In Seward, the campgrounds were all full which was just as well. Seward’s city campgrounds are bumper-to-bumper RVs and nylon-to-nylon tents. I prefer more space. And I was crabby as backtracked to a Forest Service campground I’d seen as I drove in to Seward.

While I was getting gas (which you do at almost every gas station because you never know), I talked with the grey bearded big guy behind the counter. He thumbed toward a beat up pick-up truck camper and said, “I’ve been on the road for seventeen years in that. Just drive up Exit Glacier Road. You’ll find a spot. Forest Service land has lots of turn outs to camp in.” “Thanks,” I told him. He added, “Hey, camp at the first turn out before the campground. You can live in those privies they’re so clean!”

He was right. There were many turn outs but I drove the eight miles up to the campground anyhow. It was full. So I pulled into the first turn out before the campground as the guy suggested and joined three RVs and an SUV on the concrete. I don’t quite agree that one could live in the outhouse, but it was clean.

Before I left Homer, I’d rearranged the stuff in my car so I could sleep in the back if I wanted to or couldn’t set up a tent easily. This turn out spot was my test. All I had to do was pull some stuff from the back and load it onto the front seats then place the sleeping pad down, roll out the sleeping bag and crawl in.

It all worked just fine except the crawl in part. I had to be a contortionist to get in the side door all hunched over and thread my way into my sleeping bag. Once in, I fell fast asleep with Keesha’s slow breathing softly lulling me into my dreams.

The next morning I woke to steamed-up windows and fog covered mountains. I pried myself out of the sleeping bag and uncurled to stand on the blacktop. One by one, the RVs left. Soon only Keesha and I were left to watch the sun’s fingers caress the fog off the face of the glacier, brushing the white face with gold.

I perched on the curb, hot tea in hand and laughed. Here I was sitting on a concrete curb, cooking my breakfast on blacktop, after sleeping in my car and I couldn’t be happier!

My heart danced with the sun, holding hands with the glacier and I burst with a feeling a freedom. “I am free,” I shouted to the glacier. “I am free,” I called to the raven. “I am free,” I grinned at Keesha who grinned back and said in her special canine language, “Yes you are!”

But the universe, or whatever you want to call the force that permeates all, had other ideas. That force clobbered me and knocked me awake. And life was never the same after that.

Because you see, under the hood of all that success was stress and fear. In the relationship. In the business. In myself. The symptoms were there for me to see if I’d been able to see them.

I remember being in a tile shop, looking over millions of tile samples. My partner and I were arguing heatedly. More heatedly than kitchen tiles deserved. It was a war of wills. Who would control the future of the home? The tiles were like chess pieces in a deadly serious battle about the future of the relationship.

My cell phone beeped. I fielded questions from one of my consultants about some client crisis. After putting out that fire, my phone beeped again. I negotiated with some VIP who was really miffed that he was not seated at a front -row table for the big fundraising dinner I was co-chairing. The voice yelling at me assured me he was a major donor. I made a call to make that problem go away and turned back to arguing about tile.

Not really a big deal. Just the stuff of daily life for a busy person. But it never stopped. Most importantly, I did not feel I was in the flow of life. Underneath the successful façade was a crumbling foundation. The stress built.

One day as I drove downtown, I called a woman I’d hired to work with our dog and cats and got her voice mail. Just as the beep sounded, a car cut me off. I was angry and I let him have it. I screamed at him. Effenheimers and other choice words flying with rage out of my mouth. I must have looked demonic to other drivers. Suddenly, I remembered the beep and realized I was leaving a voice mail. Now I know you can press star and re-record. But in my flustered rage, I sent off the voice mail.

Uh oh. Now I had to leave a second, hang-dog, apologetic voice mail. Embarrassing to say the least. When I talked with her later, I apologized again. There was this pregnant pause, and she laughed, “Road rage!”

See what I mean? Symptoms.

I don’t even want to get into the issues with my relationship. After we moved back into the house, they got worse. Too many tears. Too many arguments. Too many misunderstandings. I was exhausted and angry and confused and distraught.

