The Speaking Stone
Healing the Mother, the Daughters, and the Earth.
Ceremonial Record — Lion's Gate, August 8, 2026
There are maps of the Earth that depict what might be understood as her electrical nervous and venous systems. Essential to this concept is the understanding that the Earth is alive and carries living memory.
These flowing electrical pathways are commonly called ley lines, fairy paths, or dragon lines. They are believed to carry cosmic or solar energy, known as *yang*, while underground water streams carry telluric Earth energy, known as *yin*, sometimes referred to as the blood of the dragon. When dragon lines intersect with underground water streams, they are believed to form spiraling energy vortices that concentrate this power. These intersections are commonly called nodes, vortices, or holy ground.
Ancient peoples across many continents held ceremonies, built stone circles, dolmens, and temples, and undertook vision quests at places they considered sacred, honoring the Earth and their connection with her energy.
Why do we go? We go without knowing what will happen. There is no social recognition or financial reward for what we do. We go because my heart loves the intense connection I feel with the Earth and humanity through these healings. I am aligned with following a path that comes from within my heart, guiding me toward this service.
It is not easy. We finance the entire journey ourselves, and the healing work can be emotionally intense, bringing both positive and difficult emotions. But this is what I am here to do. Energy Grid healing work is not for the faint of heart.
Ruben and I kept feeling drawn to the San Luis Valley of Colorado. We were excited because we would be attending a UFO and ancient traditions conference called Snippy, while also visiting Mesa Verde and Chimney Rock, two places I had wanted to see for years. But just a few days before the conference would be the Lion's Gate alignment of 8/8. And where would we go for that gateway?
I felt completely drawn to Island Lake. I kept looking at it again and again on the map, telling Ruben how much I wanted to see this lake. We were already pushing the limits of the time we had available, and although Ruben listened, he would usually remind me that it was too much to fit into one trip.
We had planned to spend time at Mesa Verde, visiting its famous Cliff Palace and Balcony House, built by the Ancestral Pueblo people, sometimes called the Anasazi. We also wanted to see Chimney Rock, a natural lunar clock where, approximately every 18.6 years during the major lunar standstill, the Moon rises in alignment between its twin sandstone spires.
But I still wanted to go to Island Lake for the 8/8 Lion's Gate. I was keeping that desire mostly to myself because Ruben was already doing so much of the driving, packing, and planning.
Our time at Mesa Verde was magical. We climbed a 30-foot ladder, crawled through tunnels, and viewed the remarkable stone-and-mortar structures built directly into the natural sandstone cliffs. The history seemed to come alive around us. The scorching August sun made shade and water precious. I felt a great peace within the walls, stones, and surrounding land.
At Chimney Rock, we were able to sing and play the flute in ceremony to honor the ancestors. Day after day, Ruben would say, "We can try to fit the high mountain lake into the trip, but it's going to make the journey less restful." Eventually, we both agreed to fit it in.
Leaving the heat of Mesa Verde behind, we traveled into the high San Juan Mountains. They welcomed us with morning mist drifting among the lush green pines. We would be hiking to Ice Lake and Island Lake the following day, and I was nervous about climbing so high.
The hike was rated difficult because of the terrain and elevation gain, and we would be climbing well beyond the tree line. I had never hiked at such an elevation, where the air is thin. Altitude sickness had caused many hikers to turn back because of nausea, vomiting, or headaches. Would I be able to make it?
I had learned from Cloudpiler that the high alpine lakes of the San Juan Mountains are considered sacred vision-questing sites in certain spiritual teachings. According to these teachings, a vision quest can involve leaving the low valley floors and ascending into the intense, thin-air environment of the high mountains, where there is nothing between the seeker, the sky, and the Star Nations.
The weather was perfect for our hike. Island Lake sits at approximately 12,400 feet above sea level, surrounded by jagged volcanic peaks rising more than 13,000 feet.
The entire mountain range was shaped by ancient volcanic activity. Between approximately 40 and 25 million years ago, this region experienced some of the most explosive volcanic eruptions in Earth's history. Long after the main volcanic eruptions, deep underground magma chambers continued heating subterranean water. This superheated water dissolved silica, metals, and minerals from the surrounding bedrock. As the water moved through fractured fault zones and cooled, dissolved minerals, including silica, crystallized over time, forming extensive quartz veins.
