we've received; asking for healing for ourselves, for those in need and for the Earth; and requesting blessings for all our relations. At home a hasty, fifteen minute prayer before trudging off to work each morning leaves me at best half-empty. Opportunities to devote ample, unencumbered time to the ritual practices - embraced by the divinity of the wilderness - allows a much deeper touching in with Spirit.

Walk in the Wild

The Tuolumne Canyon is one of the most magnificent natural areas we've had the privilege to experience and, like any backwoods country, not without its potential for danger. We joined the trail where the Tuolumne runs as a gently meandering stream snaking back and forth through high mountain meadows. Her chilly green waters gather volume from side streams fresh with snow melt as she descends through long rushing slides and graceful falls. Sheer granite walls rise thousands of feet above the canyon floor, much like the parallel Yosemite Valley but without the roads, buildings and population. The "carrying capacity" of the back country is honored by strict park service limits on the number of hikers permitted at any one time. (Reflections of the Miwok hunter-gatherer culture which, until its destruction less than two hundred years ago, survived harmoniously here for thousands of years by not over-taxing the environment.)

On the second day, we passed a double-tiered waterfall splashing down the south wall of the valley and found a campsite tucked beneath ancient incense cedars and black oaks. The small sandy beach by our camp offered a cache of water rounded rocks and a deep swimming hole. A great whale-like boulder rested half-out/half-in the stream, and provided a shady spot in the hot afternoon sun. This was a place to appreciate for a day or two, with time to absorb the power and spirit of the land.

Next morning, I took off alone from basecamp to explore the surrounding country. I love hopping boulders and leapt, boulder to boulder, upstream to the deep green pool carved at the foot of the lower falls we had passed. Glorious! Exhilarating!

Several hours later, I bushwhacked my way back toward the main path, up and over hot dry hills and in and out of several dead ends. I finally found the trail - and only a couple of hundred yards from camp. After a few steps along this easy trail I was jolted from my relaxed pace by a flash of movement across the path. A shock of instinctive terror gripped my body from an intensely vibrating sound: "tshhh-tshhh-tshhh-tshhh..." A rattlesnake!

The sight of a black and white banded Western Rattler scrambling under the large rock to the right of my path sent me reeling backward. I regained my presence of mind and spoke with respect to the creature, assuring that I meant no harm, that I was sorry to have startled him and that I wished to pass in peace. The snake was out of sight and seemed out of range (1/3 the distance of their coiled body). I carefully explained that in a moment I was about to run past his space. In a flashback to old athletic days, I launched into a strong sprint.

A few steps into the run I experienced the sharp whackkkkkk! of a 2x4 against the back of my left calf. "Must have kicked up a rock?" I puzzled. A few more feeble steps and it finally dawned, "Oh my God! I've been bitten by a rattlesnake!" Apparently, a second rattler had been coiled on the opposite side of the narrow trail (they often hang out in pairs, I later learned.) Have to remember not to run by rattlesnakes next time.

The bite's tissue digesting venom immediately caused my entire left calf to stiffen, as in a severe muscle pull. The pain increased. I continued limping along, sensing the need to avoid panic and to get back to camp as quickly as possible. As I hobbled down the trail, I intuitively began praying to the Creator for help and for healing.

I stumbled into camp and thought best to avoid scaring Maria Rosa. I said, "I met this Coyote-trickster on the trail." And then as calmly as I could, "A rattlesnake - he bit me." She immediately laid me in the shade of an incense cedar and covered my body with a sleeping bag, as I began to feel chills. She placed the swelling leg downhill and comforted it with a wet towel from the ice cold Tuolumne. I fell into shock, but kept enough consciousness to communicate. "What should we do?" Neither of us had any sense of what would unfold. "One thing is sure," she said, "We need to keep you warm and calm."

We were sixteen miles from any trailhead and 4000 feet at the bottom of the canyon. We carried no snake bite kit (which was probably fortunate since we were told later that to cut the wound and suck out the venom can lead to more problems, e.g., poison in the mouth, mistaken cut, infection from the incision). No anti-venom. No medical help. "Will I become violently ill and my whole body swell-up as the poison courses through my bloodstream? Will there be permanent damage?? Will I die???"

