It’s Not What You Think…

As humans, we make many spiritual contracts with each other. We don’t think of these “contracts” as “spiritual” and often we don’t even think much about their contractual natura. Most of these contracts happen with little thought. In business, for example, financial transactions in exchange for goods and services happen daily in our lives. We don’t think of these transactions as “spiritual” except perhaps when we feel cheated in an exchange. When we feel like we aren’t “getting what we paid for” in business, we feel hurt and angry about it. If we experience a pattern in our business relationships of not getting what we pay for, we can develop some strange spiritual issues including depression or anxiety, but also anger management issues and even physical health problems.

Spiritual transactions and contracts matter, as we all know, or at least sense. When transactions are imbalanced, we feel this problem and we react to it. Some of us might simply feel the imbalance and say nothing. These people might manifest illness in the physical body. Others might react with anger, but be able to articulate the source of the anger. In any case, spiritual contracts that are imbalanced tend to translate into material events and behaviors that seek some kind of resolution.

A business transaction is a relatively mundane example of a spiritual contract. In comparison, marriage is an example of a big and very important spiritual contract. Many readers might choose to stop here. The material that comes next is a bit earth-shattering, but maybe some of you have had these thoughts intellectually. I’m approaching my 50th year now, so I’m older and thus, a bit jaded at times. I’m the crone…the grandmother, so these thoughts that I’ll share next were like an earthquake in my world that shook all the structures to the ground and forced me to start over in terms of my Inner Universe.

I believe in marriage and I’m glad that I’m married to my husband. I’m glad that my daughter is married to her husband. So what I’m about to say might sound strange and it might even be hard to understand in the written word. On the other hand, I think that most of us feel what I’m going to write about below.

My daughter was single for 9 months after her current husband left her when she was 7 months pregnant. Day-by-day, I carried the weight of my daughter’s singledom and her possible fate as a single mother for 9 months. I looked into the world of single mothers with agony to try to find the happiness, but felt like finding such a thing, for my daughter, might break her. 

I was never taught to be The Grandmother. My own mother was dead (on the inside) before I was born. She always stared into the faraway space. Her mother was also dead (on the inside) before she was born. And her mother, my great-grandmother, actually died when my grandmother on my mother’s side was only 18 years old. 

On my father’s side, my grandma was sent away after her mother died. She became like my young step-daughter. This grandmother became The Mother to a younger cousin when she herself was still a child. This grandmother, though lithe and physically quite healthy for most of her life was barely able to move emotionally. She never once looked me in my eyes.

Most of the major religions of the world, Islam, Christianity, and Buddhism, all focus almost exclusively on The Mother and The Son. In the epic stories that make up the myths of these religions, there are (essentially), no daughters, no wives, no women…no grandmothers and no great-grandmothers. There are also no men, no husbands, and no fathers and certainly no grandfathers or great-grandfathers. Because the spiritual stories that we’re taught as young people impact us on a deep level, even if we lived in relatively atheist households, we react to these stories on a deep level and we try to find a way into a role within them in our own lives as adults.

We use the stories unconsciously, without thinking, as a guide. This is the purpose behind Sunday School, after all, and all of the religious training systems that seek to indoctrinate young minds and bodies. The goal is well-intentioned, but coming to a point of digression with the reality of our modern lives. 

If I’m born into a family as a girl and I grow up as a daughter, my role in that family when I’m a child and even into young adulthood is INVISIBILITY until I grow up and become The Mother in my own family. Some daughters become silent. They try to be as good as possible in order to be seen, if only for a moment. Some daughters go crazy even while they’re still very young. They develop a mental illness under the contract that they have in the world to be INVISIBLE. I’m using all caps intentionally because it’s hard to be INVISIBLE. It’s paradoxical to write that word in all caps and in bold. Some daughters are bold, yet they have to try to be invisible – they have to try to blend, but they can’t. So they can never be good enough and it drives them mad. Who from the Bible, do I emulate as The Daughter in any family? I’m not saying that there are no daughters in the Bible. What I’m saying is that the daughters who exist in the stories in the Bible don’t matter. No one cares about them.

