I 
I recently received a scholarship to participate in an online course, “Shamanic Approaches to Death, Dying and the Afterlife” with dream teacher and author Robert Moss. In our opening session, we journeyed through a favorite portal tree to the great mother to see what she had to teach us about death and dying.
Robert advised us that we might meet a new spirit animal on this journey, but as I am no stranger to this topic (I am an end-of-life doula and hospice volunteer as well as a shamanic practitioner), I imagined my usual “death walking” guides would be on hand to accompany me into the lower or upper realms for this next phase of my death studies.
So it was with some surprise that I found myself face to face with an animal medicine that has heretofore not been connected to my death work — and invited in to a dark ritual honoring the power of death and rebirth.
My journey begins as I am led by a white rabbit to the foot of mature and wide-armed oak tree that makes it home on the great lawn of the historic site where I live. Fully leafed and generously shaped, it is one of my favorite trees on the property: its location not only offers ample shade and the respite of a sturdy wooden bench but also affords me a magnificent view of the Hudson River and the escarpment below the lawn, where I can frequently catch a glimpse of our resident bald eagles hunting.
As I arrive at the tree, I see the rabbit waiting patiently at its base. I look up to see a murder of crows roosting in the tree’s branches. They are uncharacteristically quiet. I walk up to the oak and place my hands on its trunk, my feet on its roots; immediately, I begin to sink down into the ground. Like quick sand, the earth pulls me down and in, creating a tunnel below my feet for a passageway. Down, down, and through I travel, slowly sliding, the layers of earth pressing against me like the walls of a birth canal.
I find myself at the entrance to an underground chamber. The domed roof is arched; the earth walls and floor black. The room appears lit from below with a fiery glow, but there is no hearth flame or heat source I can see. In the center of the room, a bowl at least 20 feet in circumference has been hollowed out of the dirt floor. I have no sense of its depth, but it sits like a velvet pitch shadow in the navel of the room, and I feel reluctant to get too close to it.
I become aware that someone is in the room — a woman. She is facing me with her back to the far wall. Without walking toward her, I am suddenly before her. Her face and body are painted, her liquid bark-colored eyes enormous. She wears a headdress that resembles dreadlocks, but the room is too dim to make it out. Everything about her feels dark, earthy and primal. She is a priestess, in service to a goddess, and the power she emanates is ancient.
The Priestess is holding a snake in each hand and swaying gently back and fort. There are snakes writhing around our feet, winding across the floor in all directions. Despite the fiery back-lighting in the room, it is too dark to make out what kinds of snakes these are; I presume the worst and freeze where I am standing. I feel my stomach clench. In answer, the Priestess closes in on me, her undulating dance intensifying. She is standing too close to me — she is in my personal space, chanting words I do not understand. Suddenly, she thrusts a snake into my face and motions for me to take it in both hands. It is large, about five feet in length, a constrictor of some kind. Intimidated and fearful, I understand that I am to “handle” the snake. I focus intently on the snake, allowing it to spiral up my arm and guiding it with my hand across my body and onto my other arm.
The press of the Priestess’s energy pulls me away from my task, and I realize that she is painting my face with something red (ochre? blood?). Unexpectedly, the pulse of many drums fills the room. Animated skeletons are positioning themselves around the earth-bowl in the center of the room. As the skeletons begin to dance, I hear the click-click-click of their bony feet syncopating to the pounding beat of the drum.
Energy is building within me, coming up from the floor and moving through my core. The drumming gets louder. Horrified, I join the Bone Dancers in their manic revelry, making the rounds through the circle with reckless exhilaration, partnering with each one. The rhythm and pace accelerate; the rattle of bones and the thumping drum commanding all the air in the room. Each Bone Dancer spins me in circles while the group cycles about the pit in the center of the room. Looking at my skeleton partners, I see snakes winding between their bones. Giddy, overheated, and breathless, I am momentarily no longer afraid. I am one with the dance, the drum, the rattle of bones.
As swiftly as it all began, the dance it over. I do not see the Bone Dancers depart but my eyes are drawn to the earth-bowl. It contains a pile of bones.
The Priestess gestures to me to approach the far wall where, under an arch, I see an square opening that appears to have been cut into the dirt wall. The hole is entirely black. Sensing some new trial or test, my stomach again clenches with apprehension, but I dare not disobey. The Priestess guides me to the hole and points within; I understand that I am to crawl into the opening on all fours, head first, and then lie down inside on my back with my feet facing toward the opening.
I make my way in, my back nearly rubbing against the roof of the crawl-space. Instead of earth beneath me, I feel metal or some kind of hard surface. As soon as I flip onto my back, the surface on which I am lying begins move away from the hole, and I realize that I am on some kind of moveable tray which the Priestess has pushed deep into a catacomb-like tunnel. The faint rosy glow from the cave room has disappeared. In its place is a blackness so complete I have no sense of space.
Alone and entombed, I hear the rush of silence in my ears as my breathing capitulates to my rising terror. I reach out with my arms to feel the dimensions of the tunnel and find an arched roof of dirt just inches from my face and rounded side walls that leave barely enough room for my body. This is a crypt or crematorium. Trapped and overwhelmed by a mounting sense of panic, I am certain I will not be rescued or saved. In my head, I begin to scream; at some point I am screaming aloud. My breath is shallow, and tears run down my face.
Eventually, like an infant, I tire of the effort to make sound. Whimpering and shaking, I lay quietly and consider my fate. I quickly recognize that there is only one reasonable option: surrender. As I digest this truth, my body begins to relax, a tentative peace comes over me. And that’s when it hits me. I can escape by leaving my body.
Almost like magic, I am able to will myself up and out of my corporal form and find I am floating up though the layers of earth like a cloud. I rise up and up, out of the earth, reaching air. I am hovering nearby the oak I journeyed through, above the great lawn where it makes its home. Delighted to be free, I begin exploring the property, traveling across and through familiar landscapes, testing my liberty and unlimited mobility. I traverse the tree canopies, spying on our resident eagles’ nest, buzz over the house roof, and swoop down by the river. Like a fledgling, I am awkward, not yet moving with ease or grace. But boy am I enjoying myself!
Circling back to the lawn, I notice a squirrel on the ground by the tree. Instantly, I feel compelled to merge with it to experience its animal form; I easily overtake its body through a kind of intuitive merging with it. It is an amazing experience, but I am quickly overcome with conscience. This “take over” doesn’t feel ethical somehow, since I really don’t know what I am doing.I figure I can try this again another time, after I learn the ropes of spirit walking.
The encounter with the squirrel reminds me of my own corporeality, and I feel called to return to my body below. I float back down through the layers of earth and merge with myself to incorporate. I am rather impressed with how easily I accomplished this feat.
No sooner have I landed back in body than I feel the tray moving back toward the crypt’s opening. The Priestess immediately helps me out of the tunnel and gently walks me over to a giant round tub of water; it appears to be made of burnished metal but when I place my hand on the rim of the tub, I feel clay. The Priestess baths me, her touch kindly. Her energy is maternal and tender. She helps me out of the tub, dries me off, and walks me back to a chair that now sits with its back to the catacomb entrance. I stand before her. She robes me in white, stroking and plaiting my hair.
Just as she is placing a necklace with large stone centerpiece around my neck, I hear the call back of the journey drum. I am now an initiate, though our ceremony is not quite complete. I bow low to thank her and let her know I need to depart but will return. On my way out, I notice that the bone pit in the center of the room is again empty.
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Making Connections:
Minoan Snake Goddess Figurines
Lys Swan 