Enter Through the Heart
The Vision Quest — Kim Style
I’m reading a book by Cynthia Bourgeault called Eye of the Heart. She talks about the Imaginal Realm, where we are closest to Spirit. In the book, she says, “the imaginal realm is entered only through the heart.” I took this as a mantra for the days leading up to my Vision Quest — enter through the heart.
The treehouse was fantastic — tucked away in the woods by a little, serene lake. Just a single room with a wrap-around deck complete with comfortables amenities. This is where I held my vision quest. I call it that, though strictly speaking, I didn’t conduct it in the traditional way, at least not all of the time. When I arrived, I had been fasting for 24 hours. I turned off my phone, took off my watch, and gave myself over to the silence. With the fervor that I approach everything, I embarked on connecting with the Divine. What I encountered was precious and meaningful, albeit not what I expected.
I went in seeking a vision. I went in with a question — why am I here? There are little inquiries that naturally follow — what am I here to learn? What am I here to do? What can I contribute? I spent time in quiet contemplation while noticing my mind straying to its usual places — past regrets, future hopes, dreams, and oftentimes food. I was also constantly trying to plan my itinerary, what would I do next, and then after that? What would I do tomorrow? What time would I begin packing up on Saturday? What would my first meal be?
I registered hunger a lot, especially the first day. I drank a gallon of water every day just to put something into the void of my body. I often became frustrated with my undisciplined mind. Why can I not stop the meanderings? When it occurred to me that the mind is made to explore, examine, study, analyze. It is an unceasing machine, created to wander, wonder, dream, imagine, problem-solve. It’s a vital part of my being and to be celebrated. How often do I celebrate the mind? I’m typically trying to shut it down and berating it for its lack of focus. So I decided to play with it, instead. I was able to watch it with a little less inclemency and a little more curiosity.
I practiced some gentle yoga — I really had no energy that first day — Thanksgiving Day. It rained all morning. I created a circle with crystals and spent most of the morning and early afternoon within it. I prayed, journaled, meditated, dozed. I dreamed a lot, but the moment I woke up, the dream would vaporize. I could sometimes recollect people or the general situation, but nothing more. Often, they say, the vision comes in dreams, so I was naturally frustrated at my inability to capture anything.
I also noticed that I kept trying to guess the time. There was no clock in the cabin, and I had intentionally put my watch away. What purpose did time hold for me in this place? I intended to practice just being. There was no deadline, no appointment, no planning required; it was so uncomfortable. I’m not good a “being,” yet I am quite an accomplished “doer.” Plus, some part of me wanted to know how much time was left before I could claim another day of fasting or before the sun would go down, and I would have one full day of silence behind me — a milestone toward my aim. Impatience was showing itself, and I could see how much impatience robs me of experiences. I’m so eager to have a vision, to accomplish a task, to find a lover, to discover real purpose. I claim to be goal-oriented, and I am. I genuinely enjoy having an objective and achieving it, but this restlessness is often the driver. Life is passing me by while I chase and chase and chase. It occurred to me how many of my life’s regrets were impacted by this chronic quality. It can become obsessive and unhealthy (although it’s been beneficial to my career — my company loves my anxious persistence).
At one point, in frustration, I wrote in my journal, “I can’t seem to get out of my head. I keep repeating to myself, ‘enter through the heart.’ God — where are You? I wanted to encounter You here. All I’m confronting is my mind.”
The bed in the cabin was horrible. I mean, it was gorgeous — a hand-carved, king-sized thing of folk art beauty with the most uncomfortable mattress. My body was sore, and if I got up too suddenly, I felt dizzy. The sun had come out, so though I had little energy, I took a short walk in the woods, thinking it might loosen me up and because I love being among the trees. I didn’t walk far or fast. On my way back, I sat on a bench and the end of a dock that overlooked the lake. The sun was warm, and there was a gentle breeze — perfect. Again, I asked the question — why am I here? What am I here to learn? What occurred to me is maybe I’m here to unlearn — to release.
