The Furious Spinner

'lectricity went out a couple of days ago. A fault shifted. Kind of like an earthquake, my friends. It was so cold we went to the Skamania Lodge and sat in front of their huge fireplace (they didn't have electricity either.)



I tell you what: when civilization falls, I ain't gonna do well. I don't like being cold. Anyway, the outage fried our router so DSL didn't work and dial-up was too slow, so I was off the 'puter. Aren't I spoiled? But someone just came from our server and put in a new router. I can now get internet anywhere in our house with my laptop. I'm in wireless heaven.

Been going to Portland about four times a week. I think I already regaled you with my healing exploits. What I'm attempting now is to create (or recognize) sacred space in and around my bodacious body. In and amongst all the other bodacious bodies. Tenemos.

Last Monday we went to Portland and I attended a QiGong session. Then I went to the acupuncturist. Someone at the QiGong session had mentioned a labyrinth walk that evening, so after I was stuck with needles, we drove to the Trinity Episcopal Church, went inside, and walked the labyrinth. Well, I walked it. Mario didn't feel like it. We've walked labyrinths all over the West, including two in San Francisco, one in Santa Fe, and one on the Oregon coast that the waves washed away (we made that one). Anyway, as I was walking it I had this urge to laugh and dance. Everyone around me was walking solemnly, which was fine, but I thought that what was missing from so many religious and spiritual gatherings was dance. Joi! So I danced around the labyrinth. Subtly, mind you. Mario saw and delighted in it. He is such an enabler of my joy. For me, the labyrinth represents the Goddess and the pagan amidst fundamental religions. (So par-tay on, girl!)

Hope you all had a good holiday. Mario and I ate too much. Afterward we went to Linda's house and played Password. Haven't played that since I was a kid. Mario's birthday was Sunday. We walked the falls trail (see below), and then went to our friends' house for dinner. Barbara is a physical therapist and Paul is a beekeeper. He used to work for the Forest Service. I am fascinated with his beekeeping, so I'm always asking him strange questions about it.

"OK, Paul. I read this book called the Shaman of the Bee or something. I'm interested in shamanism and bees, so I thought this would be good. I read up to the part where during his initiation the author shapechanged into a bee and flew to the Queen and suddenly knew what his destiny was: to have sex with the Queen Bee. Ever heard of such a thing?" i.e. Is this SOP for beekeepers?

Paul has known me long enough, I suppose, that he barely blinked at this question. "No, I don't know about that, but I've heard of a custom down South where they cover the hives in black when the beekeeper dies. It's called 'telling the bees.'"

Nice.

After dinner we played cards and Sorry. Barbara has the best laugh of anyone I know on the planet.



Funny thing: just before we left their house to go home, we were talking about winter in the gorge and how the electricity goes out too often and we freeze our butts off but Paul and Barbara don't because they have wood heat, although sometimes they drive to the Lodge during a blackout and sit in front of the huge fireplace anyway. Then we went home. Within minutes the electricity went out. So as you heard above, we drove to the lodge. Later we went to the library, which had electricity, and read Sue Kidd Monk's The Secret Life of Bees.

Finally, after 11:00 p.m. the electricity came back on, and we went home. The next morning, Mario did my hydrotherapy (hot towels on my front for 5 minutes, cold towels for 10; turn over, repeat). Then we drove into Portland, and I had craniosacral therapy (which was recommended by my team). We first sat on a couch, and she brought over a skull and took it apart and showed me all the spaces and places. It all looked so tiny and fragile. Beautiful. Then we got to work. It's difficult to explain, but it felt as though stress and trauma were packing their bags and leaving my body. Afterward I went for acupuncture. Home again. Dinner. Then over to the library for bibliotherapy: the discussion group for The Secret Life of Bees. A day of therapy.

Which reminds me of Mario's birthday and our walk in the woods. Ahhhh, wilderness. I worship the ground we walk upon. Winter had definitely come to Falling Creek. The gates close on December 1, so this would be our last time here this year. (I took lots of photographs, but I've never really taken pics in the winter, so I didn't realize what all that white does. Many of them didn't turn out.) Only one other car was in the parking lot. We looked at the tracks on the snowy trail and determined that the group ahead of us was composed of (is that the right word?) one child, one tall man, maybe a tall woman or someone trying to keep up with the tall man, and possibly a baby in a backpack. (I noticed a car seat in the SUV.)

We walked up and up the cold and snowy trail, finding no one. Snow covered the bear grass like a truly bad case of dandruff on a green Moe. (Stooge Moe.)



Another set of male tracks cut across the path at one point but disappeared. Probably a hunter. Near the first falls we finally met the family coming down the trail. EXACTLY as we had surmised: except I thought the child was a girl, and it was a boy. Or he was a boy, I should say. I said, "Oh, we've been tracking you, and we guessed three of you with a baby." The man smiled; the woman looked at us in horror. I supposed I shouldn't have said we were "tracking" them. Sounded too much like we were stalking them. The woman hurried them away.

A few minutes later we got to the falls. Oh, lovely, lovely, lovely. We found some snow art left by la familia.



I love this place. This is my sacred place. Every place is sacred. My body. Your body. This place. This water. Hydrotherapy. The sound and feel of the water washes over my body and soul. I carry this place in my heart all year round. Can you tell? Thank you, thank you, thank you.





As we left, as we said good-bye, Mario stopped and pressed his hand into the snow and drew a spiral on the impression with a stick. You can see it in the shadow of his hand.



I made a print next to his. Later down the trail, we did it again. More snow art.





By Pika Village (the talos area where we haven't seen a pika in a few years now, unfortunately), we made more spiral hands. (Zooming in and zooming out.)





We took off our shoes and did spiral feet. Mario's is the Bigfoot.



The forest was so beautiful today. Exquisite. Restful. Sighing. A canopy of breath descended all around us, floating up all around us. Ahhhhhh



I love, I love, I love...



I look at these photos now and have forgotten what else I had to say. All I can think and feel is how much I love this place...how much I just love.

That seems a good place to end this ramble. On love.



May You Love in Beauty!


Photographs a team effort by Mario Milosevic & Kim Antieau.

All photographs and written material copyright © 2003-2008 by Kim Antieau unless otherwise indicated. May not be used without permission.