Dancing in the Muddy Temple: A Moving Spirituality of Land and Body (Studies in Body and Religion) 0739189026, 9780739189023

Citation preview

Dancing in the Muddy Temple

Studies in Body and Religion Series Editor: Richard M. Carp, Saint Mary’s College of California Studies in Body and Religion publishes contemporary research and theory that addresses body as a fundamental category of analysis in the study of religion. Embodied humans conceive of, study, transmit, receive, and practice religion, with and through their bodies and bodily capacities. Volumes in this series will include diverse examples and perspectives on the roles and understandings of body in religion, as well as the influence and importance of religion for body. They will also move conversation on body and religion forward by problematizing “body,” which, like “religion,” is a contested concept. We do not know exactly what religion is, nor do we know exactly what body is, either; much less do we understand their mutual interpenetrations. This series aims to address this by bringing multiple understandings of body into an arena of conversation.

Recent Titles in Series: Dancing in the Muddy Temple: A Moving Spirituality of Land and Body, by Eline Kieft Reach without Grasping: Anne Carson’s Classical Desires, by Louis A. Ruprecht Religion, Climate Change, and Our Bodily Future, by Todd LeVasseur Quatremère de Quincy’s Moral Considerations on the Place and Purpose of Works of Art: Introduction and Translation, by Louis A. Ruprecht Creative Encounters, Appreciating Difference: Perspectives and Strategies, by Sam Gill Religion and Technology into the Future: From Adam to Tomorrow’s Eve, by Sam Gill Sensing Sacred: Exploring the Human Senses in Practical Theology and Pastoral Care, edited by Jennifer Baldwin Body of Christ Incarnate for You: Conceptualizing God’s Desire for the Flesh, by Adam Pryor Sacred Scents in Early Islam and Christianity, by Mary Thurlkill Dancing Bodies of Devotion: Fluid Gestures in Bharata Natyam, by Katherine C. Zubko

Dancing in the Muddy Temple A Moving Spirituality of Land and Body

Eline Kieft

LEXINGTON BOOKS

Lanham • Boulder • New York • London

Published by Lexington Books An imprint of The Rowman & Littlefield Publishing Group, Inc. 4501 Forbes Boulevard, Suite 200, Lanham, Maryland 20706 www​.rowman​.com 86-90 Paul Street, London EC2A 4NE Copyright © 2022 by The Rowman & Littlefield Publishing Group, Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote passages in a review. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Information Available Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Kieft, Eline, 1977- author. Title: Dancing in the muddy temple: a moving spirituality of land and body / Eline Kieft. Description: Lanham: Lexington Books, [2022] | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2021047201 (print) | LCCN 2021047202 (ebook) | ISBN 9780739189023 (cloth) | ISBN 9780739189030 (ebook) Subjects: LCSH: Spirituality. | Spiritual life. | Movement, Psychology of—Religious aspects. | Dance—Religious aspects. | Nature—Religious aspects. Classification: LCC BL624 .K544 2022 (print) | LCC BL624 (ebook) | DDC 204—dc23/eng/20211123 LC record available at https://lccn​.loc​.gov​/2021047201 LC ebook record available at https://lccn​.loc​.gov​/2021047202 ∞ ™ The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of American National Standard for Information Sciences—Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI/NISO Z39.48-1992.

For José and Henk who gave me life For Denis who saved it

Contents

Gratitudesix Preludexv Opening: Four Threads of Experience: Nature, Dance, Anthropology, Shamanism

