How I Met My Drum.

Not so long ago I attended a pagan women's retreat with about a hundred and fifty awesome people from many different walks of life and many different core beliefs. It was the first large pagan gathering I'd ever attended, and I can talk for hours about the people I met there and the things I learned. I'm sure more of them will make it into things that I talk about here in the future, but for now I'd like to talk about just four of them. One was a woman who needed to hear what I said, one needed to know someone saw her, one had something to teach me and one will be my companion for years.

The story doesn't begin with them, of course, or I'd be done telling it already. It begins with a sleepless night - one of the kinds where you've done everything right and you're exhausted and you really should drop off and sleep soundly all night. I woke up after a couple of hours and nothing, not even my tried and true meditation session let me get back to sleep. So with a cabin full of deeply dozing friends, I decided to take the meditation further, to journey into the spirit realms and ask those who help me what I should do.

Hint for those who are just beginning to journey: never give your guides and teachers such a wide open question when what you really want is assistance with the down to earth business of falling asleep. They are apt to answer the bigger question and ignore your other needs. I was still awake at dawn, long after the journey was over.

The journey itself seemed to take a very long time. I went up, then wandered around in the dim, soft, grey cloud forms of the upper world for what seemed like hours before one of my guides came to me. I wasn't led far before being shown a vision. The clouds in front of me solidified into the head of a dragon the deep grey of pewter, every detail sharp and fierce. That image morphed into a wolf's head, then a bear's, then a raccoon's. Then the image faded back into shapeless clouds and I was left alone. I had the distinct impression that these four images were things I should look for and, more importantly, pay attention to. The journey was over. I went back to my bunk and tossed and turned until dawn.

At breakfast, in a big communal dining room, a couple of friends and I shared a table with folks we hadn't met before. We talked with them - just the easy chatting of slightly sleepy people having breakfast. But something I said grabbed the attention of one of the women and we spoke a little more about the subject. It wasn't until she turned to say something to her friend that I noticed her earring. It was one of those cuffs that grips the outer edge of the ear, and hers was a tiny dragon. The face peering at me from the top of her ear was exactly the face from my vision.

Later that day, I visited the vendor area and picked out a couple of mementos for myself. When I asked the woman at the table if she could take a credit card she said yes, if she could get a cell signal. When she turned on her phone to check, I saw the wolf face from my dream on her wallpaper. Neither of us was busy, so I stayed and chatted with her for a bit.

Much later, as I walked to the site of the main ritual with my brand new drum (the little drum I'd bought on Amazon and wasn't totally comfortable with), I met some other folks with drums. The one who seemed to be leading them asked while we labored up the hill if I wanted to join them as they drummed for the ceremony. I admitted I'd never done so - not only was it my first ritual of any size, but it was also my first drum. She and the other drummers with her welcomed me anyway. Guess what was on the front of her shirt that I didn't see until we reached the top of the hill and had a chance to face each other? The bear from my vision, of course.

The planners had scheduled a drum circle later that evening, and I got to learn more about drums and drumming from the woman in the bear shirt. She demonstrated the healing power of a drum, which was something I hadn't realized was possible. Playing with other drummers was what hooked me, though, with the vibrations from the other drum voices humming through my own drum's frame. It was later that I loaned my little drum to a young woman who wanted to join in and left them with other drummers.

The death of my cheap little drum with the sad spirit came at her hands, but I claim my part of its end. I knew my hand-made drumstick was harder than most, and I didn't warn her. Nor did I stick around to show her what little I'd learned. It was she who hit hard and near the edge, but it was also she who was truly sorry that the thin goatskin drumhead had torn all the way to the center of the drum. After she had apologized profusely, offered to pay for the drum, and nearly teared up over the incident, I gave her the damaged drum to take care of. There was a flash of insight involved in that decision, and I knew it was the right thing to do. It will be interesting if I ever find out why.

The day after the event I couldn't get drums off my mind. I knew from intuition, playing with other drummers at the circle, and my short time with the little drum that I wanted a frame drum, preferably a Native American design. I searched online for a store that might have more than one and then called to make sure I'd be allowed to touch and hear the drums before making a decision. I found one. I spent a moment before I left to ask the runes for guidance and drew sowelu, the rune of the sun and of wholeness. I didn't understand, but I still went.

