Quantum Shamanism - Why Shamanism Works - Beliefnet: http://www.beliefnet.com/Faiths/Pagan-and-Earth-Based/2003/12/Shamanic-Healing-Why-It-Works.aspx
The above-linked article has some very important concepts in it, especially on the second page. It implies quite strongly that multiple observers with a belief in the desired outcome are greater than a single person - the shaman - acting alone. It also speaks to giving before receiving, and why that improves the outcome. In this case, it's payment to the shaman that cements belief in the desired outcome and pushes probability in its favor, but I can also see an insight into whay gratitude is such an enriching practice. You "give" gratitude and therefore "receive" more of what you've given gratitude for.
Additionally, this speaks on why it is necessary to follow the "prescription" given by the shaman healer. The duration of the observation of the desired outcome is prolonged by the act of following the "prescription," which strengthens the probability wave in favor of the desired result.
I strongly suggest that all shamans read this article, and meditate on how to improve their practice through this new understanding.
Blessings be to All,
Dan
Thursday, September 27, 2012
Poem: The Raven-Whisperer's Daughter
As you can see, the Raven Guide was hanging around in my subconscious before I knew that I would wind up becoming a Raven-Whisperer. I plan to learn as much as I can about these magnificent birds as well.
(1) “Serenata” is Italian for “serenade,” but the literal translation is “night song.”
(2) “Kutcha” is the healing raven spirit of Siberian Koryak shamans.
Raven-Whisperer’s Daughter……
In the dark ghost of twilight,
Silken fog with promise of frost,
She weeps shards of icicle tears,
For a father who speaks softly to harbingers of death,
Tall is he like a bare Winter Oak of five-hundred years,
With limbs like crooked branches and twisted twigs,
Her home is a stump-hollow pool,
Her bed a hummock of cobwebs’ steel-silk,
And she dances under a moon-ring,
Full-moon bright shines on the empty longing of her heart.
In the innocence of her fragile mind
She remembers
Gentle whispers of shared moments
Wise advice spoken from her father’s soul
Only meant to protect her
Safe from the folly of man
“Listen my child
Carefully as I speak
Be careful of those who come
Professing great portents
For they speak of greed
Disguised as guidance
But that is not their way”
Serenata is her name,
“Night Song,”
Sweet she sings as Muse of Lullabyes,
Knowing the Ravens whisper secrets of the dead in her father’s ear,
His word she believes,
She sees them perched on his shoulder,
“Kutcha, Kutcha, Kutcha!” they cry as they fly off,
Secrets delivered,
She shudders in the dim starlight,
Her lullaby turned sour and blue,
Yet still beautiful,
For she knows his dark words are true.
Caught unawares even within the walls of nature’s protection
The love of a human reaches out to her,
Careful he is in his approach,
Time is on his side,
For what he desires is worth the effort,
But she remembers,
Torn between what she knows,
And the newness of desire,
She must decide.
A brace of ravens swoops down,
Circling above her head,
“Kutcha, Kutcha, Kutcha caw!” they cry,
She hears whispers but cannot understand,
Burning with a new ache,
She wends her way through wood and glen,
To the secret place she first saw him,
A lone raven following,
Branch to bramble,
She is wary of bear or lion or wolf,
Yet driven in a way she doesn’t understand,
Her sweet song a burning whisper,
Pulling a shadow of night in her wake,
Her foot reaches a damp stone,
Burbling creek between her and the sheltered glen she seeks.
A final warning
From the raven who refused to leave her
“Remember, who you are
Your legacy
The future lies in you. . . .”
And then she saw him
With a bow and arrow in hand
Aimed at . . .
…Her father’s heart,
And she froze,
A firestorm of raging emotions new,
His words then pierced her surely and deadly,
“Whisper me Ravener, did my dead wife love me true?”
Serenata broke then,
Hearing her father’s simple answer – “Yes.”
The hunter’s bow dropped,
His tears echoed on her face,
She knew her love defeated by a ghost,
Raging and grieving was her lullabye,
As she sang it hunter climbed a tree and found a bough on which to sleep,
As Serenata reached the lines,
“If the bough breaks, the cradle will fall,”
Down came sleeping hunter to break on earth,
Raven flew to steal his dying breath,
“Kutcha! He loved you too…” first whisper she understood,
She turned and ran far to the cold North,
Ravens following,
And young mothers remember the song of her heartbreak,
Still gentle with horror today.