1

1 Existential Questions

15

2 The Spirit of the Dance

31

3 Body and Embodiment

45

4 Movement as a Way of Knowing

55

5 Immersion in the Land

67

6 Expanded Consciousness

79

7 Encountering the Spirits

95

8 The Cauldron of Ceremony

107

9 Towards Wholeness

121

Closing135 Appendix: Six Practical Orientations towards Dynamic Well-Being

145

Bibliography153 Index175 About the Author

193 vii

Gratitudes

This book has been brewing in the background for many years and was completed in a period of global as well as personal change. Life as we knew it came to a full stop when Covid-19 appeared on the world stage. Although pandemic measures are lifting and ‘normal’ activities appear to resume, change is afoot. Old frameworks may have become obsolete, while new ones have not yet fully emerged. I believe that we are urgently asked to reflect on the deep fabrics that shape our local and global communities, to find innovative ways to co-create a world in which all beings can thrive. I mean all human and other-than-humanbeings that share this magnificent earth, bringing a myriad of different points of view and unique expressions. This calls for fluid and adaptive structures that encourage and support radical well-being. The book maps some of the themes that, in my view, are essential to redefine our relationship to living and learning. It owes much to the constructive feedback of Henk Kieft, George Remkes, Waverli Neuberger, Terry Biddington and the peer reviewer, for reflections on the entire text; to Emellyne Forman, Esra Kaytaz and Emma Meehan, for comments on specific chapters; and to editors and critical friends whose suggestions during earlier publications helped shape and structure my thinking. Thank you also to Trevor Crowell and the team at Rowman and Littlefield, for your skilled guidance to prepare the manuscript for publication. In addition, I am grateful to all course participants, (under)grad and PhD students with whom I’ve had the pleasure of working. Your poignant questions and courage to share from your experience and wisdom significantly contributed to my understanding of the territory of this book. Although the work emerges from the soil of my personal, professional and academic background, it is also a springboard and roadmap for my free-lance work that offers an embodied, heartfelt and soulful curriculum to support our journeys through life. This is an ongoing process of discovery that emerges ix

x

Gratitudes

from countless transformative encounters with many wonderful beings over the years. Writing these gratitudes resembled a shamanic process of recapitulation, or life-review, and it deeply moved me to recall many inspiring moments with people from various periods or activities in my life. First, to my parents I am incredibly grateful for encouraging me to find and follow my own journey, believing in me and this unfolding trail and generally being the best fan base imaginable! Mom, thank you for your youthful innocence, enthusiasm and energy and for your unwavering support in all things earthy. If it weren’t for your sense of dance as cultural capital and getting me to ballet school, I’m not sure when I would have encountered the spirit of the dance. Dad, it is awesome you came along to shamanic workshops and 72-hour dance ceremonies, further fuelling our stimulating dialogs on indigenous knowledge, metaphysics, quantum agriculture, liminal space and the healing power of dance! Thank you also for translating your intuitive understanding of this work into the spectacular cover image. I can’t begin to thank all my amazing movement and dance instructors, ranging from ballet to ballroom, contemporary dance, caractère, folk and sacred dance, Eastern European, Latin American, African, Indian and even Louis XIV historic court dance. A special thank you to Ilonka Bakker as my very first ballet teacher in Leusden and Monique Diederen at Amsterdam National Ballet School, for teaching me that beautiful dance expression grows from within. Joan van der Mast, you whetted my appetite for site-specific work, and Lucette Bletz rekindled my passion after leaving professional dance training. All of you, and many other marvellous teachers, transmitted a contagious joy of dance. I caught the dance bug alright, and thankfully I think it will stay with me forever! From the (medical) anthropology teaching team at the University of Amsterdam, I’d like to thank Sjaak van der Geest, Jojada Verrips, Johannes Fabian and Els van Dongen (†) and Corlien Varkevisser (†). Your critical gaze regarding the cultural conception of health and well-being introduced me to a research paradigm away from the ivory towers and applicable to everyday culture. Towards the end of my studies, Joop Hoekman, from the University of Leiden, was pivotal in my choice for conducting ‘medical anthropology at home’, and I am grateful for many brainstorm meetings over delicious tapas that grew into a more than 20-year friendship. Anne Stijkel was the first to guide me to possibilities of multi-dimensional research that embraces the more intangible layers of reality and the researcher, in her revolutionary view on co-creation and inclusive science. She introduced me to Ignaz Anderson and the Iona Foundation, who warmly sponsored my PhD research, driven by the belief that systemic, societal change starts by enabling inspired individuals to follow their passion. Thank you Stefan, for being there all those years through the foundation of my academic work. Christian de Quincey, Jonathan Horwitz and Stephan Harding concocted a truly magical and immersive brew of participation consciousness together,

