The Four Directions

The Healing Medicine Circle

Several years ago, one of my spirit guides, an ancestor of Sitting Bull, came forward through another channel to present me with a four directions prayer ceremony, which we recorded and transcribed word-for-word. My husband AJ and I conduct this ceremony on as many Saturday or Sunday mornings as we can. The ceremony holds deep meaning for us both. Each time we perform it, we gain greater insight about its importance in our lives. The energy of the ceremony always leaves us with immense gratitude and hope.

The prayer ceremony itself is quite simple. Holding a beaver-fur pipe, we begin by facing East, where we recite the channeled prayer to the Great Spirit for the gifts of that direction. We blow smoke from the pipe in each direction to carry the prayer to Great Spirit, who we know as Source. Though we’ve forgone the actual burning of tobacco from the pipe, we watch the smoke in our mind’s eye as it reaches to heaven. Turning clockwise, we pray to each direction: East, South, West, and ending with the North. At each direction, the channeled prayer expresses appreciation for the beauty our lives encounter from that direction.

We finish by honoring Mother Earth, Father Sky, and our own human fathers by saying their full names out loud. We have been joined by hawks, owls, and black vultures who circle the temple or perch solemnly near our sliding glass doors until we are finished. For those few moments of the prayer ceremony, we feel a closeness to Source we have only felt during meditation or channeling.

The four cardinal directions are based on the rotation of the earth around the sun; a cycle represented in the form of a circle. From the earliest days attempting to orient our position and navigate to another, humans have used the sun’s semi-circle from horizon to horizon as guidance. Direction and time both follow this circle. As our technology allows us a larger view from a further distance, we see our circle of a planet as part of a larger circle of planets, and this solar system as part of a larger circle we call a galaxy. And on it goes. Our existence is surrounded by unbroken circles within circles within circles.

All of these cycles are represented in the Medicine Wheel, or Sacred Hoop. Our indigenous ancestors relied on the medicine of the Wheel to find balance throughout their lives. The Medicine Wheel offers the opportunity to see the whole picture rather than just the minutia of our lives. The Sacred Hoop represents the cycle of life with no beginning and no end but with distinct points, like seasons, that each bring distinct gifts to us and that demonstrate the wholeness of our lives, our planet, and our seen and unseen universe.

In North American indigenous cultures, the four cardinal directions form four distinct segments within the circle, each with its own color. Each color represents an aspect of human life: our physical self, our emotional self, our mental self, and our spiritual self.  Though individual tribes ascribe the meaning of each color somewhat differently (and for whatever reason, my spirit places them differently than most), there is great wisdom in viewing life from these aspects. Of course, all four aspects are operating in every season of our lives, but focusing on them in this way reminds me of the importance of their presence and influence throughout my life.

The directions also represent the cycle of the seasons: spring, summer, autumn, winter. The seasons reflect our own stages of life: birth, youth, maturity, death. Even time is represented: Morning, noon, evening, night; circles within circles within circles. It is the balance of these four concentric aspects of our lives that brings us wholeness. Each direction carries its own energy, but it is the realization of their energetic progression as part of a whole life that offers a rich knowing. In winter, we look toward the new birth of the spring. We revel in summer knowing the harvest to be realized in the fall.

In the next four parts, I hope to share what my guides and ancestors have taught me about celebrating and learning from each direction and season of my own life. My goal is not to teach another culture’s ritual or symbols – I have no right or place to do so. The gift of the ceremony from my spirit guide was not intended for me to represent a people that I love and respect,[1] but to benefit from their wisdom through a map of human life that they openly share with the world.  My goal is to express what I have learned from my very Caucasian, postmodern perspective. I will not share the actual prayer that was given to me, but instead the images, feelings, and insights it offers me. Expressing to Source my appreciation for the beauty of the seasons in my life is my honor and privilege. Viewing my life from these four directions has been tremendously healing for me personally; I hope it can be for you as well. I share them with this intent.

East

Eager, the child reaches toward the emerging sun, its dawning possibilities. New life abounds with anticipation beyond hope; an excited knowing charges the air with electricity. Soon life will be teaming everywhere, confident in its living. The child shouts, “I’m here! I’m here! I’m here!” Anything can happen now. We dance among the blooming flowers and bright green leaves. They carry us down the stream, the child and I. We squeal with joy.

