I journeyed out yet again to the little broken-down house out in
the forest, where no human lived, where nature had taken over and
lived amongst its stone, within its damp walls open to the sky above.
Its two fireplaces were still cold and unlit. I knew my ritual now
and stepped a little fearfully into the darkened space. Sitting on the
ground I took my drum in my hands and played a gentle beat.
I called
to my guardians, my angel being, my allies and friends to be with
me. I called to the spirit and the creatures of the land here to support
me. The nature spirits and the sounds of the river and her ancestors,
all of my ancestors, this was their work as well as my own.
In my drum bag were two candles left from a previous time in a
ritual. Here they had remained. I took them out and placed one in
each of the empty fire places. Sharing a few words about the two
areas of tension in my life that I was bringing soul-fully together, I
lit each candle with a blessing. Sitting back against the wall behind
me I drummed with my eyes centred on the wall in between the two
fires. I could see each little flame from the corners of my eye. I was
afraid that one may blow out, but they both stayed alight and burned
brightly.
As I drummed a song began to bring itself out from my heart.
I am of a mother tribe
I am of a mother tribe
Its heart and its wisdom alive in me
I am of a mother tribe
I am of a dancing tribe
I am of a dancing tribe
Its heart and its wisdom alive in me
I am of a dancing tribe
I am of a sacred tribe
I am of a sacred tribe
Its heart and its wisdom alive in me
I am of a sacred tribe
Stepping up and standing against the wall between the fires I
became the ‘almond’ of the Mandorla in the centre. Singing my song,
tears rolling down my cheeks, playing my drum I felt the weight of
that tension lifting from my shoulders into the universal energy of
love that was above me, held and supported by the ground, the earth
beneath my feet, the deep love of the mother.
I was all of this and more, I was awake and aware of what moved
inside me and around me. Fascination for the path I had chosen, no
matter how challenged or how cursed I felt at times.
Rocked by The River
True adults make changes; they rock the boat in society. They
are ‘change agents’. We will not rock the boat by simply healing.
We can keep on working out our shit and becoming more whole,
but we need to get on with everything else as well. There is grief to
be cried and wounds to transform but there is much ‘other’ work to
do as well. We need to express our deepest longings to the world, to
find fulfilment by being of service to the world. We need to become
a bigger part of our tribes and communities.
There is a place within us all that longs for this, it is our ecological
identity and will keep calling to us as we live our lives. For some
it is easier to shut ourselves away from this calling. To close down
what is pulling on our ‘soul strings’, for some it is a longing that
cannot be ignored. We have to express this deep longing. Allowing
it to pour through us, without demanding that it be a certain way,
not demanding from the world to make it right, but to get our acts
together and step up to the challenges it brings.
The mystery calls and we learn to inhabit our own unique place.
There is only one way to prove that it is what we want by being
heard in the world, by rocking the boat, by making waves in the
lakes around us.
We make ourselves so alluring that the mystery
cannot help but want us. There becomes a longing on both sides
of the lake of mystery. We often do not know exactly what we are
courting; it is often simply an instinct, stepping forward endlessly
to meet with the unknown. Sometimes it does not help to know, for it
would no longer be a mystery.
We are hunting the sounds, the gut instincts, the scent, the passion
and the desires. Each day and each night offers a new vision, a new
sensation and a new dream. We fail many times and must be willing
to fail, for here we learn more, experience more and learn about
what it is we do not want from life.
Pursuing the dream we fall many times, willingly stumbling from
hillside to mountain, from rock to brook, becoming beautiful as the
sacred hunter. It is incomprehensible that the divine may show its
face and that we would know what it is that we seek, for the journey
may be over and all our hard work to be in vain. There would be no
more need to dance, to hunt, to explore the legends of our tribes.
from Reclaimed Innocence; MyVoice Publishing
Caroline Carey Writings, Prose & Poetry 