Sacred Medicine
by Doug Heyes, M.A.
Sacred Medicine – The music takes over, resonant strings, reed flute, frame drum, chimes, shamanic chanting, traditional icaros, intricate harmonies, subtle, shifting rhythms, Earth sounds. I know this sacred musician: it is my son, Adam. He’s deep in his place, channeling the soundtrack of the soul. Around the circle, things are heating up. There’s some laughter, some sadness being released, some chanting and toning, some whispered prayers – a complex harmonic synergy punctuated by the human-animal sounds of purging.
Another sound hooks me, slingshots me back to Earth: my love, Candice, is going through an epic physical and emotional purge. To me, it sounds like something undead is coming out of her. I worry at once for her safety. My rescuer instincts are fully engaged. I feel myself standing up, going to her, taking care of her, fixing everything. I don’t move, but a quiet glance passes between me and one of the female guardians nearby, who smiles and calmly watches over my love. Still, I can’t help feel what she feels. I love her. I share her prayers and intentions. I know how deeply she does her work. She’s doing it right now. The best I can do is to allow her the dignity of her process and let her go where she needs to go. I send her light as my eyes close and I am pulled again within. This time, my trajectory is downward, somewhere dark, cavernous, dreadful, cold and damp. My body shivers. I draw my silk around my shoulders. Still I descend, watching a spiraling parade of my life, images of la vie quotidienne, snippets of conversation, things left unsaid, missed opportunities, misunderstandings, misfires, things left undone, things stressed over, worried about – bills, taxes, work, obligations, everything I have to catch up, everything I’ll never get done, and this nagging medical term, “diagnosis.” There’s a lot of noise in here, like someone left the TV on: talking heads, an endless assault of really bad news. Smart phones, text messages, social media, freeways, gridlock. There’s a sensation of being swallowed up by the Earth, shifting hues from purple to gold to green to red, a pulsing low-cycle hum, as the images get darker and more intense – scenes of pain, sadness, regret, loss, things once precious now forgotten, people I’ve loved and lost, broken hearts I couldn’t fix, all the ways I’ve judged and condemned myself, all the lies, the ones I’ve told and the ones I’ve believed, hidden resentments, cut corners, sellouts. All the ways I’ve hurt myself or been hurt. All the ways I’ve hurt others. The pain I carry for myself. The pain I take on for others. I’m being pulled over the edge, into the pit of karma, past lives, collective consciousness, reptilian survival, human violence, mayhem, betrayal; the traumas, diseases, fears of growing old, growing sick, losing myself, losing my loved ones, of poverty, loneliness, death. Still I can’t keep from slipping deeper, losing my grip on the muddy bank, here among the ruins, among the tangled roots and iguanas and snakes and crocodiles. “My God,” I hear myself cry out, “How can I save anyone if I can’t save myself?!”
My eyes shutter open, startled by my voice. A bunch of people are like – looking at me. I start to crack up. I try to hold it in, but it’s funny as a fart in church. Save someone? Save yourself? Get over yourself you pretentious asshole! The laughter rolls out on its own, sweeping the circle into a round of cathartic release. Maybe not a moment too soon. I might not be the only one taking himself a little seriously. Okay, deep breath. As if on cue, Valerie quietly announces it’s time for the second pour….
With a nod from Valerie, I move to open the healing mat. I clear the remaining objects and instruments, lovingly brush down the mat with a palm fan, burn a little palo santo, sit cross-legged on a zafu beside the mat. I am joined by a few other healers, bringing sound bowls, tuning forks, crystals, light pens, hands and hearts. Adam channels a river of sacred sound as we sit in silent meditation, sending light. It seems like a long time before anyone comes to the mat, but then they come, one after the other, opening themselves to receive. They seem so many, geometrically more than the 21 we started with, there’s more at the door, there’s more at the door. The second dose kicks in like a turbine and I am transported all at once into the Radiance.
My entire visual field is illuminated by the most stunning, shimmering spectral light, a grid of moving color, “rainbow snakes” interweaving, intertwining through all the levels of my being. I feel doors large and small opening within me, every cell, every fiber energized, clarified, electrified, vibrating. Around me, the sounds of our sacred mission intensify – the music, the chanting, the toning, the purging, the prayers. I’m in Her temple now – moving through impossible, glittering, crystalline architecture. I hear the most soothing, celestial harmonics. I am completely consumed by Love, free of all that does not serve, a dance partner in perfect step with divine rhythm, flowing in confluence with my fellow healers – touching heads, hearts, hands, feet, experiencing the power and courage of each person’s surrender. Some of the sessions are gentle and deep, some are wildly cathartic, with people releasing pain and grief and trauma and fear and opening themselves to the beauty and wonder of the divine love that brought them to this place. Here, where it’s safe and loving and protected and blessed, we release lifetimes of blockages, obstacles, lies, karmic contracts, judgments and sentences. We offer ourselves and embrace the healing power of Spirit.
I look down at the head in my hands. It belongs to my son, Adam. I’m flooded at once by love, respect, gratitude for this beautiful being before me. I bend forward, placing my forehead on his, third eye to third eye, allowing the radiance of the divine light to completely envelop us. Our breathing becomes synchronized. Adam’s body relaxes. He’s going deep, surrendering. Around us, the other healers and several of our brothers and sisters have formed a circle, Aline on Adam’s left, Candice on his right, Valerie at his feet, others on their knees, standing, or sitting cross-legged, holding the light – a concentric ring of angels in white, bringing their presence, energy, love and service to the divine mission being carried out in our midst.
