Power in Simplicity

By Ein McManus, healing 2 student

For some time, I have been sitting with the question of what in particular I find so exciting about the work we do at wildernessFusion. The essence is something like this: I think I've been waiting my entire life for someone to tell me that asking questions, often the same questions over and over, while being receptive to the answers in whatever form they may come, is a healthy, sound, and effective way to approach my feelings and experiences.  

Learning at wildernessFusion seems to take it a step further and show us that this questioning is also a process by which we become more present and available to others, better able to reach and understand each other, and more at ease in ourselves.  I had waited for so long to be told that this questioning was good, that this was my gift and purpose, that it took about a year of classes before I began to realize what I was actually being told.  Sometimes, I am still not sure I have heard this clearly and correctly.  What helps affirm that I have is that I continue to hear my teachers' and fellow healers' voices and inviting questions long after I have actually sat in their presence. 

Spending a weekend needing ask only “What do I want?”, “What do I need?”, and “What is here?” is a revelatory experience to have and to share. I think, from one perspective, this is something that the container of wildernessFusion fools/forces/invites us to do in a unique and subtle way, teaching us that so long as we ask and listen as best we can, we are present and learning.  A year of coming into that environment in whatever condition I arrived and being invited to ask those questions inevitably led to me then asking, "Well, why is this so different from anywhere else?" 

And then we arrived, at last, at images. All that poorly sorted emotional information I truck around projecting and attracting and creating the world that is only "safe" because it is the one I can claim to predict and perhaps understand, even when I neither enjoy nor control it. Emotional flare-ups, mis-categorized experiences, and forgotten pleasures aside, what is here?  Joy?  Peace, even?  Sometimes.  The point that brings me spiraling back around again to the very beginning of this learning is that, for me, the answers to the question "What is here?" are precisely what my images distract me from.  Contact.  The Earth.  What is here? 

What I wanted so badly to tell my teachers at the end of my most recent class (the second class of h2) is this: whether in a healing or just trying to calm down and make sense of things for myself, I find that I still basically use the fundamental tools Karl, Pam, and Corinne introduced me to on that autumn day just over a year ago.  Like the kid who finally rides the two-wheeler on his own, I want to ride by waving and screaming, "Look, I can actually use them now!" 

Contact has not achieved some static meaning for me, nor have I found some sacred answer which keeps me forever grounded, but I am so excited to recognize how my teachers pulled out these tools so that I would have access to them from the very beginning. They probably knew, as all teachers must, that I may not have even recognized them as tools, yet they let me use them anyway. 

A great deal took place for my last class, but I cannot overstate how much of my learning consisted of the simple, steady, epiphanic exclamation, "Oh, this is what Corinne meant!”  "This is what they mean!"  "This is contact." 

And this learning continues.  It takes place for me more and more frequently every day, a simple and clear experience of life built on the foundation of but a few essential questions.  I work hard not to complicate this.  I step into a container called wildernessFusion, and I also have inside me a container called wildernessFusion.  In this way, what I learn feels so deeply familiar, like something already a part of me, and yet even when I go to this place in myself, I can feel that it is a part of all other people to learn and teach this, whether I have met them in flesh and in life, or not.  It's like a living language. 

Thank you all for bringing this to life for me.

Sarah Moon