Pantheacon (18) – Bringing Myth Alive

My final participation for 2013 Pantheacon was a workshop on Bringing Myth Alive (Techniques to Engage Myth).  I was looking forward to this.  My approach to ritual tends to be psychological, mythic; and I have some attachment to the work of Carl Jung.

 

I was not disappointed.  Jeffrey Albaugh spoke from his background in “depth psychology,” structuring this workshop around storytelling and dreams—specifically the image of the selkie-woman.  He referenced both Jung and James Hillman.

Dreams speak in images, call up personal associations, and then can provoke archetypal amplification.  Reverie allows characters to come forward and speak to you.  I am naturally attracted to this state of mind.

Archetypes are universal, ultimately unknowable patterns.  Paradoxically, all we can know is the archetypal.

In this workshop, we re-imagined the selkie story from alternate viewpoints.  Suppose the man in the story didn’t steal the selkie’s skin; suppose he asks her to stay.  

We discussed archetypes, polarities, and mythic landscapes.  The landscape of a story is usually very important.

I left with a heightened sensitivity to the interactions between autonomous creatures, to the importance of encouraging free choices.

Leaving the workshop, wandering the halls of the hotel, I encountered several people I knew, one of whom I hadn’t seen for years.  I met a woman I knew who read my palms—bringing us immediately closer.  I thought of another woman I’d known online, wondering whether she was somehow a selkie.

And leaving Pantheacon 2013, my head swam with Wagnerian images:  Kings, Wizards, Knights, Flower Maidens, Swans—Lance, Grail, Forbidden Questions.  Tannhauser.  Dreams.

I had a year now to absorb this all, waiting for Pantheacon 2014.

Pantheacon (17) – White Girl Shamanism

I concluded Pantheacon 2013 with a pair of excellent workshop.  The first was titled “White Girl Shamanism.”  It addressed cultural issues around the study of shamanism.

 

Is this a good way to phrase this?  The point is that a lot of people who did not grow up in native/indigenous cultures have become interested in what they call shamanism—which we understand as originating in native/indigenous cultures.  This raises issues of “cultural appropriation” and “spiritual tourism.”

Looking back at this, I have to ask what we mean by “indigenous.”  I’m not an anthropologist.  I’m guessing we mean a group that has never left its place of origin.  Less precisely, perhaps, it would be a group that has no memory or record of ever having lived anywhere else.  The Australian Aborigines may have come to Australia from somewhere else—but they have no collective memory of that.

If shamanism is something indigenous, tribal—can I ever put myself into that mindset?  Unlikely.  I personally have traveled all over the planet.  My earliest memories are of Pennsylvania, which I hardly know.  I can’t imagine growing up in the same place as my ancestors of centuries ago.  I can’t even imagine what it is like to still be living in the same place I grew up!

On the other hand, if shamanism finds a basis in universal experience, why shouldn’t I call myself a shaman?  If I go into trance and encounter Intermediaries—Power Animals, Totems; if these trance experiences enable me to bring back wisdom with which to serve my community—is it wrong to follow these practices?

I left this workshop musing over what has been one of my own studies; I guess I’d have to call it “Wagnerian Shamanism.”  Perhaps I’ll do a workshop one day—though I feel this is my own solitary path.  As I mused I thought again of Burroughs' dictum:  “Mind your own business.”  I wondered how to respect boundaries and fears, how to know when to reach out and when to hold back, how to know when to keep silent.  Finally I bent myself again towards my Writer’s Way

Pantheacon (16) – Dance!

Both the easiest and the hardest workshop to talk about, the next one.  I assisted at it:  My wife’s dancing workshop.
 

Dancing is like music (it uses music, after all!) – once you become comfortable with it, you can relax and go into trance while doing it.

Many people have issues with folk dancing.  They were forced to folk dance or square dance in the fourth or fifth grade and have resented it ever since.  Or they’ve always felt klutzy and self-conscious when it comes to their bodies and movement; they’ve been taught to think of themselves as ungainly, ugly.

