Shaman Spirit by Silver RavenWolf
The space vibrates, dances, revels – djembe, ashiko, conga, and frame drums encase us in their magick circle of sound. The rattles cackle, their throaty lyrics snaking in and around each person.
Weaving the web.
No one may sit in this tribe of sound without an instrument. One person madly brandishes a metal salt shaker filled with dried beans. Another flourishes his favorite toka seed rattle, the pods clacking with sharp zeal.
Eyes close. Heads shake. Bodies sway.
Some get lost in the beat.
Herald the five to one count.
The energy surges.
Weaving the web.
The battered singing bowl is struck once to seal the work – its joyful expression as clear as the day of its creation.
A collective sigh rises from the group.
Participants drink in the sweet silence – that isn’t silent at all, overflowing with the specter of the crescendo as it continues to move within and around all.
The glittering web of intent quivers, capturing what is needed to create the whole.
And The Spirit of their work walks upon it.
Afterword, each person talks about what they felt, saw, or heard. Many times visions are shared. Excitement surges as someone whispers with incredulous awe, “I saw that, too!” And adds, perhaps, another detail to the first recollection. Others nod. No one is worried if they didn’t “see” another’s vision. It is understood that all is relevant.
All is accepted.
Interpretations are honored.
No validation is required.
I saw your dragons.
You saw the dancing women.
He saw the fire.
Indeed, the world tree was in the center.
There is the singing, you know, as the drums lick the air with their vibrations. No, not people here singing – spirits somewhere else.
In another realm.
A different place.
That unites with this one.
Peace With Nature