May 16, 2006

Dear Drummers,

If there is an underlying theme to our recent drumming groups—and perhaps to all of them—it is “The Sensuous God.”  This Friday we’ll begin with an image from a poem I heard over the weekend. The first line is: The Milk Lets Down. The poet has graciously agreed to let me bring her poem into our group, and it will form the core of our work together this week.

I’m often terrified by the images of the divine I present to you, and that is why I do it. I’m always afraid of the sexiness, and the physicality and the intimacy of the images of the divine that seem to erupt from somewhere in me. I heard Michael Meade say once that “Ritual erupts from the bones of our memory. It is not imported.”  I feel that is true in our groups—and it is most especially true when everyone present opens to that that place of memory.

He said another thing that pops into my mind too: It’s not about having no fear, but about going into the fear to extract the wisdom from inside the fear. I think that may be a key for me as I try to put together our drum prayers, because our culture has been trained to fear the idea that God is an intimate partner—a mothering presence that drips milk into our hungry mouths.

Here are the words that came to me about this Friday:

 We will open our mouths and cry for the great mother to let down the milk. We cry for the milk because we are hungry, because we are frightened that we have made a mess of things, because we feel alone, because we realize that we are the adults but we don’t feel capable, because we need big love, because we are tired of struggling without making a difference and because we don’t know what to do, so we cry for the milk. We cry for the milk because we want to be reminded of our true selves, and our true relationship with creation. We cry for the milk because we need parenting and healing, or because we need to let go of that emotion that has been compacted at the base of our spine for the last few days/months/years and the milk is the only thing that can shake it loose. We cry for the milk because we have a secret dance in us and the milk makes us just drunk enough to let it out of our body. We cry for the milk because we refuse to drink any more poison. We cry for the milk because it brings on visions, and because it makes us strong against the wind, and because it is meant for us.

 There are two things that I think about a lot in connection to our drumming work. One is the tribal/shamanic notion that our emotions feed the spirits—that the spirits are fed by beauty that we create, and emotions are beauty and food. I love that idea. The second is that our spiritual practice—this particular type of drum prayer—heals the unhealed ancestors, which in turn helps to set the world we live in right again.  If you can muse on those two things a little before Friday, and if you can arrive on Friday willing to open your emotions—well, who knows what will happen? Something beautiful, I am certain of that.

 Cheers,
Jaime