Scotland Odyssey, Part 3 — Shedding, Letting Go & a Case on Its Own Journey

I had been stripped of my belongings. Stripped of the gifts I had brought for my clan—the Rhubarb Goddess aura spray. Stripped of the things that connected me to home. And, somehow, stripped of who I believed I was. I sat in the Tufty with a large mug of tea and took notes on death. Death as a transition, rather than death as an ending.

We journeyed to ask our guides: How can I help during this transition? I was told, Don't be afraid. I journeyed and connected with my grandmother. Then we journeyed to the land of the dead. There was no instruction about where we'd find it. No clues to tell us when we'd arrived. Still, I knew. I saw levels and distinct areas. Souls or spirits waiting or trapped. There was a place of transformation, where a soul, when ready, could move on. As it did, the soul would ascend from the land of the dead, seemingly with the help of angels. Almost as if, for the first time, the soul remembered that it had wings. And then it could move from this waiting space into a place of contentment.

All of this was preparation for the death ritual.

I had done a similar exercise about a year before in what I had believed was the Q’ero tradition. More accurately, the exercise had been adapted from Q’ero teachings and modernized by Chris Waters. I was asked to select two stones: one to represent my essence and one to represent my destiny. The stones would go through the fire for me, burning away—and therefore shedding—what no longer served me. The fire would also change the stones forever.

Except my destiny stone exploded.

It didn't crack.

It exploded.

At the time, I wondered if it was a nudge from Spirit. Maybe this particular tradition, this particular path, had served its purpose for me.

So here I was, about a year later, embarking on death again. Except this time, although still metaphorical, I was being asked to let go of my physical being—my attachments, my relationships, this life as I knew it. I was being asked to feel into the transition. To authentically let go of me. And all of those I loved.

Shedding.

Exhausting.

My mind found all of this fascinating because, as I've written previously, although the Q’ero tradition and Core Shamanism developed along very different paths, I continued to find threads that seemed to connect the practices across cultures and across time. Not identical practices. Not identical beliefs. But familiar threads.

Death as transition. Relationship with ancestors. Connection to the land. Journeying between worlds. The sense that what we cannot see may still be part of what is real.

Why do these threads appear again and again?

There are theories as to why this would be so. But what I experience keeps bringing me back to something much simpler. We all come from somewhere. Long before our modern religions, our modern science, and the cultural divisions we recognize today, human beings lived in relationship with the land, the elements, birth, death, the seasons, animals, ancestors, and the unseen.

Perhaps what we're remembering isn't a particular tradition that belongs to one people.

Perhaps we're remembering something much older: a human way of experiencing our relationship with the world.

Our modern world often discounts spiritual connection. And I don't mean spiritual in a religious sense. I mean the things we cannot yet see or measure—the interconnectedness of everyone and everything. The more I learn and the more I practice these seemingly ancient ways, the more convinced I become that they aren't, in truth, ancient at all. They are something we are remembering. Perhaps that is why the practices can feel strangely familiar, even when we have never been taught them. Perhaps the longing for connection isn't something we have to learn. Perhaps it is something we already know. My ancestors, your ancestors, may have forgotten. But forgetting doesn't mean it went away. It may simply mean that somewhere along the way, we stopped listening. And maybe this is what we are doing now.

Remembering.

As I practiced shedding and letting go, I was beginning to understand that this wasn't about becoming less. It was about making room. Making room for who I've yet to become. Potentially, who I had been all along. I just couldn't see it. I couldn't see me.

And here I was, in the wilds of Scotland, rediscovering—

rediscovering me.

My luggage was still on its own journey without me.

Begin Remembering

On October 2nd, I'll begin a four-week Celtic Spirit Wheel journey at The River Runs Through—an invitation to slow down, experience, listen, and begin remembering what may have been there all along.

Maybe this is where YOU begin.

For more information & to sign up: https://www.theriverrunsthrough.com/farmhousestorecoffeeshop/p/8-sacred-directions-using-the-celtic-spirit-wheel