First, I was the Dancer.
Stretching, I became the Drummer.
Now, I am the Drum.
When in ceremony I hold my medicine drum and strike the beater against the hide, skin on skin. I am the Drum.
I drop out of the picture, drop into the Lower World which runs alongside what we see with our eyes. You will see my body before you, the motion of my arm, you may notice me sway on my feet: but that drum is thunder in my blood and I’d race its song anywhere.
My drum came to me when I called. Made for my hand alone, horsehide laced to the pattern of my heartbeat, consecrated under the Solstice Sun. When he arrived after crossing an ocean, I unwound layer after layer of wrapping, sunk to my knees, and breathed in the heat and scent.
You’re finally here, I whispered to Him.
My drum taught me to love myself. He arrived just before a Wounding. ..Light and resonance left my gaze. Food turned to ash on my lips. Lean with grief my body became unrecognizable to me as it dissolved to bare essentials. Shadow marked each rib, the long angles defined like swift arrows bundled into a quiver. Sometimes, upon waking I found bruises blossoming on my hip -- the bone concealed only by a thin veil of skin-- the scant weight of my body against the bed left a trail of grey and yellow. And the ache of bone against bone made a truly fierce sound. But I had My Drum.
As time passed restoration of my power was accomplished (after a thorough Underworld surrender) through a Radical Self-Care practice. As you cradle and tend a lost child or a violated creature, I showered myself with a million small blessings and benedictions. Mornings I face East, wreathed in cedar smoke to dispel fear, and whisper or sometimes sing my gratitudes.
The years are now spinning a soft distance from the Awakening: one filled by allies of Bear, Panther, Raven, Snake, Spider, Owl, Coyote, Eagle, Wolf. And always Red Fox. Truly my Fantasic Mr. Fox: my door to Lower World, always with his woven blanket, fast paws, clever sideways glance.
Ready to meet My Drum? Reach out to me.