falling in with kindred spirits

Tonight I was drumming with two other people for a group of shamanic journeyers. It's a simple, rapid, steady beat. Anyone can do it, as long as you listen and resist the urge to speed up. I've drummed many times with Greg, but only once with Anna, yet the three of us fell in together so seamlessly.

I experienced the wonder of being One - with the drumbeat, with each other. I wasn't doing the drumming, the beat itself was carrying me and moving my hand.

I invite you to notice when you synchronize with others. Going on a hike, playing pingpong, cooking and doing that kitchen island dance. Two pendulum clocks in the same room will over time synchronize to move together. Wordlessly working or playing together, we sometimes have the divine experience of communion with each other.

There may be oxytocin and dopamine flowing as we are unconsciously bonding and feeling the pleasure of being with kindred spirits. There may be heart beats and the breath slowing and deepening together. All I know is that it is happy-making.

Ancestors and the Creative Fire

In this detail from a recent collage, a kimono-clad woman bows to a circle of people. She reminds me that my work is a ceremony, an offering of just the right Medicine. The words around her: Inspiring Life's Journey and Respectful Exchange. She is close to the earth, grounded. She is ready to serve.

Perhaps she is an Ancestor called home by my creative fire, the sparks I'm fanning into flame.

In o-bon, the Japanese Ancestor ceremony, it is bonfires that guide the Ancestors home. Family clans gather in mid-late summer to clean up graves, give thanks to the Ancestors, feast, sing and dance. After a good long visit, people float lit candles on the water to send the Ancestors back until the next year. Both the quick and the dead are renewed.

I remember as a young girl stringing leis with my grandmother in Hawaii, preparing for an aunt and uncle arriving late for o-bon. We walked in the dark, following the sounds of celebration to the neighbor's luau, bearing long white strands of starry blossoms. We kids called it the 'bone dance' and watched the old ladies make their careful steps with sweeping arms and moon fans. They wore their light summer robes and sandals. I remember fire and night.

I haven't celebrated o-bon in many many years. But every time I write or make art, it seems as if the creative fire itself invites the Ancestors in. They help me and I hope that I help them in carrying forward this spark of life.