If I’m born into a family as a son, I only matter as The Son. I will never matter as a father (stay with me readers and let me complete the whole thought on this) or as a man. My destiny is to sacrifice myself on an altar of some kind, be it by working too much, by running in a herd of other men who are also acting out the sacrificial script, or by actually hurting myself somehow or becoming ill. As The Son, my job is also to disappear, but with greater drama and with the sense that I’m sacrificing myself somehow. Men today disappear into video games depicting war, for example, and they act out the story of themselves fighting and dying with honor over and over again compulsively. Men seek out other men and they all disappear together like Jesus and the Disciples…or Buddha and his Disciples. This is the story of The Son in all of the major world religions, not just Christianity. The Son must leave the family or he must have no family. He should feel as though he is being crucified emotionally (which is something that I experience, as the wife of a man on this mission, as being “mopey”). He must die in the service of his male disciples, not his own children and certainly not his wife (as none of the main characters of the major religions had a wife except Mohammad who had numerous wives. There is no human father in the Bible, in the Koran, or in the Buddhist teachings. The father leaves. The father goes off to care for the masses and he leaves the family behind to die, to starve…whatever. We call the father “God” or “Allah” or, as in Buddhism, we just say that there is nothing in the position of god-the-father and this is the highest aspiration of our spiritual selves.

So the would-be father lives his life as The Perpetual Son. He is never a man and can never (according to these systems) ever become a man. 

When Lydian and I studied Arabic, the woman who taught us joked with us, in Arabic saying, “All men are boys.” I was shocked. In English, I clarified this statement back to her. 

“Really?” I said. “Women here in Egypt say that too about men?” 

She laughed and said, “Absolutely”. So men everywhere are nothing but little boys to all of us women. That idea wasn’t very funny to me actually, but we all laughed about it nonetheless because, while it wasn’t really funny, there also didn’t seem to be anything that we, the women, could do about it.

…but why are all men “little boys” to the women? That’s an important question and I would say that it became a life mission (unstated, of course, because The Mother can not search for answers while she’s caring for all the un-grown-up Sons in her family) to figure it out and overcome it. My own father can’t help but see me as The Mother and often requires me to step into that role. My step-father-in-law has similar requirements for me when we talk. They aren’t conscious of what they’re doing to me. I’m only conscious of it now because I’ve asked the sacred medicines to understand what the hell it is that’s going on to makes it so hard to be male and female in marriage and family relationships.

At some point after John and I moved to Mexico, after we’d worked with the sacred medicines for a little while (and not very intensively yet), I started having this strange reaction to my wedding ring. Every now and then, when we were sitting and watching TV or even talking and just relaxing, my thumb would wander up to touch the ring on my finger and I would feel panicky. In my mind, the panicky feeling was about being able to take the ring off…could I still get it off my finger? I would check. Whew…yes, I could still pull that ring off my finger. The panicky feeling would abate and I’d forget about it (as this physical reaction seemed really crazy to me). 

I love being married to John. We’ve had plenty of problems in our lives, but he’s my partner and I love him. I have submitted myself to this love in the sense that I know I can never escape from it no matter how angry he makes me. But he’s submitted himself to his love for me in a similar way. We’ve been through a lot together and he’s the one I want. To get to this place with another person in intimate relationships (including homosexual relationships) involves a very painful trial and often a child (but not always) is involved to represent the final bond. Even as I try to write this paragraph, I’m aware that families can take many shapes and forms (I have my master’s in family psychology, after all) and that these shapes and forms grow out of necessity demanded by the ancestry and histories of the family tree. For me to judge the shape or form of another family would be ludicrous. I can only work actively on my own tree and that work is heavy and difficult at this stage in my life – an ongoing project. But I can tell my stories and I can be a conduit for some of the plant and animal medicines – the sacred indigenous medicines that can help people access the wisdom of their own tree and pull that wisdom up into their conscious awareness so that it can, in theory, be shared story-wise with a broader audience.

I know, I know…that sounds so cheesy. Ancestry…family trees and sacred medicines, etc. Whew! If you feel turned off by this material, it’s okay, dear Reader. If this all sounds a bit woo-woom, I understand. I’ve been there. I would’ve thought it woo-woo several years ago too. I appreciated Karolina, the curandera who’s own husband was killed when her boys will still just babies – she introduced these ideas to me years ago. I scoffed at her then, but now I get it. And the time is ripe for some controversy on this topic before things heat up in this new era of things.

So here we go…

…let’s go back to wedding ring panic attacks and why I would feel panicky about wearing a wedding ring that bound me to my husband, the man that I love (despite his various and sometimes serious imperfections)? (To be fair, I also have severe imperfections.)

