Vision Quest – enter ‘Tone’
In early 2005 I had my ninth or tenth visit to St Francis Health Centre, for my annual retreat and time with Annalies Cowley who had become my spiritual director and my physical and metaphysical mentor – a life coach in the real sense. My friend Beth was at an important threshold in her life and accompanied me. Retiring after a very active life with ILO in Geneva, it was important that this time was marked, and I had managed to get us onto a ‘vision quest’. As soon as we left St Francis, we joined a women’s group for a six-day programme in the Cedarberg mountains, ‘Women in the Wild’ – perfect for such a transition.
I need to share what emerged on the first evening, as we all sat among the rocks at sunset and voiced our intentions for our time together and alone. Mine was simply to be able to listen to the silence, which implied that I intended to spend much time on my own. Then we were asked to share our ‘mountain name’ with each other; the name by which we wished to be known during the week. I listened to the energies and spirits being invoked – ‘Plenty’, ‘Dharma’, ‘Sprite’, ‘Famelon’, ‘Eagle ’… and then it was my turn,
‘Tone’ leapt from my mouth, from somewhere unexpected but very clear. So, ‘Tone’ I became, and I settled easily into my new (old?) identity. I tried it on. It felt good. Tone.
Mid-point in these wild days was our solo quest. We had each taken a direction and set off from base camp alone. I had chosen to go north, straight towards a rocky hill with a stream to cross before the vertical climb. Totally challenging! TONE, clearly the warrior in me, had selected the challenge with my rucksack heavy and poles digging through the thick undergrowth. I could hear the stream but couldn’t see it, my poles seeking firm rocks to place my boots on. I made my way across; the second attempt successful, having moved upstream to find a route. On arrival I looked up at the rock face. I had been focused on the crossing and now found the actual obstacle in front of me rather steep with huge boulders which I would need to scale.
I started the climb, aware that I needed to find a place to sleep before the sun went down. There was a slight urgency and the climbing was slow, and I found my centre of gravity shifting with my rucksack as I swung myself sideways and then up, scanning the rocks above me for a possible shelter. And then I heard a pop and thud, and saw that my green plastic water flask had popped out of the netting pocket on the side of the rucksack and had fallen several meters below me. It was nestling on a little grassy ledge – the only little patch of grass around among the boulders. Oh thank you! Thank you! It had not fallen or rolled into an impossible gap between the rocks. Oh thank you for this mercy.
So, I removed my rucksack and made my way gingerly down to retrieve my precious one litre supply of water, which was to last me till my return to base the next day. The sun was now sinking behind the rocks, behind me.
I looked around and up, aware that I had been ‘stopped’‘ in my climb. Why? Leaning back, I was clearly to ‘look around in awareness‘, and sure enough there it was. I could make out a fairly level ledge higher up where I could possibly find a secure place for the night. And so I climbed slowly upwards in the early stages of a glorious sunset, and found the entrance to my rock shelter.
Asking permission, I parted the bushes and found a reasonably flat area where I could roll out my groundsheet and prepare for the night. And then suddenly, without warning, she was there! The moon. Larger and fuller than I have ever seen her, she suddenly appeared from behind the silhouette of rocks on the ridge of the plateau where I was perched. It was stunning. It was chokingly awesome. How exquisite! How hugely and poignantly present and how luminous it was around me! I could see everywhere.
I positioned a small citronelle candle on a little rock shelf like a small altar, but could not find my matches. I nibbled my snacks, drank some water and lay back to observe this celestial masterpiece in her majesty, feeling her radiating her light lovingly into my very being. And then they arrived!
Like a veil, a cloak, the air around me suddenly darkened, as a battalion of mosquitos arrived. All around me. I was enveloped, surrounded, trapped. The sound was deafening as it ricochéd off the surrounding rock surfaces enfolding me in this reverberating acoustic chamber. I threw my well-worn kikoi over my head and face, trying to keep the cloth away from my skin surface so that they would not get a perch and pierce through to me. And I breathed slowly. Exhaled and waited – and listened.
I could still see the moon through the flimsy material and hear the extraordinary sounds these minute little beings were making. I settled into the listening, deeply, breathing consciously. Slowly, I became aware of the differences in their soundings. They were not all making the same irritating, sleep-destroying, whine. Not at all. There was a subtlety in this, a finesse. The battalion was more like an orchestra, and I began to hear different pitches and instruments as they dipped and dived around my head, my face, my ears.
I heard different frequencies and began to listen carefully for harmonies, and I heard them! Beautiful. There were even pauses, silences, before a single ‘instrument’ came in for its solo melody to be joined by a chorus. Then the full orchestra resounded and filled the stone auditorium in a grand finale as I listened, awed and humbled. And then, suddenly the symphony was over and there was total silence. They were gone!
I was left pondering this miracle and the gifts I had been given. My heart felt as though it was bursting as I tried to settle into sleep.
I slept lightly this night – the moon, the music, the emotions – but also conscious that my sleeping bag was slipping on my groundsheet down towards the thorn bush, which felt like the only thing stopping me from sliding over the edge. So, I woke early to the lilac gold of the dawn after very little sleep.
Packing up my ‘camp’, removing any trace of my overnight footprint and carefully returning everything to my rucksack, I noticed that my candle was not there. The little stone shelf, where I’d placed it near my head, was empty. My candle had disappeared!
Well, well…. I was getting a further sense of magic and miracles and mountain energies.
On return to base, we each wrote a koan about our solo time. I wrote the following:
HIGH ROCK WOMB, A SHRINE WITHIN
CANDLE UNLIT STANDS
OFFERED, TAKEN, BY GODDESS
Tone’s experiences over these twenty-four hours during the full moon on the mountain – with guidance before, a symphony during and messages after – left me feeling deeply connected with the unseen realms.
It was as if through Tone, as a newly discovered part of myself, I could have access to areas not controlled by my rational mind or ego. I could enter the fertile field of the non-rational. Through Tone, I could open up; in fact, I was being opened up and made more receptive.
There was so much more to come!