The store had several drums to chose from. Most were round. One was very much like the bear woman's drum. I touched each drum, and tapped most of them with a soft beater to hear their voices. I liked several, but the one that spoke most clearly to me was an octagonal cowhide drum with a large scar on the drum face. Its voice had different tones at different areas, deep resonance and ringing undertones. And the scar on its face looked like a triangular animal ear, a flaw that I thought gave her character. An ear that looks exactly like the ear of the raccoon from my vision. I fell in love with her, bought her, and took her home.

I did look up real life raccoon pictures to verify that her scar looks most like the ear of a raccoon and not some other animal. A rough patch in the hide marks her eye. Faint lines in the hide sketch in a mask and define the top of the raccoon's face. And when she's held up to the light, the structure of her back throws the image of the sun's rays onto her face, just in case you're still wondering about the significance of the rune I drew. I've given her some feathers, some shiny beads, two silver hawk bells and a raccoon tail. We're still getting to know each other, but I know one thing for sure. This is my drum, and I am her shaman. Many things led to us meeting. Each step was necessary. And the vision from my journey is complete. The raccoon is the spirit in my drum - another guide, another teacher, another helper, another friend. I've seen her face when I've played her, looking out at me just like the raccoon in my vision.

And now you, too, know her story. And maybe you also caught another lesson I learned. The four images from my vision didn't manifest in the same way. When my spirit guides told me to pay attention to those four faces, I didn't know what to expect. Not knowing, I saw each encounter as a surprise and took delight in it, even as I paid attention to the bearer of the image. I didn't have to actively seek them out - I even wondered if I'd missed the raccoon somewhere. And all four images brought me to people, even if one of them is a drum person with a raccoon face. I might have missed the significance of each encounter without the vision, though.

My guides might be pretty strict about answering the exact question I ask, but their answers always are always good. Even when I don't understand them at the time. If I keep my mind open, I'll learn what the answers mean. Usually. Eventually.

I hope you do too. 

Illness Is Also A Teacher.

Not only does being seriously ill remind me how blessed I am to have people around me who care about me, but it also gives me far too much time to think. They just aren't usually very clear thoughts. Except for this flash of insight I had today.

We have a lot of serious diseases our species survives on a regular basis, starting with flu. But we do survive them. And we do it because where other sick creatures take themselves away from others, we turn to our fellow humans for help, care and support.

Think about that while I go finish recovering from flu.

And by the way, if you're one of the folks that have helped me through this one - thanks. I needed you all.

Spring Equinox Poem

On Love, Tolerance and Compassion.

Romantic love is just a gradient of the whole spectrum of love. I love my computer, my cat, my sister, the woods, my crazy uncle, my friends, my sub. It’s all different, but sort of the same. Even the love I had for each past tense husband was different. Love is not exclusive, not limited, maybe not perfectly definable. Love has nothing to do with sex, although the two are often mixed up. Love could be sorted (the ancient Greeks had four words for it), but where the lines are drawn will always be in contention. So sad for love to be fought over. So much more happy to share it, spread it around, wallow in love. Can I love more than one person? Hell yeah. Can I love everyone? Hmmm.

Tolerance for anything? No. Anything safe, sane and consensual? Yes. Not just talking BDSM, either. That’s for everything from religion to sex to work to other social situations to media. So a guy wants to let some other guy run his life totally? Good for them. A guy wants to put his cock in a pre-teen’s ass? There’s nothing sane or safe or consensual about that, anymore than if he wanted to put his cock up a sheep’s ass. He wants to have sex with his mix sexed adult harem who also love to be whipped by him - more power to them all. Someone wants to believe that his religion is the only way to get to heaven and the rest of us poor souls are doomed, fine. But if his religion demands that he either kill or convert all other people to his religion, then no, that’s not consensual, not sane, and most certainly not safe. I certainly don’t have to agree with your point of view, and I don’t require you to agree with mine. I am never going to agree, though, that a Jew, a Catholic or a Buddhist is in any way superior to any flavor of Pagan any more than I’d agree that any Pagan - myself included - is better or more enlightened than any member of an organized religion. It’s that wondrous diversity of humanity that makes us interesting, that lets us learn from each other and try new things, new combinations. If we were all perfectly the same, the world would be a dull, dull place. I’ll tolerate anything that doesn’t damage someone else against their will; that is safe, sane and consensual.