AquarianM & Dracula’s Woman
(C) 10/09/2011 (Poetry only)
By Daniel A. Stafford and Alexis Williams
Footnotes:In the dark ghost of twilight,
Silken fog with promise of frost,
She weeps shards of icicle tears,
For a father who speaks softly to harbingers of death,
Tall is he like a bare Winter Oak of five-hundred years,
With limbs like crooked branches and twisted twigs,
Her home is a stump-hollow pool,
Her bed a hummock of cobwebs’ steel-silk,
And she dances under a moon-ring,
Full-moon bright shines on the empty longing of her heart.
In the innocence of her fragile mind
She remembers
Gentle whispers of shared moments
Wise advice spoken from her father’s soul
Only meant to protect her
Safe from the folly of man
“Listen my child
Carefully as I speak
Be careful of those who come
Professing great portents
For they speak of greed
Disguised as guidance
But that is not their way”
Serenata is her name,
“Night Song,”
Sweet she sings as Muse of Lullabyes,
Knowing the Ravens whisper secrets of the dead in her father’s ear,
His word she believes,
She sees them perched on his shoulder,
“Kutcha, Kutcha, Kutcha!” they cry as they fly off,
Secrets delivered,
She shudders in the dim starlight,
Her lullaby turned sour and blue,
Yet still beautiful,
For she knows his dark words are true.
Caught unawares even within the walls of nature’s protection
The love of a human reaches out to her,
Careful he is in his approach,
Time is on his side,
For what he desires is worth the effort,
But she remembers,
Torn between what she knows,
And the newness of desire,
She must decide.
A brace of ravens swoops down,
Circling above her head,
“Kutcha, Kutcha, Kutcha caw!” they cry,
She hears whispers but cannot understand,
Burning with a new ache,
She wends her way through wood and glen,
To the secret place she first saw him,
A lone raven following,
Branch to bramble,
She is wary of bear or lion or wolf,
Yet driven in a way she doesn’t understand,
Her sweet song a burning whisper,
Pulling a shadow of night in her wake,
Her foot reaches a damp stone,
Burbling creek between her and the sheltered glen she seeks.
A final warning
From the raven who refused to leave her
“Remember, who you are
Your legacy
The future lies in you. . . .”
And then she saw him
With a bow and arrow in hand
Aimed at . . .
…Her father’s heart,
And she froze,
A firestorm of raging emotions new,
His words then pierced her surely and deadly,
“Whisper me Ravener, did my dead wife love me true?”
Serenata broke then,
Hearing her father’s simple answer – “Yes.”
The hunter’s bow dropped,
His tears echoed on her face,
She knew her love defeated by a ghost,
Raging and grieving was her lullabye,
As she sang it hunter climbed a tree and found a bough on which to sleep,
As Serenata reached the lines,
“If the bough breaks, the cradle will fall,”
Down came sleeping hunter to break on earth,
Raven flew to steal his dying breath,
“Kutcha! He loved you too…” first whisper she understood,
She turned and ran far to the cold North,
Ravens following,
And young mothers remember the song of her heartbreak,
Still gentle with horror today.
AquarianM & Dracula’s Woman
(C) 10/09/2011 (Poetry only)
By Daniel A. Stafford and Alexis Williams
(1) “Serenata” is Italian for “serenade,” but the literal translation is “night song.”
(2) “Kutcha” is the healing raven spirit of Siberian Koryak shamans.
Some Wisdom About The Raven As Totem Guide
I found this site that explains a bit of lore about the Raven as a spirit guide. Interestingly, it jibes quite well with a poem I co-wrote with another poet a few months back called The Raven-Whisperer's Daughter. I'll bring the poem here shortly - but for now, check out this site:
http://mystinwolf.tripod.com/raventotemguide.html
Blessings be to All,
Dan
http://mystinwolf.tripod.com/raventotemguide.html
Blessings be to All,
Dan
Friday, September 21, 2012
Video Of Me Playing On Thrum
I'm so thankful to have found Thrum - in a pile of unwanted instruments, of all places!
Blessings be to All,
Dan
Wednesday, September 19, 2012
It Came To Me In Dream-Time..
...a couple of days ago, just as I was waking up.
I had the image of a book cover. The book was titled "Spirit Walk" in the dream. I distinctly heard the word "Read." I heard it with emphatic emphasis. I awoke immediately after.
