April 28, 2003
Dear Drummers,
In the Celtic wheel of the year, Spring time is associated with the direction East: the rising sun, the birth of new life, the rebirth of all possibility, the power of hope, the movement from the cold, dark time into the warmth and light. This is the time when sheep and cows begin to lactate, when the milk returns to provide us with protein.
The Celtic East is often associated with “prosperity.” Our prosperity is tied to the earth’s prosperity. Another word frequently comes up in association with the Celtic East: Generosity. These terms are related in that we demonstrate our prosperity through our generosity. The reverse is also good to remember: prosperity without generosity is not prosperity, it is merely greed. Perhaps one of our largest struggles is to understand that we must show generosity to the earth. This concept is almost totally lacking in our culture, but we have a growing awareness of this.
Prosperity, generosity, reciprocity. This flow, this circle, infers a foundational sense of gratitude and wonder, and, for me, a foundation of humility. In my theological world, that most potent word, “sin,” is defined as severing the link in that ongoing circle of prosperity—generosity—reciprocity—prosperity…
This brings me to another power term: Grace. In my theological world, Grace is the pouring in (or the awareness of the ever-present pouring in) of sustenance from earth, sky and sea. For me this is physical sustenance, like milk, but also spiritual sustenance: beauty. Grace is the power that pours in, or bubbles up, or infuses, or permeates, or is released in us. It becomes visible in the buds fattening on the trees. Something is calling them to fatten, to “become” to burst open with life, to become what they were meant to become, to manifest the core of their being. Again, one of my favorite phrases comes to mind: What happens in nature happens in us. To become aware of these forces operating in and around us is to enter into beauty.
Augustine of Hippo, whom we know as St. Augustine, one of the most revered early Christian theologians (c 370 AD) popularized the term “conversion.” Literally this means “to turn around.” In his world, grace pours onto us, like sunshine, but it hits most of us on the back of the head, and we just go about our business. At a certain point we turn around and realize it, and we are changed. In my theological world, conversion means to turn to face the Mythic East—the direction which reminds us of that circle of interlocked energies: Prosperity—generosity—reciprocity. We turn to the east to feel the rising sun on our face—that sunshine which inspires humility and wonder. That graceful light which gives us the desire and the strength to mend (to re-member—to put what is torn asunder back into a whole) the severed energies. My understanding of the Jewish concept of Shalom is very much like this.
So Hour 1 will again involve basic drum fun, including some increasingly complex rhythms. Hour 2 will involve a wonderfully complex Irish tale that involves Mannanan mac Lir, the king of the otherworld, and the silver branch with golden apples that, when shaken, make the most beautiful sound ever heard, a sound which makes all suffering cease. Each of you will have the opportunity to go to the otherworld, drink from the well of wisdom, and ask the power of grace to fatten your buds.
As always you can participate in this at your own comfort level. You can view the journey to the otherworld as an enjoyable psychological activity, or you can view it as a prayer, or as a meditation on a set of interesting images, or you can view it, in some mysterious way, as an actual journey to another realm. If you want, you can bring a pillow to sit or lay your head on, and a covering for your eyes, if these tools would make your experience more powerful.
In the meantime, I suggest that you spend a little time this week looking at the fattening buds—and not only looking, but feeling what is in them. There are a host of good questions to ask when we turn to the East. I’ve attached a poem I wrote a couple years ago that will hopefully stimulate some good questions.
See you on Friday!
Jaime
How I become hyacinth
How I become daffodil
How I become hosta
How I become sedum
Easily divided easily rooted
How I become the two tone
Whistle chirp in that far off oak.
How I become something you never planted
How I green from brown
How I heave up your mulch
Even as you winter slumber
How I spring from your pruned branches
How I become creeping Charlie crabgrass dandelion
How I emerge out of vines you claimed dead
How I become bigger the longer you watch me
How you make your plans for balance and color and proportion
How you fear my freedom
How you forget to ask the only question I have ever asked you
How I become you
© 2003 Jaime Meyer
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