Echo Soul Seekers

to have a few words with Cree, instructing him on how he’d like to manage the ceremony, before returning to me. “Remove your clothing and shoes. The lodge is a sacred space.”
    Without question, I do as he asks. All too aware of what a privilege it is to receive Leftfoot’s teachings. Despite his reputation for being kind, generous, and wise—when it comes to matters of mystical counsel and guiding one down the Red Road—the pathway to truth, peace, and harmony—he’s incredibly discerning. Refusing to educate anyone he doesn’t personally choose. It’s an honor to be here. I won’t let him down.
    I kick off my shoes and shrug off my clothes. Leaving them piled neatly on the ground, I hop from foot to foot beneath the fattened belly of a December’s full moon. Taking a moment to spread my arms wide and welcome the embrace of the frigid night air on my flesh.
    With my skin prickly with chills, I distract myself from the cold by remembering what I was taught as a youth. The entrance to the lodge purposely faces east in order to greet the rising sun once the ceremony is concluded. The space is dug into the ground in order to symbolize the womb of the earth. And, most important, the experiences one has during the ritual are both powerful and transformative—allowing one to emerge fully purified and reborn.
    While it’s not exactly purification I seek, I decide not to share that with Leftfoot. If the experience is anything even remotely like the vision quest he guided me through, it’ll be well worth my time.
    Just when I think I can’t take another second of being naked and shivering, Leftfoot ushers me toward the door but blocks me from entering. Declaring I must first seek permission from the spirits that guard it, he stands over me as I sink toward the earth and press my knees to the dirt. Appealing to my ancestors in my native tongue, and rising only when Leftfoot assures me I’m free to proceed.
    He wields a bushy stick of sage across the width and length of the doorway. His voice rising in the melody of one of his traditional healing songs, as I descend the short ladder attached to the wall, and crouch toward the far end. Surprised to find the space so much smaller than I expected. Darker too. I guess I’d heard so many whispered stories over the years, I’d built up an elaborate vision in my head. Pictured it as bigger, roomier. When the truth is, its domed roof fastened by willow branches and covered with a tightly woven tarp swoops so low at the sides, I’m forced to inch toward the center in order to sit fully upright.
    Leftfoot and Cree follow. Leftfoot claiming the space beside me, mumbling words of prayer. As Cree wields a massive pair of deer antlers piled with smoldering river rocks he lowers into the pit before dousing them with a liberal dose of water and herbs that infuses the space with a sweet, heady scent.
    With the temperature swiftly rising, Cree closes the door, shrouding us in complete and utter darkness. Then he moves to the far side of the wall where he takes up his rattle, shaking it in a slow and steady rhythm as he chants a song I’ve never heard until now.
    Thick rivulets of sweat begin to drip down my torso, forming small pools in the dirt just below. The incessant rhythm of Cree’s chanting and rattling causing my head to thrum—my body to instinctively sway to its beat. The air all around me adopting a light, hazy feel—until the next thing I know, I’m no longer attached to my body.
    I’m released of gravity’s hold.
    My physical form giving way to the astral version of me, I’m rendered weightless, freed of all restraints. Slipping easily through the domed tarp above me, I float through the ether. Surprised to find Leftfoot soaring alongside me, his ethereal form surrounded by a light film of gold, while my own is outlined with shimmering bands of blue.
    Watch closely . His words swirl within me. You will see what you are meant to see, so it’s important to take careful note. You may not always like what you’re shown, but you don’t choose the journey—the journey chooses you.
    With a curt nod of his head, we drift downward. Ultimately landing in a long all-white hallway marked by a series of doors with no handles or knobs, no way to open them on our own.
    I look to Leftfoot, unsure what to do, when his eyes meet mine and the word patience streams into my head.
    A door to my right swings open, and I’m quick to look in. Surprised to see the moment I