We begin always facing East, where the sun rises and the new day is born. The color is yellow, the season is Spring. The time is dawn. The East represents birth and new beginnings. When I look to the East, my emotions are simultaneously sparked and challenged. My emotional being is awakened with an anticipation that rises like the dawn. It is the excitement humans might feel with every new idea, new discovery, new friend, or new love.

As I look to the East, I recognize the many new beginnings dawning in my own life; I remember that each day brings a new opportunity, a chance to experience something never experienced before. The call is to greet each new day with fresh and eager eyes.  The East forces me to let go of the past and look to what is now emerging. 

My old eyes, however, are trained to look for patterns quickly, to rely on my having figured it all out, recognizing similarities so that I can reapply old strategies as if on autopilot. There is nothing new under the sun, I grimace. The East asks me to release such adult misunderstandings, wipe my eyes, and see from a fresh perspective.

The growing light from the East exposes many old wounds. Over the years, I’ve allowed disappointment and failure to dull any excitement that might stir in the morning air. I recall every time when my child, jumping with excitement, was reprimanded, warned, chided, or pushed away. “Don’t expect anything,” my mother would say as if to protect me, “and you’ll never be disappointed.”  I’ve been enthusiastic before, only to have it labelled as foolishness when wholehearted optimism resulted in disillusion. “Fool me once — shame on you,” I remind the universe. I will not be fooled twice. I greet new possibilities with cautious skepticism, a fear that hope will again return void. Even my intentions come with qualifiers and maybes. I declare my desires as fictitious, unrealistic, easily dismissed.

But the East does not care. It has no past, and is uninterested in my assumptions and imagined outcomes. It is unmoved by the bitter winter that once was. The message of the rising sun: “This new day is untethered from the day that came before it. See it that way, dear one. Allow its unending opportunity to stir in you.” Childhood holds a freedom experienced only during this season, when there are no expectations, nothing to produce. It is blessed birth, and that is enough.

Facing East, I am invited to release the bonds of worry and consider only the possibilities that live in my dreams, my desires, and my intentions. Such freedom opens me to desire: What is it that I truly want? What do I wish for? The East reminds me that when limiting beliefs are removed, everything is possible. The newfound rush of excitement is itself the balm I need, the reason for the new day itself. I realize it is the wish that brings life rather than its fulfilment.

The East asks us not to focus on any outcome – to feel only the thrill of the new. The dawn is to be enjoyed just for itself. The infant is to be adored without the need to visualize future accomplishments. When we let go of possibility’s transformation to reality, we can begin to simply revel in the beauty of the new day. The dawn is indeed beautiful. An exuberant child is beautiful. The bud of a flower is beautiful in a way that is different from the full bloom.  As I stand facing the East, I am reminded that there is beauty here for me in this early portion of day, regardless of what is to come later. Reveling in that beauty – all a gift from Creator – serves as the fuel I need to move joyfully forward.

South

The creation creates; muscles built for purpose express with great precision, focused on transforming mind to matter. Athletes, we dig deep into the earth as its partner, feeling the noonday sun on our adult backs, the sweat confessing the fire in our grown-up hearts. We are builders and painters and bakers, runners and dancers, exclaiming in glee, “There is so much to do!” Skill sits at the feet of effort; it is the will that spawns expertise, the movement that girds us. The engine revs with glee; we are moving, moving, moving as we sing of the motion. Our passions rise like bread. We wipe our brow in satisfaction; the beauty of bodies hard at work, hard at play.

We turn clockwise to face the South. The season is summer. It is midday; the sun is at its zenith directly above us in the sky. The color is red. Facing south, I feel into my physical self, the adult body fully formed and able to expend the energy built in Spring. The South celebrates the adult, the warrior, the worker, the athlete, proving the state of being alive by action, by doing. Lifeforce fully realized. We can feel the heat of that fire on our bodies, in our muscles, in movement, in action.

As I face South, I am reminded that action is necessary to make my intentions a reality. I cannot just sit still and dream, expecting joy simply through a good intention. The summer of my life is the time for doing. The South reminds me that action is to be done while the sun is at its highest point and the body is fully functioning.  All humans are driven to create, to build, to accomplish. But also to play: to run, jump, dance, catch, skip, laugh loudly or stomp the ground. The South reminds me that there can be great joy and beauty in the movement, the action, the doing.

The South teaches us that lifeforce is meant to be expended and not conserved. Like a battery, our energy is self-generating; exertion leads to more and more energy to exert.  It is the sitting frozen, the immobility that drains us. The sun does not ask that its strong beams be hoarded. It beckons for us to soak in its rays for all their worth now, in this moment. Strength is realized and celebrated. Like the sun, the summer season of our lives burns with a passion for the work and play we engage, the movement we embrace. My hands are active making what can be seen and touched and tasted and heard and smelled.

