Don Marco defines a shaman as “someone who lives in alignment with Nature.”  There’s more, he agrees, “but you don’t talk about it; you do it.”

Shamans don’t manifest from the spiritual realm to the physical realm on behalf of their own agenda; they work on behalf of Spirit’s agenda, Pachamama’s agenda.  Why?

Because they’re playing at a higher level, for greater stakes:  for the well-being of all, for the healing of the Earth and all our relations.

Don’t you love how the universe works?

Yesterday I posted a blog about claiming my shamanic heritage, all the while aware of inner eye-rolling.  When I myself encounter a westerner who calls herself a shaman, my first thought is, “Really? Make it rain.”

But sitting in the airport, I opened The Pleiadian Agenda, by Barbara Hand Clow, and began reading, “Cellular memory is the memory of all that has ever occurred in the universe that is encoded right in the cells of your body. You already know about this…”  In other words, the knowledge I am pursuing—or pursuing experiences that can wake me up to it—is knowledge we each already have.

A few pages later I read, “ideally, technologies are devices you invent that are an outward manifestation of some unknown power within yourselves; you invent them to find a way to make your own power comprehensible.  …[Thus] television teaches you that everything you see is actually perceptual because you know you are looking at a screen that makes images out of dots and not at a tree or a live person. So, what is an image? It is a transmitted idea, and that is all anything is!  From a shamanic perspective, if you can activate how images actually manifest in your brain, then you realize that… your cat only appears when your inner images draws it to you.  Once you really get this, you will finally be diligent about what ‘is on your mind.’  Humans with indigenous consciousness observe very carefully what is, or is not, on their minds.

“Remember, you created television to activate telepathy; telephones to learn how to transduce energy; and airplanes to remind you that you can fly and that distances are relative to speed.  In the new world, you are telepathic and you are seers.  You enhance the natural forces—nature—of your planet instead of clutter it with artificial things, and your computers are library tools that free you from cluttering your heads with facts.”

So, I’m not up to anything that you all are not up to, unless you’ve chosen to be a—to sleep through life–accepting the version of life transmitted via virtual reality, which predominantly urges us to consume or have sex–and failing to realize you can have a real life of your own–but you have to create it.  The Pleidians say too many of us are sleepwalking pawns of what they call the World Management Team—which also uses shamanic powers, but for different ends.

We are each sovereign beings, but must exercise our sovereignty.

And so it is.

I’m sitting at the gate in the international terminal at LAX, waiting for my LAN flight to Peru. The years of wanting to go to Peru, the months of saying I’m going to Peru, the weeks of awaking anxiously in the middle of the night realizing I AM going to Peru, whether I’m ready or not, are nearly over.  Eight hours from now—give or take a few for time differences—I will land in Lima and BE in Peru.

I’m surrounded by interesting-looking people.  The Peruvians around me seem to have a strain of Asian ancestry running through their veins.  The Indian and European genes are evident, and something else.  I like it.

Check-in was a breeze; my bag no problem; my carry-on no problem; oh your water bottle is full—come with me and drink it and I’ll walk you back to the front of the line.  Despite all my gear, clearing security was the easiest it’s been since 9/11.

So now the adventure begins.  People have asked me all week what I’ll be doing; why I’m going; why Peru; why now; do I know the man who’ll be my tour guide; why am I going alone aren’t I afraid; will I be safe; will I take ayahuasca; will I carry a weapon.  I don’t have a lot of answers. I’m going because it’s time. I’m going because I made a commitment to myself long ago; because this is the year to claim my shaman heritage, my spiritual ancestry; to touch the face of the Divine; to draw from the spiritual realm what I want to manifest on the planet: a world that works for everyone.

It’s mildly amazing to realize how long it’s been since I’ve thrown myself into such an adventure—and how much harder it gets to do the longer it’s been.  The world gets small and relatively known—my bed, my coffee, my relationships, my routine.  Not that’s a bad thing; quite the contrary,  the fact that it’s so comfortable makes it mesmerizing.  My life is good.  It’s rich.  Saying goodbye to the people and places I love brought anxiety for several nights and tears today. 

But it’s a big world out there.  Why confine oneself to a small corner?  Why not test the current, swim out beyond the breakers?  As my friend and teacher Mitsuo Aoki used to say, “Boats are safe in the harbor, but that’s not what boats are for.”

Thankfully I have supportive beloveds who encourage me to fly.  It’s easy to think I might not have taken the leap if not for their encouragement.  But now I’m here at the gate, waiting to board.

