As I continue to write this, I realize that I have left some things out. One friend suggested I write more about what happened to me after my shamanic experiences.
My soul retrievals seemed to bring parts of myself back that I had lost along the way. In my mediations, I started having physical body memories of events in my childhood. I felt like parts of me were dying, and other parts were being reborn.
The first 8 years of my life are almost completely lost to me. I have shadowy memories of traumatic events, sexual abuse. During my meditations, my memories began to return. I remembered being cold and untouched when I was an infant. I relived traumatic events, memories of which seemed to stored in my body. It was terrifying, but also liberating.
Another major event I left out is that after I had my shamanic experiences, I felt intuitively that I might have a parasite. My naturopath tested me, and I turned out to be infected with two parasites: Tapeworm and Entamoeba histolytica, a cell eating parasite. This parasite infects people when they eat undercooked fish. I’m not sure how I got it. My naturopath treated me for both. The pills made me deathly ill. I was sick for the entire week that I took them. And then one day something came out of me in the toilet that I had never seen before. Something smooth and icky and a green color I had never seen. It was so strange.
After that the severe pain I had been experiencing for years began to dissipate. The best description I have is that it felt as though my brain was melting into my body. It was very strange, painful, and frightening. But eventually, this sensation led to such a decrease in my pain level that I no longer required pain meds.
I also left out two characters from my time at the Extended Stay. One day I noticed a woman with suitcases by the dumpster. Her bag had spilled out in the street and she was clearly having a breakdown. I began talking to her. She used to be a business woman, and career woman. She was now homeless for the first time. She couldn’t find her thyroid medicine in her bag so I attempted to help her. Eventually she found it. I gave her some food, and allowed her to charge her phone in my room. She was very resistant to receiving help. By then it was November, and the nights were very cold. She refused to come to my room. She had a little dog with her. Eventually someone at the hotel paid for a room for her.
Another person I met who was very beneficial to me was someone I met at the smoking area. Her name was “Miss D”. She was 92, homeless, and unsure of where she was going to go next. She was a woman of God, and encouraged me to read Psalm 91. A lot of the people at the extended stay had become homeless and were being funded by government programs that assist people. Miss D was one of them. She told me to drink milk everyday, and to eat fruit. She was one of the sweetest people I have ever met. She also told me I needed to stop drinking.
I’m sorry to be jumping around so much, but I’m processing what happened to me as I write this.
Here is a major part of the story that happened to me in Palm Springs:
I was waiting for my apartment to be ready in Palm Springs. I was blindly looking for places to stay acutely aware that I must have air conditioning for the pets.
I go on Airbnb. An image of a sunset pops up. Lesbians in the desert. 420 friendly. Bring ya’ pets. I booked it. Its a short drive. Max spends the entire way yowling in protest and trying to dig out of his kennel. “I will not be caged!” He yelled.
We arrived and were greeted like long lost family. Immediately they begin fussing over me like I am royalty. One of them is a cook and tells me she will be making me dinner, and that she thinks I am beautiful.
The room is lovely. Before I know it the animals are settled and cool. My lesbian host points out a gift on the bedside table. A joint in a pop top.
I unpack and take my joint into the common space where she sits. We begin talking and it turns out there is a deep trauma tale unfolding here, not dissimilar to some of my own. There were tears, hugs, communion, and a walk through the memorial garden to see the chickens.
A short time later they bring me chips and home made guac and salsa. It is accompanied by a virgin mojito with shaved coconut and sprinkles around the rim.
There is more. It seemed quite surreal. One of the lesbians, my host tells me she is on a reality TV show. She is the daughter of Jenny from “90 days the other way”. She and her partner have been on the show as a result.
A short time later I go to my room and check out the TV. I find “90 days the other way” and begin watching it, while she sits out in the living room smoking a doob.
I notice that the tattoo on her arm on the tv is the same as the tattoo on her arm in the living room and that seems right but still very strange. *note to self: you’re a Californian now. these things happen.
In the time I spent trying to escape Oregon, I discovered a portal of energy that came from the wetlands and ran through my apartment. When I felt it, it seemed like a giant wind that would blow through me.
That day as I walked out to get my guitar, I stood in the heat. I heard all silence except for the sounds of a million wind turbines churning. An occasional clang of something against something. Very Bagdad Cafe mixed with Milagro Beanfield Wars.
And then there was the wind. Except this time I was right in the center of it.
It was hard to believe this was the same life of the same person who was using this same computer just a short time ago in a completely different reality.
That night there was dinner. Pasta loaded with cilantro and basil and rich sweet home made sauce. An explosion of flavors before unmatched. We all seem to be having some kind of Indie movie love fest.
The wind never died there. It creeped in through cracks in the walls, around the air conditioning. It’s force created all kinds of beautifully haunting sounds. There was a ghost in the swing by the memorial garden that moved to its own drum. If I sat in it and allowed it to rock me, the feeling was sheer divinity.
There was no doubt in my mind that I had arrived in Shangra La. And right at the point where I was convinced Shangra La did not exist. At least, not for me.
I started the day with a drive into town and I was getting my Cali vibe on. I found the flow of the traffic and weave with it. In, and out, round, and about.
I tell a new friend about my new digs with the lesbians who also happen to be on tv. I explain that I’m a small town girl and that the closest I’ve come to a celebrity was when I saw the Dad from Family Ties in a restaurant in Santa Fe. She confirmed that shit like that does happen here all the time. She meets people in the music industry and then she meets their friends and it just happens.
