The Big Horn Mountains of Wyoming have a river called Rock Creek.

The south fork is thick in forest and river crossings.

A ways up, there's a wall that comes all the way down to the river.

At one end of the wall, there is a slot in the wall, where a small stream of water flows out of it. People have gone in a short ways and turned around and left.

Maybe as if they were trespassing…

This story picks up where they left off…

The man's name was Skandar. A tall drink of water the old timers would say.

He had a knack for adventuring, mind you in his earlier days he wandered around the Himalayas alone carefree for years on end. Now being a half-century-old, he had gathered many shamanic ritual habits usually under a full moon.

Just so happens, he would come visit the big horns in early July.

Talk on the porch was that of a room at castle rock. He asked about it and found that it really wasn't much of anything. The ranch hand shared about the slot he had gone in at the rock wall in the south fork. He hadn't gone far in, said others went farther in and came back out. Skandar's interest perked up…He had a headlamp and well a keen imagination. He joked there might be a cross between a trout and a mountain lion there in the cave. The adventure was on…

That day was coming to a quick close with thunderstorms and he thought it best to wait until the next day. He finished the day speaking with horses and dogs and cats on the ranch. See, he could talk to any number of realms, i.e. the animals, plants and mineral kingdoms to name a few. Others called him a healer or a stone sculptor, seems he was always was up to something, just couldn't always understand what it was…

Might he go into that cave and indeed find some sort of spirit and come back with that certain look in his eye that said, "don't ask, won't lie". That night, the sky was black and restless, thunder and wind shot through the canyon. Skandar had a keen sense he was going to have a profound experience the next day…He slept in an old cabin on the ranch surrounded by geese, horses, goats, a jumbo pig and a peacock. He fell asleep to a wind that shook the cabin and thunder that roared and dreamed of a new Oz in the cave to be.

Morning came in clear sky and an unknown sense for what lay ahead for the Skandar.

He made his way to the south fork and found his walking shaft where he had left last year. Around the bend he found the creek a raging in flood stage water. His state of awareness quickly turns to high alert.

The current on the first crossing nearly sent him down stream. The second crossing nearly took him under. The third crossing he stopped and pulling out his pendulum, dowsing on whether to continue. A strong no was the reply. His return to the second crossing and dowsing again on to go up the gully instead of the crossing was a clear yes. This was to become a journey in dowsing for Skandar. The cave was not met to be; instead a climb up a rocky ridge where he would be guided by golden Eagles and deer trails. He rested at the cliff edge and asked the Eagle soaring above where was the spirit cave was to be found. The reply came; " your spirit must come out of the cave first, then all will be spirit and no cave will exist". The Eagles soon left over the ridge. Skandar made his on the ridge and found the cliffs sheer and loose. He dropped down into the deer realm and soon found their slight hint of trail weaving between the cliffs.

He found a view looking down the south fork and could see where the cave was. Raging water protected from anyone wanting to venture forth. The sky was getting dark and Skandar made his way onward. The ridge had hundreds of strikes of lighting that had hit trees over the years. He did not rest. Once to the meadow he is dowsing again to go right or left. Left he went into the mist and dowsing in the where about of spirit cave. The base of the cliffs he found the answer up a steep grey canyon for another day.

He made his way back through the knee high sea of wildflowers, deep purple and pinks and the rain soon started. Back at the ranch, drying out, the day so diverse not unlike the path to Oz, he fell asleep under crackling thunder and pouring rain.

Skandar started his journey under a cloudless sky. Making his way back to the canyon entrance. The going was steep and loose. It lead to bushwhacking, clinging to bushes and loose cliff sides. A large stone gave way as Skandar went to use it as a handhold. He sidestepped it as it tumbled down the gulley. His awareness was now very sharp indeed.

His dowsing for the cave was now near. He climbed on until a round stone caught his eye. He pulled it out of the matrix and was shaped not unlike a plump bagel minus the hole. This was the key to any and all spirit caves, a true power stone. Father up the ridge he saw a small ledge that had burnt resin in it. What was a small tree trunk had burned the sap to this pile of melted resin. Surrounded by trees that had been struck by lighting over the years, he understood that there was no cave, just spirit….

His descent down the steep pine forest, the Eagle came by to soar circles above him and they had a most wonderful exchange of energy one might call ones love. The bottom of the canyon was filled with a prospering squirrel community. The breeze sang through the aspens, the spirit of the forest alive and well in the strong summer sun.

Skandar had the stone in his hand and the sun in his eyes. Out of the dark of the cave came his spirit, free to go forth where spirits that free can share the Eagles oneness spirit….