Sharp-shinned Pat and the Texada Project

Went to Texada Island the weekend before last, and Powell River. With my pal Jesse James. We called it "The Texada Project" - from Vancouver to Texada and back, in three days. Three ferry crossings each way. Went in his little green truck. We met Gabriel there and a posse that is feeling kind of like my posse these days, although I don't see them nearly enough.

What a fantastic place! Went for a festival, and hiked through the woods, it took about an hour of heavy bushwhacking. Through beautiful forest and green life.. Past wasps and razor-bush - Gabriel's shins got scratched. A lot. Ok - cut to shreds. Not mine though. (not sure if that's because they're sharp, or because I had jeans on, but I just like the image.. ;)

This weekend I did a course with Robert Moss on Shamanic dreaming and soul recovery, here in Vancouver. It was a lot of fun. Saw a sharp-shinned hawk (I know now that I've looked it up), in the woods, while eating lunch with some fellow dreamers. It landed right in front of us on a tree, then went to another, and we followed it around a little bit to get a closer look. It was a pretty bird, strong and fragile at the same time, a hunter - steel gray on the back, with an orange and cream chest and a banded tail. It seemed a bit injured - it could still fly, but not that well, and was sheltering itself.
I wondered, "is that my soul up there?"

I had worn my eagle t-shirt, in shameless openness about what I see as my guiding spirit. When I said at the start of the day that I didn't know (anymore(after yesterday's shorter session)) why I was there, Mr. Moss said, "did a bird of prey carry you in its talons and drop you here?"

Maybe it did, my friend, I wouldn't put it past them. It takes a lot to get me where I should be.

He wrote in his blog today;

Knight, you came to this crossing before
bold and green, fired up for the quest,
and did not know that this was always the place:
this stony beach, the crabbers and fishing nets,
the wind-blown houses across the dark waters.


Reminding me again of what this is all about. That I set out to find and fulfill my quest, my personal quest, having wasted enough time in life. I set out to find and do and be what's true for me. And also reminding me of Texada and the Sunshine Coast.

We did an exercise at the end of the day. He asked us what we came for, what we truly wanted out of this. We did it in partners, and did a visioning to find each other's answers. I was lucky to be paired up with a young man with a big strong heart, and an open third-eye (apparently).
His information reminded me of these words, which I have quoted before and have carried with me for a long long time. I saw again today how much they mean to me, and what they've meant all these years, "Where many paths and errands meet."

The whole verse is,

          The Road goes ever on and on

Down from the door where it began.

Now far ahead the Road has gone,

And I must follow, if I can,

Pursuing it with eager feet,

Until it joins some larger way

Where many paths and errands meet.

And whither then? I cannot say.

The poem is, "The Road Goes Ever On", from The Hobbit, and repeated in the Lord of the Rings. I wonder if that's another reason I chose "errand" over "errant". One may never know..

Moss ends his poem with,

You drink deep, and something opens deeper in you
in the cavity of the heart, a cup is filling with light.
Light streams from the heart, pure waterfall, and you know
you have found the Grail, in the one place it can be found.

Is the heart the Grail? Is it in there? I wouldn't know, I don't really know my own heart. "Me too," she wispers.

The first thing you see upon arrival on Texada Island is a quarry. The Island has limestone and cool geology. It's very dry, the largest Gulf Island, and has a pretty unique forest for BC. Jesse and I talked about maybe buying some land there one day. It's beautiful behind it's gouged and ugly facade. Like the limping hawk, I guess it also felt like me. Leaving Texada I picked up a dragonfly on the ferry so it wouldn't get run over. It was also wounded, and it wouldn't get off me for about half an hour. Sweet, beautiful living thing. It drove with us a while, and I let her off on a blade of tall grass by the road.

I've been quite aware of my imperfections lately, although not (like Gord Downie) quite aware of check-out time. In the midst of big changes in life (again), the future unclear (again:), this weekend (and last;) helped remind me - my Grail - I don't think I'll find alone. I feel like there are compatriots out there, travellers in the desert; warriors and navigators.. dreamers and builders.

Over the weekend my question population grew a lot faster than my answers did, but... I think that's good.

The Fisher King made you
His guest, you saw the bleeding
Lance, but you couldn't be bothered
To open your mouth and speak,
Asking why that drop
Of blood came rolling down
From the point of that shining spear!
You saw the Grail carried
In, and never asked
For what great lord it was borne!

The Fisher King is the wounded King, and we are all wounded; imperfect. Like Texada Island and the sharp-shinned hawk, and the dragonfly. Like me.
Robert knows what his Grail means, and I am thankful for his encouraging me to ask (so my quest is not wasted): Whom does the Grail serve?

And whither then? I cannot say.