Just go with it, she said.
Back home with the lesbians dinner awaits. Tonight it is Mole with rice. If this were Eat, Pray, Love the food would all be fitting in nicely. But this is again more like Milagros and Bhagdad Cafe. Maybe also some Spanglish and Like Water for Chocolate. And maybe a little Real L Word thrown in, minus all the fucking. Where is Whitney when I need her?
Dinner is tears and laughter. Much more laugher than tears.
The Milagro comes at dinner when one of my hosts asks me my son’s birthday and when I tell her she looks shocked and stunned.
It is the same exact birthday as her son, who is at this precise moment in a very similar yet dissimilar situation as my son. She had lost custody of him through a very difficult custody battle. When I look at her I see my deepest pain personified and it heals me. And vice versa. We understand without question that we have been brought together for a purpose.
She says, “Merena, you came to show me how my life could be.”
And I’m thinking vice versa.
Back in my room that night as I was writing, I could hear them nearby, their laugher tinkling into the windy night.
The next day I drove into town, to a cannabis lounge. I was so inspired by the beauty there, and the lounge was right next door to one of my favorite new stores, Shag. So I stopped to take some pics with my phone in the warm desert air, as the sun began to set.
Suddenly a figure appeared before me. His skin was dark black as ebony. He wore sunglasses, and the rest of his face was covered in a mask, so I could not see any facial expression about him. He stood before me by about a foot.
With Corona fear encroaching on Palm Springs again, the streets sere deserted. In either direction there were no business open (all closed early due to Corona). No people anywhere and no longer in view of the dispensary I just left.
Just me and this figure, a foot away from me, and I could tell he was angry at me.
Fear rose in my throat like fire. He could snap me like a twig. Throw me into a doorway and rape and kill me. Throw me into anywhere and take me. He could have take my bag containing all of my worldly possessions. He could have done anything he wanted with me.
I could see his muscles moving under his skin. He started muttering something about disrespect. I was disrespecting him by taking pictures in the street. He started mocking me with his body, exaggerating his movements in some kind of maniac dance. I wondered if I looked like that when I took pictures.
I started apologizing. I just started hyperventilating and saying, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” I knew he was gonna kill me but I was sure he would rape me before he did. I could see his rage and I knew it was fueled by something else, not me, but that I had become his projection screen, like I do over and over again unconsciously for other people. I started to back away hoping he wouldn’t follow but knowing he would. I started digging in my huge bag for keys.
“Get in the car, it’s your only safety”, I thought.
I dug madly in the purse but there were no keys. I was afraid to look back because I knew he was coming for me. I started to get weak and I didn’t want to sit but was forced to by my body as I admonished myself to calm down, pull it together and find the keys.
I kept looking but they were no where.
I realized I had probably left them in the dispensary and I was going have to go back for them, even though it seemed the least safe thing to do.
I steeled myself and forced my body into a standing position. I was sobbing hysterically now, crumpled into a bent over ball.
I looked up and saw that I had dropped my keys where I had been standing about 50 feet away. I forced myself to run to them, my heavy bag making my flight burdened in the heat and wind. I picked them up and flew back to my car. I opened the doors, got in and locked them. I was sobbing hysterically now, completely out of control.
I start screaming out loud “Help me” to no one. A suggestion from within tells me to call someone.
But I know there is no one to call.
No one who will understand.
No one will comfort.
There is only nothingness.
I tell myself to drive, turn on the music. I don’t want to drive but I have no choice.
I arrived back at the Airbnb. A triangular drama had begun to play itself out there. You see, the lesbians were renting from a woman who owned the property, they both lived on it. I made fast friends with the woman who owned the property, a beautiful Hispanic woman with three wonderful sons. I had begun to spend time with them, going out to dinners and such. One of the lesbians began to get jealous of my relationship with the family. One day when we were out eating she started sending texts to the woman saying things like, “Oh, I see you have a new best friend now”. Tension had begun to build and I was feeling very uncomfortable in the house. The lesbians became distant and removed.
That night, as I drove back from the 420 lounge, the winds were blowing harder than they ever had. I went to my room. The air conditioner was working, but it was stuck in the window and was somewhat ajar.
I went to bed and the winds were howling. I will never forget the sounds of that night. I awoke in the middle of the night to find that the things that held the AC in place had blown out the window. It was like I was in a hurricane. I tried to pick up the pieces and shove them back into place. It seemed to work. I went back to asleep. When I awoke a few hours later the air conditioner had completely blown out of the window. It was laying on the ground outside the window, on the ground, still running.
I knew I had to leave the Airbnb. The tensions in the house were too much. I decided to leave, and to ask for a refund. The lesbians woke up, saw me packing and started yelling at me. They accused me of purposely kicking the air conditioner out of the window. I hastily got my belongings together and drove off.
I continued to try to contact them for a refund. At first they ignored me. Then they sent me a text saying be here in 15 minutes or you will lose your refund. I was miles away when I got that text so I couldn’t go. Eventually they refunded me.
This is all I have to write today. To all who are reading, thank you so much for sharing my journey. Also, the grammar is mixed up in the writing, it’s very rough. Sorry for all of the tense changes, ie past vs present.
outspokenfemme 