Compassion comes through those two. Love brings care along with it. Tolerance unlimits who we feel comfortable caring for. Compassion is what brings a community together after a disaster, no matter how small, to care for its members. Just because that person with a broken heart after a breakup is Jewish doesn’t mean she wouldn’t appreciate a shoulder to cry on, even if that is a Pagan shoulder. And just because the man who lost his home to a fire was born a woman doesn’t mean he couldn’t use a hand rebuilding - or maybe that old pair of jeans you’ve outgrown and the couple of extra blankets in the back of the closet. Compassion is something we can be as generous with as our love and our tolerance.

Exercise all three for the best possible emotional health. And I'm not just talking about your own.

Oracle, an Insight Into Insight

I mentioned in passing something about understanding Oracle, but never stopped to explain that. Then the other day I asked a friend how the rune stones worked out for him. Trouble was, I skipped the background part where I should have found out what his understanding of Oracle was. I don't think we actually had the same conversation, even though I believe I learned something important about him from it, anyway. So I thought I'd pause a moment and write about Oracle.

On my long and winding path to where I am now, I've tried a lot of different things and studied a lot more. One thing I tried was reading Tarot cards. I'm not good at it, but mostly because I have trouble remembering what the individual cards are supposed to mean. There are just too many, and I'll admit that the associations between image and meaning don't always make much sense to me. Tarot is a foreign language I have not yet learned.

Rune stones, on the other hand, make perfect sense to me. It helps that there are only twenty four symbols to remember. It might also help that the set I made and use is stone, which I have a natural connection with. And that, after making myself comfortable with some traditional layouts and drawings and readings , I allowed instinct to guide me and am quite content to simply grab a handful of them out of the bag and scatter them on whatever working surface I'm using.

At some point, after working (and playing) with my runestones for years, I had the insight that the symbol set I was using didn't matter, as long as I understood the meanings and had a large enough vocabulary in the symbols to allow for answers that made sense to me. Because the key to Oracle is not in the symbol set. It's in the intuitive leap required to perceive the answers in the first place.

Okay, now it's time to back up a bit again. To answer what should have been earlier questions. What is Oracle for? How do I use it? Why does it seem to work for some people and not for others? Can I really trust it? Here are my answers, which I freely admit are not everyone's answers and will likely make some traditionalists mad at me.

Oracle, as I see it, is a way to tap into a different state of knowing. Just that simple. Oracle might see into future possibilities, might sift through different decisions, might pinpoint the heart of a problem, might bring attention to the overlooked, might put a finger on the important detail. It's a shortcut to an altered state of being. It's a key to the lock most people put on senses they choose not to acknowledge.

I have used Oracle for all those things, now, with specific intent. But I find that the best results come when I either ask a very specific question and filter the answer through what my head and heart already know or when I ask a very broad question and listen to the answer with an empty mind and quiet heart. Yes, I did say that I either put myself totally into the answer or leave myself totally out of it. And when I'm not sure which method to use? Then Oracle is unlikely to work in that situation.

Oracle is a tool, just like a hammer, a pencil, a gun, a meditation technique, a set of exercises. Used with positive intent, a tool will help a person achieve positive results. Like any other tool, skills are required to use it to the extent of it's capability. A skilled roofer using a good hammer with the intent to create a weatherproof roof will do just that. But even if you put a high quality pencil into the hands of a baby, you aren't likely to get a drawing of a fish or a love poem, you're likely to get an injured, indignant baby. Skill and intent are both needed to use tools well. So why don't Tarot cards work for everyone? Because not everyone has both the skill and the intent needed to use them. I lack skill with them, so they don't work for me.