A Google search yielded a book titled "Spirit Walkers" about an anthropologist with no background in shamanism living on the side of an active volcano in Hawai'i.
Apparently our anthropologist went on some involuntary and extraordinarily-vivid journeys where he connected with the spirit of a Kahuna 5,000 years in the future, and he relates these journeys.
Interesting the things that happen when you open doors.
Blessings be to All,
Dan
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
Some Thoughts On What May Underlie Shamanism
I'm a firm believer that there is a universal intelligence that is part of the entire universe. I do not think it is like us, but I think that we're a part of it.
I also think that the human brain is a sort of "quantum computing device" and that our souls or spirits are subsections of that universal intelligence. I think our subconscious is able to connect with the universal intelligence through symbolic imagery, sound, and emotion.
I also believe that spirit guides are likely other subsets of the universal intelligence - possibly larger than us in ways, but definitely different.
I believe that all of this is why we continue to exist beyond physical death of our bodies.
Beyond that, we still have an awful lot to learn, but I think shamanic journeying is the way for some of us to connect that deeper level of ourselves to the conscious, waking world and open a dialogue between those two levels of ourselves.
Blessings to All,
Dan
I also think that the human brain is a sort of "quantum computing device" and that our souls or spirits are subsections of that universal intelligence. I think our subconscious is able to connect with the universal intelligence through symbolic imagery, sound, and emotion.
I also believe that spirit guides are likely other subsets of the universal intelligence - possibly larger than us in ways, but definitely different.
I believe that all of this is why we continue to exist beyond physical death of our bodies.
Beyond that, we still have an awful lot to learn, but I think shamanic journeying is the way for some of us to connect that deeper level of ourselves to the conscious, waking world and open a dialogue between those two levels of ourselves.
Blessings to All,
Dan
Sunday, September 16, 2012
Finding My Drum, My Guide, And First Journeys...
Pics are now added.
This post is going to be rather long - there were a lot of firsts packed into the past three days.
Let's start with how it came about: My wife got a flyer from a friend about a local shaman/shamanka being at a spiritual gathering place nearby for this past weekend when we went to a singing bowl meditation there on Labor Day.
I had a vision while meditating to the singing bowls. (There were five, three crystal and two Tibetan metal.) In the vision, I was a raven in flight. I could feel the beat of my wings pushing the air, see the ground beneath me far below, feel the flow of air over my body.
I decided to go to the shamanic journeying workshop. A few days before we were to have the ceremonies, we were sent a list of things to bring. One of them was a drum. I suddenly realized that I had no drum. To a shaman, the drum is a living companion - your spirit horse, the vehicle that carries you into the Otherworlds. (For some forms of shamanism, it is a boat or canoe.) In any case, the rhythm of your drum facilitates the trance that allows you to journey.
I was looking online at music stores to find a drum that would have a similar sound to what I was finding on Youtube. Nothing at any of the music stores' web sites was close. There were many international percussion instruments that were beautiful, but none had the proper singing drone.
I tried my hand at crafting a drum from available items. A clean, empty paint can - produces a beautiful ringing, almost howling beat. Not right. The closest I was able to manage was a plain five-gallon Home Depot bucket. It has a deep, booming beat that was similar, but not quite there. I was going to go with the bucket. I made my own drum beater out of a 2.5" pine dowel rod about 18" long, stained Sonoma red, with a brown electrical tape grip, and designs burned into it with a magnifying glass and sunlight. The drum beater worked great, but it was getting dented on the hard plastic ridges at the edge of the bucket.
During my search of the night before online, I saw an instrument called claves - two wooden sticks - hardwood - that are beaten or rubbed together to make various sounds. I was thinking to use one a a drum beater with the bucket. It turns out they were a little too small. But there, in the percussion room at Guitar Center, was a pile of un-loved instruments marked for clearance. One of them was exactly the type of drum I needed. I picked it up, and on the first strike of my fingers, it sang. Clearly, the drum wanted me as much as I wanted it. I bought it for $26.00 to a strange look from the sales associate, and the comment "You're going with that?"
I tried the drum out with my new home-made drum beater, and it was powerful. This drum has a beautiful, strong, deep voice! The drum has a rim of dark, dark hardwood, and a synthetic fiber skin. I had some beautiful stickers of Autumn leaves, so I put them around the rim. I am currently in the process of coating the band with clear gloss polyurethane to protect its leaves.
