By: L. Lisa Lawrence
The scent of incense swirls around the darkened room. Two figures, their faces illuminated by a few flickering candles, stand in the darkness; they are discussing death. A hooded figure explains to a young woman that death is a transformation and release to those to whom it comes in its own time. Remembering the pain and suffering her grandmother felt in her last days, the woman understands. As she turns to thank to hooded figure and ask him his name, she discovers that he has disappeared. Almost inaudibly the phrase "We will meet again, when the time is right, and you won't be afraid" quietly echoes through the darkness. She stands alone in the chill of autumn, contemplating this lesson of Samhain.
The silence in the room is broken by two a cappella voices, softly singing a haunting tune beckoning "Take me back, oh hills I love." Soon they are joined by more voices, and harmonies fill the room with music and words that welcome the embrace of the earth, oaks and stars and speak of death as a release and return to that which is comforting and sacred. As the melody floats through the air, the voices and energy building, no one in the room is unaffected. As the last note of the song fades away, the room is silent. Some are in deep thought; others have tears in their eyes, even the children who normally squirm and make noise are still.
The mystery play described above, part of Gaia's Grove's Samhain ritual, was complimented and made more powerful by music. Moments like that happen rarely in large public rituals. In my experience, when they do, they are more likely to occur when there is music. Music need not be loud, fancy or even instrumental. Sometimes, a single voice in a cappella can be more powerful than the largest symphony orchestra.
I learned the value of music in ritual nearly 20 years ago. I remember a Samhain ritual in Colorado
In my first year of facilitating events for Gaia's Grove, I began incorporating recorded music into our rituals. I found that when we dimmed the lights and processed with candles and incense around the circle to powerful music, the ritual participants were put in a different state of mind, separate from the mundane world and open to the energies of the elements, deities and magick that we would be working that night.
Later, a group of friends and I formed a pagan chorus and began adding live singing to our rituals. Most of us were already in the habit of using song to raise energy and casting a circle by passing energy hand-to-hand around the circle without actually touching. We began gathering in a small circle inside the main circle, singing up the energy and then walking backward with it to draw it out over the larger circle. We took something that was specific to the tradition that many of us worked in -- casting the circle with "hot hands" -- and by adding the element of song, we created something powerful, meaningful and unique to Gaia's Grove rituals. One man, who had visited many rituals put on by many different groups, commented on how much stronger and more palpable our circle seemed compared to others he had seen cast in more traditional ways.
Soon, I found that rather than looking for a song to fit a ritual, I couldn't even write the ritual until I found the music. Someone would come to me with a song to sing -- a lively piece of music for a spiral dance or a moody piece for a procession -- and visions of meditations, magickal workings and mystery plays would begin to fill my head. Music had become the inspiration and focus of the ritual, rather than an addition to it.
Soon it became apparent that other ritualists wanted to take part in the singing, but they did not want to join a chorus and/or had limited time to rehearse. We tried an experiment in which we provided a recorded song that could be downloaded from a link on our Web page and had everyone who wanted to sing learn it from the recording before gathering as a group. Some who had been in the chorus balked at the idea, but others loved it. At the first and only rehearsal, everyone already knew the piece, and we just dressed it up by dividing it into parts and working out harmonies. We ended up with a fresh new group of enthusiastic singers, doing a difficult a capella piece that after only one practice sounded like we had been rehearsing for weeks. It was perhaps the most powerful song we have ever performed at one of our rituals. This will be the way that we handle singing in our rituals from now on.
The difficulty of trying to coordinate the schedules of two separate groups and the busy lives of the individuals involved is eliminated, and people who otherwise wouldn't get to sing and personally experience the power of making music in ritual get an opportunity to do so. Music, for me, plays an important role in magick, even when I'm not in a formal ritual setting. It is not just theater used to set the mood in a large group of people from very diverse backgrounds. It is a way of expressing honor and connecting to the nature spirits.
Late last summer, I accompanied a Buddhist friend of mine to a lonely rock outcropping on a beach just South of Neah Bay on the Makah Indian Reservation. It was the anniversary of his mother's death. He had not visited the area since he was a boy, and he needed to do a ceremony for her. I left him on the rock where he used to watch sunsets with her as a child, to honor her spirit and his connection to that place and the memories it held for him.
