Shaman’s Circle

Birth Ritual – March 2019

From Shaman’s Circle, 1996, by Nancy Wood

 

New being, new citizen of the world, new carrier

of cloud wisdom and moonstones, new

flame of the universe, new eyes of animals

too old to see beyond their footprints, new repetition

Of the old ideas that people thought had died long ago,

we stand before you, ready to protect your small

breath of life, ready to teach you songs, ready to

help you plow the fields cluttered with our mistakes. Your

Recent journey affirms our faith in ancient circles. You are

the voice of us who tried to change the world. You are

the continuity of seasons and migrations, the best

or worst of all that has gone before. New being,

The ancestors are depending on you to surprise them. Little one,

our prayers for you come with love and heartbreak.

The world you enter is dangerous and filled with

imbalance. Knowledge comes from experience, not from

Easy answers. Resist those who would have you blindly follow them,

dear child of buffalo and hawks, ladybugs and fireflies. Turn instead

to the rhythm of waves, the pattern of grass, the shape of clouds,

the music of raindrops, and the color of autumn leaves. Strong

Mountains and saplings await you. The tongues of animals are anxious

to speak to you and the river is eager to teach you to dance. Learn

from the vagaries of winds, the honking of geese, the dance

of trembling leaves, and the way that shadows mystify.

New being, this is all you will need to be at home in the world.

New being, this is all you will need to recognize your song.

What have I learned during this life – December 2018

From Shaman’s Circle, 1996, by Nancy Wood

What have I learned during this life of falling often on a path that

offered me direction I did not take? The language of snails.

Why did I ignore the advice of those who had lived a long time?

So that I could embrace my own mistakes.

Who was willing to accompany me on my painful journey?

Myself alone, dragging along the shadows of experience.

What shall I give to those ready to embark upon an even steeper
path?

An open heart. Resistance to despair. Laughter. Most of all,

The love of birds, animals, and spirits who watched my progress and said,

Though you have arrived, you are nowhere at all.

Children of the Sun – December 2017

From Shaman’s Circle, 1996, by Nancy Wood

 

May you have life, my children of the sun. May you rise as smoke rises,

and spread yourselves on the wind. In our house, you are always welcome.

In our prayers, you will always hear your name spoken with reverence.

 

In you is the continuation of the world, both made and unmade. Soon you

must go, for your roots are growing, and your branches are reaching out. Soon

your wings must unfold, so you can stand at the edge of the cliff, learning

 

How to fly by yourself. You are free, my children of the sun, released from

your familiar place. Our thoughts go with you. Our songs are sung for you.

Our dances are intended to purify your heart. Please, now go.

 

Grief’s Companion: War – November 2017

From Shaman’s Circle, 1996, by Nancy Wood

 

The death of children amidst the cross fire of ideas is evil’s

grandest gesture. Not even the loss of love nor a

summer without flowers creates a grief as deep

As the theft of children’s laughter. No horror speaks as loudly

as the final cries of children, who, like birds,

seek to spread their wings even when the sky bleeds

Dead dreams. In these dark moments, the Earth’s great heart

 

Stops beating. In the void that evil leaves behind, a question

arises: If fools make war on innocence,

then who becomes grief’s companion?

 

A single shaft of sunlight, falling on a drop of blood. A bird

rising higher than danger. A blade of grass, defiantly green

after fire wipes clean the face of desire. But most of all,

Music created by children’s tears.

Nancy’s Thoughts: Poems as Rituals and Connections with Nature

From the preface to Shaman’s Circle, her sixth book of poetry, 1996:

 

“Most of us non-Indians are out of touch with the magic of the seasons, the subtle rhythms of the earth, and the daily blessings of the natural world. We hardly notice birds building nests, green leaves budding, or the way a river swells with life in spring. We are too busy to care. But care we must, for we are inextricably tied to nature, and to one another. We have to rediscover ritual and, in so doing, rediscover ourselves. We need to strengthen our bonds with nature, every day of the year. Few of us greet the rising sun or bid it farewell at sunset; not many of us howl at the moon, nor do we sing to rainclouds, growing corn, or the death spirit. We have drifted away from our roots, and melancholy prevails. Now we must reestablish contact with our sacred center and invent rituals that have personal meaning.

These poems are a ritual in themselves. They’re meant to be read in private, preferably under a tree or beside a stream. They’re meant to trigger a desire to get up and dance. Or to sing. Or to write a poem of your own as you enter the shaman’s sacred circle, where anything can happen.”