I felt I was hitting some sort of emotional rock bottom. There’s no 12-step program for that. So I took my dog, Duncan, for a walk. We walked down the suburban street towards the trail. Tears streaked my face. I didn’t care if anyone saw me. I was miserable.

Now before I tell you the next part, you need to know that I did not, and still don’t really believe in God. I grew up Catholic, felt spiritual, but am far from religious. My church has been the church of the wilderness, the church of the earth, the church of the mystery of life.

But for some reason, this low point was a trigger, and I did something unusual. I spoke from that deep place inside. The part of you that is just you. Call it heart or soul. What ever it was, it or I said the force that some call God, “I give. I can’t do this anymore.”

It was a moment of pure surrender. And something happened.

I felt a deep heaviness lift from me. I felt lighter like a physical weight I’d been carrying was gone. And I knew without a doubt that I’d be okay. I also knew that from that moment on, I’d never be the same again.

I wish I could tell you that miracles occurred and life got immediately better. But that’s not how it works. What did happen was I made changes and I set off on a course of life that’s taken me places I never dreamed I would be. I’ve experienced sublime joy. But it’s not been all fun or easy. I’ve had to wade into some dark places, learn some tough lessons.

Was it worth it? Absolutely. I am an artist and my life is my art. I work at living life to the fullest. And whatever I do, I immerse in it – all in. But I honestly believe that after that moment, I didn’t have a choice. I’d swallowed the red pill of truth and was headed down the rabbit hole.

So, remember when you find yourself in the darkest times, the times you feel you’ve lost your way or lost your heart, that seeds germinate underground in the moist darkness. And if you surrender to the cracking of your shell, I guarantee you will be amazed at the growth that will shoot out of you.

See you in the rabbit hole. Let’s go.

You want to know
how to experience something
so moving
that it makes the bottom
of your heart shiver
I can tell you
first
you need to enter
your heart’s dwelling
throw open the shutters
blow dust off the tables
and notice her there
red and black
quivering
gazing at you
then open the door
step into life
she may be fearful,
but she will trust you
walk with her along the snow-covered path
let her run free in the woods
and remember her wild ways
she’ll find you later up the path
wary, wondering how close she can get to you
she will creep up slowly like the wild red fox
on the trail on New Year’s day
his red body bright
upon the shimmering snow
she will be skittish and scurry away
like the fox did at the drop of your glove
but invite her in
and wait
be very still as she pads
slowly home
and curls up in your chest
the sweet scent of freedom still clinging to her
then turn around
face your life
don’t assume you know what will move you
plunge yourself into now
embrace the one you love
or the one you’ve longed to love
or the one who loves you
the one you couldn’t see before
be naked and pure
be open and unafraid
and you will feel her rise within
pulsing
and shivering
in ecstasy
from her bottomless depths

For Eli, my winter muse.

The Dempster runs 500 miles from Dawson City in the Yukon to the Arctic Ocean. Eagle Plains is the halfway oasis. There’s a service station, a hotel with a restaurant and bar and a helipad. Inside the service station is a mountain of tires travelers need to repair the ones the Dempster ate. Tents and RVs cluster around a dusty lot on the north end, housing those who haven’t given in to the lure of a soft bed after jolting along the rocky highway.

I pulled in to Eagle Plains tired and indecisive. I couldn’t decide whether to stop and camp in the dust or keep going towards the Arctic Circle and a territorial campground farther up the road. A man walked out of the service station to check on my needs. He appeared neither young nor old, wore faded jeans and a light tan work shirt. A large black lab mix, dusty and happy wandered freely by his side. Keesha stretched her nose out to greet the dog.

“His name is Cholo,” the man told me, his eyes smiling at the two dogs. “This is Keesha,” I said. We chatted about dogs, the Dempster and the Arctic for a few minutes then I left, continuing my drive north. I celebrated with fellow travelers at the Arctic Circle and kept driving for a day or so, thinking I’d see the Arctic Ocean. But I got tired of the road and turned around. And ended up back in Eagle Plains.

After bumping along the Dempster for two days, it was nice to have dinner and a beer and do some writing. Keesha cruised the lounge, begging for pets and treats. I thought about the guy in the garage and his dog who had jumped in my car. I looked up and there he was. He smiled and walked over.

