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A Journey of a Thousand Miles
June 21, 2005originally published June 22, 2005
by Jeffrey Pierce
There's an old saying attributed to the Taoist master, Lao Tzu that states that a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. While the quotation is meant to be allegorical in nature, it seems strangely appropriate considering that the latest chapter in the story of my own spiritual growth required a journey of 764 miles for me to complete.
But I'm getting ahead of myself.
Around the Winter Solstice, I had purchased the fossilized leg bone of a Native American dog in a rock shop with the intent of releasing its spirit and burying the bone on Summer Solstice. I had done some shamanic work with the bone and determined that it came from a region far to the east of me. And the spirit of its previous owner had appeared outside of my window, so I knew that it wasn't coincidence that the bone came into my hands.
Oregon's Cascade Mountains slip into the distance. (June 21, 2005)
On June 21, I took the day off from work, fueled the car, and followed my heart, driving to the east. Oregon's Cascade mountains quickly fell behind me as the hours slowly passed. Hundreds of miles slipped by as I drove without a map, down roads I had never seen before, following my heart, my instincts and the direction of Spirit. I began to work my way south, hoping for a major thoroughfare that would allow me to drive farther to the east, trusting Spirit that I was heading in the right direction. Signs indicating destinations in Oregon were slowly replaced by those directing travelers to San Francisco and other cities in California. On the one occasion that I called a co-worker, asking them to pull up a map to give me some indication of where I was traveling, Yahoo!'s map was inexplicably inverted, south at the top of the map and north at the bottom. I took it as a sign to keep following my heart. While filling up the car with gasoline, hundreds of miles from home, I did a quick mental calculation of the money in my checking account and the amount of vacation I had saved at work, deciding that I could make the eastern border of Kansas before I needed to turn around.With each passing mile, the lessons that I had been working on, primarily releasing my expectations and living in love began to integrate more and more into who I am until the massive portion of my "old" energy had been replaced by a simple, wondrous, unencumbered joy. As I drove through a portion of the state I had never seen even in photographs, unknowingly approaching the southern border that Oregon shares with both California and Nevada, the road came out of some low mountains and emptied into a wide basin. I suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of joy from the spirit world. This was the spot! Or close to it. I was surrounded by farmland without a good burial site within the scope of my vision.
The wide basin photographed out the car window. (June 21, 2005)
Quickly sending out a prayer to the spirit world, I told them that I needed a clear road that headed up into the mountains. No sooner had I said that than exactly such a road pulled into site, the first side road I'd seen in miles.
Driving into mountains near Oregon's border with California and Nevada. (June 21, 2005)
I turned the car up into the mountains, following a one-lane gravel road. At one point, I nearly laughed out loud. Not only did I have no idea where I was, but I had only complicated a potential rescue by following a logging road deep into the mountains. Anyone who knew me would instantly understand as my journeys often led me to such places and I took a measure in comfort in that synchronicity, but if the car broke down, not only would my friends be unable to find me, but I had no idea where I was to offer directions to potential rescuers.
A lonely one-lane mountain road. (June 21, 2005)
Following my heart, I chose side roads at random, working ever higher into the mountains. I felt I was near the spot and, immediately after receiving that confirming sensation, the road began to fail around the next corner. Strewn with boulders and fallen branches, it was simply impassible in my vehicle. Carefully turning around on the one lane mountain road (there was a drop-off into a canyon on one side), I retraced my steps back to where I'd received the sense that I was near, stopped the car, collected my backpack and a full-sized shovel, and began to head into the forest.The farther I worked my way into the woods, the stronger the sensation of "rightness" became until I could tell that I was almost there. Shifting to another mode of perception, I began to feel the energy of the forest around me, allowing the trees, rocks and soil to lead me back and forth across the mountainside until I suddenly stopped, the place waiting before my feet, undistinguishable from the rest of the forest.
Setting down my backpack, I took the shovel and sank it into the earth, instantly hitting stone. Trying again, I hit stone again, the barrier no more than two inches beneath the surface. Three times I tried, three times I struck rock. Feeling for a gap in the stone with the blade of the shovel, I inserted it between what I thought were two rocks and, using the shovel handle for a lever, pried up a massive flat rock that rested like a sarcophagus lid over a small stone chamber in the rocky earth.
My full-size shovel and the stone "lid." (June 21, 2005)
I had brought the bone and a few items (two dog bowls, some dog food, two play balls) to bury and they fit perfectly in the chamber without an inch to spare.Replacing the lid over the hole, I covered it with the small amount of dirt that had been removed, spread some pine needles over the top, and placed the feather that I'd given Bone's owner as a Winter Solstice gift on the top of the low mound. I said a prayer, offered both Bone and his owner a blessing, and began to the hike back up to the mountain to where my car waited.
As I reached the top of the rise I had descended to reach the site, I saw the spirits of the dog and his Native American owner manifest and could both see and feel the joy of their reunion. Bone's owner had waited patiently outside the windowsill where I had kept the bone for seven months and their joy of being reunited was tangible. Extending my hands and using the technique that our family uses to help the departed move onto the afterlife, I raised their spirits to the sky and watched as they joined the rest of their community, an entire group of Native Americans and their animals awaited them in the sky.
By the time my tires reached pavement, the light had already begun to fade. Not only had I been led to the proper site, but the timing had been perfect, leaving me just enough daylight to complete the task and find the main road again. As I began the four hundred mile return trip, a full moon lifted into the sky, marking the end of the summer solstice and accompanied me as made my way home.
The full moon on Summer Solstice. (June 21, 2005)
I would discover the following day, as I used a map to show a co-worker where I had traveled, that the place I had been led to bury the fossilized dog bone was either on or very near a place in Southern Oregon called Dog Mountain.