The Ones Who Raised Me
Resourcing and relating with other-than-human-kin.
Who raised you? Not your blood or chosen family— but who were plants, animals, waters, and the landscapes that raised you? Who are the characters in your origin story? Where they loud, main characters? Or quietly in the background, maybe easily passed over, only noticeable now, looking back at photographs? One thing is certain: they were certainly there.
I grew up in Detroit, Michigan in the 1990s and always found it difficult to love that land. Original home of the Potawatomi, Peroia, and the Wyandot (I just had to look up those names, they were never “native” to me.) Suburban sprawl. Long, cold, grey, “dead” winters. The first time I left the state, I was 4, and we traveled to Florida. I was stunned at the lush beauty, and was so confused why someone would choose to live in a place like southeastern Michigan when Florida was an option! I joke that I am “Midwest Born and Fled” I left as soon as I could: after college. In coming into deep relationship with the desert where I am now, one of the first lessons shared with me was that all land is sacred. Even if I can’t feel it. Even if it doesn’t look as majestic as Sedona. In coming back to my roots, spiraling deeper into childhood healing, I present, the ones who raised me…
The Maple Tree.
Right in the middle of the backyard. It was the tallest tree I had ever seen, casting shade onto at least 4 different yards. It could be seen for block and blocks and blocks. It was rare to have such a large being in the back yard, city code often made sure they were tamed. This tree was many things. A beacon for the horrors that played out in that home. A metaphor: the branches could fall at any time, creating destruction— though, in the 14 years I spent in that house, they never actually did. A protector, but for whom? A mighty behemoth rising above: danger, danger… or rather…. nothing to see here…
It’s roots making the back patch of grass rather feral and wild, difficult to cut with a lawnmower — unlike the pristinely manicured front lawn. It was one way we would mark the passage of time: when are all of the leaves off of the tree before or after Halloween? Within a few years of moving out of the house, the tree was removed. I drove by and saw it’s absence. The space felt so empty, raw, and vulnerable. Not as easy to pick out on the block. Had it been there to help transmute some of the pain? Had the pain killed it? Or was it simply not needed any more. It was big, too big— in our culture, we often think things so big need to not be seen anymore, to be removed, that increases the chances of it being forgotten.
The Rouge River.
Contaminated from the auto industry and human supremacy. This was how I was taught about rivers. Growing up hearing stories of it catching on fire. Don’t get too close. It’s not safe. That’s toxic water. Don’t touch it. It would flood a few times a year, and the clean up efforts felt like they inspired Alex Mac. When it would flood, it would often shut down huge chucks of freeway, becoming a logistical nightmare. As if the river was saying: “How dare you violate me like this.” In school, we would learn about some of the fish that used to life in the river. The color would fluctuate between red, brown, gray and black, never having any visibility. The general sentiment was: “Oops! We fucked up a silly little river, but at least we have shareholder value and the Great Lakes!
Thunder and Lightning.
The Great Lakes generate a lot of thunderstorms. A steady soundtrack from the equinox to equinox. I didn’t have the language at the time, but these storms were cathartic to me. The somatic release felt like home. The flash of light. It wasn’t something you could hide from. The shaking in my bones. Like the heartbeat of the Divine. I’ve never understood how someone could deny God if they’ve ever seen lightning. It’s stayed with me, these ones have always been known kin. I have always been a storm.
In the I Ching, Hexagram 51 is Thunder: a dramatic breakthrough from lethargy. When good fortune has everything to do with remaining calm. Shocking events are, after all, not really shocking, but simply unexpected. In Buddhism, the vajra (a ritual object) symbolizes the properties of a diamond and a thunderbolt— indestructibility & irresistible force. Vajrayana is known as "Thunderbolt Way" implying the thunderbolt-like experience of enlightenment.
Cats.
While the others came to be instantly, it took longer to fill this space. I shared my house with 3 cats growing up. When I reach for them, it’s like reaching for a cloud. I wasn’t the one to feed them or clean their litter boxes, they weren’t particularity affectionate with me, their personalities feel blank. What I can acknowledge is that they were declawed, indoor cats. Confined to carpet and canned food. Owned by folks who confused control with love. So I suppose we had a lot in common.
For the past 2 years, as my world has split apart and turned inside out, the single thing that has kept me going is being able to resource with other-than-human-kin. The Atlantic Ocean, crows, wildfires, volcanoes, owls, datura, vultures, rivers, the Pacific Ocean, junipers, red rocks, wildflowers, the sun, the sky, the moon, have all been there for, providing guidance, love, support, companionship, reflection, co-regulation, and accountability. When we resource we Re-Source— connect back the Source of all things. By whatever name: God, Goddess, Universe, etc. Maybe other living humans are literally not around. Or maybe they are, but for whatever reason they are unable to be there for you in the specific ways you need at the specific time. It’s deeply supportive to “look at something pleasant” as we do deep somatic, shadow work/ trauma healing. Often just taking in the expanse and the color of the sky —for even a few seconds— can shift something deep within ourselves.
You’re not alone. You’re never alone. It’s just a matter of tuning in. Of paying attention. Of listening. Just like any interpersonal relationship: you can’t talk the whole time, you have to listen too. You also can’t just listen the whole time, that doesn’t build trust, you’ve got to share some of your heart with these ones.
My mission is to inspire others to be at home within themselves and buoyed by their abundance of kin. A foundational part of this is building relationships with these ones. For all of this and more, join me for Ignite Your Intuition: An Initiation into the Mysteries of Mediumship. A 3-month hybrid group and 1:1 mystery school cohort.
We begin on January 15th!
Join a cohort of folks that are remembering their ability to harness extra-sensory perception and their intuition to communicate with their ancestors as well as our other-than-human kin.
Together we will explore communicating with the unseen, creativity, ritual, altars, animism, boundaries, somatics, and energetic hygiene.
Designed specifically for beginners, though folks of all skill levels are welcome.
This is a devotional-deep dive. There won’t be much needed in between our time live, the magic and the work happens while we are together during gatherings. We’ll be together on Zoom twice a week for 75 mins each.
This mystery school initiatory cohort has two areas of focus: our ancestors of blood and bone, and other other-than-human kin — plants, animals, and landscapes. These two parallel threads will be woven together to create a rich fabric of relating and communicating with the unseen world that is rooted in ritual safety and our unique destinies.
You’ll be invited to sit under the oak tree, swim (cold plunge?) in the river, make eye contact with the owl for as long as she will let you, taste the mugwort, see how the meadow changes colors at sunset, count the spots on the ladybug, sleep with a stone from the mountain under your pillow.
Spending time will allow for the channel of communication to flow. What are their personalities? What makes a waterfall a waterfall? What is the wisdom—or warning— of the salamander? What patterns, traits, cycles, or wisdom does the cedar want to share with you? There’s no “right” answer we’re trying to discover. Any thought, idea, image, or dream that occurs to you as you spend time with these beings is worthy of your attention and care.
Learning to navigate these other kinds of relationships is not only a fundamental skill, but also supportive of personal transformation and healing. This work is a container for having emotionally corrective experiences that may not be possible with other living humans, expanding our capacity for bliss and intimacy.