Being Set Free (a thrilling week long adventure)

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We are strong believers in karma, whatever you put out will come back, usually ten fold, and we watch ourselves pretty closely.  We really try to put out only positive and happy vibes.  So this came as such a shock to us.  We were so friendly, put so much work and money here, why did we lose so much?  It’s laughably ironic that I write about and that we went from so close to self reliance to completely reliant.  Completely.  Reliant.

As each thing leaves the house I am saddened as it feels that the memory is lost with it too.  Our trip to California, that sweet Christmas gift, antique shopping in Evergreen, our friendships, all walking out the door for practically nothing.  Of course those memories and people are still with me, in the literal or spiritual sense and as we unburden our existence with so many material things, we feel lighter.

And I wonder if the karma coming to us is not bad, it’s a gift.  It’s good.  I have written about our day in the life of a homesteader, and our businesses, and our to-do lists.  They exhaust my friends just reading them.  We are being set free from ourselves!

I am daring to imagine an existence where my morning starts the same, with coffee on the porch with my cat, and writing, but then doesn’t turn into a frenzy of trying to keep up.  In this little cottage we do not need 500+ preserved food items to be put up.  We do not need to chop 4 cords of wood.  We do not have to milk twice a day.  We do not have to make enough money to feed all the hungry farm animals.  We do not have to make cheese and soap and lotion and try to find the strength to do yet another farmer’s market.  We are being set free.  So long have Doug and I worked sun up to sun down with businesses, committees, children, and homesteading.  We love it, but the idea of something different does intrigue us.  If I want to do those some of those things, I can.  If I don’t, then we can walk around town and find ourselves listening to live music in the park on Tuesday nights.  We are being set free.

We will be working on building a tiny house.  We will be co-creating beautiful, practically maintenance-free gardens, we will be teaching, but we will be doing it slowly and methodically in the middle of a town where we can find new teachers and friends and find each other in our honeymoon cottage.  What a gift.

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This week on this blog I would like to write about various ways to set ourselves free.  How to find a closer connection to Creator, mental and emotional releases, herbal teas for spiritual use, easy ways to strengthen the body, to bring back health, to bring on inspiration and to make some dreams start coming true, and just setting ourselves free from anything that weighs us down.  I hope you’ll join me!  It’s going to be a freeing week!

The Life of a Healer- Part 7 (grandmothers and owls)

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As most readers figured out early on, Wildflower was the name my mother gave me as my Indian name when I was born.  I felt compelled to explain to folks what I do, as owning an Apothecary could mean anything from growing pot (we don’t) to being as screwy as the shop I ran into in Old Colorado City (virtual tinctures where the herbs never touch the liquid…uh, okay….), and healer…what does that mean?  But I found I could not tell how I became a healer or what I do without telling how we got here.  The miracles couldn’t be expressed without the rest of the story.  The last six chapters of this autobiography have rarely been uttered.  Why?  Fears of judgment, fears of folks thinking I was nuts, people thinking badly of me?  This is also the first time that I could relive the nightmare that was without having reoccurring dreams or tears.  I felt like I was writing about a past life or someone else’s life and it was quite a healing process.  I just had to write in third person.  It made it easier to get the memories out.  I do hope that it might reach someone out there who needs it.  Perhaps it will save a life, or encourage a young intuitive person, or bring faith and hope to those who need it.  Now, on with the rest of the story.

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Teachers come in and out of our lives seamlessly sharing their knowledge then moving on.  The first medicine person came up to my booth at the farmer’s market quite some years ago.  She had long grey hair and lived in her car traveling wherever the winds took her.  She was kooky enough to have a long conversation with my dog the first time she met him, yet psychic enough to know my family history before I did.  And she was there to teach me.  My son is more psychic than I am and things would happen, like Doug’s grandfather appearing to him after he died, or things would talk with him.  We could tell that there was lots of activity going on in our home in Parker and she came to help get it all out and quieted as it was really bothering my son.  She showed me how to smudge with sage and what to say to put a shield around the house.  She was the first person to tell me about the grandmother that looks over me and that she could see right next to me.  I was skeptical but was trying to be a good listener.  She told me the spirit grandmother was an American Indian.  Now, there had long been rumors of a bit of Indian blood in us and every part of my family has the one or two kids in the group that are darker than the rest.  Including two out of three of mine.  But, we had no proof, no names, and no idea what side of the family it was on.  The grandmother’s name was Mary and she stayed very close to me at all times, she said.

I am using the term Medicine person because in our culture that is what we would see them as.  But medicine women and men are essentially herbalists.  But there are many who are readers, shamans, and spiritual leaders and for the sake of this post, we’ll call them medicine people.  For they were medicine to me.