Deep beneath the San Juan Mountains are interconnected ancient volcanic structures and hydrothermal mineral deposits, including complex networks of quartz veins. That sounds incredibly beautiful to me, but there is more. Rare and highly prized minerals, including rhodochrosite and fluorite, can also be found within the region's mineralized rock formations. Wow!
I knew within myself that Island Lake would be special and would hold a particular memory because of the water. After the winter snows melt, water from the surrounding mountains feeds these beautiful alpine lakes. Fine mineral particles suspended in the water can scatter sunlight and contribute to the extraordinary turquoise-blue color seen in the glacial lakes of the San Juan Mountains.
As we hiked, I discovered that stopping to catch my breath gave me time to appreciate the mountain. When I was walking, I focused on the trail and where I could safely place my feet. But each time I stopped, I noticed the vibrant greens of the dense forest, meadows of flowers as tall as my shoulders, and waterfalls cascading down the mountainsides. Those moments gave me time to take everything in. I felt as though I were breathing beauty.
We were there to honor the land. We placed flowers at entryways, offered songs, and asked permission from the spirit of the mountain to enter. Because you can climb a mountain and appreciate its beauty, or you can enter it as though entering a temple. It depends upon your intention.
Ruben ended up carrying my backpack, which contained the Native American pipe, made with heavy pipestone, along with the flute. We were climbing higher and higher, covering approximately eight miles in total. We had passed the tree line, and surprisingly, we needed our jackets because the air had become crisp and cold.
Loose slate stones shifted and slid beneath our feet. I was careful because my body was becoming fatigued, and I was beginning to stumble more easily. I stopped again to catch my breath.
My mind welcomed the stillness. Even though the air was thinner at this elevation, I felt something unusual about it. The air seemed alive in a way I had never experienced before, almost like electricity.
I remembered Indigenous teachings describing the tree line as a boundary between different realms. Below, among the trees, is the familiar world of human life. Above the tree line, where the mountain peaks rise bare into the sky, is the realm of the mountain spirits. We had asked permission to enter.
And finally, we made it! I made it!
For the first time, I laid eyes upon the beauty of Ice Lake. The luminous turquoise color was breathtaking. Clouds unfolded and rolled across the sky, perfectly reflected in the clear waters below. Ruben's flute sang across the wind as we offered a prayer with the medicine pipe to the seven directions, asking for blessings upon all living things, the Earth and sky, and offering a song for humanity and the union of hearts.
I wanted to swim in the water but held back because of the cold. We still had a long way to hike back down, and the wind was chilly. We ate a small snack and enjoyed the mountain.
Then my doubts returned. I was so tired. Could I really make it to Island Lake?
We had been told that the climb from Ice Lake to Island Lake would be even more intense, with additional elevation gain. From where I stood, I could see part of the trail leading upward along steep slopes with sheer drops. I had reached the point where I needed to choose. Would I continue climbing toward Island Lake, or would I turn around and descend the mountain?
The sky had darkened, the wind had picked up, and I felt apprehensive. But at that moment, I decided to continue toward the place we had planned to visit. I would try.
The wind was blowing hard now, and my body shook with fear as I climbed past a sheer cliff. I tried not to look down. I could feel the weakness in my body and knew how easily I might stumble.
Ruben was nimble and sure-footed, carrying both backpacks. I would see him standing on a cliff above the trail, and then a little later he would appear on another hill. He moved as though the mountain welcomed him, as though he belonged there.
And then gratitude began to flow through me. Gratitude for simply being there, climbing this mountain in the cold. My body was exhausted, but suddenly I felt a surge of joy. Excitement began building within me, and I noticed something unexpected. I was picking up my pace!
We had already hiked so far, and the climb had become increasingly steep. My body should have been growing more fatigued, yet instead, my stamina seemed to increase. My heart was leaping with excitement, almost as though I were returning to a place I knew very well. It was that feeling of anticipation when you know you are almost there.
My pace quickened, and suddenly a voice within me said, "The Speaking Stone!"
I continued around a bend, and now I was almost running. I was literally jogging! Again, the voice within me spoke, this time with awe and reverence, almost like a whisper.
"The Speaking Stone."
And then I saw it. "Oh..." I exclaimed, breathing out in amazement. There was Island Lake. So soft. So beautiful.
I stood there, completely amazed. Surrounded by iridescent turquoise water was a stone that reminded me of a turtle. Suddenly, a powerful image surged within me.
