SUMMARY: In January, I described a series of coincidences that guided me to participate in a workshop called “Reclaiming the Ancient Dreamways,” led by Robert Moss. On the first full day of the workshop, I met a red-brown fox in waking life who became my dream guide for the rest of the week. Each coincidence became a stepping stone, leading me deeper and deeper into relationship with my ancestors and their tragic, yet hopeful, story.
(click to read part 1, read part 2)
Although genealogy is a favorite pastime for my family, I bet I am the only Padelford descendent who has made a journey to the land of the departed and lived to tell about it.
In case you are wondering, I have not had a recent near-death experience, nor have I suffered from psychological delusions. I did, however, embark on a waking dream journey to the land of the departed during a recent dream workshop led by Robert Moss. Journeying to the land of the departed can be a profound experience, and when used with caution, can be a helpful process for those who long to connect with deceased loved ones or bring healing to the ancestors.
To enter the land of the departed is serious business. Even though my physical body was reclining on the floor of an old house on the shores of Big Sur, California, my spirit body was tangibly and vividly in the presence of my ancestor and his friend.
How does one travel to the land of the departed, you might wonder? In the imaginal realm, many methods work well. Tree roots and branches are common gateways for traveling between worlds. My special tree is one I discovered in an imaginal realm many years ago. It was from this place that I began my journey to visit my ancestors.
Before we began, the workshop participants were instructed to create a plan. I settled into a comfortable place, closed my eyes, and met my furry red-brown fox guide. Together we decided to travel through the roots of the tree and into the British Isles. Since I’ve never been there in waking life, I was excited to visit the land that my ancestors called home so long ago. I imagined lush green rolling hills with sheep and rocky mounds—a classic calendar image of ancient Wales or England!
As the drumming got underway, my furry Fox friend and I walked to the roots of my favorite tree. We took a long look at each other, then Fox burrowed through the roots. I followed, and our journey to the land of the departed had begun.
The imaginal realm can be tricky. In fact, nothing happened as I had planned. It turned out that I didn’t go to the British Isles at all. Instead, I entered a small circle of trees where I was met by a beautiful woman wearing a wolf’s head over her head, with wolf fur draped down her back. She would not tell me her name (although she has since revealed it to me), but she instructed me to peer into a scrying bowl.
In ordinary, waking life, I have never used a scrying bowl, nor did I know much about them. After receiving this instruction in my dream journey, I did some research and discovered that scrying is an ancient practice used for divination and reading the past, present and future. The word scrying comes from the Old English word, ‘descry’, which means ‘to make out dimly’ or ‘to reveal.’
As I looked into the bowl, I felt myself falling into a watery image of what looked like the Mayflower or a similar boat. Fox and the Wolf Woman stayed behind as I slipped into the scene. When I landed, I was sitting on the upper deck of the ship. The ship’s mast was stained with the rusty tint of weather. An overcast sky left the air cool and damp.
Within a minute a stranger walked up to me and said he was Jonathan Padelford. For some reason, I assumed he was the one born in 1628 (there are many Jonathan Padelfords in my family tree). Padelford introduced me to an American Indian man who wore a Mohawk hairstyle with three feathers in his hair and a bear skin wrapped around his shoulders. When I asked his name, he said something that sounded like “Meeshkawa”.
There was some confusion at first, since both men were talking at the same time. Their presence was tangible; I could feel them as surely as I feel the keyboard below my fingers as I type. The two men had my full attention.
However, soon I was having two visions at once—the one with the Pilgrim ship, Padelford and Meeshkawa—and another flash of images that floated behind my closed eyes. These flashes illustrated the discussion led by Padelford and Meeshkawa. It showed nuclear war and mushroom clouds, images that startled me. The men told me that interfaith ministry skills are greatly needed to help heal the world. They suggested I deepen my mythological studies. Other requests followed, most focused on healing the relations between the contemporary and ancient links of the British Isles colonialists and Eastern American Indians.
The intense conversation continued, as they spoke in an anxious, almost frantic pace. Tears slipped down my cheek as I connected with their deep, ancient grief. Finally I said, “If each of you could ask for one thing from me, what would it be?” Padelford requested I heal his (our) people by honoring my ancestors. Meeshkawa requested that I feed his people by reclaiming the ancient ways. The three of us created a circle and held hands in a sort of contract. I vowed to do my best to help heal and feed our people. Tears slowly started to pour out of me. I was sobbing ancient tears of grief, tears that I did not fully or consciously understand.
At this precise moment, I saw a flash of a wolf behind my closed eyelids. This startled me because I had forgotten about the Wolf Woman. I was pulled back into the land of the grove and scrying bowl. The Wolf Woman told me to be careful and not go too deeply into the land of the departed. She told me that I heard what I needed to hear, and that I need to remember to protect my heart. She handed me a pink quartz crystal cut in the shape of a heart and told me to remember.
A few seconds later, Robert started beating the callback signal. Fox and I thanked the Wolf Woman and climbed up through the roots of the tree back to where we started.
When I emerged from my journey, I was still shedding tears. I wrote down the details and knew that the second I returned home, I would research my ancestors and their relation to the American Indians who lived in Massachusetts where my ancestors settled in the early to mid-seventeenth century.
But that is a story for another time.