I got to answer that question one day when I took psilocybin mushrooms to deal with a feeling that seemed to be some vestige of trauma – my own trauma, at first. I wasn’t sure. But this was not my trauma that I was feeling – it was a bigger trauma. I could say that it was ancestral trauma. Not everyone who reads this article will be able to relate to what I’m saying here. I know that. The idea of feeling ancestral trauma and being able to single out the trauma and say, “Nope, that’s not mine.” would’ve sounded really silly – fruit-loopy, in fact – to me several years ago. I couldn’t untangle what was mine in this lifetime from what belonged to my tree and I wouldn’t have wanted to know at that time what I’d have to go through in order to be motivated to get to where I am now. But in any case, not every family tree has suffered in the same way as the women in my family lineage – and the men too. Every family tree has its own sickness right now and a lot of the people on earth right now are at least a little conscious of the fact that they’re trying to heal something about the past. Maybe that’s part, just part, of the reason why 27% of all families are estranged from each other in the United States.

On John’s side of the tree, there’s a sickness that I refer to as “firsts and seconds”. HIs side of the tree almost always produces a second wife or a second husband to fulfill some contract or need for balance. There are first and second daughters, first and second sons. In order to be acceptable as a daughter, one of the daughters has to leave, die, or be sick. It’s a complicated and very burdening pattern in his family and it derives from his ancestor’s having to immigrate more than once within 100 years and lose some of their children and loved ones through the process.

Right now, one of the Seconds in our family, is very ill. This man, I won’t say who it is, whom I love, could live if he wanted to, but he is under contract to sacrifice himself and die. A son can live for as long as his parents are alive and for as long as he is still a “real” son. But men don’t exist, so he can never be a man unless he untethers himself intentionally from this spiritual contract. In order for my relative to be alive according to this spiritual contract, he has to be The Son to his wife. His wife also lives under the marriage contract as The Mother and not the wife. Right now, this man is sick enough with a disease that he’s at home being cared for by her. Normally, he would sacrifice himself to his work and that was all fine and okay. They worked it out because he was gone all the time. It worked well enough for this couple. He was never home. But now, he has to conform to this same obligation to act as the sacrificial son, but within their home and under the care of The Mother, his wife.

The wife enjoys the fact that her husband can finally see and appreciate her as a loving person rather than always running away, according to his contractual obligations. She works hard to try to do the “right thing” in terms of his health. It’s not their fault that this story of Jesus and the Virgin Mother is playing itself out like this in their relationship. My ancestry and John’s ancestry (they’re the same ancestry through Lydian) has been conditioned by rod and stone by and as a result of the Christian religion in its various forms. I’m descended from Jews who converted in order to escape torture under one of the Ivans the Terrible (as I recall). The family members who descended from this Jewish lineage were fervent in their Catholicism. Jack-the-Ripper is related to me distantly…a man who murdered Prostitutes and who was certainly sensitive to this problem of the Virgin-Mother (also, at times referred to as the Virgin-Whore – in that paradoxical representation, the Virgin-Whore is regarded also as The Shepherdess and a sacred medicine that specifically acts as this goddess, Salvia divinorum). On the other side of my family are women who were burnt at the stake for witchcraft. But those storylines end here with John and me in the sense that we acknowledge them and allow ourselves to feel them using the sacred medicines.

When we allow ourselves to feel feelings…something that simple, and just allow them to pass through us and tell their stories, we release the past. It’s not as easy as it sounds. It is as simple as it sounds though. To pay witness to the most painful stories of our ancestors allows the leaves, the 7th-10th generations of ancestors past, to fall from the tree and finally, at long last, to release the weight of all this pain and fertilize the soils of the ailing family tree.  

The mushroom trip that helped me feel The Firsts and The Seconds and this story of The Mothers and The Sons that John and I have carried on our backs was awful and scary. It wasn’t fun, but it released us gently from a gripping type of pain that we fought about a lot without realizing what was really causing these battles. Last weekend, Lydian and I went out in the middle of the night and did a scary psilocybin trip that felt like descending into madness. Normally, the psilocybin world is familiar and I can navigate it, but this trip offered me no handholds until I’d felt the crazy…We called it aptly The Madness because the trip was about the first woman in my lineage who’d lived in a shamanic world, who was “colonized” by Christiniaty. The older women in her family, who had been a source of balanced wisdom for the entire clan, and they were suddenly useless and invisible. They were regarded by Christian eyes as witches and they were damned no matter what they tried to do in this religion. This First Female had been raised, for part of her life as a maiden who would enter under the protection of the Wise Mothers and Wise Grandmothers when she gave birth to her first child. But under Christianity, she was separated from her family so that she could be re-doctrinated and it was horrifying and terrifying. It was like being sent to hell and the God of this Christian religion was experienced as though it was a demon because the men were ruthless in their dealings with women.