Yesterday was our journey circle. There were eleven of us, seven women and four men.The shaman leading us is named Paula Rosenfeld. She follows a mainly Ojibwe tradition. Paula had rattles and a few drums for those who didn't have their own.
We were holding the ceremonies and journeys at the home of Frank and Kristin, who have a beautiful home bordered by a marsh on one side, and a park on the other. Their side yard is large and mostly surrounded by trees. The weather was perfect, about 77 degrees and sunny.
Paula set out a cloth altar on the ground at circle's center - what South American traditions might call a mesa - and set upon it sacred objects. I had brought gifts for the spirits; a bottle of brandy, a fine cigar; red silk ribbons, and a opalescent marble. These were placed also upon the altar.
We started off going around the circle stating our names, a little about ourselves, and our intention for the day's journeys. Paula smudged the grounds and participants with sage burning in a turtle shell, and a large feather. After the smudging, Frank brought out his peace pipe. The real thing - with pipestone quarried by hand in Minnesota. We didn't pass the pipe. Frank filled it with tobacco, and sent prayers to all four directions and the spirits of the six directions - Hummingbird in the East, Coyote in the South, Bear in the West, and Bison in the North, Eagle in the Upperworld, and Mother Earth in the Lowerworld. We then drummed the beat of the six directions to call their spirits to aid us in our journeys. (Each spirit has its own beat.) I was drumming Eagle's beat, a rapid, continuous beat upon the drum's "sweet spot".
After this, we tightened the circle, and holding hands, did a Vedic breathing meditation to open the chakras. After the meditation, we kept our eyes closed while Paula set about calling our guides. At this part, I was moved by spirit to do the Eagle's beat on my drum, but very, very softly, so that it was barely audible. Paula later told me that she loved it; she had thought it was spirit drumming. Perhaps it was spirit moving my fingers - I am no expert drummer, I have no idea how I knew to do such a soft, unobtrusive and yet centering beat.
At this time, we set out to make our first journey. I did mine siting in a lawn chair, others were on yoga mats or chairs, mostly the mats. I used a green bandana to cover my eyes, and Paula drummed us into journey. Yolanda - lovely gentle spirit - played her beautiful crystal bowls the first two minutes. We were set to go only ten minutes, with a change in the drumbeat reminding us to return to the waking world.
In the first journey, Paula instructed us to start from a place we knew, one where we felt connected to nature. I knew it must be a beach, for I feel closest to Earth Mother when at the merger between sand and surf. It took me awhile to settle on a specific beach, but in the end I chose the shore of Lake Michigan just into the Indiana Dunes. It was a calm day, the water was like blue glass. I went into the water swimming. I was looking for a guide to appear. Suddenly there was a log floating in the water next to me. A bird alighted upon it. At first I thought it was a seagull, but no, it was a raven. I asked the raven if he could take me to Upperworld, and he said "Sure. Hold onto the log." I grabbed the log with both hands, and suddenly the raven was flying through the air with it held in his talons. I was like a trapeze artist flying through the air. The raven turned to me, and said "Next time, forest. I don't like this water stuff." Then the drum changed.
After this first journey, we sat in the closer circle and related our journeys to each other. It was decided then to move indoors to the basement because of ants, bright sunshine, and traffic noise.
After we settled into the basement, we went on our second journey. (I was right next to Yolanda's bowls for the second and third journeys. This was of immense help on these journeys.)
On my second journey, we were to inquire of our guides as to wht we were resistant about, faith, and something else I've since forgotten. I began this journey riding my bicycle along the prairie path, which is wooded with dappled sunlight. The raven appeared flying alongside me. (Riding my bicycle feels like flying to me.) I asked the raven to instruct me about resistance. He had me park my bicycle, and wade into a creek knee deep upstream. I could feel the current strongly against my shins. "That is resistance." said the raven. After that, the journey went subconscious, and I remembered nothing until the drumbeat changed to call us back.
We again went around the circle relating our journeys to each other. I am purposely not reciting what others told me of their journeys here; it is not my right to share without their consent.
The third and final journey of the day was to whichever world the guide wished to take us. I had no more than cranked the pedals of my bike three times than the power of Yolanda's crystal bowls singing had me in the Upperworld with the raven. I was seeing patterns of light and color, and patterns of gold and red ceramic and cloth, like ever-changing mandalas. I was taken briefly to a great hallway paneled with ancient wood, as long as the eye could see and more. There were many branches on either side. On each side were people sitting in fine chairs all lined along the hall .I knew these were my ancestors, and that this was just a brief introduction. Then we were back in Upperworld.