Truth be told, there are many times I’d rather stay asleep in bed. Like all humans, I feel the urge to create, to do.  But fear and doubt can quickly extinguish any fire that may be smoldering in me. Fear: What if I can’t sustain my energy to finish the work?  What if there is loss? What if the sun is too hot, and I become exhausted? What dangers await me in the midday sun? What forces are working against me, waiting for me to fall? Doubt: What if my body is not strong enough or skilled enough to accomplish the task at hand? What if I fail? What if no one sees my work as valuable or necessary? What if the labels are true: non-athletic, unproductive, lost in the clouds, lazy.

Fear and doubt often try to convince me that it is better not to move. There are too many risks, too much possibility for my limits to be exposed. I convince myself that I am simply not enough to turn what’s in my head into something real and tangible. Best to leave those crazy ideas right where they are. The truth is I’ve started this essay at least ten times. It has sat on my computer, unfinished, alongside many other books, articles, blogs, essays, and workshop outlines that never made it past the first few pages.

But the South does not care. It is not interested in accomplishment, only movement. It asks us just to show up and try. The midday sun burns regardless of my hesitancy to step out and take in its heat or take the walk in the now flourishing garden. The open field beckons me. Ideas linger, at times annoyingly, as if to say, “It is still summer, friend. There are things to do. Come revel in its energy.”

The South reminds me to keep moving. The beauty of the summer is the creation in perfect animation, and when I face South, I am allowed to revel in the heat and passion of my physical abilities, far from mastery, but which grow only when exercised. I honor the movement that remains available to me, the beauty of the gift of my body with lifeforce coursing through my veins. I push against the inertia by releasing all constraints and flexing my muscles. The summer of my life is still burning. Time to get to work, letting go of whatever is produced. Gratefully, gratefully, I move again.

West

The crafty magician has figured out all the shortcuts. Manifestation is easy now, the harvest ready for the picking. The moon rises, it’s reflection of the sun’s light illuminates the shadows, glowing with wisdom. Impulsivity pauses for a second thought. The elder sits back to survey his land. The evening star joins the chanting: “Here is restful sleep, with knowing dreams aged like fine wine, there to drink.” We linger in gratitude now, recognition glowing within. The rabbit jumps from our hat. There is enough to share. We look toward the growing night, where stars sing and we understand their song.

Another turn clockwise, now to the West. The season is autumn. The blazing sun begins its hide behind the horizon, giving way to the mysterious moon. The time is evening. The adult is now the elder. The color is black. The aspect of life emerging in my consciousness is that of the mind. Wisdom from the full day’s events is harvested like the crops of the field. There is an abundance of it all around us.

From the Western sky, the evening star, the sky’s brightest, twinkles in the orange and violet glow. Movement and orientation are no longer obvious; I watch the sky’s turning carefully now, relying on years of gazing, of asking, of theorizing. I have learned over this time what to expect, what to doubt, when to move, when to stand still. I have found the secret paths and enriched knowing, finally. Finally. My great fluctuations of energy settle into a steady rhythm and pattern. But I am far from settled. There are new tasks now: Time to tell the story as I now know it, without the many shadows. I realize the abundance the years of work have created.

The West is my own current season, my life of 60-some years slowly landing on the horizon, now a spectrum of dim and beautifully colored light. I am able to pray to the West with little effort now, its beauty rolls easily off my tongue as I speak the prayer.  Don’t get me wrong – the day is not yet done. There is still plenty of work to do. But a new rhythm is emerging in the twinkling dusk that tells me it is alright to change my pace and take advantage of the position my days on earth have granted me.

It is no surprise that the West is often associated with the magician archetype. The magician, like the medicine man or woman, has learned the many lessons of life that make the difficult easy, the wonderous a matter of practice. The magician holds the knowledge of life’s science as well as its magic. Grandmother can tell you the energy of prayer, what is needed to heal the wounded bird or build a fire from only a few sticks. Such magic, the West teaches, does not come from the elder, but from Creator, a reminder that harvest is a gift; the harvest is not the earned sum, not the planned outcome; it is the rich blessing given by the love of the Creator to the created. The bounty is the universe; the autumn night is our time of realization, recognition.