Maybe I’m here to learn how to surrender. I’m always wrestling with something — making something happen. Even when I think I’m yielding, I’m mostly just forcing an opposing perspective. God, it’s so hard just to let go! I even try to force that. For instance, on this retreat, I had decided to deprive myself of music when my best meditations come with a certain kind of music. I was getting frustrated with my meditation’s low quality, yet I wouldn’t allow myself tunes, which always helps. Why do I have to make it so hard? So, I questioned that decision and toyed with the idea of changing my mind. Why not? Yes, I would play music for myself while here — at that exact moment, the wind chimes from my cabin sang. They had been silent. It made me smile and felt like affirmation from the Divine. I pondered how I believe I have to ‘seek’ a certain way — like Monks or Native Americans. I love music and movement. Enter through the heart. My heart wants music and music it will have. I’m learning to be kind to myself, which is precious.
I thought of all the people who love me. I know that I am truly cared for. I had asked people to think of me on Thanksgiving Day and maybe light a candle for me. I wondered how many candles were burning at that very moment. How blessed am I to know that I am loved? This is how God shows endearment to me. She brings me people who I can ask to light candles, and they do. I thought about my ancestors and wondered how nearby they were to me here as I sought to connect to the mysterious, eternal, and loving flow of life.
Then I thought of all the people I love who are trapped — stuck in sickness, sadness, anger, fear, and frustration. These people who hold precious parts of my heart. Can I ever be free if they are not? It’s a haunting question for me. I can get so consumed with the ‘goal’ of liberating them when I know we can only ever free ourselves. This is where impatience and regret have lived for a long time and where I have imprisoned myself trying to rescue them. I know I am not capable, but it’s quite a conundrum — I can feel so much guilt knowing they are trapped, and I am finding freedom. Can I let that go? Can I love them and know we are all on our own unique, delightful, painful, evolving journey? Mine is not theirs, and theirs is not mine. Can I let myself be happy when those I so desperately love are not?
The cabin had a beautiful, gigantic claw-foot bathtub right next to the bed. It was amazing. As the sun went down, playing soft music, I took a long warm bath by candlelight and reflected on the day. It’s really all about letting what is be — letting me be where I am today. Every day it seems like I’m becoming more of the person I want to be — human, mom, daughter, sister, friend, employee, manager, and neighbor. I need to relax and let it happen. It’s tough for me. I know what I want for myself and others, and it’s difficult not to get intensely focused on “making it happen.” I know it doesn’t work. Patiently, let life unfold — this is the message that settles into my soul.
I honored the spirit of Thanksgiving, recounting all of the people, places, things, and events I am grateful for, and as I drifted off to sleep, I prayed to “know.” To know the truth about who I am and who You (God) are — to know not so much in my head but in my cells. What immediately came back is that my cells know. It’s my mind that’s unsure. I’m so in my head almost all the time. The few times I think I’m successful getting out is with meditation and loud, binaural beat music. I can get lost in the music. I can get there some with yoga, too. Focusing on connecting movement to breath is meditative. There is a reason it’s called a practice.
In the morning, I woke again to rain. My body was sore, and I felt hungry but less shaky, and I had more energy. I thought about how my body was clearing so much. A gallon of water a day was flushing all kinds of toxins out. Maybe that was what made my body sore (the bed didn’t help). My skin looked amazing.
I had a beautiful experience in meditation (with music) that morning within the circle of crystals. I lay down on my yoga mat and tried to open myself completely. I did a little breathwork to begin, and I had a vision of God as Sophia. She wore white flowy clothes, and she whispered, “relax — I am with you.” I breathed, released, let go. My grandmothers, aunts, and the women of my family came to attend to my body while I shed more — more sadness, guilt, regret, grief. My grandfathers, uncles, and the men who love me stood in a circle around us — standing guard, holding the space, and keeping me safe while I let go of some of the darkness within me. I questioned if my mind was making it all up but what came back is it doesn’t matter — let go. I started feeling acute physical sensations in my body and a non-verbal message of assurance. My mind was active, but I kept connected to my breath, to my body, and repeating, “enter through the heart.” I could feel my heartbeat in my third chakra, which is all about identity and power. My heart is my identity and where strength is — not just in the intellect I have looked for it all along.
Then I felt a heavy weight right across my collar bones — like a yoke. I thought of the bible verse where Jesus says, “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble of heart; and you will find rest. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” Tears streamed on and on.