We went to a cave or room, I don't know which. My aunt Felicia was there. She is only 11 months older than I am, and we were very close as teenagers. I last saw her when I was fifteen. I am now fifty. She was diagnosed with full-blown schizophrenia when she was nineteen and institutionalized. She still is. She had a daughter the year before she was diagnosed, and her daughter is a wonderful young woman that I think very highly of. I told aunt Felicia that we all loved her, and missed her, and how proud she should be of her daughter and grandchildren. She listened, while she was there in her room, doing the things a young aunt Felicia would do, brushing her hair, singing softly, gazing out the window. I told her that if she wanted to come back, we would welcome her.
I turned to the raven and asked if he could heal her. His response was "Yes, but you're going to owe me a couple for this one." "Ok." I said. Then the raven said to me that I should open the brandy and leave it and the cigar in the crook of a tree outside, as he and the other spirits were going to need a party after dealing with all of us humans all day.
Just then there was a brass and yellow wood jar that I was told to open. Just as I took the lid off and vapors began to emerge, the drums changed.
There was a young tree outside where I had left a gift of cloth for the spirits, a bright red new bandana. I put the brandy and cigar there, opening the bottle and cutting the cigar.
There were many very heavy and deep stories after this journey. Several were moved to tears. I nearly was as I related speaking to my aunt. After this, we all went outside, and we gave a drum bath to the four journeyers most deeply-impacted, clearing their chakras with the spirit energy of the drums.
After this we packed up and said our goodbyes, thanking everyone for their roles in making it such a successful day.
I stopped on the way home and go the clear gloss polyurethane and a brush to seal the leaves on my drum, and started it as soon as I got home. I still have a few layers to do.
Today, I did my own cigar ceremony, thanking the spirits of the directions for their help before lunch. After lunch, I went to the mall to find dangles for the four holes in my drum. I wasn't sure what to get, but I knew I would find the right things when they were ready to come to me.
As I was walking into the mall, a raven literally flew by over my head.
I found two things, a raven key chain that I'll modify later for the drum, and a glass raven plate, about 10" square. I saw it and knew that it was to become the center of my altar. (Which I will going forward call a mesa.) I wasn't expecting to find this, or even looking to begin a mesa. It just happened. I know it is a gift from my guide.
Finally, in closing, I will tell you that I do not yet know the name of my drum. It will come to me. In fact, I think it just did as I was writing this. I will call him Thrum. I already knew the name of the raven, however. He is Kutcha, the raven spirit of the Koryak shamans of Siberia and Northern Russia. Perhaps he came to me to help me connect to the Russians in my mother's biological ancestry.
I am deeply grateful for everything that happened this weekend, and for everyone, including spirits, that made it all possible.
Blessings be to All,
Dan
This post is going to be rather long - there were a lot of firsts packed into the past three days.
Let's start with how it came about: My wife got a flyer from a friend about a local shaman/shamanka being at a spiritual gathering place nearby for this past weekend when we went to a singing bowl meditation there on Labor Day.
I had a vision while meditating to the singing bowls. (There were five, three crystal and two Tibetan metal.) In the vision, I was a raven in flight. I could feel the beat of my wings pushing the air, see the ground beneath me far below, feel the flow of air over my body.
I decided to go to the shamanic journeying workshop. A few days before we were to have the ceremonies, we were sent a list of things to bring. One of them was a drum. I suddenly realized that I had no drum. To a shaman, the drum is a living companion - your spirit horse, the vehicle that carries you into the Otherworlds. (For some forms of shamanism, it is a boat or canoe.) In any case, the rhythm of your drum facilitates the trance that allows you to journey.
I was looking online at music stores to find a drum that would have a similar sound to what I was finding on Youtube. Nothing at any of the music stores' web sites was close. There were many international percussion instruments that were beautiful, but none had the proper singing drone.
I tried my hand at crafting a drum from available items. A clean, empty paint can - produces a beautiful ringing, almost howling beat. Not right. The closest I was able to manage was a plain five-gallon Home Depot bucket. It has a deep, booming beat that was similar, but not quite there. I was going to go with the bucket. I made my own drum beater out of a 2.5" pine dowel rod about 18" long, stained Sonoma red, with a brown electrical tape grip, and designs burned into it with a magnifying glass and sunlight. The drum beater worked great, but it was getting dented on the hard plastic ridges at the edge of the bucket.
