In this spring issue of the newsletter, we’re focusing on blooming. At my winter women’s retreat, we worked with the metaphor of the amaryllis bulb and came to appreciate it in all its stages. My own amaryllis bulb (both a literal one I bought and my inner, metaphorical one) were fully enclosed, in the dormant stage of waiting and creating. That was January.

Now my bulb is in full bloom. A gorgeous red flower emerged from the first stalk, and now I’m enjoying two more, which greet me every day when I approach my desk. Another stalk is waiting to rise. It’s amazing to me how potent this symbol has become, and how abundant my life feels with these blooms in my presence. I think it’s because after a long season of winter inside, I feel my own blooming now. And blooming is more fun than waiting, no matter how important waiting can be!

My spring women’s retreat for body, mind and spirit celebrates our blooming. It will be all about defining what blooming means for us and practicing skills for flying past the fears that often stop us just as our petals are unfolding. Please feel free to forward the information about the retreat to women who might be interested. And if you plan to come, respond quickly. The spaces for the small group experience are already filling.

I’m happy to announce that I’m back at work at Miraval, offering a program called Nourishing a Lively Spirit. I give workshops, lectures and private 90-minute consultations. It’s really a privilege to work with people who are anxious to learn tools for strengthening their spiritual life. I am also re-opening my private practice on a limited basis. I offer 90-minute consultations on seeing yourself and your life through a different lens. Depending on your needs and preferences, we may use a variety of tools in my medicine bag: talking, drawing, journaling, the Sand Spirit cards, shamanic journeying and energy work, sand tray work and other rituals and creative tasks that bubble up during our intuitive work together.

My personal season of winter was all about healing and taking care of myself, being patient, listening to my body and to my inner voice, and to my needs. An important teacher for me during this process was a man named Bob. The following essay is about the lesson I learned from him. Enjoy!

Namaste,

Way Cool Bob's Lesson for Life

As soon as we land our Cessna 182 on the bumpy strip near San Quentin on the west coast of Baja, there he is, signaling us to taxi right into his driveway. We can see by the two planes in the hangar and the two in the driveway that this greying, grownup hippie is an airplane collector. And, we see that he is every bit as helpful as we heard he would be. As soon as we line up in front of the space and cut the engine, he's calling a Mexican helper to tow us in. "Now," he says before even introducing himself, "Let's figure out which truck you should borrow for the weekend."

"You must be Bob," my husband says, introducing us. "We read about you on the Baja Bush Pilot website. You don't need to lend us your own truck! We were just hoping for a ride to the hotel..."

"Way cool," Bob says as the website predicted he would. "But you can't have a good time here without a truck." He inspects two equally amazing vintage vehicles covered with murals portraying mermaids saving divers from sharks and other dangers of the deep. We score the one with the mermaid whose hand appears to be reaching up to touch the driver.

We feel about 17 driving to our hotel, and every passerby honks and waves. Either they mistake Jon for Way Cool Bob, or they just know how cool we have automatically become.

As the weekend progresses we are increasingly grateful for the truck, which we drive along the hard-packed sand right next to the ocean, just as Way Cool Bob instructed us. We go into town for tortillas and beer to take with us. We walk the sand dunes. On the last night we ask Way Cool Bob to dinner to thank him.

After we hear the story of how he fell in love with this remote, windy strip of beautiful coast and immediately dropped out and built a house, he asks us what we do. After Jon is finished, I have no choice but to admit I haven't worked much in the last six months because I've been in treatment for a recurrence of breast cancer.

Turns out Way Cool is a cancer survivor too. Prostate. It's one of the reasons he felt free to just pick up and move to Mexico. He looks at me, clearly sizing me up. "You," he says pointing his finger at my face and moving his eyeballs close to mine, "need to learn to put yourself first. Your healing depends on it."

I ask him what he means. After all, we take trips and I get pedicures. "That's not it. I mean really put yourself first. That's how I healed. I don't do anything unless I choose to."

"How can you claim to put yourself first," I argue, "when you were right out there helping us, letting us park at your house and risking your truck on people you don't know..."

"Only because I chose to," he says with intensity. "I wanted to. That is putting myself first. You need to learn that. I can tell."

Long after the details of our trip had faded, Way Cool Bob's words still rang in my ears. We even e-mailed a couple of times, and he kept asking me, was I doing it? So every day I tried to think about what it would mean to put myself first that day. It felt very selfish. This is not how the women in my family were trained.

So the first editing I did to "Put Myself First" was "Not Only, Just First." Clearly I was still allowed to cook breakfast for Jon or volunteer or buy my grandchild clothes.

I found it a very interesting exercise. The second edit became "Put Myself Equal." I found that was a challenge enough. I have been so trained to be a caretaker and have so much wrapped up in that, that my voice has come in second. This is an embarrassing lesson to be learning at my advanced age.

Recently I read that a study-the respectable Framingham study follow-up written up in the New England Journal of Medicine-connects women's "self-silencing" in marriages with four times the normal rate of premature death. When I showed Jon the article, he looked understandably worried. He had already noticed a new degree of assertiveness since my renewed efforts to apply every self-healing technique I could find. I promised to be tactful if possible, but not silent. Using my voice, I pointed out to him, could be a matter of life and death.

Sometimes I choose to put others first, and that is allowed, I believe, according to the Way Cool definition. It's all a matter of being conscious, awake, alive and honest.

When Jon flew back to San Quentin as a volunteer for the Flying Samaritans, I hoped he'd have a chance to thank the Way Cool philosopher in person. But when he inquired after Bob, Jon received the shocking news of a bizarre accident in which Bob was run over by a truck on a tarmac while moving one of his prized planes. The accident was fatal. Way Cool Bob is gone. The news left me breathless. I felt an enormous sadness and loss. How could I be mourning someone I barely knew?

Superstitious or not, I pay attention when someone enters my life through a long string of coincidences and touches me for no apparent reason. So I think of Bob now as my Way Cool angel, reminding me that we are never too old to reinforce and honor our own worth.

Maybe now he is swimming somewhere along a gorgeous reef, looking for divers who may be oblivious to preying sharks, and warning them just in time to pay attention.

Engaging with Creation!

You are invited to a daylong intensive women's retreat for body, mind and spirit with Pam Hale Trachta, M.A., teacher, shamanic practitioner, spiritual counselor, photographer and writer.

Saturday, April 30, 2005
9:30 a.m. - 4:30 p.m.

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Through A Different Lens
13830 N. Sutherland Trail · Tucson, AZ 85739
(520) 825-5463  ·  Contact Pam
www.ThroughADifferentLens.com