My ancestors after that have been, like me, running and running and running ever since. They moved from here to there. The women…The Mothers (because that’s all that they could be under this system) became judgmental and cold rather than becomeing beings of kindness, warmth, light, and intuition. The men could never be good enough because of that first man, whoever he was, that imposed this system on the women and also the men. And the men, The Sons (because they could never attempt to be husbands, men, or fathers),  became like Jesus and they ran away to be with the other men, to try to ensure that, through his sacrifice and inability to ever feel love or comfort, would become good enough. 

I felt one of the young women in the younger generation and how she acts as The Mother for her younger siblings and feels a powerful sense of responsibility toward them even as they reject her in favor of their biological Mother. But her biological mother is a single mother and so at times, my this young woman has to also be her mother’s mother, as no other role exists. This young woman’s mother plays out a great sickness in their ancestry and now that I’m not crone and not The Mother anymore (technically I’m The Grandmother), I can see her and this great weight that she carries.

The culture didn’t guide us into a state of harmony under the spiritual contract of Christian marriage. All the older, “wise” women were actually crazy when I was the young woman. So I did the best I could and it was often just the same dishes that were served to me in my own youth…until I started working with the sacred medicines.

At this juncture though, I need to clarify something that was not clear to me when I started working with the sacred medicines. I think that it might be necessary for a lot of women and men to start their work with the sacred medicines with skepticism. But the sacred medicines open the Pandora’s box of the past, so when you start, you have to, at the very least, accept that you’ll have to keep going. If one sacred medicine is harsh with you and you develop some physical or emotional issue as a result of working with it, sit with another of the medicines to try to understand. Don’t run away from the medicines. Don’t try to pretend like you won’t need these medicines for the rest of your life to get through the major transitions into new roles. We’ve been running now for generations from these medicines and they are, now more than ever, our only hope. 

I feel strongly – I believe – that my family tree won’t or would not have survived past my granddaughter’s generation without the intervention of these sacred medicines.

We love our parents and our family, but the bond with the older generation has been broken so that we can heal and hopefully “right the tree”. This is just our story and it’s not necessarily your story – maybe you don’t know your story. It’s likely that you don’t. In any case, I work to help my family overcome the past right now. My clients are my surrogate family and they sometimes play roles for the ancestors too. They step into those roles to serve a purpose and I can help them when that happens. For me, it’s like a practice-run for family members who will hopefully decide one day to feel what needs to be felt and experience the stories from the past that were too horrible for words. Does that sound too scary? But that’s the job. And once the stories are released, the air is light and the sun is sunny in a way that you will never experience in your entire life until you do the work. For my client, they get to feel like they belong to my family for a time until they can tune into their own lineage and ancestry to heal it. Most of this work is just emotional – most of it is about allowing yourself to feel something that’s really awful or strange and see the story that the feeling tells. Story-release for the ancestors is not pleasant as a general rule, but it is powerful and it’s really amazing to watch distant family members awaken out of some kind of sickness or “stuckness” because you released an ancestor from the past who had fixated on them. If you’re having trouble following this idea, check out Bert Hellinger’s Constellations Therapy to get a feel for the model I’m using to put this material into words. 

As I write this though, I have to make this warning: If you think that you can save a sick parent, this isn’t in your cards. You can only look forward if you want to be healthy. You can respect and honor the sick parent for the weight that they carry. You can do work on yourself, which will make your sick parent happy because you’ll be happier. But that sick parent has to find their own way to this material. If, like me, you’re The Grandmother or even The Great-Grandmother in your family and you see some kind of sadness or sickness in the younger family, your work with the sacred medicines will be powerful depending on your Intention. 

We can only do active work for the younger generation through the sacred medicines. The active, physical work with the sacred medicines should only be done on those who are younger than us. Sometimes, in some cases, you can work on an older sibling who’s close to you in age, but only with their permission (permission is sometimes granted on another plane even if the sibling is unwilling or unable to give permission on this plane). In other words, we should never try to dance the dance of the Older Ones. We only learn the Old Dance as children. As adults, we have to learn to dance many dances…the dance of the animals…the dance of the younger generation in order to feel them and understand their pain…the dance of the Guides if compelled to do so. We have to be dancing many dances and not get stuck in the steps of The Older Ones. Never ever the dance of The Old Ones. We can feel them though and let them tell their stories as we sit stationary with the medicines. And the medicines will help us know the history (sometimes you can find evidence of the stories in the genealogical data online) of ourselves. It can help you understand what you’re searching for and what you hope to find when you stare out into the world with desperation.

