Medicine Journey with the Anasazi: Healing the Masculine, Then Again

The following is an excerpt from the author's upcoming book:

The road to Beasley Flat is a long and winding one, and to top it off, we got pulled over by Highway Patrol. Arizona Highway Patrol. Dana worked her juju on the cop, a kind hearted one who just wanted a little respect, good thing because we had mushrooms in the car. Seven days in Arizona and already busted by the man. It was a warning to remind us of our higher purpose for the day we mused. Don’t get in a hurry, take our time, do this right. The ride started out quite noisy, but everyone quieted down after that, lost in contemplation. Somewhere along the way the asphalt turned to gravel, then to dust. 20 miles south of Sedona, those pretty red rocks were no longer in sight, replaced by a chalky beige limestone. Further ahead was the Verde River and Beasley Flat: A mesa full of natural cave dwellings once inhabited by the Sinagua Indians, and the Anasazi before them.

The Sinagua were Pueblo Indians living in the Four Corners border region of Arizona, New Mexico, Colorado, and Utah around 700 – 1500 AD, the “Anasazi” was the name given to the first Pueblo Indians living there before the record goes pre-historic. In a very real sense, the Anasazi were the mother of all Pueblo Indians, but don’t quote that, some people get a rise debating such things. The Anasazi are steeped in mystery and appear to have had a highly sophisticated metaphysics and spiritual life. They just disappeared into thin air one day, nothing remains but their cliff and cave dwellings, a few broken pottery shards, and some rock art. Legend has it, the Anasazi fell on hard times, the whole area was in a drought for 100 years or so, and they decided it was time to board the mother ship. As far as anyone can tell, that’s exactly what they did.

Once we were out of the jeep, we hiked a trail, then jumped a barbed wire fence, the land being drawn and quartered years ago, and finally waded across the river, a little less than waist deep in the summer. Me and my compadres made all this effort to have a medicine journey, old school style, like the Anasazi shamans we knew little about, but could FEEL all around us. Our medicine for the day was the psychonaut Terrence McKenna’s favorite of choice, the psilocybin mushroom.

This wasn’t a joy ride, we’d already suffered the scorn and outright derision of our positive thinking, all you need is love, new age enlightenment friends who came along on the Sedona trip, but didn’t know there would be DRUGS involved, the kind you can fry eggs with. Our trip leader, Dana tried to explain these are sacred plant medicines, not street candy, the kind of entheogens people use to GET OFF drugs, heal mental and physical wounds, mend broken hearts, have a conversation with God with and such. But reason won’t get you far when confronting Say No to Drugs, Yes to Pharmaceuticals Nancy Reagan-era indoctrination. We were outnumbered, so we waived a white flag on the way out the door, leaving them intoxicated on the needle and spoon of moral authority.

So there we were; me, Amber, Gracie, Dana, and her partner Moby. We each had our reasons for the medicine journey, and we all felt called to do it, but it was mostly trauma, life conflict, needing to make a change of some kind or grow up a little. Dana and Moby were there to get us through safe and sound. Let me start by saying, I come from a long line of emotionally damaged males, a long long line; from what I can tell, and the mushrooms will back me up on this, the whole damn line of damaged males since Adam.

So we started out in a large corner cave that seemed custom built for our needs. We wanted a little ceremony to kick things off and holding hands in a circle just felt right. We sang a bit, and Moby blew a shaky but heart-felt version of Amazing Grace on a little wood flute he bought in a tourist shop, then I opened my eyes and saw my dead grandpa looking back at me in the cave wall and thought I was going to lose it. This was before any shrooms mind you. Then we each took turns stating our purpose to Great Spirit, God, the One-in-All. I mumbled something about not wanting my parents to think they failed me, in particular my dad (that’ll make more sense later). I took a deep breath and let it go, Dana had a deck of cards and we each picked one to meditate on before we swallowed the shrooms, mine had a big face with the smile of a sage, and a smaller one a little less wise and unsure (I was pretty sure I knew which one I was). That was the first moment I had a flash I would be facing the Anasazi that day. I gulped a bit and took another deep breath. Still, I was ready to go and swallowed a big handful of caps; sure I would need a heavy dose to get to the bottom of it all.

