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Whenever I hear someone say, "I want to be a Shaman!"  I just have to shake my head, and whether I say it out loud or not, I think, "No, I don't think you do."  I don't think a lot of people have the complete picture of what shamanism encompasses.

First of all, it truly is not something you can choose.  It chooses you.  I think about growing up Catholic, and particularly in my family where we were very close friends to many of the parish priests and nuns.  I learned at an early age what a vocation was, listening to these holy people talk about their individual callings to the sacred life, and their feelings of "coming home" when they answered that call.  Indeed, I felt a resonance with them, having heard a spiritual calling from an early age.  My mom tells me the priest who baptized me did so fully convinced I was destined for the priesthood.  As a boy I had the entire Mass memorized and I would mouth the words along with the priest.  Even in college, at a Benedictine Monastery, I very seriously considered entering the brotherhood and becoming a monk.  Eventually my path took me beyond the parameters of the Church and further down my 'Golden Thread Road' to a more shamanic context of spiritual clergy, but the spiritual calling was always there.  To deny it is to deny myself.  It's who I am, not what I do.

But besides all of that, and despite the romanticized image and the rewards of living the Way of the Shaman -- And I am the first to sing the praises of the shamanic life with all its beauty, and depth, and meaning, and healing -- it is not for the faint of heart. I've heard it said that shamanism is a continuous chain of deaths, but you don't usually read about that in the owner's manual.  In fact, in many cultures, to become a shaman you have to literally be brought to the brink of death, via an accident or disease or whatever, and through spiritual means return to the land of the living.  This is why shamans are often called "The Wounded Healers."  And in most culures, or so I've heard, when one realizes they are being called to be a shaman the reaction tends to be more of an, "Oh crap!" rather than a "Woo-hoo!"

It has been quite the challenging winter, as winters seem to tend to be for me, but with Imbolc (February 2nd, and the first day of spring on the Wheel of the Year) in sight I believed I had weathered it, and, in any case, it was coming to an end with brighter days ahead -- literally.  This sigh of relief was short-lived, however.  On the day of Imbolc itself there was a seemingly minor incident at my day-job, but it set off a chain reaction in me that was colossal, rending the illusions of my life and bringing into sharp focus what was real, and how I could no longer pretend to give validity to what wasn't.  It was a very snake-like vision, watching parts of my life shred around me and slough off like a snake's skin as I grew beyond them and they could no longer contain me.  It was a freeing yet scary experience, and I can hardly put into words the clarity of reaching for this light -- my light -- my essence -- for it is the only reality. Yet it was quite disorienting, for my material/physical life no longer seemed to fit, and though I had this guiding light, what I could expect in my day-to-day life was in total darkness.  I had no idea what it might look like and what changes would occur.  In an act of surrender I needed to let go of everything I knew. Everything!  It reminds me of a saying from A Course In Miracles, "Nothing real can be threatened, nothing un-real exists." The only thing that was real at that point was me, my essence, the Truth of my Being.  Everything else was transitional, a dream, shadows on the wall. 

That night at the Imbolc ritual of my adopted coven, I barely held back the tears as we stood around Brigit's cauldron, ablaze with flames of blue, and in my turn prayed my intentions for the year to surrender to my path, the path of my heart -- which is the heart of the Goddess.

From that point the shadows only deepened.  I was attempting to go off zoloft for a more natural alternative, and though it was a more controlled fall than the last time I tried, it was still a slow descent into the underworld. Both my mental and emotional realms (air and water) became unstable and unreliable. I lost touch with my passions and motivation for doing things (fire) and I began questioning whether I could even take care of myself and hold down my job (earth).  So here were all four elements spinning around me tumultuously, and it was very difficult not to get caught up in the storm.  But the 5th element, Spirit in the center, the eye of the storm, was still, as always, a safe port.  How many times in the past has Artemis talked to me about being the Eye of the Storm? 

With the help of returning to my original medication and an awesome soul retrieval, I began a slow crawl out of the depths and, though a bit disappointed at the prospect of going back on a pharmaceutical,  I heard the wisdom in a friend's comment that, "were this diabetes and insulin we were talking about, we wouldn't be having this conversation." 

During this time I also reached out and left a phone message with a dear, shamanic practitioner friend, and received a beautiful email in response which included the following wisdom:

I know the discouragement your voice portrayed. I too have spent many times trying to get off of zoloft to no avail. It has been a really hard road and difficult to think that after all of this amazing work I do I still can't shake deep dark depression. You are amazing, patrick. Your light is huge and your laugh is medicine for the world. I don't know what all this means that we sensitive types also need medication to live in this world, but I do know it is damn important we are here.

This encouragement uplifted and carried me considerably!

Finally, in the past couple weeks especially, I have returned from the underworld, Persephone emerging into the light, and the word that most seems to fit me now is "reborn."  Then it struck me.  This has all been one, long, slow-motion, dismemberment!

Dismemberment is something that happens in shamanism, but I hadn't really considered it outside of a shamanic journey. In a dismemberment journey one of your guides basically takes you completely  apart, down to the atoms, in order to put you back together better and stronger than you were before (insert 70s flashback to The Six-Million Dollar Man and "We can rebuild him. We have the technology.").  It can seem kind of gruesome and shocking if you don't know what is going on, but it is painless and when you surrender to it, it is so healing.  I've had Nathaniel, my reindeer, rip me apart with his antlers (and in one odd journey I watched the inside of his mouth light up just before he blasted me Godzilla-style, instantly dematerializing me) and the amazing thing is realizing that even without a body, I was still there.  Once you're put back together, it's like the feeling after a good dental cleaning.  Everything that isn't actually part of you has been cleared away from between every atom and you are fresh, new, and feeling stronger than before.

And that is exactly where I am now.  I feel stronger, more confident, and happier than I did before this 'real life' dismemberment journey began, and am excitedly looking forward to the near future and stepping into my power as I officially open my shamanic practice. 

Shamanism may be "a continous chain of deaths" but then it is also a continuous chain of rebirths.  It is both, in an ever turning cycle, while in the center of it all sits the unwavering Spirit, the eye of the storm, and our true, indestructible identity.  It is a whole, and must be considered in it's entirety when embarking on the shamanic life.  To live shamanically you must be willing to die repeatedly to everything you thought you knew, thought you were, up to that point.  You must be willing to be dis-membered in order to re-member who you truly are.

"Only to the extent that we expose ourselves over and over to annihilation can that which is indestructible in us be found."
~Pema Chodron