Gratitudes

xi

during the three-week course Soul in Nature at Schumacher Collage, UK, in 2005, that would change my life. Thank you, Stephan, for your unique blend of deep ecology that combines animism, intuition, Gaia theory and Goethean science. Life has never been the same after travelling through time as a carbon atom. Jonathan, thank you for showing me the door to the spirit world and equipping me with techniques to travel there and back safely. The tools you taught me offer concrete ways to interpret symbolism and experiences in journeys, profound techniques for healing and overcoming fears. All these helped me to realize an unbreakable interconnection: that we are in the land and the spirits, and the land and spirits are in us. Thank you also for teaching me to ask for help, a lesson which is still ongoing! Christian, you gave the most radical lecture ever on Silence as a Way of Knowing and inspired me to choose a PhD topic that emerged from lived experience. I am intensely grateful for your nudge to study other ways of knowing through dance as a modality that I was already intimately familiar with. My explorations of dancing with the spirits led me to Ya’Acov and Susannah Darling Khan and the School of Movement Medicine. Thank you both for creating such authentic contemporary cosmology that brings a potent medicine for transformation and is carried by innovative pedagogy, deeply rooted safe containers to do personal and collective work and practical tools to build thriving communities. You taught me about the art of shape shifting and reworking the clay of our experience to change the stories we believe about ourselves. Ya’Acov, your insistence that we kept moving also during your longer verbal instructions really helped me to break the deeply ingrained belief that sitting still equals paying attention and awaken the power of cognitive intelligence while my body is in motion. Susannah, thank you for your analytical clarity in voicing complex concepts in ways that address the body’s interoception as well as the metaphoric mind, and for standing up for the expressive and compassionate heart in corporate situations. All my Movement Medicine peers on the apprenticeship journey, thank you for daring me to stand on my metaphorical ‘other’ leg, and include all aspects of myself I previously dismissed as unwelcome. Especially Rosie, Mark, Espen, Kat, Ben, Elvira, Kerri, Marold, Silvana, Yasia, Jasper, Sjanie and Olga, your presence and witnessing capacity made it possible to explore difficult emotions, knowing I was safely held in the dark. I’d also like to thank Silvana specifically for her early and consistent recognition of my efforts to bridge the embodiment of dance and the sacred feminine to the academic world; and a joyous thanks to Rosie, Ben and Cyrill for helping me clarify my medicine through your clear seeing in our peer group. Jo Hardy, thank you for gently asking me the tricky questions as my mentor on the road of professional and self-development, and for teasing me about my elaborate ten-year visions. Your wise encouragement continues to help me manifest dreams one step at a time.