Contemporary western culture values earnings rather than blessings, trusting in the final column of the account, the final math of earnings and savings to expenditures. It’s the wise investment that pays off. There is no magic in the dusk, I foolishly proclaim, just accountability. The slow entropy of the body serves as condemnation. Youth’s emphasis on physical ability sees old age as only wrinkles, sagging muscles, grey or falling hair, a walk that is too slow. Without the accumulation of monetary wealth, well, what is the point?

I fall victim to this view as well, seeing myself as used up rather than as the seasoned elder with new gifts to share. I hear myself talking about days long gone rather than applying their lessons to the current day. My walk is slow, my body requiring more effort to function, to keep up. Old age brings another rock that I stumble over often: an inability to see the great harvest in front of me, that my investments will sustain me, that what I have gathered during the summer will be sufficient for the coming days of winter. I could have worked harder, invested more time, energy, and sweat to amass an undeniable hoard. I question my choices when I smelled the roses of summer rather than gathered more grain. I am older and less able to gather as well now. My lack of youth dismisses me. My worries nag at me, keeping me from what I believe to be undeserved rest. I cannot see the magic or the harvest.

But the West does not care. It only knows the beauty of the star-lit sunset and the unending bounty of the universe, whether I see it or not. Best for me to trust, to exhale now. Facing West, I can fully accept this season as another form of creation, a time of life that requires taking – an action incredibly, and sadly, difficult for me. Yet the sunset’s magnificence is there only for the gift of its beauty, and essential to the balance of life. Letting go of youth’s temptation to defy time, I can recognize a comfort and wisdom to the sunset that I’ve waited years to master. The West offers me to take freely, conjure with great aplomb. The autumn is full of celebrations, rituals, and adventures in the unknown emerging of stars and planets. There are stories to tell, there is guidance to offer. There is a feast of fruits now ripened by Creator just for my enjoyment. There is magic in and around me. There is marvel in the sunset.

North

We reach an unseen horizon. Sentinels on so many mountains look back in love; lights beaming softly toward us through the mist. We strain to see more clearly, but must let go of our sight and feel our way along. Did the heart always know? Reverence, like a cello, envelops us. A voice sings softly without language, “There you are.” We rest a while here without time, absent forms we forget we once were. There is unending volume here, all blissfully familiar. “Wait – I know you,” we say to the winged creatures suspended in the air. The Chief smiles, the Queen nods. Softly in the distance, we hear the echoed refrain: Blessed be.

One more turn, clockwise. We now face North. The season is winter, the time of day is night. The color is white. This direction brings to mind my Spirit-self, where the elder meets the etheric. The day is fully done; the North beckons to what awaits beyond.

Facing North, I see with new clarity the truth of my being, that small but bright light that has shone from the earliest of morning to and through the night. How did I not see it in the exuberant spring, when life felt like it would continue forever, caught up in laughter and excitement to not notice the day growing long? How did it slip by me in summer, busy with exploring the physical being, caught up in exercising the wonders of my body and all its pleasure and pain? Only in autumn did I begin to sense the coming winter, knowing that it would come in its time. But the North, always present, shows me that each season is provided its true balance only in the recognition, the acceptance, of what lies ahead.

Death. I like so many humans do my best to distract myself from the thought of my own mortality. For many years I looked away from the North convinced I would only view darkness and emptiness, thrust into the unknown. My hopes and spiritual investments are all that guide me then, and only stories from those gone and returned and the promises made by men in robes offer any assurance. But are they true? When I die, is that the end? Like so many, I use distraction to turn my mind in any other direction. Make it fast, I pray. Make it easy, without pain. I repeat old stories of horror and then soothe them away with activity.

But the North does not care. It does not speak of death, but of eternity. Easy to see in night an ending of day, a completion of the cycle. Yet there is no end to a circle. The spring always follows the winter, the fallen leaves forever giving way to fresh new buds.  This is all the North asks for us to see: unending life. A forever.

But more. A greater truth: The Light of us is everywhere. The Light is in all the souls and all the seasons, its unlimited Source never weakens. Facing North, I see the whole that is far beyond my own life. I see the universe ever expanding, ever creating. I see the meaning of each of my life’s experiences as part of that expansion.  I see the new generation born from my own light. True North guides me home as the circle continues a seamless universe.

I must look North to make sense of today, to know that everything I face today matters. Everything I face today is connected to everything and everyone. When I face North, a song of unspeakable gratitude hums from my heart. Here is the source of joy, my True North. Understanding, enriched, and with great satisfaction, I return to my life this day.

[1] The property where AJ and I live is the land of the Hohokam peoples.