Come gather at the camp fire

22 Days of Transformation, Day 8  Sunday 7th March 2010

 

I’d like to share part of my first experience of the Heart Sharing Circle in New Zealand which I wrote about in my book, Migration to the Heartland.

“You’re about to be initiated into the Heart Sharing Circle,” Kerry whispered to me. “You’ll take up the tokotoko and learn to speak from the heart. But first we’re going to have a powhiri, a welcome. I’ll be on the other side giving the karanga, the call, and the powhiri, the welcome chant. We call visitors from their waka to come up from the shore and into the wharenui.”  She squeezed my arm. “I’ll see you later.” And with that she abandoned me to my rising anxiety.

A few women stood beside the door of the house forming the welcoming party whilst the rest of us waited in silent expectation beneath a tree. Finally, Kerry stepped out from her small group and started to call in Maori. Her voice rose in a primitive wail, which spoke of the Earth, of suffering, entreaty and strength. It was the wail of all women throughout all time and it vibrated through my heart, sending shivers of electricity down my back and through my legs.

In answer, a woman stepped forward from the visitors’ side and sounded the same heart-rending wail. Then there was another chant which I guessed was what Kerry had called the powhiri. She called:

“Toia mai”   (Come here, welcome)

And the group answered: “Te waka”   (The canoe)

Kaea: Ki te urunga  (To the resting place)

Katoa: Te waka  (The canoe)

Kaea: Ki te moenga ( To the bed)

Katoa: Te waka (The canoe)

Kaea: Ki te takotoranga

I takato ai

Te waka hi  ( Paddle the canoe to the resting place that is prepared)

The welcoming group sang a song in Maori; the visitors’ group replied with our own song. Then leaving the Maori tradition we all sang together about the Goddess.

A woman stepped forward with smoking sage and invited us one by one to be “smudged.” When it was my turn she wafted the sweet, cloying smoke all around my body and then, cleansed, I was allowed to enter the house.

I was an alien wandering into a strange new world. Although I was no stranger to women’s groups having been formed by the women’s movement, here the song, the ritual, the tribal quality, were new to me. Partly, I felt attracted yet another part of me was pulling back, wanting to hide from this enforced intimacy behind a barrier of cynicism. I was experiencing a tension between the expectation of self revelation I sensed in the atmosphere and my fear that if I revealed myself I wouldn’t fit.

I chose a comfortable old armchair to curl up in and watched the other women filing in, bearing gifts, blankets and babies. The view from the window was stunning; the sun still bright and high in the sky, whilst below Lake Taupo gleamed with shimmering silver light. From the trees, tuis and bellbirds were embellishing the beauty of the evening with liquid song. Inside, the room was scattered with colourful cushions and drapes as well as mattresses and bedding the women had brought with them in preparation for the long night ahead. There was a table laid out as an altar to the Goddess on which personal treasures were lovingly placed; crystals and feathers, gnarled pieces of wood time and the elements had sculpted into form, a book about the Native American godmothers, candles and incense.

Finally women stopped coming through the door; a hum of conversation hung lightly in the room. There were thirty, maybe forty of us, then two more arrived bearing steaming jugs of water, big enamel bowls and white towels. They filled the bowls with warm water and scattered red rose petals upon the surface.  They offered to bathe the hands and feet of each one of us in rose petal water as a cleansing ritual. One by one we stepped forward to be served by one of these two priestesses.

Having my feet gently held, washed, and patted dry dissolved away my anxiety and resistance. I felt like a small child bathed in unconditional love. This ritual must have taken some time, yet time had ceased to exist. Magic had started to seep into my pores and awaken my cells.

Then the first priestess rose. “Kia ora”,  she said, including the whole room in her gaze. “We’re here to celebrate the summer solstice. This celebration of the fullness of the light is a good time to reflect on where we’ve come from and where we’re going. This is the season of maximum growth. We respond to the light spiritually as well as physically; our dreams start to plump out and become juicy in preparation for the harvest. Yet in the very same moment we achieve maximum stretch into light and life we also start our descent into darkness and death.  We are poised now at this point of balance. We know the constant cycling of light and darkness so well. We experience it every month as our bodies prepare for new life and then let go the tides of blood. There is no light without darkness, no life without death. In the dark we gestate our dreams for the coming year. They unfold in their own time and in their own way. Big dreams take a lot of nurturing.

So, in our circle tonight let’s reflect on the events of the past year, let go of what we no longer need and empty ourselves in readiness to receive new inspiration. Even if it takes all night, let’s stay together until every woman has spoken, simply listening, not interrupting at all. We will speak from the heart and only when we feel moved. When we stand to speak let’s take our space and take our time.”

One by one, each woman stood, entered the circle, and took up the talking stick. Each woman’s speech was as unique as her appearance. Some were funny, others poetic, some tentative, others practised storytellers. Some spoke of the year’s victories, others of tender moments. There were stories of new strength and vulnerability after illness, the joys and challenges of relationship and solitude, love for a child, the passing of a parent, visits to favourite places in nature.

I loved the spontaneous unfolding of real life story and drama and was full of admiration for the women who stood and allowed their stories to spiral into deeper and deeper levels of experience, starting from their own individual story down to the bedrock of common humanity. Yes, life was tough sometimes and challenging, but these women were strong and enduring, willing to face the darkness in themselves and in the world.  And not just that! They could use the darkness to create beauty, meaning, humour, community. My heart was singing, “I am one of them!” and I knew I was here to meet and honour my tribe.

Then my heart started to beat so hard it threatened to break out of its cage, pounding like a drum, Now! Now! Now! And I knew it was my turn to speak. I was up on my feet before I could think myself out of it. I took the talking stick in my hand; an ornately carved and bejewelled pewter wand, heavy and with palpable power. I had no idea what I wanted to say and stood listening to the drumming of my heart waiting for the words to come.

You may also enjoy one of the first blogposts: Welcome to the Heart Sharing Circle, published on 30/1/10

To find out more about Migration to the Heartland, go to: http://www.awholenewworld.net/books.htm