He was Native American or First Nation as they say in Canada; I don’t know what tribe. I’d tell you his name but he asked me not to share his name or photo. His eyes were deep brown and when he held my gaze, I felt like I could see infinity in their depths. He sat down and handed me a piece of paper. I opened it and tears formed. He simply saw into my heart and soul.

“To the far places my soul has reached… Keesha and Laura lone dancing across the land. Shadows meet touch at an eagle plain…a spirit stirs. Follow the heart not the head… around the next bend, beyond the next course, Keesha, Laura ride their horse. I am looking for my heart…”

In my prayers, I had asked for a shaman teacher, a healer. I looked into his wise eyes and knew this man was my teaccher. He is a sun dancer, a warrior, a teacher, a healer, a medicine man. I decided to stay and learn.

Any romantic notions I had of meeting a medicine man or woman were shattered. No teepee or quaint cabin. No drums or rattles or feathers. Just a dirty garage with piles of tires, oil spills and tools everywhere. Dusty and dirty. Helicopters whirring in and out ferrying workers. Tourists buying gas. The sting of wildfire smoke in my eyes. I shook my head and told him, “I find my teacher and he’s fixing tires in the Arctic.” He said, “You weren’t specific enough. Should’ve asked for a pretty cabin in the woods.” And he laughed and laughed.

I learned much from him during my time there. But the lesson I want to leave you with as we head into the beginning of a new year, a time of reflection and beginnings, is this:

Ask, and life will answer your call. Teachers will appear. But they may appear in unfamiliar forms. Be ready. Make no assumptions based on appearance or preconceived notions of who your teacher is or how they are supposed to look or where you find them. In fact, make no assumptions about anything.

And as the teacher from the garage in the Arctic told me, when you ask for what you want, be specific.

Think of this as you make your New Year’s resolutions and intentions.

More importantly, Mandela knew that forgiveness was more powerful than any vindictive action or long carried resentment.

The last post I wrote was about the complexity of loss. It was about commitment and the anchors that ground us in life and what happens when we lose those. What you don’t know is that I deleted much of the original writing, stripping out words I decided were best suited for my eyes only.

It’s a writer’s dilemma. The need to be truthful, to describe experiences and events and feelings that many of us have but few put into words. That is the power of prose, of story. But there is a definite difference between journaling for private healing and writing for others, between writing to share and writing to purge.

Writing because I have not yet forgiven is for my journal, something to get out of me and then burn. Words I will not share even with those I am venting about.

Nelson Mendela refused to convict others of the same wrong-minded acts that convicted him and so many other South Africans. He forgave. He set an example. If he can not only forgive, but also reconcile with those who imprisoned him for 27 years, can’t I forgive those in my life, friends, loved ones, former loved ones?

Maybe you think forgiveness condones what happened. It doesn’t. I hear my forgiveness teacher, Mary Hayes Grieco say, “forgive and leave a bad situation, forgive and set boundaries, forgive and hold others accountable, forgive and adjust your expectations”.

And that is what forgiveness is really, releasing expectations of what I wanted to happen in the past, what I think should happen now, and what I desperately want to happen in the future.

Mary taught me the eight steps to forgiving another. It’s a simple process that is the most freeing spiritual practice I know.

Eight Steps to Forgive Another

1. State your will to make a change in attitude
2. Express your emotions about what happened
3. Cancel the expectation(s) you are holding in your mind
4. Open to receive exactly what you need from the Universe
5. Sort out the boundaries: give them responsibility for their actions and take yours.
6. Allow unconditional love to flow into you.
7. Send unconditional love to the person
8. See the good in them or in the situation

I spend a weekend with Mary last month. Letting go of what I expected for my relationship, my life, my future. I will continue forgiving until the time comes that when I think of these past months, there is no emotional charge. Only a matter of fact acknowledgement that yes, that happened.

The poem Invictus that inspired Nelson Mandela ends with these lines,

“…I am the captain of my soul; I am the master of my fate.”

Dogs don’t need to learn how to forgive. They just do. Something else that Keesha taught me. So I choose to be the captain of my soul and forgive. Keesha would want me to.

To learn more about the process of forgiveness, you can contact me or go to Mary’s Website