Chapter One: Why Am I here?
(excerpt)
Burning sage smells like marijuana.
I know that’s not a very reverent thought to have during a sacred ceremony as you’re being purified with a plant that’s holy to the Native Americans. I couldn’t help it, though; the scent was exactly the same as the back of my old school bus.
“I’d like each of you to share why you’ve decided to go on a vision quest,” said Sparrow, our group leader. Two people in the circle crossed and uncrossed their legs nervously. Others stared thoughtfully up at the sky.
Why did I want to go on a vision quest? What in God’s name had possessed me to sign up for two weeks in the desert in the heat of the summer, including fasting alone in the wilderness for four days and four nights? I could barely make it to dinner when I skipped lunch; how was I going to stop eating for almost a week?
Truth is, I didn’t even really know what a vision quest was. Neither did anyone else in my immediate circle of friends and family, although they certainly had some creative interpretations.
“I hope you don’t hurt yourself while you’re doing all those psychedelic drugs,” worried my friend Jen.
“Watch out not to get sunburned while you wander around naked,” warned another friend, Heidi.
My mom sent me a newspaper clipping of a corporate group visioning out its company goals in an executive boardroom, with a Post-it saying, “Have fun!”
In reality, my vision quest was nothing like anyone’s expectations. Everyone in my vision quest group was there for a different reason. Ben, a jovial man with an easy grin and warm handshake, introduced himself first. “I’m here as part of my 12-step program, to overcome my addiction to overeating,” he admitted. The next woman, Susan, recounted the sudden, recent death of her partner. Wiping the tears from her eyes, she said slowly, “I’m hoping to find a way to move on.”
Ted was an eager, recent college graduate. He bubbled enthusiastically, “There are so many different choices in the world! I want to figure out what to do with my life.” Next came Bill, a successful, but life-weary, artist. “I hope this vision quest helps me find a renewed sense of purpose,” he sighed.
When it was Faith’s turn, she began passionately, “I just adore my beautiful children and love raising them!” Then her voice became soft. “But I’ve lost my identity outside of being a mom. My goal during this experience is to reclaim it.”
The next woman looked like she was on the verge of sprinting out of the circle and as far away from the group as possible. “My name is Julie,” she stammered, turning red. “I’ve recently overcome a serious drug problem, but I still hate myself.” She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, grateful when the next person chimed in.
Karen, a young doctoral student in her twenties, shared, “I’m way too much ‘in my head;’ I want to get back in touch with my emotions.” Making little piles of dirt all around her like miniature sand castles, Annie declared, “I think I’ve been in my computer programming job for too long; I’ve forgotten how to play.”
“And you, Laurie?” Sparrow prompted me.
Wow, what could I say? How could I briefly explain everything in my life that had led up to my choice to come on a vision quest? How could I articulate how I hoped it would help me from this point forward? In many ways, I felt like I’d been on a vision quest for my entire life.
*****
Chapter Two: The Harvard Hobo
(excerpt)
A week after graduation, my parents sat me down in the family living room, anxious and perplexed. I had just announced that I was leaving to backpack around the world by myself. I had no set itinerary or pre-arranged destinations; my only plan was that I would explore for at least a year. I also knew that I didn’t want to do the typical, American college kid tour of Europe; I was headed to more exotic, less traveled countries.
“Just tell us why!” my mother burst out, like I had just killed someone or robbed a bank.
Looking at me earnestly, my father said, “You graduated with high honors. You won a fellowship to the American University in Cairo, and you have a job offer from your German professor. Is this really what you want to do?”
Clearly, my parents weren’t as excited about the idea as I was.
“Mom, Dad, you know how much I love to travel. I might never have this chance again, before I have too many commitments.”
To reassure them, I continued, “Don’t worry, before I travel on my own, I’ve got a summer job leading a group of high school students on an exchange trip through New Zealand and Australia. My flights and expenses are all paid, and I can extend my return ticket for up to a year. After the kids leave, I’ll stay and see where the winds blow me.”
“But how will we get in touch with you?” my mom fretted.
In 1989, there were no easy communication vehicles like cell phones and Internet cafes for the wayward traveler.
“Don’t your friends Kit and Robin own a fax machine?” I reminded her. “I could fax you once a month to let you know where I am and that I’m OK.”
“Once a week,” my mom insisted.
“Once every two weeks,” I countered.
“Deal!” my dad agreed. He patted my mom sympathetically on the shoulder.
*****
Chapter Three: “Mazel Tov!” Now What?
(excerpt)
Living with two gay men in San Francisco proved to be quite an education.
“Time to go to Safeway,” Kevin would announce on Wednesday evenings. The Safeway grocery store in the Marina District of San Francisco was notorious for having unofficial “singles nights,” both straight and gay, when dozens of the city’s unattached folks went to “shop.”
“We always go to Safeway on gay night. Why can’t we ever go when it’s straight singles night?” I whimpered.
“Sorry, Laur, you’re outnumbered,” David winked at Kevin.
One evening, as a compromise, we went grocery shopping on a non-singles night. I rolled my eyes as David put a second bag of pink frosted circus cookies into our cart.
“Those things are nasty; there’s not a natural ingredient in them!” I chided him.
