This description must start with a few words about our motley band. We are old, young, fat, skinny, tall, and short - though not as short as our compact Nepalese guides who appear to be breed in equal parts from leprechauns and mountain man. We are each dressed in white skirts and blouses, draped with malas of dried rudraksha berries and a sash laden with bells. Our heads are crowned with a sash each of red and white cloth(white indicates knowledge and red, life force). Secured about these sashes is the piece de resistance, our crown of peacock feathers. The peacock is associated with the shaman in the Tibetan tradition because of it’s ability to eat poison without dying. This is said to reflects the shaman’s ability to extract illness (poison) from his or her patient without becoming sick.
Amma, the respected and energetic teacher who leads us to this ceremony had spent the last two days observing us and, I think, deciding if we are ready. I am reminded of the two individuals on the previous trip who had bizarre injuries that prevented them from participating. One had a random piece of a building fall on him while walking down a city street. The other lost her footing while standing in a grassy field and ended up in the hospital for several weeks with a badly broken ankle. I have been very careful where I stood in the last few days and behaved humbly.
When Amma places my peacock crown on my head, I wear it proudly. I feel like I had climbed nearby Mt. Everest to reach this point in my life. I haven’t felt like this since I realized, while riding in a helicopter after my divorce ten years ago, that it was okay to still be happy.
Wearing our peacock crowns, we begin to parade toward the initiation site. We leave the family compound where the single monk/caretaker and his family had offered us their hospitality. We move along singing and dancing. We spent the previous afternoon learning this song and dance. Our performance is like a kindergarten class, making up for shortcomings of performance with enthusiasm and joy. Drumming the oddly shaped Tibetan drum with the traditional bent branch beater, while jumping alternatively on one leg and then the other while bending forward and straightening back up, proves harder than patting the head while rubbing the tummy. Add singing a repeating song, and I am completely lost. The song translates something like “I am a foolish shaman asking for help.” That is true.
I do my best. This combination overwhelmed my senses, shutting off my monkey mind and allowing my ancient, intuitive mind to hear.
Our band of intrepid shamans weaves an unsteady path down a circuitous route through boulders and tenacious trees clinging to this barren mountainside. We arrive at a tiny but lovely outdoor shrine built around a huge boulder on which a magically incised face of Shiva is present. It is covered and highlighted by the tilak liberally applied by, pilgrims who have come to this out-of- the-way place. Someone had thoughtfully spread woven mats for us to sit on in our white skirts on the stone and concrete floor.
Amma and a local sadu (holy man) flanked the altar near this sacred stone. On casual observation it might appear that they were going to share in leading the ceremony. The sadu approached as if unsure of authority. My heightened awareness senses an energy exchange in which this sadu recognized Amma’s superior authority and sheepishly backed off. This mini-fireworks was a flicker in time as I sat enjoying the communication of the local spirits. I was surprised that familiar spirits from my far-away home were also present.
Amma, the respected and energetic teacher who leads us to this ceremony had spent the last two days observing us and, I think, deciding if we are ready. I am reminded of the two individuals on the previous trip who had bizarre injuries that prevented them from participating. One had a random piece of a building fall on him while walking down a city street. The other lost her footing while standing in a grassy field and ended up in the hospital for several weeks with a badly broken ankle. I have been very careful where I stood in the last few days and behaved humbly.
When Amma places my peacock crown on my head, I wear it proudly. I feel like I had climbed nearby Mt. Everest to reach this point in my life. I haven’t felt like this since I realized, while riding in a helicopter after my divorce ten years ago, that it was okay to still be happy.
Wearing our peacock crowns, we begin to parade toward the initiation site. We leave the family compound where the single monk/caretaker and his family had offered us their hospitality. We move along singing and dancing. We spent the previous afternoon learning this song and dance. Our performance is like a kindergarten class, making up for shortcomings of performance with enthusiasm and joy. Drumming the oddly shaped Tibetan drum with the traditional bent branch beater, while jumping alternatively on one leg and then the other while bending forward and straightening back up, proves harder than patting the head while rubbing the tummy. Add singing a repeating song, and I am completely lost. The song translates something like “I am a foolish shaman asking for help.” That is true.
I do my best. This combination overwhelmed my senses, shutting off my monkey mind and allowing my ancient, intuitive mind to hear.
Our band of intrepid shamans weaves an unsteady path down a circuitous route through boulders and tenacious trees clinging to this barren mountainside. We arrive at a tiny but lovely outdoor shrine built around a huge boulder on which a magically incised face of Shiva is present. It is covered and highlighted by the tilak liberally applied by, pilgrims who have come to this out-of- the-way place. Someone had thoughtfully spread woven mats for us to sit on in our white skirts on the stone and concrete floor.
Amma and a local sadu (holy man) flanked the altar near this sacred stone. On casual observation it might appear that they were going to share in leading the ceremony. The sadu approached as if unsure of authority. My heightened awareness senses an energy exchange in which this sadu recognized Amma’s superior authority and sheepishly backed off. This mini-fireworks was a flicker in time as I sat enjoying the communication of the local spirits. I was surprised that familiar spirits from my far-away home were also present.
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