Frantically, I searched up and down the river calling out his name as hard as I could. No answer. He wasn't there--no one had seen him. Panic hit. Oh my God, he's gone. Drowned. I'd have to call his parents who lived one block from my parents back East, people I had known almost all my life, and tell them their son was dead and that it was all my fault! Just because I wasn't strong enough to say no when I should have. It was my weakness that had killed their son!

I was devastated. I saw the whole phone call in my mind--how his parents would react when I gave them the news. Their oldest son was gone. Dead. And it was all my fault. His family was ruined. I was ruined. The Wilderness Program was ruined. It was a total disaster. In the middle of this calamitous scenario, I suddenly heard a high-pitched yell: "Help me. I'm stuck!" It came from above. I looked up and saw him twenty-five feet up a steep rock face, holding on for dear life. Somehow in the adrenaline rush of what had happened, he scrambled up the rock as high as he could go. Now he was stuck and couldn't get down. I don't think I was ever happier to see anyone than I was in that moment. Relieved and grateful, I burst into laughter. I learned an incredibly important lesson that day: to say no when it needs to be said. It can literally save a life! Today my yes is amply strengthened by an ability to say no when judgment or guidance calls for it. The Clavey Falls hole is a teacher that really gets its point across. As for my friend, we coached him down from the rock face, and to this day I don't think he's ever been out on a river again.

Since then, I try to remember to listen for guidance whenever a situation presents itself for healing. While doing so always helps, it still doesn't guarantee smooth sailing. A number of years ago, when I was invited up to Portland, Oregon to lead a workshop on shamanic healing, I listened for inner guidance on what to do and got the go-ahead, so I told them okay. I sent the organizers some materials to draw on in writing up their publicity flyers. I expected some back and forth dialogue with them before they printed up the final flyers so that I could see what they were writing and make sure it was accurate. A few weeks later, I was taken aback when I received their completed brochure in the mail, saying, incorrectly, that I would be conducting "Native American Ceremonies."

I knew if Native people saw what they had written, they would be upset and rightly so. I was upset myself. In my work, I use what I have been taught and authorized by my elders to do, but I never claim it is Native American ceremony. I simply say, "This is what I have been shown by my teachers. It has power and meaning for me in a way that nothing else I have tried or know about does. I try to use it in a respectful way, for healing, for guidance, and for strengthening me to walk the best path I can in this life."

But it was too late to change what had been written. It had already been mailed out. When I flew to Portland a few days later, they met me at the airport. "We have a problem," they exclaimed. "A group of Native American people are upset about what you are doing and threaten to picket your workshop. They want to meet with you beforehand." I had expected something like this ever since I'd read their flyer. I was anxious but also curious to see where these people were really at. If they were really into medicine work, I trusted they would see not just my "outer robes," but also be able to read my heart and know what was there--my love and respect for the ways of Mother Earth and the Great Spirit. I thought of a saying I'd heard years before: "When the going gets tough, you get what you practice." In my daily prayers at home, I worked with the power of the south, faith and trust, in surrendering into Great Spirit's hands. Now was a good time to put it into practice under pressure. "Great," I said. "Let's go meet them." We grabbed a bite to eat and then went to the retreat site, where a Lakota pipe holder and a woman were waiting for us.

He was a solidly built man and very strong in physical presence. He didn't say a word when we were introduced, just nodded. The woman was the initial spokesperson. He sat down, closed his eyes, and went inside to listen from his looks-within place. I welcomed that. I knew that if he was open, he would know that I was walking the Good Red Road in the best way that I knew, trying to serve Great Spirit by following the directions I had been given on my quests and pilgrimages. I had nothing to hide.