Going back to that mushroom trip about Mothers and Sons, I came back to the house, still a little trippy, to announce that we all needed to get divorced. John, Naing Naing, and Lydian agreed with this sentiment. When forced to look at the spiritual contract of marriage under Christianity as a model of the universe, daughters don’t exist. Sons must sacrifice themselves. Many sons, as a result, are inclined toward homosexuality in order to avoid this and other aspects of their fate as men (remember: men do not exist in Christianity). Girls might be inclined toward homosexuality too in order to become more visible in the Christina Universe. Sons who would like to become men can never become men. Women look down as The Mother on these “men who act like boys” and we judge them and sometimes hate them with coldness. Sons who want to be fathers face The Mothers who won’t allow it under a system that dances them like puppets toward a fate that’s always tragic – a rendition of things that have played out for centuries in John’s and my ancestry.  

People who are homosexual and involved in gay marriage relationships have to figure out the dance of this modern era. They literally can’t dance the dance of The Old Ones and this is the whole point of homosexuality. It divorces an individual from their past in a very dramatic way that’s hard for anyone to ignore. There’s purpose in it and I believe that a lot of gay partners can find ways to resolve their problems in relationships by working with the sacred medicines.

From my own personal experience, as the daughter in my family of origin, I was invisible. INVISIBLE. I walked that line of being a Virgin Whore in my youth. I was the maiden, but no one could see me or hear anything that I said. It was only through my sexual behaviors that I could be seen and only by Sons. 

But I was a second wife in a family where being Second is an advantage. My husband had lost a wife…and a child to divorce. This pained him, so he paid attention to me, this Second Wife. And according to another contract, his divorce decree with his first wife, I was not John’s wife until my step-daughter turned 19. This was why my wedding ring only started to give me anxiety when he and I moved with Lydian to Mexico. My step-daughter turned 19 at around this time.

My own daughter, Lydian, was also invisible as the daughter, but she was our only child so she was more visible to John and me than I was. John and I fell from grace with the church nearly 30 years ago when the pastor of our church came over with the map of the graveyard to help us find a place to bury our son, after he was stillborn. The pastor announced, on this visit, that our son was in hell as were all babies who had not been baptised.

We had a son, but he was sacrificed early, before birth. I wouldn’t have ever believed that at some point in my life that I would be able to see this as something “lucky” that saved my own daughter from a fate that would’ve mirrored my own as a young woman, or something much worse (that’s a story for another time).

Needless to say, in just one sentence, that pastor destroyed me. He cast me and my loved ones into hell.  Whatever I was before that moment, even after giving birth to a dead baby, I was crushed into a million pieces by those words and that rule in the contract about Christian babies and baptism. The Christian universe revealed itself to me as a sort of hell that I had to try to escape from. And I took my husband and my daughter with me to do it. We called it “worldschooling” (or actually “homeschooling” as the word “worldschool” did not yet exist).

From that moment forward, every effort, every fiber of my being was bent toward the effort to escape from this contract. My mind wasn’t fully on-boarded, so I acted sometimes for reasons that didn’t logically make sense. But John and I ran and ran and ran. I said, “Let’s go.” as his Second Wife (actually just a mistress according to an overlying contract with the state of Nebraska about his allegiance to his first family through my step-daughter) and he listened to me. I was NOT his mother… I was not THE cold, icy Mother…just a mother, at that time. I was sexual and attractive. He followed me out of want, not out of necessity. And that saved us. That’s how his side of the family saves people right now. It’s very sick and very unconscious, but heal-able. John and I thus became the first “digital nomads” and the first “worldschoolers”. We ran and we ran and we ran. I made sure that we traveled primarily for long periods to poorer, third world countries. Once there, I sought out two things: ways that people were healing themselves outside of conventional medicine and places of extreme poverty.

When we went back to our Home Base in the states, we worked diligently on a Halloween event that was, basically, Constellation Therapy but disguised as a haunted house. I see it now. That’s what we were actually doing.

