I was 40 years old when I figured out that any trip away from my ordinary, everyday life had the potential to be transformative and mystical.
That magical trip was a year after the shock-grief of my mother’s accidental death. Despairing sadness had given way to an overall restless dissatisfaction with my life. My marriage was bland, my work as a clairvoyant felt rote and my role as a mother felt draining. Even my beautiful four year old girl could not rouse my spirits.
I simply felt hollow.
So I took a trip away from home to hopefully break the spell of ennui. Back then, I did not call it a pilgrimage. I might have said to my then-husband something like, “I just need to get away.” Or maybe I phrased it as a “vision quest,” that shamanic tradition of isolation as a way to see your truest way forward.
View original post 627 more words