“Look who’s talking, PMS girl,” David replied. He was referring to the last time we’d gone shopping, right before my period, when I’d insisted on buying Keebler’s “magic middle” cookies, a disgusting artificial chocolate chip cookie with fake frosting inside. I didn’t just want those cookies that night; I needed them.
“Touché,” I answered.
“Stop bickering you two, and pay attention; I’m about to teach you something,” Kevin interrupted us.
“Now, you see that cute guy over there?” he indicated.
“Yes,” I answered.
“Let’s go look in his cart.”
“Why?”
Moving closer, but not too close to be obvious, Kevin pointed out, “Fresh pasta, fresh herbs, good bottle of wine.” He smiled at David. “That guy’s on our team.”
“How about that hunky guy?” I asked, pointing to an athletic guy with a baseball cap near the frozen food section.
“Two six-packs of cheap beer and a frozen pizza that’s on sale. He’s straight and single, but you don’t want him,” Kevin replied.
“There’s another guy buying fresh pasta,” David whispered, tipping his head toward a well-dressed man halfway up the aisle.
“Take a closer look, friend,” Kevin said, “Cat food and tampons. He’s either got a girlfriend, or he’s married.”
To this day, I can’t help peeking into other people’s grocery carts when I go shopping.
*****
Chapter Eight: Download in The Desert
(excerpt)
“Well, this is it,” I gulped. The last night of a vision quest is a very powerful night, especially if you choose to engage in a culminating ritual called the Purpose Circle. For this ritual, you draw a circle about six feet across representing your life purpose. There, you will stay from sunset until the following sunrise, crying out for a vision of your purpose all night long.
When you step out of the circle after the ritual is over, you are “rebirthed” with a new understanding of who you are and what you will be contributing to the world. In the past, many Native American vision seekers would stay in the circle naked, with only an animal skin to keep them warm. Fortunately, with our modern technology of fleece and Gore-Tex, today’s questers don’t have to be quite so hard-core unless they choose to be.
There was no doubt in my mind where I should draw my Purpose Circle. As I prepared to leave my camping spot and hike up to the Golden Cliffs, I wondered what would happen that night. I had already experienced so much over the past few days. I had shifted and healed many deep fears and wounds. I had discovered my life purpose as a spiritual teacher. I was almost done writing a book. What more could possibly be to come?
The long trek from my camping spot to the Golden Cliffs seemed even longer after four days of not eating. It took me quite a while to hike up to the saddle, as I didn’t have much energy. “Calories get a bad rap,” I decided. “They really come in handy sometimes.”
I had to stop and rest several times, but safely and surely, I arrived at my spot. The Circle of Elders had made a good call with the walking stick. I leaned on it all the way up the mountain. Scouting for the best location to make my circle on this razor’s-edge ridge, I decided to place it right next to the Death and Rebirth Tree, appreciating the symbolism once again. I set up a simple circle with each of the four directions (north, south, east and west) marked by rocks and trees. The whole area was about six feet in diameter, the width of the narrow ridge.
I finished setting up my circle just as sunset was beginning. Strangely, I felt both a feeling of deep completion and of anticipation at the same time. I took off my socks and boots so I could feel the red, powdery earth with my bare feet, grabbed my rattle, and put on some rain gear just in case. Exhaling deeply, I entered the circle.
CRASH! No sooner had I stepped into the circle than the biggest, most impressively powerful storm I have ever experienced hit with full force. The sky went from beautifully clear with sunset colors to black in a matter of seconds. I was besieged by buffeting, gale force winds, pelting sheets of rain, piercing bullets of hail, and lightning bolts crashing all around me. Within minutes, my rain gear and clothes were completely soaked through (so much for Gore-Tex!), I was standing ankle deep in red mud, and I was freezing cold. I had to dig my toes deep into the mud to keep from literally getting blown off the ridge.
The storm did not let up for ten hours, until shortly before sunrise. I felt like I was in a Charlton Heston movie, getting buffeted at the top of the mountain from all sides. I swayed, stomped, and sang to keep myself awake and warm. I did jumping jacks and hopped up and down; I stepped side to side again and again. I tried to rattle, but my deerskin rattle was completely soggy and made a sad little “pfth, pfth” sound every time I shook it.
A couple of times, I had to step out of the circle and climb up and down the left hill of the saddle until I could feel my feet and fingers again. “Jeez, this is like a bad Red Cross training film,” I groaned, as I tried to prevent myself from getting hypothermia and watched the lightning bolts hitting closer and closer. “I think this is the part where you’re supposed to descend from the ridge and go inside and get warm!” But I stayed in the circle.
After a few hours, I started a conversation with my Higher Powers. Believe me, when you’re up there at the top of the mountain in a storm like that, you’re talking to all of your gods. In fact, you’re talking to any god you’ve ever heard of, from any culture, and any time period. God, Moses, Jesus, Mohammed, Buddha, Zeus…I was calling out to all of them. I figured any deity who’d listen would do! I began negotiating with these Higher Powers: “Why can’t you just give me any important messages back under my tarp at my campsite, or better yet, back home in my nice, warm garden in Berkeley? Why did you bring me all the way up here on this mountain in the middle of this freezing cold storm all night?”