I learned some square dancing and folk dancing in the fifth grade; I liked it.  I got to dance with the girl I had the crush on.  About this same time, my parents were buying a series of books that were tours of foreign countries, with slides and recordings.  That’s where I heard my first Greek and Bulgarian music.  Later, in Germany, I would hear Balkan music on the radio from distant lands.  In graduate school, I began to learn folk dancing myself.

The music of the Balkan Peninsula, where many popular folk dances originate, shows a strong middle eastern influence:  Unexpected rhythms, strange (to us) scales, unusual harmonies.  I’ve always found it particularly conducive to trancing.  In addition, when you dance these dances with your friends for an extended period, the experience can lead to a profound bonding of the group.

Of course, you have to get used to the movements; that can be challenging if you haven’t done this before.  But my wife is a good teacher, with years of experience and extensive background; her parents square danced and talk Round Dancing.  She taught, I turned on the music.  Always fun, to get a little movement into your Pagan practice!

Pantheacon (15) - Birthing the Ecstatic

I want to ask, “Have you ever lain on the floor breathing regularly, contracting your abdomen in rhythm with your breathing, and pushing your hips upwards and downwards?”

But as soon as these words form, I snap at myself:  “Of course they have!  Or, at least some number of the women you’re talking to have!  They’re mothers—they’ve given birth!”

My last evening at Pantheacon, I attended a workshop entitled “Tantric Shamanism Breathwork Ceremony.”  The description spoke of attaining ecstasy through breathing, in the context of a circle. It spoke of lifting participants towards the divine.

I remember most of the workshop quite well—in a trance kind of way.  First we discussed what we were going to do.  Then we all lay on the floor, closed our eyes, and began to breathe regularly and systematically.  Gradually we began to move our hips up and down in rhythm with our breathing, vocalizing also as we did so.  This went on for quite a while—for most of the hour of the workshop, I believe.  It was ecstatic, in its way.  With my eyes closed, moving my hips up and down rhythmically and vocalizing freely—moans and gasps—at will, after a time I was in a definite ecstatic trance of some kind.  It’s hard to describe such experiences.  Of course I wasn’t taking notes during the exercise—and I didn’t take notes during the instruction at the beginning.  I was sitting on the floor, the room was crowded, I was trying to hear from where I sat towards the rear of the room.  But I remember the experience, I remember enjoying the experience (though sometimes wondering how long it would continue), and I remember thinking I had experienced something worthwhile—even if I wasn’t quite sure what precisely this experience was.

Pantheacon (14) – Authenticity in Ritual

The motivation for the next workshop was to create and produce more dynamic rituals.  There was a feeling that many large rituals are difficult to create and pull off; people are reluctant to participate; leaders are unfocused or lack energy.  How to fix that?
 

By taking a deep approach, apparently—by being more “authentic.”

In other words:

Be more open to the Authentic—feelings, fears, thoughts.

Don’t use scripts (“No Scripts Ever”).  With scripts you lose authenticity (and mobility).

But—what is “Authenticity?”  We were told it is connecting to energy and to the group.  

How do you achieve the deep, ecstatic state?  Know your intention and speak from the heart.

Authenticity is different from performance; Authenticity is speaking what you believe.

You want to be Receptive, Respectful, and Supportive.

After the initial presentation, we experimented with a few spontaneous rituals.  They worked well, I thought—very experiential, and helpful for going deeper into ourselves and the group.

(A series of thoughts occurred to me during this workshop.  The saying I mentioned in the previous blog post—“Magic is Intent but Intent is not Magic”—may actually have come to me during this workshop.  Perhaps someone mentioned this idea.  I know that at one point—either because of the workshop or because of a novel I had been working on—I asked myself “What attracts?”  Smiles, I thought; or Response; or Beauty).

(I thought about a poem I had written a long time ago:  “The time will come, when I shall speak with the Lion’s Voice.”  The Lion’s Voice!  But what is the “Lion’s Voice?”).

(And, immersed in this attempt to ritualize but not perform, I remembered a saying of Quentin Crisp:  “Exhibitionism is a drug; you get hooked.”  I suppose that is a danger of “performance!”).

On the way down the hall afterwards, I recognized someone I’d known ten years earlier.  I admired her long black hair.  She remembered me also.  We enjoyed seeing one another again.  I was happy that she was pleased to see me—that was an affirmation of my own value.