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 (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.