Several years ago, I felt Called to Ordeal, in particular to physically visit Odzihozo.  For those who are unfamiliar with Lake Champlain and/or Western Abenaki geography, Odzihozo is a rock about half a mile from Shelburne Point, southwest of Burlington.  That rock is said to be the dwelling place of a self-made Being who shaped the landscape we see today.

I did not go.

Part of the reason lies in the method by which I was called to visit.  I was supposed to swim.  I’m a competent swimmer and fat enough to float easily, but I am terrified of deep water (thank you, Steven Spielberg!).  Of course, I allowed myself all sorts of rational explanations for not going- that it was silly, that I didn’t want to offend, that it was dangerous…

In short, I was chicken.

Let me be clear, such a swim is not a cakewalk.  Indeed, as this link notes, the weather on Lake Champlain can change radically.  I find it interesting that TWO of the four examples given in this article involve people visiting Odzihozo without reverence.  Furthermore, the swim appears to be most of a mile… one way.

Such a trip, in calm weather at least, should be within my capabilities, though I’m out of shape and out of practice with swimming.  The tough part is really the mental piece.  Did I mention that I am terrified of deep water?  Leaving aside the whole Jaws angle (and Champ for that matter), I have come close to drowning or otherwise dying in water three times:

Strike One: As a young child, I walked over a “drop-off” and disappeared from sight.  Luckily my parents realized that I was missing and my father could see me wandering around on the bottom.

Strike Two: As a young (but older) child, I tried to get a beach ball out of a pool and fell in.  This time I had to get myself out.

Strike Three: As an adolescent, I was exploring a frozen lake with a friend.  The ice was pretty thick, so we figured it was safe.  After awhile, my friend went back, but I was really curious about a line of miniature mountains where the ice pushed together in the middle. After crossing the fracture zone for a better look, I fell through the ice up to my waist. Strangely, though the lake was very deep, I was standing on something and managed to pull myself out of the hole.  On the way back, I fell through again, this time up to my shoulders, as my arms managed to hold on to the hole.  I flailed around and again finding footing, climbed up out of the hole.

Guess what lake that happened in?  Yup.  Lake Champlain.

I managed to fall through the ice not once, but twice, on the same day.  I then had to walk back to shore, at least half a mile, while my clothes did their best to freeze solid and turn me into a statue.

Mind you, I like to swim, but I struggle with the hidden nature of what I can’t see.  I found an interesting article on this phenomenon recently, shortly after the Call resurfaced.  I was Called once and refused.  Now I’ve been Called again.

I’ve always felt a special draw to Lake Champlain.  I can feel the change in the land-energy (we need a name for that) as I get closer to it.  There is just something special about the place.  Almost freeze-drowning might have been the low point of my time living near the lake, but I had other, better experiences as well.

One of the high points involved swimming at the Sand Bar State Park in Milton (I used to live in Milton).  Sand Bar is, as the name suggests, a very shallow, very sandy part of the lake.  In the many times I swam there, I encountered practically no rocks except the occasional skipper…  Then I stepped on this one:

Yes, that is a piece of smoky quartz.

Yes, I stepped on it.

As an adolescent, I stepped on a specimen-grade piece of smoky quartz in an area where all the rocks were worn smooth by countless years of sand and wave action.  Even at the time, I recognized that this was unusual, significant even.

Unfortunately, in the intervening years, I lost sight of that.  I even left the stone at my parents’ house when I moved out.  Thankfully, they found it years later when moving themselves and returned it to me.  Even then, I left it neglected for years at a time, gathering dust with the knick-knacks.

Then the Call came again.

I was meditating, doing some breathing exercises, and I felt once more the tug of Odzihozo.  I’ve felt an affinity towards Him for years, ever since my father first told me a version of the story.  It was only in recent years that I felt Called to make a visit in person.  Indeed, prior that that Call, I would not have dared visit the island.  It seemed sacrilegious to me.

Now I can’t stop thinking about it.  The Call is much stronger this time.  In my mind’s eye, I keep imagining the Journey.  I keep sensing the deep, dark, cold waters beneath me.  I can sense, in some primal way, a Presence beneath the surface.  My pulse is pounding again as I write this.  The liminality of swimming a long distance is terrible- exposed with equal vulnerability to what lies beneath and what soars above.

To Journey across the surface of the unseen depths, dark cold water that means certain death to the unlucky, tied to the world of light and life by only the tiniest margin of (quiet literally) breathing room.  It is this which terrifies me.

I already know what Odzihozo sees beneath the water’s surface, He shared that with me.  To Him, the depths are filled with love.  He loves the water and its creatures like He loves all that He surveys- all that He shaped.  It is a beautiful way of seeing the lake.

But I still fear it.

I fear the unknown.  I fear that which dwells therein.  I fear the possibility of storms, of careless boats.  Most of all, I fear my own weakness.  I am fragile, within and without.

I am ashamed, as well, of ignoring His gifts to me- both the unlikely rock and the improbably survivable trial-by-ice.  Odzihozo may not be the Creator, but He is the Transformer, and I have known His direct influence twice already.

I guess it’s time for Round Three.  I’m still scared stiff.  I will bring Him gifts, but that is no guarantee of success nor of safety.

With luck, I will post an update after the fact.