The Indian woman needed medicine for her dog and after giving her some cash and some medicines she was off to find another place.

A trip down genealogy lane and a little pressure on my grandfather revealed that his father who had committed suicide during the depression was Cherokee.  Then he stopped talking and said that it wasn’t enough to worry about.  His father’s mother’s name was Mary.

Did you know that being Native American was illegal until just a few decades ago?  You could go to jail, you have your land taken from you, your mother would have written on your birth certificate that you were white, and folks didn’t talk about family members.  This saddens me.  I am proud that I have this heritage.

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I also found a picture of my great grandma on the other side of the family who was Yeopim and who was forced into becoming a Quaker.  So both sides had this culture, and of course the Celtic side has a lot of herbalists in it too, so combined into me, it would explain a lot about why I could see ailments and lay hands on someone and feel where the initial injury was and then know how to repair it.  It gave me quite a lot of comfort.  I could use my abilities for more than knowing when the phone would ring.

The next medicine person had been one of my students.  I had a dream that she was my next teacher.  She looks white as most of us are all mixed up now genetically and I had no idea that she was a shaman or the things she had gone through to get to that point.  I didn’t know what she was to teach me either.  She taught me how to shield myself.  I really wanted to learn more cool stuff regarding healing but she was there to teach me how to create shields.  Many healers take a physical turn for the worst later in life after absorbing so much around them.  Healers, including myself, pick up emotions and physical feelings from everyone around them.  After years of this, the body can succumb.  It could very well be the reason my grandmother has had chronic pain for twenty years.  Protecting myself was my next lesson.  She showed me how to walk a medicine wheel praying in each direction and being humble to the Creator.  How to layer on shields around my physical self and how to turn off sound.  I can make someone’s voice muffled if I don’t want to hear everything they are saying.  I love listening to people.  I like comforting folks.  I am happy that people feel they can come to me and talk to me about anything, even if they hardly know me.  That is one of my gifts.  People feel compelled to tell me things and that is healing to them.  But it is the ones who complain non-stop that I have to shield myself from or I end up anxious and sometimes depressed.   It was a great gift to learn how to shield.

The next medicine person is still in my life and is a reader, a Catholic priest, and a hospice chaplain.  He is Hopi.  A calm spirit surrounds him.  He helped me when my friend died so suddenly.  He helped me understand the hypersensitivity that surrounds being a healer.  I cannot be under fluorescent lights very long.  I do not use overhead lighting at all.  Only oil lamps, candles, and twinkly lights.  I love soft music but can’t be around loud noises, and the television drives me crazy.  I simply cannot handle the lights and sounds from it.  Large groups of people overwhelm me.

Many years ago he had done a reading for me that showed how our family was doing.  (Tarot cards are not necessarily of the devil, folks.  If used properly they are simply a tool in helping us see clearly.)  Andrew would very likely become a spiritual leader later on.  Shyanne was often pulled one way or another because of her peace keeping abilities and needed to make sure she didn’t end up in relationships that took advantage of her.  Emily was seen as a strong storm.  Strong willed and well balanced.  Doug and I would continue to grow stronger together and our business would prosper.  He also said that I had a direct connection to the Creator.  Everyone does, but that this was a bit different.  I was going to be used to help the Creator and would increase my healing abilities.  The most recent reading was astounding and powerful.  And exciting things are to come as I let go and let things occur and trust myself and my surroundings.

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The other current teacher probably doesn’t even know he is a teacher to me right now.  He also mentioned the grandmother at my side that is always making sure no one hurts me spiritually and helps me with the herbs.  He is perhaps the sixth person who has seen her without prompting.  He further described her and told me about her history matching where she lived to the ancestry I had been researching.  She was a healer but since it was illegal to practice Indian religions, and herbalism was often seen as part of that, so was therefore illegal, she kept it a secret.  A line of medicine women, a long family history of herbalism was passed down from person to person but all in secret.  Until one day someone was brought to the grandmother who needed desperate help and she healed him.  He told me how she dresses and it is the same as how I dress (long skirts, aprons, a bit old fashioned I suppose) and what she looked like.  It was how I saw her too.

This teacher is a religious leader, a representative for Indian affairs in the schools, and a Shaman, clearing spirits and negative entities from places and people.  He holds knowledge and language that is being lost and our Thanksgiving prayer this year was all the sweeter with his prayer in his Indian language.  At the Talking Circle he runs on Sundays I was given a gift not many people experience.  A ceremony.  A traditional ceremony to restore the spirit and strength of a healer.  It is well known that this year was monstrously difficult for me.  And as the feathers swooshed by the face, and the language floated through the air, and the protection was laid on me, I could feel my spirit soar and my strength regenerated.

