Your Baby Is A Dowsing Rod

Back in the 1960's it was not uncommon for farmers to employ dowsers, or water witches, when choosing spots to drill a well. My dad Jim recalls watching dowsers follow their forked rods during his summers at great uncle Elmer's farm in Molalla, Oregon. Dowsers held the y shaped forks in upturned palms with the
root of the stick facing the sky. When water was near, the root would incline downwards. Dad showed me this with the dowsing rod he inherited from Elmer years later.

I guessed it made sense, using something that was living or once living, to point out the location of a life-giving substance. However, I was not expecting to have my 15 month old baby perform the same function on our trip to the Languedoc this summer.

We arrived in Carcassonne, France for an 11 day stay in Vernet-les-Bains at the foot of Mt. Canigo, sacred mountain of Catalonia. My plan was to visit as many of the portals in the Venus Magic Square as possible and experience the ancient energies. To be fair, my husband Tobias and son Espen, were there as the sherpas and general support team. I was on a mission, thanks to The Portal, a fascinating book of personal initiation by Patrice Chaplin.

The dowsing began when we entered La Caune, a timeless cave near the abandoned town of Perillos where God is said to be buried and the devil lives. The cave itself is well concealed in a barren landscape and accessible only by a jeep track. Legend holds that it contains a black Madonna that was used in the first Pentecost so we were on the lookout.

Tobias and Espen entered first and as I poked around, following my energetic nose, I turned to discover the figure of Mary standing before me. Almost instantly, Espen came toddling over and began to pat the formation fondly, babbling and asking me to hold him up higher. When I picked him up, I noticed that the stone was riddled with amber crystals that Espen continued to touch. In the photo Tobias took, you can see light all around both Espen and I despite the fact that it was nearly dark and no flash was used.

As we left the cave, Espen began waving "good-bye" and smiling like crazy. He only does this when actual humans that he knows and loves are staying behind. I can assure you we were quite alone. He waved all the way down the path until the entrance was out of sight. "Who are you waving at Espen?" I asked, wishing he could speak. He laughed at me and continued to gleefully wave so I waved too-it only seemed polite.

The next dowsing occurred on Mt. Canigo itself. This was arguably the Portal of Portals, site of initiation and freedom. It was a climb. The track holds to the side of ridges laced together to the summit with nothing but granite on one side and air on the other. So of course we took our baby. Feel free to email me privately if you'd like to rant about the parental judgement on this one. Espen however, is an Aries and very much a little climber, so when we released him for a short break, he took off across the alpine meadow, straight for the snowfield and death defying drop down the mountain. I believe he intended to scale Canigo unaided.

Needless to say, the tyke usually loves being in his litter, squired about by Tobias, but on this ascent, he screamed every step of the way unless we provided raisins every five paces-the distance required for him to chew and swallow.

Take a moment to imagine this. Thrashing baby in large carrier strapped to man's back. Treacherous, rocky path with several thousand foot drop to the right. Wind is blowing fiercely. Initiation indeed.

We reached the summit intact though our nerves were somewhat flayed. As soon as we touched the peak, Espen became calm and serene. The Catalan flag snapped bravely in the gale, bundles of sticks for Feux de la St. Jean still unlit at the base of the iron cross. Young Wesp did not want to leave. He bowed down to the sticks and clambered over the rocks, patting each one like old friends. We had to pry his paws off the stone to descend. He slept the entire way down.

As for me, I was busy watching Espen at most of the portals after we found them, so I can't give you a huge read on my dowsing discoveries. The proverbial canary in the coal mine kept popping to mind, so I kept a close eye on him.

After we returned to The States, my friend Lavonne was watching Espen one afternoon when I arrived to find them both in a great excitement. Espen had wandered into my bedroom ahead of Lavonne and started yelling like he'd been startled. When she walked in, he was pointing at the corner of the room and babbling animatedly. "What do you see Espen?" was the first thing Lavonne asked him. It was clear to her that he was pointing at someone. He went immediately to my picture of Babaji, a beloved Indian saint, and began trying to take it off the wall. "Do you see Babaji?" Lavonne asked. Espen ran back and forth between the corner and the picture, looking between the two places and baby-talking rapidly. I arrived at that moment.

Whoever said children should be seen and not heard cut off a hugely interesting source of information and learning. Not that I am advocating child exploitation for the spiritually curious, I'm just saying, pay attention to the little ones. They see things we don't. They heard things we can't. They are closer to the spirit world than adults are and can teach us about who we were and who we will be when we die.

It may not be the 1960's anymore, but dowsers and children are still around and still full of perspectives that can enrich our lives if we let ourselves respect their knowing. One day, I hope to be invited to the realm of The Unseen by my son and that I have the courage and grace to say thank you and accept.