During my search of the night before online, I saw an instrument called claves - two wooden sticks - hardwood - that are beaten or rubbed together to make various sounds. I was thinking to use one a a drum beater with the bucket. It turns out they were a little too small. But there, in the percussion room at Guitar Center, was a pile of un-loved instruments marked for clearance. One of them was exactly the type of drum I needed. I picked it up, and on the first strike of my fingers, it sang. Clearly, the drum wanted me as much as I wanted it. I bought it for $26.00 to a strange look from the sales associate, and the comment "You're going with that?"
 |
| I named my drum "Thrum". Click on picture to view full-size. I spent the past three days using clear polyurethane to seal the leaf appliques onto the rim. |
I tried the drum out with my new home-made drum beater, and it was powerful. This drum has a beautiful, strong, deep voice! The drum has a rim of dark, dark hardwood, and a synthetic fiber skin. I had some beautiful stickers of Autumn leaves, so I put them around the rim. I am currently in the process of coating the band with clear gloss polyurethane to protect its leaves.
Yesterday was our journey circle. There were eleven of us, seven women and four men.The shaman leading us is named Paula Rosenfeld. She follows a mainly Ojibwe tradition. Paula had rattles and a few drums for those who didn't have their own.
We were holding the ceremonies and journeys at the home of Frank and Kristin, who have a beautiful home bordered by a marsh on one side, and a park on the other. Their side yard is large and mostly surrounded by trees. The weather was perfect, about 77 degrees and sunny.
Paula set out a cloth altar on the ground at circle's center - what South American traditions might call a mesa - and set upon it sacred objects. I had brought gifts for the spirits; a bottle of brandy, a fine cigar; red silk ribbons, and a opalescent marble. These were placed also upon the altar.
We started off going around the circle stating our names, a little about ourselves, and our intention for the day's journeys. Paula smudged the grounds and participants with sage burning in a turtle shell, and a large feather. After the smudging, Frank brought out his peace pipe. The real thing - with pipestone quarried by hand in Minnesota. We didn't pass the pipe. Frank filled it with tobacco, and sent prayers to all four directions and the spirits of the six directions - Hummingbird in the East, Coyote in the South, Bear in the West, and Bison in the North, Eagle in the Upperworld, and Mother Earth in the Lowerworld. We then drummed the beat of the six directions to call their spirits to aid us in our journeys. (Each spirit has its own beat.) I was drumming Eagle's beat, a rapid, continuous beat upon the drum's "sweet spot".
After this, we tightened the circle, and holding hands, did a Vedic breathing meditation to open the chakras. After the meditation, we kept our eyes closed while Paula set about calling our guides. At this part, I was moved by spirit to do the Eagle's beat on my drum, but very, very softly, so that it was barely audible. Paula later told me that she loved it; she had thought it was spirit drumming. Perhaps it was spirit moving my fingers - I am no expert drummer, I have no idea how I knew to do such a soft, unobtrusive and yet centering beat.
At this time, we set out to make our first journey. I did mine siting in a lawn chair, others were on yoga mats or chairs, mostly the mats. I used a green bandana to cover my eyes, and Paula drummed us into journey. Yolanda - lovely gentle spirit - played her beautiful crystal bowls the first two minutes. We were set to go only ten minutes, with a change in the drumbeat reminding us to return to the waking world.
In the first journey, Paula instructed us to start from a place we knew, one where we felt connected to nature. I knew it must be a beach, for I feel closest to Earth Mother when at the merger between sand and surf. It took me awhile to settle on a specific beach, but in the end I chose the shore of Lake Michigan just into the Indiana Dunes. It was a calm day, the water was like blue glass. I went into the water swimming. I was looking for a guide to appear. Suddenly there was a log floating in the water next to me. A bird alighted upon it. At first I thought it was a seagull, but no, it was a raven. I asked the raven if he could take me to Upperworld, and he said "Sure. Hold onto the log." I grabbed the log with both hands, and suddenly the raven was flying through the air with it held in his talons. I was like a trapeze artist flying through the air. The raven turned to me, and said "Next time, forest. I don't like this water stuff." Then the drum changed.
