The other night at the shaman circle we all held pieces of string. Forty strangers in a circle, eyes gently closed as silent helpers skit about the room looping and tying our strands together into an elaborate web. They told us to hold tightly, and the occasional tug pulled at my fingers as I journeyed inside my own thoughts. Reminding me not to forget the work happening all around. My body still present and intricately related in an organic, complex latticework, even while my mind wandered through space and time.
When I opened my eyes, there it was: the intangible made visible. We were all holding pieces of the larger puzzle. Each responsible for suspending its shape in air. One by one members entered the circle created. Experiencing the healing power generated by our joint good intentions. The power of ritual restoring self within the community from which it sprung. Like individual drops merging with the sea. Rejoining the outer ring, each of us with our own unique, shifting perspectives, forged a sacred hoop of ornate patterns, synchronized and reconnected. Weaving ourselves back to life.
And it reminded me of the power of story. The strength of narration. The responsibility to tell our own tale if we want to contribute to its ending. If we want to be whole. And sometimes that means eating part of the web where it has been broken or torn. Realizing we have the ability to mend, spinning silk mysteriously out of our own inviolable core.
Aware or not, we are all a part of this amazing web, our threads woven together so we feel the same breeze, shimmer in the same moonlight. What touches you, touches me.
But if we grasp too tightly, we can find ourselves tied up in knots.
Clinging too firmly to something precious may drain it of the very beauty that draws us. Until the cherished flower lies limp in our hand.
So I want to love lightly like a humming bird’s flight.
Like smoke rising, swirling up in the air. Incense, sage and soft candle light.
I want to love deeply and trust so completely, that I can let out the rope holding my daughter as she climbs the rock wall. The more space I give her, the higher she can ascend. Anticipating her moves, I spool it out but lock her in place when she needs to rest. Leaning confidently back into the harness, the weight of my body holding her until she is ready to scale past the crux, eyes tilted upwards, not down to the fall.