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Through the years I have been able to better understand my gifts.  I know that these gifts are from the Creator, and are used to help people.  I understand myself by knowing my genetic makeup.  I understand why I am a little different but that it is not a bad thing.  I understand how to use my gifts to help folks live better lives and teach people how to heal themselves and their animals.  I empower people to not lose faith.  I live on a farm where the animals are safe.  The breezes are peaceful across the prairie.  The views are awe inspiring.  This is my respite.  My healing place.  We grow or wildcraft almost all of the sixty-plus herbs that we use in my medicines.  I am now learning more about the spiritual use of these same herbs.  For instance, Angelica is a hormone balancer yet also acts as protection from negative energies.  St. John’s Wort is named for St. John the Baptist and also creates a shield around a person while virtually stopping depression and anxiety.  Hawthorn heals heartbreaks as well as physically strengthens the outer muscle of the heart.

The owls have been here since we moved in and they are increasing.  They fly over my head into the nearest tree.  They are my spirit animal.  But they are also a sign of transition.  I am nowhere near my peak.  A woman does not come into her complete ability until her menses stop.  I have much to learn still and many people to reach.  I have folks to teach and inspire.  I have more plants to learn from and more teachers ahead of me.  And I am a teacher too.  The future looks bright.

http://gardenfairyapothecary.com  

Learning Homesteading Skills (finding teachers)

Our grandparents knew how to do all these things.  Mine laughed when I wanted a farm and wondered why.  Growing up on farms and in the country, in hard times, with so much work, it baffled them that I would run off to the lifestyle that they left willingly.  The skills from that generation and beyond become more and more lost.  No one taught me how to milk a goat when I was a child (which would have been nice since I will be milking in a few short weeks!), no one taught me to garden, or to spin, or to can, or to take care of one day old chicks.  There was no reason to in the middle of Denver!  Over the past years I have tried to accumulate these skills.

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I started with books.  Lots of books.  We are avid readers over here anyway, so I may as well be learning while reading.  And indeed I have picked up many great tips and tried and true ways of doing things from these books.  Many specific skill books though go in one eye and out of my memory faster than a three day old goat can elude me. (Man, they are fast!)

Things like knitting, milking, spinning, I need to see it.  I need to have someone show me step by step then I have it.  Most of the time.

IMG_0526Spinning was not working out for me.  My yarn looked like dreadlocks or clumps of fur.  It did not resemble anything looking like yarn.  My machine would not work.  My friend told me to pour a glass of wine.  I did.  Then I poured three.  Still couldn’t spin.  The spinning wheel anyway.  The teacher I had just kept saying I needed practice.  I could tell there was no more she could teach me.  I called my wine recommending friend.  She came over a week later.

She first noted that my machine was put together backwards.  That the break was on the wrong side.  The tension was all wrong.  She showed me the technique of spinning, which I knew but had been trying without good result.  I sighed and tried the wheel.  And spun.  Yarn.  It looks like yarn!  All I needed was a new teacher.

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In your community you will find people that do what you wish you could do.  Make cheese, spin, can, garden, make herbal medicines, make wine, any number of fabulous homesteading skills.  And most of them are happy to teach you.  You may have to pay a small fee for the lesson.  Or barter.  That is okay because the money you save and the joy you feel while mastering these skills outweighs forty bucks.

I teach canning, crocheting, high altitude baking, gardening, soap making, candle making, soft cheese making, herbal classes, and herbal body product classes.

I need to find a class on how to make hard cheese.  I suppose if I read the cheese making book I bought I can figure it out since I already know how to make soft cheeses.

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I need to learn to milk.  I milked a goat when I worked at an animal shelter some twenty years ago.  I wonder if I will remember.

I want to learn how to knit.  Books and teachers thus far have not been able to help.  Surely there is a patient lady out there with the perfect knitting needles to get me on my way to making socks and sweaters.

We signed up for a bee keeping class.

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I cannot wait to experiment with dying fiber.  I have many plans this year and I hope to teach all of them.  Of course, I could keep all these skills to myself and make money off of the canned goods, the yarn, the farming, the herbal medicines. And I will, because there are folks who would rather I do it.  But for those that want to learn, we must teach what we know.  We must share our knowledge.

And our lessons for the day summed up:

If first you don’t succeed, get another teacher.

Give a man a fish, and you have fed him once. Teach him how to fish and you have fed him for a lifetime.