
Stepping Over The Edge: An Invitation
March 30, 2010Telling this story is the last part of the drum beat – the vibration that follows the collision of beater to leather.
Telling this story is the last part of the drum beat – the vibration that follows the collision of beater to leather.
I like to imagine what my wildest Pagan ancestors would say to me if they were sitting beside me now. Likely they wouldn’t caution me to be especially concerned with respect or propriety when exploring my spirituality.
I’m telling you this now because I want you to know something – I’m coming for you.
I want to gather each story from the river and share it with you; slowly, gently – like drinking warm honey
I turn to the concrete circle in the middle of our acre of land surrounded by a forest of Oaks. Bowing, I step across the threshold and begin to dance.
I became a member of the tribe of Shamanic Workshopper’s shortly after graduate school.
“I used to be afraid of the dark until I had my first child. Then I had to get up in the middle of the night to breast feed her. It was through that experience that I came to know the dark was sacred.”
I knew this bone was held by the ancient people that fed on the animal it came from. Holding something stone that was once living opens a world of possibilities.
Last night I was surrounded by at least a dozen spirits, they were tossing me around like laundry in a dryer.
During our brief friendship Ernesto took me under his wing, trying to help me to understand what I’d been going through.
I keep backing away from my keyboard, finding excuses to be distracted. Its been far more difficult writing about this part of my past than I thought it would be.
The dreams, visions and waking shamanic experiences started several years before I found my way to a Shamanic Practitioner
What would you do if after years of hearing voices you woke up one morning to them saying “It is time; now they are calling you.”
only heard about Rolling Thunder because I was taking Iaido lessons from one of the last living Samuri.
I felt like my head had been cut off, filled with hysterical laughter and put back on upside down.
Nina was experiencing a call to a sacred practice. That calling has been ringing out for at least as long as we have had language, story and song.