Short Story: "Enchantment in the Woods"

An experience I had three years ago still haunts my dreams. I can’t convince you to believe it really happened. But, when you feel the chills climb your arms and tickle the back of your neck, you will know that I am telling the truth.

I was with a merry group of women in the countryside of Cornwall, England, enjoying the late summer sun. We were on our way to Boscastle on a footpath through the woods that began behind Minster Church.

As we approached the diminutive church, gravestones growing out of the deep grass whispered softly, in sad tones of grey and brown. Colorful ribbons waved in the breeze from ancient yew trees surrounding the churchyard, weaving all the colors of the rainbow into the luscious green tapestry.

Once inside, gravestones embedded the walls like shiny diamonds in a crown.

As a quiet emptiness enveloped me, I felt invisible eyes following my every move. I shuddered from the dampness, as we walked outside to begin the hour trek.

Just beyond the churchyard gate, we came upon a small gravestone that read: “Joan Wytte. Born 1775, Died 1813. Buried 1998. No longer abused.”

“Joan was a midwife, condemned as a witch, who was tortured and left to die in prison,” my friend Liz informed us.

A beautiful stream flowed gently next to the footpath. Each of us walked at our own pace and I found myself on the path alone. The sound of the rushing stream transformed into the most peaceful music that seemed to be coming from very far away.

Suddenly, I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Looking down and I saw a moss-covered tree stump. Ribbons and pieces of cloth were tied to the branchlettes and its crevices held more pricey offerings: gold and silver rings, watches even.

Realizing that this stump must be sacred, I took off one of my friendship bracelets and tied it to a tiny branch. I smiled and thanked the spirits of the forest for offering such a luminous day.

As I arose and started to walk along the path, I had an inkling to look over my shoulder. Hovering over the stump, I saw an iridescent light, like sprinkly fireflies dancing. I could barely make out the shape of a human body before it disappeared with a white flash.

Disbelieving what I had seen, I caught up with my friends. I described the stump, and asked if any of them had noticed it. They all said no. So, we all walked back towards the stump. We walked and walked, but couldn’t find it! It was as if for a moment, a veil had been lifted just for me. But, why?

Giving up, we found a lovely stone grotto and sat down on the soft grass to eat our packed lunches. An old woman, dressed in long, brown robes sat down and pulled out a small loaf of bread and cheese from a paper bag, smiled at us and quietly ate her lunch.

One of my friends asked her if she had ever seen a sacred tree stump decorated with ribbons and jewelry on this path. The old woman stopped chewing abruptly and eyed my friend thoughtfully.

“When did you see it?” she asked, her sparkling blue eyes growing large.

“Today. But, I didn’t see it, my friend over there did.”

She pointed at me and the old woman gazed into my eyes for what seemed like an eternity.

“Come with me, I have something to show you,” she said.

She took me to the other side of the grotto wall where she pointed out a carving of a labyrinth on the wall.

“Do you know what this is?”

“It’s a labyrinth,” I said.

“It is a passage into the Otherworld, like the sacred stump you came upon. Did you see anything else?”

“Well, I saw something. It seemed to be made out of light. What was it?”

“A faery, the most powerful faery in the forest! She allowed you to pass into her veiled world. Did you also hear the unearthly music?”

“Yes, just before I saw the stump.”

The old woman fell to her knees, pulled me down next to her, and began to tell a story.

“There was a great hero named Cuchulain, who while traveling through these parts many years ago, fell asleep against the tree in the forest–the same tree that is only now a stump. Here he passed into the Otherworld where Fand, the beautiful queen of the faeries lived.

Fand and Cuchulain fell deeply in love, and vowed to meet under the yew trees that grow by the old church. She would leave her husband, Mananan, and he would leave his wife, Emer.

However, when Emer came upon them with fifty of her handmaidens intending to slay Fand, Fand gave up Cuchulain and returned to her husband Mananan.

Overcome with grief, Cuchulain pushed aside food, water and sleep for many weeks and sat waiting under the magical tree that marked the door to Fand’s world. Sadly, Fand never returned for him.

Finally, the druids brought him a potion to make him forget shimmering Fand for all eternity.

Fand did not forget Cuchulain and waits forever to reunite with him in spirit near the stump. But, she will never reach him, even beyond death. Her husband, Mananan, shook his cloak between them, to keep them apart for all of eternity.”

I sat quietly, taking in this tragic love story.

The old woman stood up slowly, walked over to the wall and began to trace her finger over the labyrinthine pattern. She turned and smiled at me, as if to bid me farewell as I stood up.

“Thank you for telling me that wonderful story. It was nice meeting you–who are you?”

“My name is Joan.”

She smiled one last time and disappeared into the misty air.

Drumming & Storying

I recently submitted an article to Soul Pilgrim, an eletronic journal about "walking the sacred path in everyday life." I'm hoping that the artist will let me post a link on my site so my visitors can download this journal in pdf format.

I wanted to post my article here as well....as always please feel free to comment.

Blessings,

Kris

Listening to your Soul’s Rhythms

Where I come from we say that rhythm is the soul of life, because the
whole universe revolves around rhythm, and when we get out of rhythm,
that's when we get into trouble. For this reason the drum, next to the
human voice, is our most important instrument. It is special.