xii

Gratitudes

At the University of Roehampton, I had an excellent PhD supervision team with Andrée Grau (†) and Anna Pakes who patiently showed me the ropes of academic apprenticeship. Anna, thank you for your gentle and always encouraging presence and for developing a phenomenological approach to embodied knowledge within artistic practice. Andrée, I miss you and your infectious love for humanity and for anthropology as an applied discipline that contributes to understanding different ways of life, so we may live together more harmoniously. Chris Lüttichau, thank you so much for our stimulating conversations on shamanic dance and consciousness towards the end of my PhD, for sharing a pragmatic, matter of fact, way of living that integrates ancient rhythms, and for extraordinary dream practice from time to time. I was honoured to have Geoffrey Samuel on my viva committee as external examiner, and I deeply appreciate your search for anthropological methodologies that embrace mind and body, spirit and matter, as well as your deep insight in and understanding of the efficacy of ritual, and your warm-hearted encouragement for my work afterwards. It was not until after my doctorate that I met Jerome Lewis from University College London. Your passionate pioneering of embodied anthropological pedagogy and the senses as research instruments are a true inspiration. Thank you for inviting me to show your students how to dance with the ancestors, for introducing me to your wonderful family and your inspirited letters of recommendation which led to several successful positions and awards. Working at the Centre for Dance Research, Coventry University for five years was a dream job in many ways. I never knew that such a small, specialist field like dance research embraces such diversity, and I’d like to thank all my colleagues for sharing your heartfelt enthusiasm for specific themes, historical periods and methodologies in dance research. I’ve learned so much from you all. Especially Emma Meehan, Rosa Cisneros and Sara Reed, thank you for teaching me about following the rhythms of the body within the academic endeavour and for the warm friendships that developed over the years. And where would researchers be without awesome librarians? Thank you specialist dance librarian Gill Evans from Coventry University, for your knowledgeable support even with final reference checks for this book when I already left the university! Celeste Snowber, I admire your dedication to bringing soulful embodiment into research and teaching, while always nourishing your own practice. I am so grateful for all the times we co-presented at conferences, and our site-specific adventures in the United Kingdom and even across the Atlantic Ocean. You are an inspiration, thank you for being a wild sister in my life. Noyale Colin and Terry Biddington, thank you for inviting me to present on dance and spirituality at the University of Winchester, leading to a

Gratitudes

xiii

three-year post as knowledge exchange fellow at the Winchester Institute for Contemplative Education and Practice. I so appreciate the sense of kindred spirit regarding the numinous within academia, pedagogy and dance practice. Aside from those already mentioned in other capacities, I have been blessed to learn from some of the finest teachers in the world in terms of perceptive and intuitive skills, and other ways of knowing. Hans Andeweg and Rijk Bols, thank you for developing concrete tools to experience subtle and physical energies in ECOtherapy. Your clear roadmap to share those observations provides a radical bridge between the subjective, intersubjective and objective. Adam Bradpiece, your approach to Embodied Presence instilled in me an experience of being, regardless of the experience of the moment. I daily benefit from this valuable insight on my journey of living with recurring pain. Zara Waldebäck, I appreciate your earthy embodiment of a wise woman and your etymologic curiosity always highlights poetic roots of complex notions related to shamanic practice, making them so much more accessible. Your space-holding is extraordinary on all levels. I am delighted for having had a chance to work with Sandra Reeve (Move into Life), Suprapto Suryodarmo (†) (Amerta Movement) and Anna Halprin (†) (Life Art Process). Each of these encounters stimulated a unique view on everyday movement as a miracle of being alive in the here and now. Sandra, thank you for sharing your restful and resourcing embeddedness in the land, Suprapto for your cheeky jester spirit and Anna for your deep faith in dance as art and medicine. Likewise, I continue to learn so much from Clarissa Pinkola Estés’ work on the wild soul, and archetypes and stories as a healing modality. I am profoundly grateful for attending the Singing over the Bones workshop with you in 2019 and for your written and recorded transmissions that are an ongoing inspiration for loving and caring for the (challenged) body as best as I can, and then just get on with it. Charlie Morley, your accessible and humorous translation from Tibetan dream practices into the Mindfulness of Dream and Sleep provides a magical way to engage with one-third of our lives that we spend sleeping, and your teaching style is a true delight. You also brought together an amazing circle of peers. Thank you, fellow dreamers, for sharing wonderful lucid dream birthday parties and dream lab experiments. Lee Holden, thank you for adapting Taoist philosophy, Traditional Chinese Medicine and specifically Qi Gong to Western mindsets and lifestyles in such a down-to-earth way. Many of my interests in movement, nature, philosophy and spirituality came together during your excellent online Holden Qi Gong teacher training that I followed in the Covid-19 lockdown. I look forward to meeting you in person for the next Tier.

