This is a report of my first successful journey at a workshop sponsored by the Foundation for Shamanic Studies. It illustrates the classical shamanic journey as I learned to do it.
The class scattered around the room, lying on the floor in pairs. I'll call my partner Jim for two reasons: respect of his privacy and I can't remember his name. One partner would ask a question and the other would hopefully retreive an answer.
We did this exercise for two reasons: first, to help our partner and, second, to help those unsuccessful on the first attempt to journey. I was unsuccessful at the first attempt. I entered the first exercise to meet my spirit animal with a preconceived notion and was wrong. The instructor found, from past experience, those who have difficulty journeying for themselves usually succede journeying for others.
Jim was next to me with his arm touching mine. My heart raced wildly as I tried to breath calmly and relax.
The drum started to beat. I was immediately in my canoe paddling down the river. I sharply snapped the canoe to the shore at the landing. As soon as the bow touched the mossy bank, I scrambled out and pulled the canoe ashore, carefully stowing the paddle from force of habit. I turned and quickly followed the trail, all but invisible, through the cedar swamp. Within seconds I was at the huge fallen pine with the muddy pool marking the hole where the roots were torn from the ground in the storm of years ago.
I took in every detail of the roots and the pool in seconds. The brown and black clay and dried mud clinging to the roots where protected from the rain and snow. The deep green of the surrounding cedars. The cool murkiness of the pool. The cool freshness yet heaviness of the air as only in the northern swamps of summer. The few small patches of sunlight where the sun reached the floor of the swamp. The smell of decaying vegetation, stagnant yet fresh. I felt the wool shirt against my arms.
I removed the shirt off and flipped it aside. Without hesitation, I stepped into the pool and felt myself sink into the strangely refreshing mud and muck. As I sank into the muck, I felt the cool dampness of the mud and the small rootlets tickling my bare skin as I slid downward.
Within seconds, I dropped through the mud. I landed on the floor of the tunnel, absorbing the shock with flexed legs. As I stood from the crouched position, I quickly took inventory of myself. My felt hat was still in place. With my forearm, I felt the handle of the sheathed hunting knife on my hip. And I noticed I dry and free of muck feeling refreshed.
The tunnel was dimly lit. Ahead I saw the bright opening. I walked quickly and calmly toward the opening.
I emerged into a large, brightly colored desert ... bright browns and reddish browns. I felt and tasted and smelled the heat and dryness. Every rock and pebble stood out in sharp detail in the bright sunlight.
Directly in front of me stood Antelope, every detail showing sharply in the sunlight. I approached slowly. At my first step, he lifted his tail and galloped silently and quickly over the horizon. He didn't raise a cloud of dust on the hard ground.
"Well, will I end up chasing Antelope around the desert all morning?" I asked myself. The prospect seemed tiring and daunting.
I turned to the right and saw, stretched and relaxing on a reddish outcrop, a large powerful cougar. Approaching Cougar, slowly, I stopped at the edge of the rock and looked him. He turned and eyed me, a look of detachment in his eyes.
"Are you my spirit animal for this exercise?" I asked.
"Yes," he replied.
"Jim would like to know how to release the deep pain within him," I said.
Cougar turned his head forward, and gazing blankly across the desert, began to rake his long sharp claws into the rock where he reclined. I could see the muscles rippling under the tawny hide and the detail of every hair on the sleek, powerful cat as he clawed deep grooves into the rock. Then he turned and looked at me with his penetrating yellow eyes.
"Is there anything else I should tell Jim?" I asked.
"No," Cougar replied.
"Thank you," I said as I started to turn back to the tunnel.
I jogged to the mouth of the tunnel and started back. About half way up the tunnel I heard the drum calling me back. I burst into a run and popped out of the tunnel just as the last drum beat sounded.
Jim anxiously awaited the message as I sat up. I waved him aside to give me a few seconds as I caught my breath and worked the pain from running out of my legs and lungs. This was all a very real experience, the ache in my legs told me so.
I carefully reported everything to Jim as I saw and exprienced it. I felt I'd failed because there were no earth-shattering messages but Jim seemed very pleased and comforted with the message.
There are important things illustrated in this journey:
I reported what I saw to Jim. He asked for no insights or intrepretations and I offered none. I reported facts. That's shaman's duty, I feel, to report the facts and not what the shaman sees the facts to be. The journey is for the client although the shaman has the fun.
I asked Cougar if he was my spirit animal and he told me.
Working for someone else made things much easier for me.
There are basically three worlds to which the shaman journeys, the lower, middle, and upper worlds. The names have no significance other than a more or less geographical connotation.
The lower world is generally reached by the shaman going into a tunnel or descending into the earth in some way. Here the shaman usually meets with a spirit animal and does something. To me this is the world of travel and adventure. It is very much like the physical world only much more exciting.
The middle world is the present reality or OR. The shaman moves freely about in our present reality healing and finding lost articles, etc. It's a good way to travel and not lose the luggage.
The upper world is usually reached by climbing or flying or ascending in some manner. The shaman usually visits guides or teachers to get answers for people. This is where the shaman often goes for answers to.
There is one more thing that can happen in journeying. Things don't work. When you go to your job and things aren't going well, you tough it out ... when the Shaman goes on a journey and it doesn't work, there is nothing for the Shaman to do but go home. When the spirits don't work, the Shaman doesn't work for the Shaman works in cooperation with the spirits. The Shaman and the spirits work together; without the spirits the Shaman can do nothing.