We were forced to look into the face of my possible death. After years of shamanic training in coming to terms with death, we found we were able to sit with the reality and remain present, despite the pervasive fear. We prayed and prayed and called in all the sacred powers known to our practice. After I uttered a rather flippant: "Well, it's a good day to die," Rosie asked with much gravity, "How would it be for you to die now?" I suddenly burst into tears - which is rare - and the words poured out, "I would so deeply miss you. I would so deeply miss our love and our life together." øI wanted to live!ù In that moment the gift of a major teaching presented itself - to one who has sometimes walked the thin line between to be or not to be, never sure how much I truly valued this breath of life. But, despite preoccupations with the often daunting struggle of daily existence, my heart, my very being now cried out for life.

Maria Rosa went to work on the leg by drawing out the venom with her "muwieri" (brightly beaded feathered arrow) as we've watched the Huichol shamans do. She had never summoned this natural healing ability, but I could sense the toxic energy lifting from my leg. I held my prized, water rounded rock over the wound in order to bring the power of the stone beings to bear as well. This process of praying and drawing out the poison on the spiritual level stimulated my body's natural immune system on the physical plane.

After five or six fearful hours we could see the impact of the venom had remained localized in my lower leg and came to the joyful conclusion that I would survive the ordeal. Later, I read that adult rattlesnakes, and only the adults, can exercise control over the degree of envenomization they choose to issue in an attack. Perhaps this one had spared me and merely intended to send a warning message. Thank you, Creator. I'm getting the point.

To Walk Or Fly

That evening, I found I could limp around camp on the good leg. Next morning we packed up and began hiking with the help of a stout walking stick. As you can imagine, we moved ever so slowly banging the sticks against the rocks to alert any additional rattlers to our presence. We took each step with an incredibly heightened awareness and sensitivity to every sound, every object, every movement along the trail.

We were both filled with acute anxiety, despite the profound beauty of this pristine wilderness. Rosie took the lead but after a few steps she raised her arm and cried out, "John stop!" Ten feet in front of us another huge black and white banded Western Pacific Rattler crawled slowly along the trail (Our trail! You'd think they'd have some respect for property). And then another less than a mile later. (Something about a convention?) With fear and respect, we waited until each serpent had slithered safely off the path and kept a keen eye out for "significant others". Rosie and I pushed on and eventually connected with park rangers alerted to our experience by hiking comrades who had stopped to help. In the back country folks share a rare sense of fellowship and camaraderie - particularly when needs arise.

Jose Lopez, with eighteen years of experience on the Tuolumne trail crew, examined the wound. He called on his pack radio to park headquarters, to the Yosemite clinic and to the regional poison control center. We even joked about a helicopter rescue - at $1,000 an hour. I told him, "Can't do it. I left my wallet back in the car." And, "No thanks, I don't care to ride out on a mule either." Poison Control confirmed that I appeared well enough to walk out the last seven miles with its 4000 foot climb. Jose generously offered some of the sweet grapes that had been packed in with his supplies.

Two volunteer rangers camped with us that first night and walked part of the way, on what they described as one of the most challenging climbs out of the Yosemite wilderness. With the help of Spirit watching over, we made it slowly but surely.

The cup-half-full in this instance was the opportunity to hike off-trail with these rangers and spend time in the original village site of the Pate Valley Miwok people. We were enchanted by a series of picto-glyphs, rock drawings of sacred symbols, painted in bright red ochre and stretching some fifty feet across the granite face rising just behind this pre-conquest village.

After a few miles the second morning the rangers went on and Rosie and I were on our own. Tough climb, but each limping step up and out of the canyon meant one more blissful foot above and beyond rattlesnake country. That evening I experienced a level of exhaustion matched only in former lacrosse days as we came within a level mile of the trailhead. We found a camp by a jewel of a lake blessed with wild ducks and a pair of Cooper's hawks. Rosie and I gave thanks for the great good fortune to have survived the run of the gauntlet and I literally "fell" asleep.