I saw the lake almost as a representation of the third eye. I thought of the tiny crystalline structures within the pineal gland, surrounded by fluid, and of the stone resting within the water. Then I looked at the steep peaks rising sharply on every side, encircling the lake like a crown chakra.
For the third time, I heard the voice within me. But this time, the voice seemed to introduce me to someone sacred. It said, "This is the Speaking Stone."
Understanding began flashing within me. I remembered teachings describing high-altitude glacial lakes as the eyes of the Earth, like mirrors reflecting both the world above and the world within. I thought of vision quests, of seekers fasting and looking into pristine mountain waters as they reflected upon their inner state. And I thought of the stone that speaks.
Then the sun came out, and the wind stopped. I knelt beside the water and cupped my hands to take a drink. The water tasted sweet. We presented the cross pipe to the Speaking Stone, and we swam in the clearest waters.
Somehow, I knew everything would be all right. I would not be cold, and the hike back down would be safe. The descent was steep, but it was filled with warmth. And strangely, I did not feel tired.
Healing the Mother, the Daughters, and the Earth
We had come to the San Juan Mountains, to the lakes, to the water, and to the stone. We had come into the geometry of the Earth as we understood it, to sit within a place where the landscape itself seemed to hold a convergence. And we had come on 8/8, the Lion's Gate, a threshold.
We did not know exactly what would happen. We only knew that we felt called to this place. And then the teaching came.
Tears began to flow. I understood water as a reflection of the full spectrum of light. The prisms of color were like mirrors, reflecting what had been seen and what had been forgotten.
I was shown many girls of different ages and backgrounds. Some appeared as shadows, others as stories waiting to be witnessed. Among them was a young girl who had been separated from her family and taken to a place where she was shamed, mocked, beaten, exploited, and trapped in the sex trade. She had been told that money was being sent home to her family.
Many children appeared before me, flashes of memories and fragments of lives. Again, I was brought back to this young girl. At the time of her death, she longed to be held by her mother. Burdened by shame over what had been done to her, she believed returning home would bring dishonor upon her family.
Her freedom had been taken from her, and she remained in a place of suffering until her death. With her final breath, she believed she could never deserve to be held by those she loved. More than anything, the girl wanted to see her mother. With an intense longing, a soul cry filled with fear and shame, she died.
Her spirit lingered in a place where memory repeated itself. Not as punishment, but as an echo. Moments replayed because they had never been witnessed, never been held in love, and never been brought to completion.
I was then shown the girl's mother, who had made a choice born from poverty and desperation. The mother had allowed her daughter to leave for work. Somewhere within her heart, she sensed danger, yet her mind denied what her heart already knew. She hoped and prayed for a different outcome.
But the years passed. No money came. No word was given. There was only silence and no news of her daughter. Beneath that silence lived a grief too great to name. At the time of her own death, the mother longed to know what had happened to her child.
Though separated in death, both carried the same wounds of shame, guilt, and longing. They moved through the same space like shadows passing one another, unable to connect. They were together in what I understood as the **Bardo**, or underworld, yet neither could find the other.
Like wandering spirits, they remained unseen to one another. Their wounds replayed again and again, like a dissonant record or a program unable to complete its update, caught in repetition and unable to return to harmony.
I began singing in Light Language and praying. I witnessed them, not to erase the darkness or change their lives, but to love them, even with their darkness. For darkness gives shape to light. Without shadow, there is no form, no contrast, no image through which light can reveal itself.
I witnessed them at their deaths. I looked into their eyes and took their hands. Then many more came as I continued to sing and pray.
Next, the mother was able to witness her daughter's death and finally see what had remained hidden from her. She held her daughter and forgave herself for the choices she had made in fear and scarcity.
At that same moment, through time, the daughter felt her mother's presence at the moment of her death. She felt herself being held. The blood, the tears, and the pain were all seen. And they embraced, spirit to spirit and heart to heart.
The mother spoke the words that had waited lifetimes to be spoken: **"You were never guilty. You were never to blame. You were always loved."**
And the daughter received those words, letting go of a shame that had never belonged to her. What had remained frozen began to move.
Then I saw there were many more. Women sold as property. Mail-order brides. Servants. Women who had been trafficked and forgotten. Children treated as cargo, whose heads were shaved and whose identities had been stripped away. I saw generation after generation of feminine life reduced to labor, obedience, service, or possession.
Yet none of them had been forgotten, because their sorrow remained within the Earth as a living resonance. As the living song of Light Language continued, they were witnessed. They rose from the ground as they were remembered. They formed circles, and as they were loved, they held hands and danced together.