We each trekked out across the mesa seeking our own cave for the journey. I had a little pack with some crystals, tarot cards, an Indian flute, water bottle, and some copal incense, I was ready to rock. I really felt like getting away from everyone and stomped across the valley to a cliff full of caves on the other side. First cave didn’t feel right, second one had a big bumble bee buzzing around in it shouting get out now, finally around the bend was a big cave with a smaller cubbyhole just inside it, this one felt right, this was where I was supposed to be, and I could still see the large corner cave that we started out at on the other side of the mesa. Knowing Dana and Moby were there standing by was comforting. So I got comfortable in my little home for the day, nice to be in the shade, spread out my rocks and things and settled in. It had been 20-30 minutes at that point and not much had happened. I even thought maybe nothing will, and that’s ok. I’ll have a nice meditation. I started wondering what this medicine journey was all about, what brought me out to the Red Rocks, and why I was sitting in a hot cave in a forgotten mesa in the middle of Arizona. Then a little blackbird flew into the cave, and it hopped right up to the entrance of my cubbyhole and stared at me. Was it trying to tell me something? Why isn’t it flitting and flying away like birds do? Why does it keep staring at me? Then the message, are you ready? Three times, then I nodded to the little bird. It was so insistent. Is everybody in, is EVERYBODY IN? Ok, the medicine journey is about to begin. Well the blackbird finally hops away and right then I noticed something that looked like a face with a lightning bolt across it on the far wall of the larger cave I was in. Yes it was a male face, yes that was a lightning bolt, and its mouth was in a howl right out of a Munch painting. Tortured. Scarred. And a female face next to it with big eyes and a horizontal slit for a mouth, silent, wise without knowing, beaming love. My God I thought, these are my parents, and not only my parents; they’re nothing less than the divine masculine and feminine. Ok, so this journey was going to have something to do with them, all of them. And over across the valley I could see my Grandfather, strong, proud, certain, in support mode in the cliffs, and behind him the whole line of male Ancestors since time began. Whatever I’m going though has been handed down since the dawn of the ages, so strap on your seatbelt. What were these faces about? The deal is the mushrooms said, I had to confront my pain until I could look on my father (and the whole damn male line) with love, no resentment, no anger, no blame, no conditions, no deserving or not deserving, just love; pure unconditional love. Ok, let me tell you straight up, that is not an easy task for me, my Dad and I have never “got along”. He was the son of a hard ass, and a self made business man and workaholic, left my mother, sister, and I when I was nine, just didn’t see eye to eye. I remember he treated us to pizza (without Mom) and then drove us to an empty apartment and just laid it on us, all I could utter between the sobbing and the tears was why, why, why? I had to get over it and get on with life pretty early on, but still, something like that stays with you. In your gut. Before that, I thought my Dad was the next best thing to Jesus, even though he was never around much, and didn’t seem to want much to do with me. I knew he was out making bread for the family. Those days were over after that, we grew further and further apart and pretty soon I was all grown up and we might as well be strangers.