--Babatunde Olatunji
Nigerian drummer

One of my greatest personal challenges in life has been to follow my own lead, my own beat. As Babatunde reflects, “the whole universe revolves around rhythm,” and I imagine this as a driving heartbeat that never ceases. I’ve spent many years meditating and sometimes channeling the universal rhythm into my body. Like cosmic stardust, it is a great healer. I wonder how this universal rhythm operates in tandem with the universal harmonic: the harmony of the spheres.

All of the planets in our solar system and indeed the whole cosmos each vibrate at their own frequency. Astrologers would say this is why each individual has a unique harmonic blueprint, since our bodies are made of stardust. The same can be said of different drums. Each drum has its own voice that is expressed through contact with human hands. No one can play my drum and make it sing the way I do; that doesn’t mean that I am superior in any way. All it does mean is that the alchemical combination of my soul and the drum’s soul create a unique sound.

Even the material that a drum is made of, whether it is metal or wood, imprints it with its own voice. The drum is considered a living, breathing sacred instrument in many cultures all over the world. For example, in Africa the drum is venerated partly because of its ability to mimic the voice of the gods and goddesses, and also because it is an extension of nature:

Among the Yorubas of Nigeria (and presumably in other areas of Africa also), the very first step in the making of a drum is the ceremony which placates the spirit inhabiting the tree that is to be cut down for the wood from which the drum-frame will be subsequently carved. (Spencer 69)

Nature is the driving force behind the sound of the drum. Each drum has a singular sound because of the tree it was carved from. When played, the voice of that particular tree spirit emanates from the drum. Humans do not choose drums, the drums definitely choose their humans.

For many who have never played a drum–please try it, it will change your life!-rhythm is never further away than your own body. The breath is rhythm, the heartbeat is rhythm. The body grows and changes, the body decays and dies. Rhythm is both circular and linear, vertical and horizontal. It moves in all directions and connects the past and the future with the present. The pulsating beat of a drum allows the consciousness to break from linear, temporal space into the eternal space-time continuum. Drumming is an integral part of the shamanic journey.

To accomplish the shamanic journey, the shaman enters into a specific type of altered state of consciousness that requires that he/she remain alert and aware. In this state, he or she is able to move at will between ordinary and nonordinary reality [...]the set and setting are dictated by the beliefs and ritualized ceremonies of the culture and, most relevant to this study, the rapid and sustained use of percussive sound. (Maxfield 1994)

In my own work, as performer and as workshop facilitator, I’m always amazed at how natural improvisational drumming is for beginners, sometimes even more so than for professional musicians. Although, learning correct hand technique and style are important skills, I emphasize listening and self-expression, along with a series of easy to play, yet complex rhythms. Most beginners learn the beats used in the drumming circle in less than forty-five minutes! A great accomplishment since many are learning authentic African, Middle Eastern and Latin American rhythms for the first time.

Once the different rhythms are under their belts, I lead them through a series of exercises that helps them to relax, play and speak at the same time. Once we do a run-through of the rhythms and everyone has had a chance to improvise, we begin to go around the circle and tell our stories and our dreams. With the rhythm putting the participants in a light trance, the stories take on a life of their own and fly through the atmosphere. What better way to celebrate the spirits, the faeries, the deities and the ancestors...and most importantly, ourselves.

Each year I become closer to my own internal rhythms and consequently it becomes easier to express the stories that are flowing out of my soul. Story is so personal, and each human being needs to hear another’s story as well as speak their own within the community. The territory of “storying” is shapeshifting and fluid, it is a powerful sacred space where magic, wonder and love is born. Connecting threads come out of our story and joins with others on a community and maybe even a global level. Drumming brings us together in a collective voice, while at the same time allows for individual expression.

The rhythm of your heartbeat tells a story--paint it, draw it, write it, act it, dance it, and of course, if so inclined, drum it.

Works Cited

Maxfield, Melinda. “The Journey of the Drum.” ReVision, Spring94, Vol. 16 Issue 4, p157, 7p.

Spencer, Jon Michael. “Rhythm in Black Religion of the African Diaspora. Journal of Religious Thought 44 (1988) : 67-83.

The Beginning of a New Year...Happy 2005!

I am always excited about the thought of having a fresh start every January 1st. One of the little rituals I try to do every year is have a little "burning ceremony" about a half hour before midnight to get a final last look at all the things I am letting go of to make room for the new.

Generally, the ceremony goes like this: First I write down all the things that have depleted or challenged my mental, physical, emotional and spiritual energies. Then I burn the paper and bid these things a fond farewell, in appreciation for all that I learned and gained from the experiences, no matter how negative they seemed at the time.

A few years ago, I lived in a beautiful little house which had a labyrinth in the back, built by my roomate, Teddy. We would walk the labyrinth, as a moving meditation, and see what came up for us. Then we would do our burning ceremony.

I think the past is always a part of us, like an engraving of character. However, the burning ritual doesn't banish the energy from the past, rather it purifies it and our soul, helping us gain insight and wisdom.

Please post any particular rituals that have helped you to mark this special time, if you would like to share.

I would also like to extend an invitation to anyone who wishes to post thoughts or papers on topics that I haven't posted on the blog site yet to email me with any requests. I can start the ball rolling by posting your idea, credited to you of course, and allow the community to comment and post their reflections. I will give you a username so that you can post in your own name, instead of "anonymous."

My email is kris@katsuko-girl.com