The shadow was not destroyed but illuminated, revealing the beauty and sacredness that had always remained beneath it. Then came a deeper teaching. This healing was not only for mothers and daughters. It was for the feminine itself.
For ages, the feminine heart has been asked to serve fear, systems, authority, and survival. The wisdom of the heart has been doubted, diminished, and overruled. Yet the heart knew. The mother knew. The heart saw what the mind could not bear to see. The heart spoke what the mind refused to hear.
This was the return of feminine sovereignty. Not the domination of the mind by the heart, but the restoration of their rightful relationship. The heart leads, and the mind serves. The heart remembers, and the mind learns. The heart knows, and the mind follows.
In this reunion of mothers and daughters, the living and the dead were healed. What had been forgotten was brought into remembrance. Through them, generations were lifted from shame into belonging, from separation into union, and from sorrow into light.
This ceremony became a song for the uniting of the heart of Mother Earth with the hearts of her daughters—mothers, grandmothers, women, girls, and children across time. What had once been scattered began to gather. What had been divided began to remember itself.
A healing of union. At-one-ment. A healing of the feminine heart.
The shadow is not the enemy of light. It is what gives light its shape. Just as shadow upon a canvas reveals depth and beauty, so too can the wounds of life become part of the greater picture when held in love.
I am a witness to darkness that can break my heart in two simply by seeing it. But I am also a witness to its return to wholeness.
The feminine healing reminded me of Kali, drinking the spilled droplets of blood so that suffering would not endlessly multiply itself. Fragmentation seeks to repeat and reproduce its dissonance through generations. Healing brings wholeness and oneness to those fragments. Those things that were many join together and become whole.
The human form carries the records of many lifetimes and many ancestors. This body is a temple, a house, and "within it are many mansions."
To gather those records into coherence is to become the Living Tree of many branches. One vine. Many voices. One song.
The healing of the Earth Memory Record is not separate from our own healing. The healing of the Earth, the animals, the trees, the ancestors, and the human family are woven together. **We are all relations.**
The upper worlds and lower worlds, the inner worlds and outer worlds, overlap like circles sharing the same center. When healing occurs within one part of the whole, harmony spreads throughout the others.
This is the remembrance of unity, the song of the Living Tree.
Aho.
More About the San Juan Mountains and the 8/8/8 Alignment
The San Juan Mountains are understood in certain esoteric interpretations as one of Earth's Crystal Memory Banks. According to these interpretations, the San Juan Mountains, including Island Lake, sit along what is called the Beijing Ley Line, described as forming the western border of Colorado's Golden Triangle.
Within this framework, intentional spiritual work at such places is believed to act like acupuncture needles, helping to clear, repair, or upgrade the Earth's Memory Grid.
Why would the Beijing Ley Line be associated with the San Juan Mountains? Because, within this esoteric understanding, the mountain range is considered a true dragon line.
Beneath the San Juan Mountains lies an immense and complex network of ancient volcanic calderas and hydrothermal mineral systems, including extensive quartz veins within the surrounding rock.
In esoteric geography, crystals are sometimes understood as storage vessels for Earth memory, holding the energetic records of everything that has occurred upon the land for millennia.
The high-altitude water basins, such as Ice Lake and Island Lake, are imagined as cooling systems or liquid processors resting above these underground crystalline memory networks.
Within this interpretation, water traveling through the mountain's mineral-rich geological systems carries the signature of the Earth. It eventually reaches the high mountain environment, where water, stone, sunlight, and sky come together. Here, water is understood not only as a physical substance but also as a vessel of information.
Special Notation
At times of tragic death, the spirit may be understood as fragmenting or splintering—a state in which the self becomes separated from the knowing of itself. Within this understanding, a spirit may become caught in repetitive loops of psychological distress and suffering.
Dissonance, almost like static, creates a sense of separation from the higher soul. Experiences repeat rather than move toward integration and healing. Wounds may continue to form, creating further fragmentation, until the soul becomes caught in increasingly complex patterns of repetition.
This is an image of ever-increasing disharmony.
Different spiritual traditions have described realms or states associated with death, suffering, and transition in different ways. Examples include Helheim in Norse tradition, the Bardo described in Tibetan Buddhist teachings, and Purgatory in Christianity.
Although these traditions do not describe identical concepts, they offer different ways of contemplating the soul's journey, unresolved suffering, and the possibility of transformation.
Comments