celtic spirituality shamanism story

I was finally willing to let the veil fall, hearing again the world beyond the wooded ramparts of my home. The spirits kept saying “listen” whenever I journeyed for their help. I was standing in the garden when the inaudible barrier collapsed, and the Oran Mor (great song of the universe) flowed over the hills like a golden tsunami.
The conversations of the Oaks immediately became clear to me, their brush and rustle leaf exchanges were not a sign language so much as a tender song language. How is it I’ve been so afraid to hear the music that holds all of this silence so effortlessly?
Forest     Next the business of being a bird wove its way through, here a percussion, there a chirp-squawk. They were aware of the music, moving with humility, and certainty. The grasses spoke, my garden crackled in the mouths of mice and other citizens. The daytime croak of a frog I moved, the one with a white stripe down its back, volleyed in just to make its presence known.
I became aware of my own resistance to the great song of life, only as my resistance was tumbling away. I’ve not yet arrived here as a full citizen, I stand on legs at once infantile and achingly senior. But I have arrived enough to know I won’t be leaving, not ever again.
I have a responsibility to care, to let this song take me where it will. Its the same job we all have, to show up with our soul, willing to be swayed by the song of life. The fear that made me deaf to it died out long ago, the husks that remain are waiting to be crushed, all thats required is that I stumble through them, like I did today.

I am now set on the path of wine and song, I hope to bump into you there sometime soon.

Photo Forest by Mojave Desert
From Flickr, used under 
a Creative Commons license

Leave a Reply