So there he is starting at me, with that lightning bolt, and that howl. He’s emotionally damaged, no not just him, the whole line of males back to Adam. Cruelty, hate, violence, rage, murder, rape, all the wars, all the bloodshed, all the death and destruction, all the fear, horror, shock and awe, the grief and guilt buried deep deep in the mitochondria of the DNA, passed down from generation to generation beyond time, a curse, a mockery; but necessary. My God I feel sorry for the man, for men, for MYSELF! And here comes the howl. Boy did I let it out, Dionysian like, and for a good half hour without letup, wailing like a mad wolf at a solstice moon. After a while I recovered a bit, and I noticed it didn’t hurt so much to look at that face anymore, in fact I felt sympathy, for him, for them, for the pain and ecstasy of being human, of being alive. They chose this life, they chose me! And there’s my mother, still silent, no answers, only love, and my Grandfather across the valley, yes I am not alone, WE are not alone. This burden is not my own, the whole male stigma has been passed down through history, winding its way back to oneness in order to achieve some higher purpose beyond our human comprehension. It’s a process that manifests in our own redemption; rejoice for the pain is no longer your burden to bear. All you need has been given to you, the joy is greater than the pain, the love greater than the loss; the healing in the end always greater than the damage done. These lessons, these painful yet ecstatic lessons, always a spur for human potential, expansion of consciousness, spiritual evolution; Yes I love you Dad. Do not suffer for my sake, for anyone’s sake, live in peace you don’t owe me, you don’t owe anyone anything except what you need to feel love, peace, complete. I love you Mom, for the suffering you have bared so nobly, for the love you never fail to shower on me, even in your moments of despair. For the quiet strength in your heart and the pride I’ve managed to awaken in you. And you too Grandpa, Grandma! I see you all there in the cliffs too! And you’re all smiling, beaming at me. How joyful, how profound, how ecstatic, thank you God, thank you, thank you, thank you!

And then the hawk flew in, perched on a rock across the mesa, majestic, profound. And he stared. In silence and stillness he stared right into my cave, into my soul! Did I get the message? You are not alone, we are here with you, the Ancestors are here with you, the Anasazi are here with you! We are not buried in the rocks, no tombstones at our feet; we are alive and well in the ground you walk on and the air you breathe, and streaming into the souls of our inheritors. This life has been lived before, this path has been trodden million-fold, we know of your trials and tribulations and have suffered and transcended the same path long ago. We know but can only hint at ancient mysteries at work in the depths of life and the universe. Our magic is beyond your comprehension, but we guard you with it every night and day. As you have followed your higher self all will be revealed, your redemption is at hand, we rejoice in honor of the path you have chosen in the dark of night, it was not the easy one, but it was the right one, we are with you now, our divine power, our divine guidance, our divine inheritance is yours to share, so dive in! You are our brother and you will never be alone.

Yes, I did get it, and we stared at each other in silent awareness and awe. And then the hawk gracefully spread his wings and took flight.

Moby had heard my cries and hiked up the cliffs to check on me, raw emotion filled the air. I really needed a friend right at that point, the timing impeccable. Yes, the world is interacting and responding to my being, there is divinity at work here, always. Moby lit some copal, so refreshing, so aware. And the dancers in the smoke! Such grace, such movements. What about my mother and father, they’re ills, they’re pain. Send your love to them, your healing. Breathe your love, your healing through the smoke and out into the world. It will travel, it will make a difference, it will heal! Let my father know I love him and all is well. Yes, it is done! Help my father return to health! Yes, it is done. Help my mother, she has suffered needlessly and enough. No, she chose this life, this suffering, she chose you! It is not in vain. Yes, your love, your prayers will help heal her too! But I’m a professor trapped in a broken bureaucracy, in a department full of arrogance and hate. Fuck your department and their petty games, they have their own debts to pay, and it doesn’t matter anyway. Go now, out into the world, love your neighbor with your life-force shining from the divine source of it all, you are no longer estranged from yourself, you will suffer no more in vain because you and the infinite are one, lean on your loved ones, your ancestors, lean on the Anasazi! We will not forget you, we reside in your heart and it beats with ours as one.

And then I climbed out of the cave and down the cliffs, beaming, ecstatic, and into the light.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Scott J. Simon, Ph.D. is a musician, educator, and shamanic sound healing practitioner in Tampa, Florida. Dr. Simon has recently recorded a Sound Journey CD featuring Tibetan singing bowls, Native American flutes, Buffalo drum, and voice. You can learn more about his SoulSound® therapy at scottjsimon.com