Heavy Magic - The Lessons of Snake Medicine
This year has been a wild and unexpected unravelling, and this month, yet another layer was peeled away, when our home in Topanga Canyon and all of our belongings burned to the ground in one of the many fires that ravaged our beloved city. As the ashes settle I’m left with a bewildering sensation of duality amplified to the max. I feel both light as a feather while also feeling an intense opposing gravitation pull - like a heavy stone tied to my heart, keeping me close to the the collective grief of loss and all the complexities that continue to surface.
When the fire died down our friend Jake wandered the moon-scaped canyon ridge where our house once stood. He reported back that everything was gone...or almost everything. He was perplexed, or perhaps spooked, by the only remains he found. Inside the bed of my husband’s pick up truck, which had otherwise been burned beyond recognition — paint scorched off, windows melted, tires evaporated — sat three six-foot-long painted wooden snakes. These wooden snakes appeared to be untouched by the fire that had burned absolutely everything around them.
The snakes were gifted to me years ago by my friends Gail and Charles who were dealing antiques at the time. They were unsure of their origins but knew I would appreciate them because of the snake symbolism I’d always woven into my artwork. Those who know me and have spent time in my home know that I am endlessly fascinated and devoted to studying snake medicine - which represents cosmic consciousness, transmutation, shedding the skins of the past, rebirth and renewal, and the practice of experiencing anything willingly and without resistance.
The snakes had been left in the truck bed because we were in the process of decluttering - cleansing to prepare for a move into a smaller space. I’d taken several boxes of objects and kids clothing down the hill to donate, but each time, I didn’t have the heart to let go of the snakes, so they kept returning home with me. As I would drive back up into the canyon, I’d have an inner dialog with them, as I have many times in the past. ‘What’s your story anyway? Where are you from? Who carved you and for what purpose? Were you used in ceremonial rituals? Do I even have the right to be your guardian?” These conversations always led to a conclusion that letting go of these snakes felt like a symbolic loosening of my spiritual and vocational devotion to snake medicine.
Days later, we miraculously managed to expedite passports to make it to my brother in-law’s wedding and as we were waiting to board the flight, I bumped into the couple that had gifted me the snakes, whom I hadn’t seen in years.
These are the moments in life where synchronicities feel alive in every encounter, asking us to recognize our place within the cosmic fabric. The universe is always in conversation with us, weaving threads of meaning and guidance through the seemingly mundane.
I am both haunted and invigorated by the visual of the wooden snakes, completely unscathed, laying in the ashes. Snake medicine is heavy magic. That which might be poisonous can be ingested, integrated and transmuted if I maintain the right state of mind. I whole heartedly accept this initiation, and I commit to remain in the universal flow of creation and service.
So many have lost so much and such a heaviness hangs over our city that it’s easy to lament a time like this. But this morning my husband reminded of the story that I love of the Chinese Farmer that Alan Watts tells.
I will leave you with as a reminder that the universe expresses a divine generosity in peculiar ways.
Long ago, there was a widowed Chinese farmer. The farmer and his only son labored through the cold winds of winter and scorching rays of summer with their last remaining horse. One day, the son didn’t lock the gate of the stable properly, and the horse bolted away.
When neighbors learned what happened, they came to the farmer and said, “What a sadness this is! Without your horse, you’ll be unable to maintain the farm. What a failure that your son did not lock the gate properly! This is a great tragedy!”
The farmer replied, “Maybe yes, maybe no.”
The next day, the missing horse returned to the farmer’s stable, bringing along with it six wild horses. The farmer’s son locked the gate of the stable firmly behind all seven horses.
When neighbors learned what happened, they came to the farmer and said, “What happiness this brings! With seven horses, you’ll be able to maintain the farm with three of them and sell the rest for huge profits. What a blessing!”
The farmer replied, “Maybe yes, maybe no.”
The next day the farmer’s son was breaking in one of the wild horses. The son got thrown from the horse, fell hard on rocks, and broke his leg.
When neighbors learned what happened, they came to the farmer and said, “What a great sadness this is! Now, you’ll be unable to count on your son’s help. What a failure to break in the horse properly! What a tragedy!”
The farmer replied, “Maybe yes, maybe no.”
The next day, a general from the Imperial Chinese Army arrived to conscript all the young men of the village into the army. Their assignment was to fight on the front lines of a battle against a terrifying enemy of overwhelming force. The farmer’s son, because of his broken leg, was not taken.
When neighbors learned what happened, they came to the farmer and said, “What a great joy! Your son avoided facing certain death on the front lines of the battle. What a blessing!”
The farmer replied, “Maybe yes, maybe no.
So, if a voice inside you starts to tell you that something is unfortunate, or too dark or that this is somehow insurmountable, just try to tell it: Maybe yes, maybe no.
Because as much as I’ve disliked the times of trial and adversity in my life as I was going through them, the greatest growth and gifts have always been on the other side of those trying times.
I’m so grateful for the infinite opportunities to grow, for my beautiful family and for this incredible community. Thank you to everyone who has reached out to support me and my family through this time. I feel your love and it truly keeps me going.