Trusting Oracle is a different matter altogether. After all, is it the hammer I trust to fix my leaky roof or the professional I hired to do the job?  When I'm using Oracle myself, am I sure of my own skill and intent? To be honest, there are situations when I'm not, and I will not trust any answer I think I get. Like using the tarot deck, I just can't be sure if I've read it right. And worse, if I'm so focused on the process, on the card symbols or random distractions, I'm likely to miss that leap of intuition, that altered state that usually brings understanding. So I don't read tarot, and I look for a quiet place to consult Oracle when I can.

I do use runes, when I'm looking for guidance. But they aren't the only form of Oracle I employ. I've meditated, gone on spirit journeys, used a standard deck of cards or the stones I've collected over the years. I've also opened a random page of a random book and hit the shuffle on my mp3 player, both methods that have worked and made my not-so-inner geek grin.

I've even found that focusing on the question or problem at hand and then opening up my eyes and looking around brings me insight as well. I thank Crow for teaching me to really see the world. But it's the skill of entering an altered state, of using all my senses and not just the normal physical ones, coupled with the intent of finding a helpful answer that allows Oracle to work for me in that way.

I don't think it's necessary to understand Oracle the way I do in order for the tarot deck or the runes to work for you. It's often enough to simply believe that a tool will do what the label says and practice with it until your skill and intent make it a reliable Oracle for you. For me, the understanding means I don't need a specific tool at hand to gain that intuitive leap or reach that altered state. I can improvise with what's available, even when that's simply myself.

Maybe I've explained that understanding well enough to bring insight to some of you who read this. Putting it into words has reminded me once again that not all tools and not all technicians are the same. There are always many ways of achieving results, none of them "right" or "wrong". I use tools I know and am comfortable with, and I hope others do too.

In joy and love,
dwolf34

Father Sun's Energy Worker

When I renewed my vows this past Winter Solstice, I didn't realize how much would change. Oracle warned me changes were coming, sure. Wolf my Guide gave me the clue that I needed to get out and meet people, to get out of my cave. Remembering the significance of that string of beads around my neck wasn't a coincidence.

But my service to Mother has been a gentle, almost kind guidance; a few things I was moved to do and more I was nudged to learn. I was not prepared for Father's sudden attention. He is a much more demanding top, to say the least. And if what happened the other day on a windy bluff is any indication, He's not willing to allow me to take my time and figure things out on my own. He will show me the changes He wants by making them and requiring me to upkeep them. Period. The response I am allowed is "yes sir".

Don't get me wrong. I am not complaining. I may have been called to this service, but I also gave myself willingly. There's the possibility that I might not have survived if I'd rejected the calling, but I embraced it. I have placed one foot in front of the other on this path I'm on of my own free will. I believe that this is exactly what I need to be doing with my life. That doesn't mean I'm totally comfortable with what's happening right now.

On the twentieth of December, 2012 (just so I don't forget the date), I lit my altar candles at dusk. I said my thanks, put on some quiet music and sat down to work on that Winter Solstice poem I put in an older post here. It came together easily, like so many of the important things do. And as I sat admiring the blue of it, the real significance hit me. I meant every word,  from describing the day's meaning to the peace my vows give me. I contemplated that. I mulled it and eventually wrote about it all over the place, happy in my collar, in my service, for the first time in a very long time.

That evening, the twentieth, I was changed by Them for the first time in a very long time. First came a rush of energy that left me a bit dizzy, but so calm and peaceful that it wasn't frightening. Then came the change, small but significant, gentle but firm. Oddly, I'm reluctant to describe exactly what was done, as if it's a test for those who meet me, or a sign to them. So if you do meet me, feel free to remark on it. I floated on the feeling of it all for days.

There have been other changes. Oracle once gave me subtle answers that required thought. Now I'm getting some answers that are as blunt as a stick thumping my thick skull and some so ambivalent as to be incomprehensible. Almost as though the answer is "that's not worth your attention right now." Instructions are sometimes given to me in clear words, although I do still get the intuitive urges I'm more used to. And for the first time I am required to meditate daily - forgetting means being woken in the middle of the night to do so in a less than comfortable way.

Father is a demanding top.