xiv

Gratitudes

I owe so much to my personal team for body care, consisting of all the healthcare practitioners, osteopaths, physiotherapists, craniosacral therapists, masseuses, homeopaths and acupuncturists who have helped me look after my body over the years, in particular Ross Hargrave and Cornelis Peters. Thank you also Sabrina Dearborn, Paula MacMenamin, Ahandra, Jan Bartelsman, Xenia Berndt and Shepherd Hoodwin, for your oracle qualities, intuitive perception, grasp of other wisdom systems and sensitive guidance, which have been invaluable to make (at least) some sense of the incarnating soul and its path through many lives. My allies and guides of the spirit realms, thank you for welcoming me into your world with such hospitality, reaching out to find me, teaching me your ways and providing so many previously unexplored perspectives. This includes all the green-leafed, barky, furry, feathery, quilly and scaly friends who have deeply enriched and supported my life over many years. Thank you to all guardian spirits of sacred sites who welcomed me for ceremony. Thank you to all spirits of the dance for your many colourful manifestations and for encouraging me to keep going with this work. Thank you, ancestors, from my physical as well as my spiritual lineages for continuing to hold a transformative container in awareness of the passage of time. Crossing back to the human realm, an immense thank you to my close triad of wise women friends, Petra, Maria and Anne Mette. Friendship for me is an extraordinary journey of sharing both the shadows and the shines and letting neither distract from an intimate inquiry into the essence of who we are. Each in your own ways, you see to my core, and your witnessing helps me to understand myself better. Thank you so much for sharing the song thread of soul, holding mirrors of clear reflection and a torch of hope when necessary, and unreservedly celebrating life. Thank you also my dear friends Rinske, Wayne, Jasper, Waverli, Alex, Vero, Thirza and Esra (I know you’re reading this!), for patiently letting me rant about mind maps, theories, connections and questions and for regularly reminding me that there aren’t really any wrong choices, just learning opportunities. I met most of you in another capacity, the texture of which then morphed into a rich exchange of experiences, providing a bubbling well of nourishment. I so appreciate that you are in my life. The completion of this book would not have been possible without Denis, my love. I still wonder what was in the wedding cake on that beautiful day we met. It blows my mind that both of us are free to utterly be our own creatures, while at the same time being intimately rooted together in the dance of life. It is truly awesome to be alongside you. Thank you for sharing yourself with me and navigating everyday practicalities alongside hidden quirks that come to light only in the safety of the couple cauldron. I am so grateful that you saved my life two years ago and I look forward to continuing the journey.

Prelude

This book describes my search for reconnection with a sacred awareness in all dimensions of life, in which nature and movement have been pivotal. Intuitively, I always perceived g⚥d as immanent transcendent complexity of opposites: here and there, timeless and of this moment, in beginning and completion, in matter and in spirit.1 I experience the numinous life force that moves in trees and leaves, in rivers, in the wideness of night skies with zillions of stars, as well as in the intimacy of my own body. From a young age, movement has been one of the strongest and most natural gateways to the mystery for me.2 I retrace my attempts of understanding the sacred through improvised and spontaneous dance as a vehicle that enables a conscious interaction with the tangible and intangible. Dancing, for me, is more than an activity. It is also a ‘place’ I visit, as well as a road itself, to places deeply within and far beyond my perception and imagination. I enter the dance to pray and ask for guidance and support, express worries and give thanks. Dancing offers an abundant wellspring of joy, insight and creativity. It also provides possibilities for healing as an ongoing process of rebalancing, integrating and coming to terms with something, ranging from the metaphoric to the concrete. The connection between healing as ‘making whole’ with the holy is observed in many cultural practices. Dancing allows me to integrate life events including illness experiences, call back what I lost and let go of what no longer serves. It strengthens my awareness of life force and vitality as precious commodities and helps me to be more present, active and aligned with source. Nature has a similarly deep influence and presence in my life. Everything I wrote about dance is true for me about nature as well. Nature is the place where I can utterly be myself, without tending to any societal roles and rules. I can be there without masks or agenda, explore and play with shapes, xv