As his chanting filled the air, I walked down the beach to give him privacy and to do my own ritual. Once I had walked far enough that the only thing I could hear was the cold wind blowing and the waves of the Pacific Ocean crashing on the shore, I found a spot under an ancient tree growing out of the rocks, gnarled and twisted from surviving generations of storms. I sat down and contemplated what my own impromptu ritual would be.
I became aware of the musical quality of the wind, the waves and the birds flying overhead. I felt the rhythm of the tree I was sitting under and began noticing patterns in the sand and stone. Other rhythms emerged from the sounds of nature and created a symphony that the elementals danced to. I sat for a moment, allowing the music to fill my head and my soul. I began to sing, not only a circle casting and invocation, but my entire ritual. I felt a strong connection to the spirits of the land, and knew that I had experienced something so powerful that I wouldn't understand its full effects for some time.
Later that afternoon, as we were enjoying a picnic lunch overlooking the Strait of Juan De Fuca , I felt a sense of great connection and peace. The place was already magickal, but my experience was made more powerful by connecting to the natural music that resided there.
Perhaps music has always been important in my life, but I am just now beginning to understand how deeply ingrained it is. I never thought about it before. I never had any formal music training, and I managed to skate through my musical endeavors without learning to read music or having an education in music theory. I got by on the fact that I had a good ear and could reproduce pretty much any note I heard.
As I sit back and take stock of my most important relationships, I see that most, if not all of the people who are important to me are singers and/or musicians. I have come to discover that several people I am close to or spend a great deal of time with have musical backgrounds that I was unaware of. It seems that unconsciously I have been drawing musical people into my life.
Due to my hectic schedule, I have had to make some difficult choices as to where my musical practice time is best spent. Because our choir director at UUAT (Unitarian Universalist Association of Tacoma) is a music teacher, we work on music theory at every practice. In addition to singing, many people in the church and choir also play instruments, and we are encouraged to create and perform pieces on off Sundays when the choir doesn't perform. UUAT is where my current singing energies are focused. I have learned and progressed there in a way that was not possible just sitting around with a group of friends. Although formal music education is not necessary to enjoy or even make music, for me, learning some music theory has opened up many more opportunities and renewed my enthusiasm.
Every year around the time of my birthday, just before Samhain, I challenge myself to do something new. In recent years, these challenges have included writing poetry, playing guitar, getting over my fear of singing solos in front of a crowd of people and running a marathon. This year, I decided that I was going to learn to play the violin. Back when I was teaching myself to play the guitar, I didn't have the passion for it. I learned a few chords, played a few songs, but didn't really stick with it. The guitar wasn't my passion. I realized that whenever I listened to a piece of Celtic or bluegrass music, I wasn't listening to and picking out the guitar, but the fiddle part. This year, I decided that I could whine about not having had the opportunity to play an instrument as a child or I could do something about it. Against all advice, I purchased a cheap violin. My partner gifted me with a series of lessons at a local music store, and off I went.
Playing my passion was an entirely different experience than just listening to music, learning an instrument that I didn't feel drawn to, or even singing, which I love. After the first lesson, I actually made music come out of the instrument, and the notes and scales made sense in a way that guitar chords didn't. It was like someone or something shone a bright light, and it all made sense. It has heightened my excitement for singing, and I have even picked up my guitar again. I learned to read music in less than a week, and in only a month I have graduated from "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" to "Ode to Joy." Soon, after I have acquired a good solid base in classical education, I will be ready to move into the realm of Celtic and bluegrass music and play my passion -- a joy that will be with me for the rest of my life.
In the meantime, the fey and my guides (who one would think wouldn't care for the scratching and occasional bad notes that can come out of a beginner's violin) fill my tiny living room when I practice. I have not seen so many of them dancing since the days when my friends and I would gather to sing the in the greenbelt behind my former home. The energy in my apartment has increased and the nature spirits dance every day.
A recommitment to music has brought sacredness not only into my rituals, but also into my daily life and home. Social, job and volunteer obligations as well as intense training for marathons can sap my time and energy; taking a break to make music recharges and brings me balance. When I reflect on the magick, energy and wonderful people that music has brought into my life, I am truly thankful.
0 comments
Post a Comment