At a recent sweat, a CEO of an international consulting and training company was in great despair at having lost his spirituality along the way to his material success. In the third round, I saw Spirit shoot into the lodge and enter his body. He jerked upward and burst into tears, sobbing in joy for the return of Spirit in his life. He thanked me profusely for his healing. I took in his words of thanks but I explained to him that it was to the wisdom elders, to the wisdom ways themselves, and to the indigenous people throughout the world still struggling to maintain their age-old teachings that we owed our thanks and our prayers. I taught him a thankfulness song, and with rattle and drum we sang and prayed together. Afterward, I emphasized the importance of regular thankfulness prayers and how this practice forms the basis for the resanctification of daily life. I also emphasized the importance of protecting the earth and her places of sacred power and of protecting the rights and very life of the indigenous people struggling against the forces of oppression that threaten their ceremonies by robbing them of their sacred sites. "You are a leader," I said. "You must remember that we are sacred beings. When we forget this basic truth, we dishonor ourselves and all of life. We cut ourselves off from our innate wisdom, creativity, happiness, and our potentials for leading more fulfilling and meaningful lives. When we remember our true nature--Spirit at the center of self and at the center of everyone and everything--and when we make room for its presence in our everyday lives, we create an opening for it to work through us in a healing way. Then we can listen for guidance on how to create lifestyles that contribute to healing Mother Earth and the full community of life." The executive listened to my words without responding. I wondered how he was taking them but I didn't want to intrude on his silence. Some time later I found out. He referred a close colleague who was also interested in learning about "shamanic healing ways."

At this point it is important to mention that saying yes to all requests for help is not always the right thing to do. Sometimes it is just as important to say no as it is to say yes. I learned about this from the medicine man who came to my quest class years before and who had helped me deal with my poison oak attack. "Just because someone asks for your help, it doesn't mean it is right for you to give it. Don't let your ego be the one that answers. You don't know what is best for another person. But the Great Spirit does. Take some time to go off by yourself and ask for guidance about what you are supposed to do. Listen for the Great Spirit's counsel. Sometimes you are not the person or your medicine is not the right medicine for what they need. Pray on it. Dream on it." A short time after this counsel, a dramatic river experience vividly brought home the power of his words. The year was 1974 and I was directing the Wilderness Treatment Program with heroin addicts, and white water river running was an important and exciting component of our program. We'd start people on less challenging rivers and for those who did well and wanted more challenge, we moved them up eventually to the Tuolumne River. The Tuolumne is considered one of the best white water challenges in the Western United States. It is not for the meek or the inexperienced. One spring, when the river was running fairly high, I put together a strong crew and was looking forward to a good run. At the last minute, a friend from elementary school days was out visiting from the East Coast and called me up to say hello. I thought he would enjoy the river run and invited him to join us. He had no experience with this kind of outing but with the rest of the crew strong in that regard, I figured we could carry him and it would be all right.

But at the last moment, one of our crew had to drop out and we were one person short. Several experienced folks from the program all wanted to go. We only did this particular run once per year, so it was a special opportunity. Then a reporter from a local paper asked if he could go on the trip and then write a story about the Wilderness Program. I was concerned about his lack of experience and knew that two inexperienced people would weaken our crew past the point of safety. When we hit rough sections of the river, we would need everyone on the boat working smoothly as a team under stress. We couldn't afford anyone freaking out, especially when trying to avoid the hole at the bottom of Clavey Falls, which I had already been in for a frightening period of time when I thought I was going to die, discussed in an earlier chapter.

I was in a quandary. I knew the reporter's story would bring good publicity to the program, highlighting our successful work with addicts using wilderness as healer. I also knew I would be taking a risk and endangering our whole crew by taking him on. My conflict was intensified by an insidious influence that I didn't want to face: I didn't want to be seen as a bad guy by saying no to the reporter. At the time, I didn't have the ego strength to deny him the trip and risk his ill will. I wanted to be liked more than anything else. It was a dangerous hole in my bucket. I ended up saying yes against my better judgment, and along he came.

All went well until we hit the last hundred yards on the swoop heading toward the falls. The momentum of the river is tremendous at this time, heading toward the drop off. If you hit the falls just right, you sail over the hole and catch downstream water that sweeps you out of danger. Well, we were out of synch. We went over the falls sideways and the hole caught the back portion of the boat. The captain and I were in the back. The hole's massive power started to suck the boat into its swirling maw. "Hard forward!" the captain screamed. Everyone dug their paddles into the waves and pulled with all their might. Ever so slowly, the boat started to inch forward out from the grip of the hole. "Pull!" yelled our captain. We pulled like maniacs. Huge waves washed over the bow. The boat stopped in mid-air. Just when the outcome could go in either direction, the two inexperienced rafters freaked out and stopped paddling.