Thank you, Familia.  Thank you, Creator.  Thank you all teachers, encounters, and experiences that have brought me to this place.

They’re calling my row.

And so it is.

“There is only one life. That life is God.”

Ernest Holmes, founder of Science of Mind, wrote those words, which imply that we must respect all life–including our neighbor’s, including our own–because that life is divine; it is of God.

On tax day, consider this: According to the nonpartisan Office of Management and Budget (OMB), in 2012 the U.S. Treasury will collect $1.09 trillion in personal income taxes. At the same time, the OMB estimates that in 2012 “National Defense” expenditures will total $709 billion–in other words, more than half of all personal income taxes paid. That figure, however, is just the tip of the defense-spending iceberg. It doesn’t include certain actual “war-related fighting costs,” counter-terrorism activities, or the vast “homeland security” budget, among other items. A more comprehensive “estimate” puts total “national security” in 2012 at $1.22 trillion. In other words, it takes the entire personal income tax, and then some, to cover the costs of the American war machine–or what other observers would call “empire.”

Yet far from challenging these priorities, most Americans–including far too many so-called religious people–champion them.  They say, “But we have enemies. There are bad people in the world we must destroy before they destroy us.”

Clearly that is a belief we are holding, based upon a story we’ve been told. That story is running our national life.  That story is directing our foreign policy and has hijacked the national treasury.

But another story is possible.  When President Abraham Lincoln was advised by his colleagues to be ruthless in dealing with his enemies, he asked, “But don’t I destroy my enemies when I make them my friends?”

By the same token, doesn’t the United States do far more to combat terrorism and to alleviate despair, rage, and hatred by investing in human needs–at home and abroad–than by war, oppression, and starving all priorities other than so-called “defense”?

The numbers tell the story: we have plenty of money to build a world that works for everyone. We could redirect $709 billion to $1.22 trillion in annual defense expenditures and create a far more peaceful and prosperous world.  What we are lacking is the will.

No one can change the beliefs we hold, the stories we tell ourselves, but we ourselves.  We have sole dominion over our own minds.  We can change our mind, our thinking, our stories…and thereby change the world.

And so it is. 

There are so many ways to be unprepared. As my trip to Peru comes rushing towards me, I’m experiencing them all.

Physically, my neck and spine are on the mend—less stiff and painful, more flexible and relaxed—thanks to three sessions a week with the chiropractor. But basic structural integrity does not make one fit in terms of physical stamina, or cardiovascular strength. My husband Micheal has been warning that “This trip to Peru is going to kick your butt,” and I believe him…but how much change can one body accomplish in the 10 days remaining between me and departure?

My friend Susan, who last year completed the same expedition I am about to embark upon, said that one day she found the trek so arduous that she literally feared for her life.  The only thing that kept her going were the words of her teacher in Alaska, “Today is a good day to die.”  If Peru killed her, she figured, it would be a good death.

“Yeah, but you’d never do that,” Micheal says flatly.  “You’d just drop your pack, refuse to budget, and let someone else figure out what to do with you.”

I laugh at his certainty, but otherwise, heck yeah. I like that about myself.  Yes, I’d love to be in iron woman shape, but no point pretending if I’m not. Besides, why shoulder a problem other people are more equipped to handle in the first place? The quickest way to get help is to admit that you need it.

In the meantime, there’s no harm in getting as fit as possible before my adventure.  So today we headed out to hike Horn Canyon.  The guidebook says it’s 1.7 miles to Pine Camp, a “moderate to strenuous” climb, it says.  Sure, if you’re a mountain goat. It’s 1800 feet up!  That’s my definition of strenuous—even if I’m carrying nothing heavier than sandwiches.

As soon as we began our ascent out of the shaded canyon, we had to stop for breath every 100 feet–or less.  “Ah, sea level,” Micheal goaded, a commentary on the fact that my hikes in Peru would be at 12,000 feet.  With full pack.

After two hours of hiking we could see our destination–Pine Camp–visible in the distance–still a quarter-mile farther up. We called it close enough and turned to head back down.  You know you’re tired when even descent is hard work. 

We got back to the car—and then to the house—with that kind of exhaustion that promises you’ll sleep well after a shower.  The exhaustion signaled other benefits, as well.  All the uncertainty, frustration, agitation, and worries with which I’d started the day had been combusted through exertion.  I’d taken them up the mountain with me, and somewhere along the way they’d been consumed. I remembered them, but they weren’t alive in me any more.  In a grove of oaks and sycamores watered by Thacher Creek, I’d opened sacred space to the four directions—and the practice had served to ground and center me.  It reminded me that I am a being here on this Earth, in this body, in this place—not simply flesh, but connected to the invisible, the invincible, the infinite—and my concerns are trivial in the fact of That One.  My worries, my fears, my unpreparedness may be facts, but they are transmutable.  Through prayer, ceremony, and physical exertion they had been transmuted.