Lessons Coming Through

Upon return home and still in some shock, I described the harrowing ordeal to our teacher/shaman, Tom Pinkson. Instead of the sympathy and solace I had expected, Tomas immediately re-framed the experience and posed the question: "What teachings come through from this powerful journey? Strong serpent medicine is now inside you and will stay with you. How will you use it for your life?" Good quest-ions.

The rattlesnake became a medicine teacher. During the course of the following year the stiffness in my calf gradually dissipated and the venom-digested tissue slowly regenerated itself. Little by little and somewhat reluctantly, I came into consciousness around the wisdom this new power animal had for my life. (I don't recommend this particular path as the best way to acquire a personal totem - but it does make an indelible impression.) In the Earth-centered practice of our community we regard the knowledge embodied in the four directions as doorways, or as the Huichol Indians say, "niericas" into sacred understanding. The following teachings have emerged as reflected in the circle of the Medicine Wheel.

Lessons from the West in Facing The Darkness

Confronted with the stark possibility of my death I found I really wanted to live. I cherish the remaining decades of my life with my soul mate, Rosie and look forward to the ongoing shamanic path with her, with our family and with our wider community. The quality of our love and connection profoundly deepened in this brush with death. I was also touched upon return home to hear so many friends and relations express how glad they were that I'd survived.

Lessons of the North in Learning from the Old One

The native Miwok made their home here in the Pate Valley and maintained a sacred relationship with this vital river and its living ecosystem. Western Pacific Rattlesnakes, such as the one that left his medicine with me, are also native to this beautiful place. Like Hopi snake dancers, the Miwok learned to live in balance and harmony with these creatures and to share their common home. I have yet to find that wisdom and depth of connection with all my relations, and I choose to pursue the path.

Lessons from the East in Relationship with Spirit

"Prayer works and when the going gets tough you get what you've practiced" (Tom Pinkson's words). Without thinking, Maria Rosa and I immediately moved into a prayerful relationship with the wound. The Great Spirit offered protection for our safe return and Rosie offered her strong healing medicine. I know now, as I knew then, that the energy of her presence and the strength of her gifts as a healer were essential in my recovery. We both knew we had been kept in the daily prayers of our brothers and sisters back home, as we had kept each of them. For this we give thanks.

Lessons from the South in Staying Grounded

The wilderness, in all its raw beauty, is filled with animate energy but requires attention and presence of mind. Otherwise Coyote, that old trickster, will knock you on your ass. I've never been more attuned to every stick, every color, every sound, every movement along the trail as we hiked out. That acute state of awareness remains with me as I wander the hot dusty trails - not without their own rattlesnakes - of our local Mount Tamalpais or during continuing forays each summer into the high Sierras. This conscious awareness points toward a deeper level of relationship with the Earth Mother and with the powers of the universe.

Final Reflections

To keep these lessons alive Maria Rosa and I have added the life-sized carving of a rattlesnake to our home altar surrounded by Goddess figurines and rock crystals. A Huichol yarn painting of a coiled rattler hangs above our hearth. Some time later on our annual pilgrimage to the Huichol holy land of Wiricuta, a rattlesnake appeared as pilgrims hunted peyote in the desert. This serpent was gently restrained by the shaman's cane while she invited each pilgrim to touch the body to receive some of its medicine power. Pangs of fear shot through my own body at the very sight of this too familiar creature, but I finally inched beyond my fright. I rubbed the smooth, beaded skin and tried - however reluctantly - to absorb some of the being's powerful energy.

I could well have indulged the tendency to develop a severe antagonism to the very existence of rattlesnakes and a wish to see them eliminated - to control the wildness. But despite the intense scare in that life threatening experience, I know this land is their land, as much as it is ours to share. Every rock, every tree, every animal, every turn of the sparkling Tuolumne River was placed there by the Creator, the supreme architect, and deserves to be honored for its own life force. My challenge is to grow in reverence for that natural order rather than to rid it of rattlers or tame it for human consumption.

Trout Black, a friend and veteran of adversities in the high country, knowingly asked, "Will you ever go backpacking again?" "You bet." Despite the challenges and potential dangers, to immerse myself in the sacred space of raw wilderness offers the precious opportunity to re-connect with the ground of my being. I think I got the point.