xvi

Prelude

textures and light patterns. I can enquire into any questions I have and bring any worries. Nature helps me to recover from the overwhelm and exhaustion often caused by the demands of daily life. It is there, as in the dance, that the veils between this and other dimensions of reality are thinnest, and source is most tangible for me. Both dance and nature provide a sacred space that flexes, stretches, nurtures, emerges and appears in different ways. They always meet me in whatever state I am in, providing the perfect atmosphere for ceremony, transformation and healing, learning and discovery, withdrawal and recuperation, prayer and reconnection, fun, celebration and gratitude. Dance and nature have become deeply intertwined and inseparable both as aspects of my life and as phenomena that shape my experience of spirituality. I cannot imagine one without the other. Myths of origin often express a yearning for the perfect, sublime and paradise-like. In the hermetic Christian tradition, especially echoed in medieval alchemical writings, we find terms such as ‘paradise-earth’ (van Asseldonk 2009: 6). These simultaneously speak of creation and the subsequent fall from grace. Alchemists and mystics sought for a deep godexperience that enabled a reconnection, a return to something lost. I believe that the possibility of mystical participation with the sacred depends on the way we interact with the world around and within us. Rather than having to return to a paradise we never left (Jäger 2007), we can lift the illusion of separation by opening our soul “to the presence of being-in-the-world” (Bailey 2014b: 1479). My journey towards a spirituality of belonging and one-ness reflects a yearning I also witness in our culture at large. Dancing in the Muddy Temple is my invocation to remember that we can always find a sense of belonging in our body and the land, and that the enchanted garden is everywhere around us. With dancing I mean conscious, improvised movement as activity that invites and stimulates a (re-)connection with self, other, surroundings and source. Everyone, everyone, can do this, regardless of background, training or ability. The dancing in this book is not about fancy steps but about be(com)ing present with the natural movement of life, which is so magnificent that it is always a sacred dance, no matter what it looks like. As a starting point, you can take a moment to tune into what you experience right now. Then follow your breath, emotions or imagination, and let movement emerge from there, like a young leaf unfurling from the inside out. The movement can be so small you hardly notice it. See where it takes you. Your gaze might travel somewhere, your fingers might tap on your desk, your spine might wiggle. Follow it as a first step to remember that you are a mover too. The image of the muddy temple combines two contrasting qualities that are not often associated with each other. On the one hand, it evokes a sense

Prelude

xvii

of early, earthy places of worship in sacred groves, caves, on mountain tops. Even though you come to say hello to spirits and the gods, your feet might get muddy! This underlines our embeddedness in the land and draws attention to the soil to which we belong and to which we can return at any given moment, also long before we die. In addition, clay is a material we can create and shape with, as a metaphor for crafting a hand-made life of our choosing, instead of accepting one that is defined for us by significant others and mainStream culture. On the other hand, muddy refers to the unfinishedness and potentially chaotic nature of life which can be full of holes and gaps, messy, blurred, and obscure. It reflects the sometimes-troubled waters in which we swim around without clear vision, until the turbulence of life, with its hurried pace and excessive thoughts, settles. I believe that embracing that imperfection itself creates a sense of wholeness, a recognition of holiness of the unfinished, the not pristine, the vulnerable. Whereas a transcendent spirituality in a clean and polished space requires or expects us to leave the mud, a body- and naturebased spirituality recognizes that the sublime is right here, in our moving, changing flesh and the land around us. That, to me, is what spirituality is about and which might, in addition, whisper some alternative approaches to systemic collective issues that we are facing at this time. This book then, auto-ethnographically, weaves together the possibilities of an accessible body- and nature-based spiritual practice in the everyday, allowing an active and repeated return to wholeness and connection with the mystery. It is informed by four sources of personal and professional experience: nature immersion, improvised movement, anthropology and shamanic practice, and it emerges from the liminal space between them. However, rather than being a book about nature, dance, shamanism or anthropology, it explores a cross-disciplinary gateway towards a somatic spirituality that includes all aspects of our humanity: the simple and complex, the transparent and unfinished, the chaotic and painful, the ecstatic and dull, the natural and cultural. It invites sensorial and imaginative immersion in and with the land to dance with existential questions and with all that matters to us. We can listen to the guidance of earth and nature through our breath, our feet, our senses. Whether these experiences of being in the world are internal or external, movement can reawaken the ancient knowledge that lies dormant in our bones. All we need to do is re-member. This book proposes a moving spirituality that allows us to re-root into soulful meaning. It is pertinently not another recipe for religion, another sacred text or rule book, but an attempt to share a personal process of peeling off layers that obscured my recognition of the sacred nature of all life, all activities, all places, and all body parts. In sharing this unfinished understanding, it is my dearest wish that it inspires others to find their own individual route to

