November 4, 2003

Dear Drummers,

For those of you who have been in the drum groups for awhile, this Friday’s drum may rank among the more intense. For those of you just starting in the groups, I hope you will read carefully to decide how you want to participate.

The first hour will be as usual: we’ll strike up the hot rhythms, the cool rhythms and the simultaneously hot and cool theta rhythms that open your consciousness and imagination.

For Hour 2, we will ask the spirit world to help us rehearse for death.

Yow! Did he really say that? What kind of kooky thing is this?

Here is my view: when it comes down to it, every spiritual path is about coming to terms with death. Well, I’m not sure we ever come to terms with death—but we can enter into negotiations with the fears around death. No matter what anyone has ever claimed, no one alive truly knows what lies beyond that horizon between what we know now and what is to come after our material body kneels to the earth. So why would we need to rehearse for a play that has no script? Because our views of our own death—and our willingness to contemplate it—affect how we live this life.

Autumn is a great time to rehearse for death, because the transition from life-fullness to life-lessness is so visible around us. I see nature not only as a source of beauty and inspiration but as a teacher. I see the trees drop their leaves, the plants wither, the animals going into hibernation, and I think: is there a lesson for me here to follow, to emulate? I think there is. The homework for this month is to rehearse for death. That rehearsal involves shedding our exterior, and approaching the boundary between the worlds.

Also, in the Celtic tradition, autumn is connected with the direction west—the direction of the horizon, the passing from this world to the next, the great endless sea, dusk, grieving, water, tears, and lament. The traditions around Halloween and the Day of the Dead all affirm that this is the time of year when we are asked to look closely at the moment of transition between this life and the next life.

There is simply no way to open this subject without raising instant fears and deep questions. Should depressed people do this? Should people who have health challenges do this? Should people who are grieving a recent death do this? Is it depressive, morose, and ill advised to consciously try to get closer to the power of death? What if I have a beautiful vision of the after world—will it make me want to die right away? These are questions for you to answer for yourselves. My advice is this: if this kind of activity seems just too potent for you, or if it seems on an instinctual level to be wrong for you, then I’d advise you to participate as a drummer rather than as a voyager on this one. I can tell you from my experience with this visionary ceremony that it affected me deeply, it made want to live longer, it made me want to put away unnecessary psychic baggage, and it made me more comfortable with being just an average human being. Did it help me fear death less? Maybe. Rehearsing anything helps lessen the fear.

I spent about ten years in my early artistic life doing improvisational street theatre for a living. My partners and I had a script that covered about 70% of our show, and the rest was made up as it happened, depending on who was in the audience, the weather, the level of alcohol in the audience members’ systems, the headlines in the newspaper that day, and a hundred other variables. Shamanic work is a lot like this, I have found. The ritual provides the loose script, but there’s always an improvisational element—and it’s this element that provides the real juice. You can’t foresee every situation, but you can gain improvisational skills—the skills to react properly and gracefully to the unexpected. The mixture of disciplined preparation and trustful letting go—that is the key to improv on stage, and, I think improv on the daily street of life. This mixture is also the key to shamanic work, and if there is a single thing the drum groups try to teach or impart, it is this skill.

As I said at the beginning of this letter, I want to you consider how you want to participate in this particular visionary exercise. Keep in mind that Hour 2 is always optional—you can come for the drumming without needing to stay for the theology. For some of you this may not be the right time to rehearse for death. It’s a good thing to acknowledge that and, if you stay for Hour 2, to participate as a drummer to support the experience for others who feel the time is right for a rehearsal. We’ll need several drummers for this event.

Also, if you read this and have the desire and ability, please consider bringing either a few cut flowers, some dried fruit, nuts, chocolate or shot-glass full of alcohol to this Friday’s drum. We’ll use these as an offering. If you can’t do this, or forget, please don’t worry. If you feel like you want to rehearse, you may think about bringing a small pillow or blanket or sweater to lay your head on.

See you on Friday!
Jaime