A Truckload of Lightning
The body is tired, but the heart is strong! Today we cut and brought home a truckload of lightning!
The lightning-struck tree I’ve been writing about for the past two years is now fully ready to complete its transformation into sacred drums. The remainder of the beautiful logs cut from the towering maple were carefully scored and sawed, then loaded onto our little Subaru for the 30-mile trek to my home. I am honored to welcome these spiritual ally medicine drums, all 27 of them, weighing in at roughly 800 pounds! They join the five I’ve already turned into drums, so the family is growing! It is the most potential drums I’ve ever recovered from a single tree. Obviously, this maple was eager to complete its destiny.
While we were working, I recalled a hickory tree we cut many years ago. It was smaller, but still produced about 17 would-be drums. However, many of the rounds we had cut would later resist becoming drums. They would break my tools, or split wide open, or simply fall apart rather than to be fashioned into something they were not. That was back when I was learning about the nature of these warriors, and their own sense of knowing their individual destinies. That was a big lesson for me: Not all drums I cut want to be drums.
Much has changed since then.
Today, as we cut the rounds, I loaded most of them, one by one, pausing to be with each and to lay my hand on them. Each has a personality, and this was a way I’ve learned over the years to connect with them, sort of like a handshake, but more. It is as if I am laying my hand on their hearts, and opening my heart to them. It is the first step in building a relationship and in preparing us to know each other. Their predecessors had taught me to do this in order to engender mutual respect.
It is probably safe to say that not all 27 of these possible drums will choose to serve as such. Of the 17 that came from the hickory, only five or so chose to make the step into service as allies for shaman healers and seekers. The others were returned to the spot where the parent tree had once grown, there to meld back into the Earth to help produce new trees for the future. Likewise, any of these that prefer to serve in that way will also be returned to their point of origination. It is the way of things, and I am thankful for the lessons these friends have taught me over the years.
Right now, though, there are more than two dozen unique teachers waiting for me. They each have a story to tell, a decision to make, and a destiny to fulfill as we get to know each other. I am most eager to be with and to learn from them, and to honor their choices. Twenty-seven beautiful journeys await.
I will update you along the way.
Aho & Namaste,
Bob
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