This effort to try to escape from a Big Sickness in the Family was clumsy and not extremely well-defined at the time. It took shape as we went along at first. But whenever we found ourselves at an intersection with extreme destitution or poverty, I stared down those streets with such desperate intent – an intent that I couldn’t put into words try as I might – to find something. I had no idea what I was searching for at that time. But I still searched. I’d look down those dirty, unpaved streets to see children in shreds, playing in dirty ponds of water. And I would wonder about happiness and whether this type of poverty permitted room for happiness that I hadn’t known through my own American style of poverty. Poverty had been a weird escape hatch for John and me from a serious and “chronic” digestive illness that John had had when I met him. It had seemed incurable and then, when we were living in an RV and unable to buy certain types of food, the illness remitted permanently. So poverty became this focal point for me. And it did, eventually lead me to a thatched hut in the Amazon River basin where people prepared their nightly meal on the ground, 2 fish on a piece of paper, gutted. That was the first time that I saw The Old Ways and people who were still following them. It was a mere glimpse, but it was enough for me. That night, I saw my first Ayahuasca ceremony. It makes sense that these two things were side by side. Two days later, having been estranged from my parents for 4 years, I reunited with them. But at that time, I never got close to the thought about Mothers and Sons that I see so clearly now. What drove me was a feeling (sometimes vague, sometimes powerful) of desperation to find something unnamed.  I rarely or maybe never spoke to John or Lydian about any of this when we traveled. In fact, as I revealed this sentiment to Lydian on our last psilocybin trip together in the middle of the night, crying the words, we ran and we ran and we ran (she had been with me and John through all of it, of course), she has been protected, as a child from what we ran from and also what we were trying to run toward. The content was new to her. She hadn’t know John and I felt like we were running. It was, in fact, the sole purpose behind traveling at that time. 

It was, I suppose, essential that my son-in-law be Theravada Buddhist in order for me to see the stories of Buddhism and their toxic influence on him and on his family of origin in Myanmar. The poison of it was obvious to me as an outsider in the Buddhist Universe, even though I’d spent a fair portion of my own life studying Buddhism recreationally (thinking, I suppose, that this religion was story-less and simply about peace and finding peace – how naive of me). Observing the toxicity of the “father” (the Buddha) who leaves his new wife and baby in order to pursue his own peace and tranquility, in order to teach other men how to leave their families to pursue their own selfish peace and tranquility – the story of the Buddha in Theravada Buddhism – which is, of course, just another version of the story of the sacrificial Son, it was easy for me to see, as a woman-on-the-outside, that this story could lead to really bad outcomes for women and children in families. And indeed it does. Families in Myanmar, for example, sometimes use intellect to try to balance out this universe of beliefs that shapes their reality, but the older we get, the harder it becomes to not act it out and eventually, without the sacred medicines, we all become either The Mother or The Son.

For readers who have made it this far and who are devout believers in the religions of Jesus, Muhammad, or the Buddha, kudos. I still find interest in all three of these men, but the structure of the religion needs a major revamping that includes women and families.

So many of today’s worldschoolers today are single mothers which is inceredibly challenging. I see the worldschool movement as an effort toward searching for something on behalf of the lineage and the ancestry of an entire family. That’s a tall order for single mothers with children. It’s hard enough for families with two heads of household. Single men and single women who head out into the world as Digital Nomads, by and large, are also searching for the unnamed Something. Not always, but sometimes. The past feels jaded, if not horrifying. The requirement to dance the dance of The Older Ones beckons with a very toothy, fanged smile. What are the other options? So people run…and run…and run.

If you’re running and you don’t know why, I’ve just presented you with a Big Thought. It takes time to digest this kind of thing. A part of you might be utterly repulsed. But if another part of you feels open and that’s all that you need. I only know that for me, this is what’s true. It might not be true in any kind of ultimate sense for you and your family tree, but if you’ve taken the time to read this far, you must have some kind of openness to you that makes you special in some way.

Open the Pandora’s box and let the frogs and bats out. Begin the work and then, over time, you can continue it in some form. And the darkness takes flight in bursts to leave something open for the future…a new way and a new Reality, complete with sunshine and fresh challenges. If you’re weary of carrying the ancestral past and the weight of your family while also being cast into exile as a traveler, consider working with the sacred medicines (there are many of them throughout the world) to find the wisdom of your own family tree (which might differ somewhat from the wisdom of my tree and my house). If you have children, bring them with you (always take your kids with you, if you can). These things, the medicines, have been sacred for thousands and thousands of years and they existed before human civilization for our use to heal ourselves and our families. Family has always been the unit through which Wisdom is transmitted. If you’re single and a Digital Nomad and you feel like you’ll never meet a compatible partner, begin working to release the stories of the past to change the narrative of your own future.

To schedule a time to work with one or more of the sacred medicines, contact us at info@medicinassagradas.com.