Since that first trip to the Rockies when I was 14, I would consider myself a mountain girl. That was the first time I can recall having a palpable sensation in my body that undeniably rose up from the belly of the Earth, gaining momentum as it was channeled upward by the sheer magnitude of the land, then entering my body through my feet, not stopping it’s ascension until it burst through the top of my head on its way to the Heavens.

Yes, that’s a lot of energy for a 14-year-old.

Yes, that’s why I love mountains.

I’ve explored many mountain ranges, from the Rockies, to the Appalachians, to the Alps, currently living in the Sierras (and am gearing up for ski season...oh, I especially love mountains when they are covered in snow).

...but this would be my first trip to Mount Shasta.

Fresh off a glorious adventure last Spring with Keira Lani, when she hit me up to meet her at Mount Shasta over the Summer, I was in. Having never been to this sacred mecca before, the chills rushed down my spine as I realized the Mountain was now calling me.

Usually, it’s hard to say goodbye to my kids when I travel. Tears are shed. This time, I was only slowing down the car as I drove down their grandparent’s street.

“Soft knees, kids!” I shouted as I drove with one hand, leaning way over to grab their door handles and whip their doors shut, with the other.

I drove for the next three-something hours, singing loudly and making sure to set the cruise control so I didn’t speed.

I remember the moment I looked up and saw Shasta on the horizon.

Witnessing her for the first time, I was completely taken—and still over a hundred miles away.

There was a point along the drive when the road was perfectly tunneled through the trees, with light streaming in ahead, and a direct view of Her Majesty. I felt as if I were driving through a giant telescope made of tree branches, pointed directly at Shasta.

I had to pull over and get out of the car. I was taken with the need to see, hear, know her, by personal presence and perception.

There I stood, in awe, in the middle of the road.

Frozen for enough time my mom would have been snapping her fingers. Except, she wasn’t there to scold me. I was alone. Yet connected to everything.

I could barely take my eyes off her magnificence. Finally looking up to the Heavens, I gasped at the giant, whipsy cloud formation that resembled the Eye of Ra.

I later learned that many a sincere seeker to Shasta have a similar (and yet unique) experience when first entering this incredible vortex. That instinctual urge to get soft and quiet, purifying oneself with awe, before physically embarking on the Mountain.

I don’t know how long I stayed there in the road, but at some point soon thereafter, I found myself swinging in a hammock I had thrown into the trees, outside our teepee, by the magical creek at Stewart Mineral Springs. Keira was still a few hours away, and I could have spent forever swaying in the trees over the flowing waters. I was more present in this moment than I had been in months. There was no way I wanted to rush this. Keria could take her sweet time. I would be right here when she pulled in.

Well, “right here” for a nanosecond only. As soon as my spidey senses picked up her gold van approaching, I sprung from my fabric cocoon, landing her arms, her still one leg in the driver’s seat.

We got Keira moved into our Teepee, lit some sage, and ritually opened our sacred vessel. Next, we headed up to the Dry Wood Sauna for some more ceremony, calling in the ancestors to help purify our bodies and minds for what was ahead. Then it was time for a cold-water-plunge into the healing sulphuric waters of the springs. Keira was much more poised and graceful for this ritual than I. She took her time, gliding and singing through the frigid waters, while I was more of a stand on the edge and count to 3 kind of girl. Hopefully getting deep enough in my squatty dunk that my head would be fully submerged. Not caring a lick who was belly-laughing at me from the deck.

Floating back to camp, we lit a fire, prepared a feast of fresh vegetables, cheeses, and polenta. Had a slightly cool beer. Laughed, dreamed, and realized, as we talked out the emotions of our lives, what was being called into healing, for each of us, on this trip.

The need for rest finally became heavy enough we chose to surrender.

Lying in our teepee, we could see the stars from the opening in the top. We prayed, chanted, stated our intentions, and agreed to hold witness to each other’s highest growth while on this sacred adventure. We also knew there would be lessons and knowledge revealed during this experience. We had no idea the glory, but we knew it would be good. So, we created a space for our wildest expectations as well.

Somewhere around 2am, I stole part of Keira’s blanket and whispered thank you to her for keeping me warm. Barely able to wait for the sun to rise...the Mountain was calling, and we were going deep into her most secret and sacred locations. Where the granite crystals compressed by the earth release piezoelectric energy, so powerful it cuts through the dimensional layers of density, opening portals to our highest consciousness. Shit. We might even see Santa Clause.

“The mountain will transport you into the most sacred places of your heart. The forgotten aspects of your Soul will come alive, here. Be still. Listen for the Masters.” The words I heard coming from Paul, our sacred guide, as I sat smack in the middle of the backseat of his tiny egg-shaped car, one knee pressed into the back of his driver’s seat, one knee pressed into the back of Keira’s seat, leaning in to absorb every word coming from his mouth...

To be continued...

This article was originally featured in The Akashic Magazine. You can subscribe to The Akashic Magazine to get all the articles in high-quality color PDF format totally free at:

Emily Harrison


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