I sat down at my computer this morning to write a column about the importance of drumming for the dying. I had interviewed and outlined, turned the ringer off of my phone, made a fresh pot of Sumatra and kicked the cats outside; my pre-writing rituals. Then an email popped up and my train of though got diverted, "I tried to call you but only got your voicemail - you must be writing. Turn on the radio, Mt. St. Helens is erupting!"

Mt. St. Helens, erupting again after twenty-four years; has it been so long? My youth and young adulthood have passed since I last witnessed the power of Gaia and the Goddess within the Mountain.

I leaned back in my chair, closed my eyes, and took a nostalgic trip back over the years from the wide-eyed little girl I was, to the strong, independent woman I have become. I was there that Sunday in May, purely by coincidental design if you're prone to believe in coincidence. I don't. I'm more the everything-happens-for-a-reason type of thinker. Maybe it's my eternal optimism or my inner romantic. Or maybe it's simply my deep-set stubborn streak and my resistance to conventional thinking. However you paint it, I was there and I like to think the experience added itself to make me who and what I am today. But don't let me get ahead of myself. For those of you either not from the Pacific Northwest, or too young to remember the '80's, let me give you some background lore on our local attraction.

Long before the white man came to these shores, the local native tribes held strong reverence for the fiery mountain, but not necessarily in a spiritual, sacred, sacrifice-the-virgins sense. Being witness to her long history of eruptive behavior and hearing the ancient oral legends as they were passed down from one generation to the next, Lawelatla or "One from Whom Smoke Comes" was given a wide berth. Her slopes and surrounding forests were never hunted, nor was her lake, now known as Spirit Lake, fished. Only the strongest of young warriors stepped foot upon her slopes in their ritualistic attempts to prove their bravery and earn their feathers.

But Mt. St. Helens wasn't always an entity to be feared. She was once a wrinkled, ancient woman whose name was Loowitlatkla, "Lady of Fire". Loowit lived in the center of the arched land bridge, Tamanawas, or "Bridge of the Gods", which spanned across the Columbia River between what is now Oregon and Washington. Her task was simple, but very important; she tended the sacred flame for the tribes on either side of the river. Each day a fire-runner came to her and she would give to him a torch set aflame from her sacred fire which he took back to rekindled the fires of his village to keep his people warm and over which they cooked their food. Her kindness towards the Natives and her faithfulness in her simple task was so extraordinary, that she was noticed by Tyee Sahale, The Great Spirit. To reward Loowit for her compassion, Tyee Sahale decided to bestow upon her a great gift which he had bestowed on few others - the gift of eternal life. Loowit, though she graciously received her gift of immortality, began to weep, "I thank you, Great Spirit, for your gift, but I do not wish to live forever in the body of a grizzled, old woman".

"I can not take back the gift I have given you, Loowit," answered Tyee Sahale, "so I shall grant you one wish."

Loowit's wish was to once again be the beautiful young maiden she had been in her youth. Tyee Sahale granted Loowit her wish and before long, the fame of her wondrous beauty, coupled with her empathy for all life, spread over the land, far and wide, like a wild fire pushed by the hot Gorge winds.

The stories of the beautiful maiden Loowit reached the ears of Wy'east, the chief of the Multnomahs in the south. Wy'east was known as the most handsome and robust of warriors and he knew he had to go to her, for only such a woman could be worthy of being his bride. The chief traveled north to Tamanawas and the moment his eyes met Loowits', their hearts began to beat as one. As Wy'east got down on his knees to proclaim his love, his brother from the north, Klickitat, appeared. Klickitat had also heard the stories of the beautiful maiden Loowit, and being he was the fiercest and strongest of warriors; he too knew that he must make Loowit his bride. Like his brother, the moment Klickitats' eyes met Loowits, they both fell under the spell of love. But poor Loowit! She loved them both and could not choose between them. A tremendous fight broke out between Wy'east and Klickitat. They fought ferociously, burning villages and forests, leaving nothing but death, destruction and ash in their wake.

Tyee Sahale watched this fury between his children and became very angry. He felt responsible for the devastation that Wy'east and Klickitat were wreaking and in his fury, he smote Tamanawas Bridge, which fell into the river where even today, it still roils in protest. He smote the three lovers also, which hurt him even more because they were his children and he loved them.

