My friend Andi’s insatiable craving for knowledge has her signing up for all kinds of workshops and lectures. Â I am more selective in how and where I spend my time and money, so when she called up and asked if I was interested in a private audience with a medicine woman, I said I’d pass.
“Will you at least go with me?” Â she pleaded. Â “I’m a little nervous.”
So, book in hand, I accompanied Andi to meet her newest guru. Â “Come inside,” she insisted, when I indicated I’d wait in the car. Â Grudgingly, I obliged.
The woman of honour was visiting from New Mexico, and was being housed in a bungalow belonging to a friend. Â The house was small, and unassuming. Â As we stepped through the front door, we were confronted by a wall, which opened on either side to reveal either the main sitting area, or a hallway leading to bedrooms. Â But all of that immediately became a blur to me, as my attention was captured by a large portrait hanging in front of me.
Pictured was a man poised majestically, with feathers adorning silver hair that was pulled back from his face. Â Intense dark eyes peered out from the portrait and seemed to penetrate me to the core. Â A chill ran through me as I felt an onslaught of tears overtake me.
“Do you know Bartholomew?” Â a voice asked to my left.
“No. Â I’m sorry……I don’t know what came over me.”
“Don’t apologize. Â Go with it. Â What are you feeling?”
The voice was calm, and soothing, and I seemed unable to tear myself away from the image long enough to see who was speaking.
“It’s sounds crazy,” Â I blurted between sobs, “but I feel as if I’ve been lost for a long, long time, only I didn’t know it until just this moment, and now I am home.”
“Well then, welcome home.”
This was absurd. Â How could an image cause such a reaction? Â What was happening to me?
The woman gently ushered me into a room.
“I only came to keep my friend company,” Â I panicked. Â “I don’t have an appointment.”
“Not to worry.” Â The woman had long flowing hair, and her face glowed with a soft light that defied any telltale signs of age. Â She was not what I expected.
She began to run her hands just above my body, as if searching for something. Â The flow of tears continued, and by now my nose was running, and I felt an urge to use the toilet.
“I’m sorry,” Â I apologized as I quickly exited in search of the bathroom.
“No problem, Running Water,” Â she joked, and added, “That is surely your Indian name.”
After what felt like an uncomfortable length of time, I finally got ahold of myself.
“What happened?” Â I asked the woman.
“Your soul made a connection to something that is obviously of importance to you.”
“And what is that?” I was stilling feeling somewhat vulnerable.
“I like to call it the Great Mystery,” Â she replied. Â “Some call it The Way.”
It was definitely a defining moment for me, from which I would be forever transformed.
(Image:Â storify.com)
One Woman's Quest 