Maria Sabina, by David Ryan.
Gotcha.
Did you think I was going to give you ten steps? Share how I became a shaman?
This is such a funny subject to me. Funny because today there is so much talk about who shamans are and what they do, what defines a shaman and the like. I'm immersed in the talk. It may be because not many of us truly know what a shaman is, or, so as not to insult the intelligence of those who do, suffice to say that care must be taken to wrap (or unwrap) one's head around the notion.
My feeble attempt to explain is that a shaman is essentially trained in the very specific and traditional methods of shamanism that are unique to indigenous tribes and cultures. By elder shamans. These healers exist in nearly every culture. They take great pains and make tremendous sacrifices to develop intense connections with the spirit realm and with their helpers and guides. And then they are asked to use that power to heal members of the tribe. Indigenous peoples attribute illness to a loss of spiritual power, and so it is up to the shaman to restore them to health with all of the tools and helpers they can call upon. Can you imagine such a responsibility?
I am not one who is qualified for this, which is probably why I'm really uptight about the word shaman. I have been blessed to have studied with a medicine woman (whom I've never heard call herself a shaman before, I wonder if she'd consider that audacious?) who lives very much like a monk or a nun and has dedicated her life to her spiritual practice and honoring her spirit helpers, to the exclusion of many things you and I would consider essential for living a modern life. I think that's why the word holds so much power for me-because I know a bit about what her life really looks like.
The very good news, however, is that anyone can have a dedicated *practice*, in which they honor the sacred every day, develop their intimate relationships with spirit guides and allies, consider the Earth and her resources as holy, drum, dance, sing, tell the stories, light the candles and fires, fast, sweat, receive the gifts that the Plant People have to offer, pray, meditate, create altars and shrines, caretake the young ones and the elders, commune with ancestors on the other side, work with sacred tools, talk to the animals, and revere life with gratitude.
This is what is sometimes referred to as a shamanic practitioner. I don't want to get all left-brain on ya'll, but you know- it helps to make clear distinctions. A great many people want to walk the path (that is made simply by walking) but have fear about what to call themselves (I vote for no labels, lest ye accept the dogma that comes with it) or fear appropriating customs. Borrowing from cultural traditions can be a very serious business, particularly here in our Native America.
A good rule of thumb, I think, (and I hope I don't have to eat these words) is that if something is practiced in many tribes or cultures, such as drumming, for example-it could be OK. Comparitively, if a friend taught you a song in his or her language, it would not be OK to share it with most folk. I sometimes have to work up the nerve just to sing them to myself, they're such a gift. It's like Grandmother's silver times a thousand. To tell you the truth, I wish I had more to offer about what is OK and what is not. Sacred practice is a very personal and intimate journey. Much must be determined by your own ethics, and then triple checked by going into the ancient well within for council.
The very best news is that this work is calling to many. It is needed in a BIG way.
We find ourselves standing at the edge of the well, having made it that far, just having heard a distant call and knowing we had to walk. We're called "seekers" and such, those who follow the faraway sounds, right? Perhaps we know that stashed away in our biology are caches of memories of how to honor the sacred. Going there will not make us...anything at all- not a holy person, not better than our brother or sister, not to be rewarded. Little that we find there will support delicate, thirsty ego.
However, we make the trips into the unknown anyway, because we didn't come to the well to stand at the edge and wish.
We came to the well to remember.