Again, I thought of those I love. What came is if I believe we are all One, attending to myself in this way — seeking connection and healing is also serving them. As I heal, everyone is healed. It was beautiful, and when it ended, I felt refreshed — lighter.
I had more energy, and the sun had come out. It was cool, and I felt chilly, so I grabbed my Tarpestry and went into the woods. I found a sunny spot and lay on the ground to soak it up. It felt so warm, and the earth smelled so good — like fall. There was a gentle breeze that released leaves into the air, and I watched them drift gently down. Again, I asked, “what am I here to do?” “More will be revealed,” was the answer. Synonymous with, “let life unfold.” It wasn’t the big vision I sought, but it was the consistent message I received. I drifted away in sleep, comforted by the sun, and content with my answer.
When I woke, the clouds were returning. It was hazy and growing cooler. On my way back to the cabin, I decided to take a canoe onto the lake. It was peaceful and pleasant, and I felt proud of myself, getting the heavy canoe in and out of the water, and my ability to maneuver it all by myself. I reflected on my independence, my durability, and the confidence I have in my physical abilities. I am strong, capable, and resourceful. This body is petite but durable and sturdy. I figure out how to move some heavy barriers with this little body of mine.
That night — my last night, I held a little ceremony. I made an enormous fire in the outdoor fireplace. I burned sage and sweetgrass, played tribal music, and prayed to connect to the truest part of me. I sat, mesmerized by the growing fire for a long time — watching the flames searching for more to burn. It reminded me of my insatiable desire. I want and want — it’s never enough. When will I be satisfied?
I brought small pieces of paper to write down the things I intended to release.
- My habit of wrestling with life: I often recognize, now, when I’m trying to force a solution, but not always. I find myself, lately, telling myself that I’m trying so hard. I want to let go. To be dedicated to finding and staying in the gentle and easy flow of life. To take up Jesus’s yoke.
- Impatience: so much good stuff is happening, but it’s never fast enough. I want the problems solved yesterday. Hurry, hurry, hurry seems ingrained in my psyche. I need to learn how just to be and let things unfold naturally. It always works out better that way.
- Guilt: For fuck’s sake, I’m tired of feeling guilty. I’m especially tired of feeling guilty about the mistakes I made raising my kids and the blame I voluntarily take on for the challenges they face today.
- Regret: I regret those mistakes, the hurt I’ve caused, the paths I didn’t take. I want to believe at my core that all of that was necessary for me on this journey.
- Shame: There’s no reason for it, but the old tapes still play sometimes; that I’m not good enough — I don’t do enough. Can I know my true, eternal worth every minute of every day? Is that even possible, or is this shame just a fundamental part of the human condition?
- Doubt: I doubt myself, I doubt my kids, I doubt God. It generates fear and serves no one.
- Fear: This one hit me hard, this time. How many times have I burned away fear? The most repeated guidance in the bible is fear-not (take heart, do not be afraid). I wish to release fear of mistakes, fear of financial ruin, fear for my kids, fear of the boogie man, fear of judgment, fear of rejection.
Fear of rejection hit hard. I know it’s a big one. It occurred to me how much of my regret, guilt, and self-doubt come from this fear — always hyper-vigilant to be sure “they” accept me.
One by one, I burned the paper, praying for release. Then, I wiped the tears from my face and sprayed myself with rose water, turned off the music, and enjoyed the fire and the sounds of night. I stayed there for a long time. I thought about how the day was a celebration of the elements. Laying on the earth, enjoying the breeze earlier (air), soaking in the tub and canoeing on the lake (water), the fire, and the sense of the ethereal in meditation. It was a beautiful expression of the holiness I seek.
It occurred to me — maybe I’m here to learn how to live — really live. Not just endure life or survive, but inhabit a sacred body in a sacred existence. I feel so young — I can’t believe I’m 50.
The next morning, my body sore from the bed, or the crazy detox from four days of fasting and flushing my body with a gallon of water a day, I felt full of energy. I had gotten so many lovely gifts on my quest for a vision. It wasn’t the burning bush I wanted, but a strong sense of meaningful messages to bolster my spirit for the next leg of my journey. I left the treehouse committed to patiently let life unfold while being dedicated to living a full, adventurous life. I want to continue to accept those I love and accept myself, right where we all are. Mostly, I want to stay in the flow of love and to remember to enter through the heart.