"Drive there" was accompanied by a clear memory image of where He wanted me. "Walk that direction" wasn't a suggestion. "Stop here," "sit" and "be still" didn't leave much to the imagination, either. But even though I didn't know how far I was supposed to go, I was allowed to take my walking stick, and although the answer to "sit how long?" was "however long it takes" the place chosen for me was comfortably grassy with a cedar tree for a back rest. And even though it was a cold and windy day on the bluff, the sun was bright and warm. I was allowed no questions, no choices but where to rest the stick. He gave instructions and I followed them. And he shifted my personal shields in a way I still don't totally understand two days later.

I had a moment or two of fear when I felt the changes happen. I was urged to trust, and I do, but I'm not sure my comfort was necessary. Later that day I read some of Raven Kaldera's words on being a god slave and I'm even more grateful for the comforts I was offered on that bluff. This path, this new type of service is a bit more scary than I'm used to. I'm being led gently into it, I know. The horseshoe in my old dream vision is gaining a new bit of significance, too, and the thought of being the horse for my Owners is frightening. But I trust, and if and when I'm set that task I will open my mouth for the metaphorical bit and stand still for whatever rider my Owners choose.

I chose to serve. I suppose I could unchoose - quit this service altogether. I won't, but I have that much free will. Past that, I am and will be whatever my Owners say, and I will be the best whatever I can be, learn what I'm led to and take the comfort I am offered. I know soul deep that my path would be harder to walk if I resisted even some of Their will. I choose not to.

This is not the path for everyone. I'm not sharing this as any sort of "how to" manual. I'm even sure that other divine owners won't treat their property like mine have, won't require the same things of them and won't allow (or sometimes require) them to write so freely about the process. If you walk a similar path, though, maybe you'll recognize some of this. Maybe it will help you to accept what's going on in your own journey. Maybe it will be a contrast for your journey and you can shake your head at me and tell me I have it easy. Say it loud, though. I have scars on my eardrums, remember. All part of the process.

Each time I've sat down to write an entry for this blog journal, I've been encouraged to do so, and even prompted with a subject once or twice. Today I sat down with the intent to say what's been on my mind since that very still hour I spent on a bluff. Father is a demanding top, and that thought makes me smile even as I worry just a bit about the work He is preparing this tool for. And the answering fond chuckle I hear in response to that sentiment is as good as the hand in my hair my submissive side craves to feel.

I am content to be owned by deities I trust. I accept the fact that I am being reshaped by them again. And I hope your journey is easier than mine.

Love, peace and comfort to you all.

Again, the Cycle Turns.

I'd talk about grieving, but for me that's a process that I'm nearly done with , at least for now. At least where it applied to my Grandma. What I want to talk about here is the moving on of the spirit.

For the last few days of her life, I stopped in to see her off and on. She had good care. She didn't suffer. But there was something else going on within her.

Grandma had Alzheimer's Disease. I helped care for her for years. I watched what happened to her body, her mind, and her spirit. Her mind disintegrated. Her body withered. Her spirit drew in on itself, focused more and more inwardly. As her mind came apart, lost track of what was familiar and lived in anxiety, her spirit tightened within. When finally three months ago we sent her to a Nursing Home because we couldn't take care of her anymore, her spirit was a quiet, huddled bit of her. My sweet, generous, loving Grandmother was there, but had no way to communicate with us, maybe no way to know what was going on.

Those last few days were different. Morphine stilled the pain of her body. Sedatives soothed her damaged mind. And her spirit unwound.

I wish I could tell you what it looked like, but I don't "see" spirits. I could feel it relax, stretch, soften. That was the woman I knew, the one who gave so freely and always had time to listen to a child and try to explain the world in the most positive way. When life gave her lemons, she didn't stop at lemonade, she made pie. And in her last few days, she was present in that ruined shell, her spirit warm and loving.

I suppose I looked a little odd at her bedside, smiling while she gasped to breathe through the last stages of pneumonia. It's a bit hard to explain why I don't sound more like the grieving grandchild. How can I? I'm thrilled. Not only has her suffering ended, but her beautiful spirit is free again! It's an occasion for dancing, singing, shouting with joy.

I'll miss her. I love her. We'll meet again. All the rest is details.