After this first journey, we sat in the closer circle and related our journeys to each other. It was decided then to move indoors to the basement because of ants, bright sunshine, and traffic noise.
After we settled into the basement, we went on our second journey. (I was right next to Yolanda's bowls for the second and third journeys. This was of immense help on these journeys.)
On my second journey, we were to inquire of our guides as to wht we were resistant about, faith, and something else I've since forgotten. I began this journey riding my bicycle along the prairie path, which is wooded with dappled sunlight. The raven appeared flying alongside me. (Riding my bicycle feels like flying to me.) I asked the raven to instruct me about resistance. He had me park my bicycle, and wade into a creek knee deep upstream. I could feel the current strongly against my shins. "That is resistance." said the raven. After that, the journey went subconscious, and I remembered nothing until the drumbeat changed to call us back.
We again went around the circle relating our journeys to each other. I am purposely not reciting what others told me of their journeys here; it is not my right to share without their consent.
The third and final journey of the day was to whichever world the guide wished to take us. I had no more than cranked the pedals of my bike three times than the power of Yolanda's crystal bowls singing had me in the Upperworld with the raven. I was seeing patterns of light and color, and patterns of gold and red ceramic and cloth, like ever-changing mandalas. I was taken briefly to a great hallway paneled with ancient wood, as long as the eye could see and more. There were many branches on either side. On each side were people sitting in fine chairs all lined along the hall .I knew these were my ancestors, and that this was just a brief introduction. Then we were back in Upperworld.
We went to a cave or room, I don't know which. My aunt Felicia was there. She is only 11 months older than I am, and we were very close as teenagers. I last saw her when I was fifteen. I am now fifty. She was diagnosed with full-blown schizophrenia when she was nineteen and institutionalized. She still is. She had a daughter the year before she was diagnosed, and her daughter is a wonderful young woman that I think very highly of. I told aunt Felicia that we all loved her, and missed her, and how proud she should be of her daughter and grandchildren. She listened, while she was there in her room, doing the things a young aunt Felicia would do, brushing her hair, singing softly, gazing out the window. I told her that if she wanted to come back, we would welcome her.
I turned to the raven and asked if he could heal her. His response was "Yes, but you're going to owe me a couple for this one." "Ok." I said. Then the raven said to me that I should open the brandy and leave it and the cigar in the crook of a tree outside, as he and the other spirits were going to need a party after dealing with all of us humans all day.
Just then there was a brass and yellow wood jar that I was told to open. Just as I took the lid off and vapors began to emerge, the drums changed.
There was a young tree outside where I had left a gift of cloth for the spirits, a bright red new bandana. I put the brandy and cigar there, opening the bottle and cutting the cigar.
There were many very heavy and deep stories after this journey. Several were moved to tears. I nearly was as I related speaking to my aunt. After this, we all went outside, and we gave a drum bath to the four journeyers most deeply-impacted, clearing their chakras with the spirit energy of the drums.
After this we packed up and said our goodbyes, thanking everyone for their roles in making it such a successful day.
I stopped on the way home and go the clear gloss polyurethane and a brush to seal the leaves on my drum, and started it as soon as I got home. I still have a few layers to do.
Today, I did my own cigar ceremony, thanking the spirits of the directions for their help before lunch. After lunch, I went to the mall to find dangles for the four holes in my drum. I wasn't sure what to get, but I knew I would find the right things when they were ready to come to me.
As I was walking into the mall, a raven literally flew by over my head.
I found two things, a raven key chain that I'll modify later for the drum, and a glass raven plate, about 10" square. I saw it and knew that it was to become the center of my altar. (Which I will going forward call a mesa.) I wasn't expecting to find this, or even looking to begin a mesa. It just happened. I know it is a gift from my guide.
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| Glass mesa. I've since added red silk ribbons and an opalescent marble. Click on the picture to view full-size. |
Finally, in closing, I will tell you that I do not yet know the name of my drum. It will come to me. In fact, I think it just did as I was writing this. I will call him Thrum. I already knew the name of the raven, however. He is Kutcha, the raven spirit of the Koryak shamans of Siberia and Northern Russia. Perhaps he came to me to help me connect to the Russians in my mother's biological ancestry.
I am deeply grateful for everything that happened this weekend, and for everyone, including spirits, that made it all possible.
Blessings be to All,
Dan
I have a lot of news for later today...
...and no time to type it up. I'll get on the laptop this afternoon and write it.
Good drumming,
Dan
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