Where Loowit fell a mighty mountain arose, with symmetrical slopes and blanketed in white - Mt. St. Helens, as beautiful as Loowit had been in her human form. Wy'east fell on the south side of the Columbia River, and there arose Mt. Hood, who still lifts his head in pride. Klickitat fell to the north and arose as Mt. Adams and even for his rough and warring manor, he had a tender heart where Loowit was concerned and he can still be seen, head bent in sorrow, weeping to see his beloved wrapped in her winter snow. The three lovers set together for eternity, but forever apart.

So it was on that Sunday morning in May, twenty-four years ago, my family and I set out on a scouting excursion to find the exact location of my Fathers new wood-cutting permit, deep in the Gifford Pinchot National Forest. My family and I lived high in the cascades, we got two television channels and only if the weather was cooperative (read: clear skies, no wind) and our radio reception was even worse. Needless to say, we had little knowledge (or cares for that matter) of what was going on in the outside world. Oh, we read the papers and we'd felt the tremors running in the earth, we knew the sleeping Goddess was waking up, but nevertheless we innocently ventured up into Loowit's range that day with complete, blissful oblivion.

Perhaps, even as a child of twelve, I could sense the energy shift riding the air. I do remember, as clear as if it had happened this morning, the feeling of anxious excitement as I squirmed around the backseat of our VW Beetle - enough so that I got a reprimand from my Father, who is a man of very few words. It seemed as if we'd been driving all day, traversing up the graveled logging road, switching back over and over as we gained elevation, but such as it is when you're a kid. I remember the air loosing its warmth the higher we climbed and remembering I wished I had brought a sweatshirt.

Just as we reached the summit of the mount, where the land was scarred by the recent rape of trees, the south road gently curved to the north side. And that's when she came into view, in full-blown erupted fury. I remember my Father slowing our car down to a stop, his mouth agape and silent. We were at the same elevation as Helens rim and no more then a mile away - to the south (had we been to the north, I wouldn't be here to tell you the tale). The Goddess of the Mountain, Loowit, in her misery, her rage, her heartbreak, had let loose her passion and there was nothing between her and I but a small valley.

Such power - such raw, natural energy - was, in the true definition of the word, awesome.

What had once been a scenic backdrop for artisans was now suddenly a twisted, scorned woman. But then she went silent, more or less, and life here went on with little more then a fleeting thought of those events from most. But Loowit refuses to be silent and last week, she began to rumble us all awake again.

Now is a time of wild earth energy and I think we should all be attentive to our intentions, no matter where you reside. This is a raw power, coming up from the depths of Gaia and any direction to which it is channeled will have vast effects and powerful magicks. Through Loowit, Gaia is giving us a chance to wield her feral force, not in anger, but to heal Her and ourselves. Here is an exercise to help you contact, channel and direct Gaia's intense vibrations:

Bringing a bottle of water with you and find a*quiet* place outside where you can sit or lay comfortably on the ground. This doesn't have to be the middle of the woods; if you're urban, find a park, a patch of lawn or simply hold a flower pot of dirt in your hands. The water you bring with you can be a bottle purchased from the store, or fresh water if you can get it - just as long as it is drinkable. Some people will argue that fresh water is better, but all water is from Gaia.

Once you've settled, find your Sacred Silence. This is akin to meditation. Once you've quieted, lay your hands on the Earth and breath with her rhythm, feeling her power. You may sing, hum or chant if Spirit moves you to do so. Listen to the sounds around you; the birds, the wind, water if you're near any - even the drone of cars if you're in the city. Also, listen for any inspired words or guidance from Spirit. Visualize where you would like to channel Gaia's energy and breathe deeply for several breaths, sending the energy.

This exercise may take you a few minutes, or you may find an hour has past.

Whenever I travel deep into the Sacred Silence, I often return extremely cold, weak and shivering. This is simply, for me, an energy shift and if it happens to you, do not be alarmed. Drink from your bottle of water and let Gaia's blood refresh and nourish you. When you are ready, rise and know that you just made powerful magick!

--Olwinn Solvhauk