Saturday, March 30, 2013

My Othala Galdr


I've been reading my new book Weaving Memory, A Guide to Honoring the Ancestors (by Laura Patsouris) tonight. Perusing through it, I came across this in it:

Galdr is the practice of raising power with the voice, and Othala is a rune connected to the ancestors and ancestral inheritance. Usually before I galdr my ancestor song I start by tapping on the ground or on a rock with a staff or stick to get the attention of the dead. I learned the practice of tapping on a rock from a Dagara Ancestor Worker and it is really quick and effective. I have a rock that has the rune Othala painted on it using my blood, so as I knock I am sending vibrations out to all of my dead from all of my assorted bloodlines to bear witness and to aid me. 

The hairs stood up on my body as it trembled with deep recogniton, my spirit welled up mightily, and a deeply profound joy embraced me when I read this. I know. I know. I know.

Nearly two decades ago, I had a dream. I dreamt of my clan and myself as we traveled during some prehistoric time before the human family had developed articulate language. This dream, in fact, captured the moment when I, as some ancient hominid creature, took that first step toward communicative speech. I may not have even been a homo sapien in the dream, but may have been an earlier hominid in my ancestral family line. Here is a poem I wrote describing the dream that I had - with tapping on rocks with sticks in it and the power of Voice -

before, when nothing was spoken
yet traveling together, darkness and light
primeval, dreamwalking, on the way
among us, then when we stopped for the night
one night, finding rest together in some cave of the land
I watching you, with sticks in your hand
tapping and banging the rock all around
curious creature, curious creature ...
gazing, watching, wondering about you
and this doing that you do
every action simply, silently speaking
in my ear, beautiful colors of chaos
telling me all about you
and before I knew it, I knew it
from the back of my tongue,
erupting ancient ancient sounds
the first of my story flew through, saying!
what are you trying to do?!
are you trying to tell me your story too ...
and still, from before to the cave and even now
listen, my friend ... it's raining, it's pouring
our story outside 

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