Chantress Seba - You Are the Light
Play the accompanying music video for this blog post—if you can pull yourself away from the mesmerizing duo. This beautiful track served as the inspiration for this piece.
Ojibwe land. Sacred land. Posted land. Over 40 acres of wooded terrain that shelters timber wolves, black bears, coyotes, deer, an observant owl, and even a mountain lion that defies extinction.
On the day my spirit lover, Hans [1], whispered, “It is time for a change,” he guided my hand to select the 10 of Cups in a Tarot reading. That card planted a vision of the northern regions of Minnesota—a new frontier awaiting me. At the same time, I was deep in negotiations for a 10-acre property in Vermont, but Hans called my bluff. He carried me forward into a journey of transformation, from one adventure to the next.
A Reckoning with the Past
Once, I lived a staged and materialistic existence, a seeker of illusions. Surrounded by “pretty things” that I thought would anchor me, I constructed a gilded cage—what I now call a “rich prison” [2].
It was at my sit spot, in the quiet embrace of nature, where everything shifted. At 51, with Hans guiding me toward higher states of consciousness, I finally confronted the truth: the pretty things I clung to had betrayed me, binding me in the false promises of superficial beauty and possessions.
With Hans by my side, I descended into the underworld of my own making—a reckoning of what it means to let go of the artificial and embrace the sacred.
Returning to the Land
To live in the farthest reaches of northern Minnesota is to resume an initiation into spiritual expansion. This land is not just a home; it is a sacred space of shapeshifting energies and unseen worlds. Here, the breath of a demon brushing my neck serves as a reminder of the land’s true protectors.
I summon these spirits with the beating of my frame drum, inviting them to intermingle with my own spirit. Together with Hans and Hermes, I descend into the underworld—this time, with intention and purpose.
A Solitude Misunderstood
To be among the trees and beasts in this wilderness is, for me, a communion with the sacred. Yet family and friends warn me against the dangers of such isolation. “You could get injured, mauled, or worse,” they say.
But isn’t that what we do to each other in grocery stores, schools, and shopping malls? We destroy one another. We destroy ourselves. We strip the sacredness from the land.
To die here, to disappear and never be found—that dream recurs for me.
The Death March
When it’s time to go,
when the angel
whispers his hello,
it’ll be a death march into the woods,
giving my flesh to the soil,
giving away my worldly goods.
When the moon coyly slips out of the clouds
and I begin a silent transformation,
far away from all the crowds,
far away from their probation,
deep within a colony of spruce,
sans hospital, sans abuse,
unfurling under the pine pitch,
bramble jabbing my ribs,
I gasp and begin to twitch,
bypassing the peering eyes
of a clinical gazer,
letting go of my flesh,
my spirit lifts without a waiver [3].
Aging as a Return
Some call aging a path to wisdom. For me, it is a return—to the land, to the spirits, to the calling from the other side.
This land I now call my own—according to the purchase and sales agreement—is an illusion. No one owns the land. I am but a caretaker, part of a long line of caretakers.
A Communion with the Invisible
I am a lover of wild, isolated places, moving through the woods with Hans, who guides me deeper into communion with the unseen. Together, we encounter strange creatures—some growling, others whispering indecipherable words that Hans translates and mediates.
We are peaceful warriors, seekers of sacred connection. We listen, pray, leave offerings, and make love beneath the trees. In those moments, we disintegrate into the forest and return to the stars.
Notes
[1] Hans is not a metaphor. He is my spirit husband who joined me in 1993 after his passing in Germany. My Creative Dissertation at CIIS explores our relationship, its influence on my creativity, and its spiritual depth.
[2] Morwood, J. (2010). Cupid Grows Up. Greece & Rome, 57(1), 107–116. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0017383509990301
[3] Excerpt from “Death Arrangements” poem by Lavavoth, 2022.
I lost my way–as Hans held my hand and observed my descent to an underworld of my own making.
To live in the farthest reaches of northern Minnesota is to resume the
initiation toward spiritual expansion.
This sacred space of the shapeshifting kind, this unseen world, where the demon’s breath on the nape of my neck, alerts me to the true protector of this land.
I summon these spirits with the beating of my frame drum, inviting their presence to intermingle with my spirit within, descending (intentionally this time) to the underworld with Hans and Hermes at my side.
To be in the woods among the trees and the beasts–what family and friends caution as a terrifying and lonely place–they say to me, “You could get injured, mauled, or worse.”
But isn’t that what we do to each other in schools, grocery stores, and shopping malls? We kill one another, we kill ourselves, we kill the sacredness out of the land.
To die in the land, to disappear and to never be found again–this is a recurring dream…
Some people call aging wisdom. For me, aging returns me to the land. It is a calling from the other side. Where I end up, I never know.
This land, this place that I seek----that according to the purchase and sales agreement, I “rightfully own”----is an illusion.
No one owns the land.
I am merely a caretaker, in a long line of caretakers, a lover of wild and isolated places, in tow with my dead lover — who guides me deeper into the woods — where strange creatures come out to play, invisible ones that size me up through initiation. Sometimes they growl and whisper indecipherable words that Hans must interpreter, mediate and gatekeep. Together, we are peaceful warriors, seekers of communion. We listen, we pray, we leave offerings, we make love under the canopy trees, disintegrate and return to the stars.
Notes
[1] Hans is not a metaphor. He is my actual spirit husband who joined me in spirit in 1993 after his passing in Germany. My Creative Dissertation at CIIS is about my romantic relationship with him and how he fuels my creativity and spirituality and how more often than not we play the mythological roles of Psyche and Eros.
[2] Morwood, J. (2010). Cupid Grows Up. Greece & Rome, 57(1), 107–116. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0017383509990301
[3] Excerpt from “Death Arrangements” poem by Lavavoth, 2022.
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