And so it is. 

This is my shamanic journey month. Before the new moon on April 20, I will fly to Cuzco, Peru, and embark on a 16-day pilgrimage that will take me to Machu Picchu, on to Lake Titicaca—the lake at the top of the world—to the islands of both the sun and the moon, and to temples and holy sites with ancient Q’ero names. I will participate in ceremonies, purifications, and various healings. I will sit at the feet of the master plant, ayahuasca, and learn what she has to teach me. 

But first I hit a wall.

That seems the way it goes with spiritual pilgrimages.  In my imagination, they’re going to be blissful and mind-blowing. I forget they’re like childbirth—first the labor, then the baby.

Despite the relief that came when I made the commitment to go—i.e., bought the ticket with my credit card—my subsequent anticipatory mood has been one of anxiety.  I wake up in the night panicking—not about anything in particular; just nameless fear.  The unknown?

Or is it the fact that I’m using literally the last of my financial resources—the outer reaches of my credit limit—to pay for it. Can this truly be a spiritual decision? Or is it that my mundane reality has become so dissatisfying that I’m throwing myself into a spiritual pilgrimage to distract myself from it?

Of course I’m working like hell to convert some of my pro bono clients to paying ones—and thereby address my financial crisis.  Little, by little, my efforts seem to be working…which, by my calculations, means that the floodgates will open and work will pour in about April 18^th—the day before I leave the country.

Spirit loves irony.

Last week I finally got tired of the pain in my back between my shoulder blades and made an appointment with a chiropractor.  He ran his tensometer up and down my spine and gasped when he saw the read-out on my neck.

“Oh my God, are you okay? Is something going on with you? Your neck is the tensest I have ever seen!”

I stared at him blankly before bursting into tears. 

“Well, now that you mention it, I have been a little tense.  It started with a car accident about six weeks ago, and now it’s affecting my jaw, my sleep, I’m grinding my teeth, I had to get a night guard, my shoulder hurts, I can’t turn my head…and I’m going to Peru in two weeks and I need to be able to carry a backpack and hike uphill.”

Is this the universe telling me I’m in no shape to go—spiritually, financially…and perhaps even physically?

I woke up in the middle of the night last night with the usual torments—only now my right kidney was aching too.  Despite my silent commitment to lay off the vodka this month in preparation for the ceremonies I’ll experience in Peru, I’d had two cocktails that night—plus a goodly supply of chocolate throughout the day.  Am I in full addiction mode, or what?  The ego is setting every known obstacle—and a few surprise ones—in my path, and I’m dutifully stumbling over each one.

Full of self-recrimination, I thought about the list of items on my “to-do” list and considered getting up and attending to a few of them, since I wasn’t sleeping anyway. But I was tired.  And it would be cold in my office. 

I thought about sitting with my medicine bundle and taking all of these cares and concerns “to the mythic and the spiritual.”  But I was tired.  Couldn’t I just turn them over to spirit in the comfort of my blankets?

Then I saw a glimmer of light out of the corner of my eye and instantly felt the reality of spirit all around me.  That is why I’m going to Peru: to consciously immerse myself in the spiritual.  To make my connection to It as real as my connection to a pile of Mastercard bills.  To so powerfully converse with the realm that sources the material world that I can be a clear conduit through which the material world manifests—powerfully, peacefully, lovingly—in seconds, minutes, or hours, rather than years, decades, or millenia. 

A voice inside me said, “It’s really up to you whether you’re ready to go to Peru, or not.  It’s up to you to decide whether these issues and challenges are reasons to stay home, or to go forward.  It’s up to you to say whether you’re a shaman.  If you say you are, act like one.  Don’t wait for the universe to give you validation.  It may be just as likely to test your resolve.”

Wrapped in the warmth of blankets and spirit I made my decision.  As a shaman, the universe responds to my commands.  It is done in my world as I declare.  To get myself in shape, I must get myself in shape. To make spiritual priorities my priorities, it’s up to me to manage my schedule.  To be supported by the work it is my purpose to perform, I must do the work, know its value, and declare it good; declare it whole; declare it done. Two weeks from today I’ll get on an airplane.  I’ll throw myself off the mountain of mundane reality and allow spiritual wings to lift me up. For labor and delivery.

And so it is.