I have one hand on his head and one on his heart. His energy travels through me as he starts to open up. I feel what he feels – his raw, primal power, his vision, his love and trust, his pain and fear. I’m moved inside, can feel my own emotions welling up, pushing against my capacity for control. I breathe and move with my son, holding his head in my hands as he starts to release what he’s been holding. I know some of that shit. I was there when it happened. I’m still here, in the sacred circle, cradling my son as he surrenders to the God within and lets go, surrounded by love, pure and unconditional. I’m overwhelmed by his courage, by how deeply he does his work. He is the very definition of a spiritual warrior. It is a privilege beyond compare to share in this sublime moment with him. His body arches upward as if yanked up on a wire. He shudders, gasping for breath. Whatever’s got him isn’t going down without a fight. I get my hands under his neck and back, protecting his body as he goes through his ordeal. Aline sits beside him, stroking him gently, whispered prayers on her lips, pure angelic presence. Candice’s body seems to lift upward, rising to a standing position. Her arms open wide to include everything that’s happening in her view. Her eyelids flutter in empathic ecstasy as her body writhes, undulates, surfs the waves of energy pouring out of Adam on the mat. She’s Mother Ayahuasca, Kali, Quan Yin all wrapped up in one divine Earth woman. If there was a dragon in the room, she’d be riding it. Her left hand reaches overhead, her outstretched palm connecting with a fine shaft of moonlight streaming in through a vent in the dome that lights up her hand like a spotlight. There’s a swirling vortex of energy around her. She seems electrified, like she’s catching lightning. She opens her right hand and channels the energy she’s receiving through her heart, to her hand, to Adam and the healers around the mat. There’s a palpable shift in the light. Adam’s body appears to rise from the mat. His shoulders and feet remain grounded, with healers holding his outstretched hands, but his entire midsection rises as though being lifted by an unseen force. Tears are streaming down his face and mine. All at once a fearsome sound comes tearing out of him, part warrior cry, part jungle roar, part rebel yell. Whatever’s lifting him up lets go. His body falls back to the mat, limp. His eyes roll back in his head. His breath stops. The music stops. Everything stops. I look in his eyes. There’s nobody there. We hold in the silence for a moment. I bend down, put my hand on his chest, listen for his breath. Still nothing. I’m kicking into rescue mode, ready to breathe for my son. I feel a soft chuckle in my ear. I look down again. Adam’s eyes are open, clear and glittering. He has kind of a loopy grin on his face. I find myself smiling and chuckling a bit myself. Adam’s laughter builds, shaking his belly, sweeping the circle into a chorus of joyful noise. We’re all lit up, switched on, blissed out. Adam sits up, hugs Aline, Candice, Valerie and me, and bows Namaste to everyone in the circle. He is a living portrait of kindness, compassion, and peace. If his skin were blue, he’d be Krishna.
By and by the circle closes for tonight, but, as we say, the work is never done. Some are still journeying and stay where they are. Others drift off to the house for food, quiet sharing, sleep. I find myself outside, drawn toward the fire. The clouds have come in. The air is wet, fresh, electric. There’s a faint pink glow to the east. Lightning splits the sky; thunder rolls off the rocks. My legs are shaking; my body is ravaged from the hours working around the healing mat. There’s a vortex churning inside my body. I stumble and stagger toward the fire, which has been attentively guarded by our Firekeepers. Their hands reach for me as my legs give out under me. They support me, help me down to my knees near the fire, then gently withdraw, allowing me the space to do my work. I feel their presence watching over me, protecting me, honoring the sanctity of this process. I feel a violent shaking way down deep in my survival chakra, like tectonic plates shifting, grinding, opening, releasing a seismic wave of stored energy from my lower depths, roaring upward through the levels of my being like a crystal tsunami. My perspective rockets upward and I’m suddenly looking down on the whole scene. I can see myself on my knees by the fire. I can see the Firekeepers, Guardians and Goddesses around me, brothers and sisters, angels in white, drifting dreamily between the temple, the house and the fire. And now, there is only the fire. Its flame draws me in, beckons, entices, ignites me. I am ablaze from within with the ritual fire of purification, illumination, transmutation, transformation. My body rocks with a massive spasm and all at once I’m purging great waves of brown and red bile into the sand – anything I’ve held down or suppressed, anything stagnant, vile or poison, any fear, frustration, worry or doubt, any perceived imperfection, lack, limitation, misalignment, mistrust, anything holding me back, anything not mine, anything I took on at the healing mat, anything that doesn’t serve – Grandmother wants it all now. She wants the dark entities and spirit attachments and hungry ghosts. I feel them draining into the Earth or soaring off into the night sky. She wants total surrender, total commitment, total faith. She wants me to know that she sees me; she knows my heart, my courage, my passion and devotion to our work; I am always blessed, always protected, always loved without boundaries or conditions, forever in The Light.
About the Author
Doug Heyes became a healer after his own miraculous recovery from a dramatic and life-threatening ski injury left him paralyzed from the neck down. This experience led Heyes to learn his craft by studying with some of the world’s master healers and going back to school where he became educated as a psychologist. As well as his thriving practice in Spiritual Coaching, Transformational Coaching and Ram Healing, Heyes is also a red belt in Pyong An Do Wan (Peaceful Mind Way) Kung Fu.