xviii

Prelude

direct experience of source and soul, and to remember that all is, and all are, welcome and holy. Yes. All. NOTES 1. I write ‘g⚥d’ this way, to underline its nature as a force of creation that embraces and transcends dualities. I also deliberately use lower case spelling to avoid a sense of (Christian) monopoly to the exclusion of other spiritual traditions that work with the numinous, as well as underlining the immanent nature of g⚥d in everyone and everything as an (extra)ordinary phenomenon. 2. The word ‘mystery’ for me expresses the unknowable essence around which spirituality and religion revolve. Other approximations include ‘the divine,’ ‘source’, ‘great spirit’ or, in an analogy with dance, ‘the great choreographer’. The latter term is used in Movement Medicine, a contemporary, shamanic, transformative and improvised practice developed by Ya’Acov and Susannah Darling Khan, in which I trained to be a teacher (see Darling Khan and Darling Khan 2009: 5). Using the word ‘mystery’ bypasses having to assume the existence of supernatural forces, as there still are many dimensions of life that, despite scientific advances, cannot be understood or explained. Karen Armstrong, former religious sister and expert in comparative religion, underlines that “the more we learn, the more mysterious our world becomes” (Armstrong 2004: 338). Our lived relationship to this mystery is at the core of Dancing in the Muddy Temple. I acknowledge that whatever language we use, speaking of it will always be paradoxical and imprecise, because it cannot be contained in any coherent system (Armstrong 2004: 327). I use the word ‘sacred’ to refer to all things that are in alignment with that ‘mysterious’ force and the natural laws of life, and which need to be respected and protected. Sacred to me is synonym with numinous, holy and divine.

Opening Four Threads of Experience: Nature, Dance, Anthropology, Shamanism

As a child I spent much of my time outdoors, first in the Portuguese mountains, later, after my family’s return to the Netherlands, in the village park behind our house. I would take a small inflatable boat out on the lake, visit small islands, pick herbs to make infusions and search for animal tracks. I had a WWF Wildlife Ranger Passport, and at age eight I welcomed the local press to a nature museum I established in my bedroom, including a littering awareness corner. Monica Furlong’s books Wise Child (1987) and A Year and A Day (1990) provided a first external reference for practices I had started to develop instinctively. These books describe an apprenticeship of a young girl to a wise woman around 800 CE in medieval Scotland and Cornwall.1 Reading about working with herbs, stones, dreaming and vision, and about the divine feminine, helped me to make sense of my own experiences. Guided by these books I learned about the importance of care for our body, our home and our surroundings. I started to observe the rhythms and cycles of nature, call on the elements as allies and appreciate the existence of different (and unseen) layers to reality. These books supported my experience of an earthy, female expression of the mystery that contrasted with the message of the liberal protestant church tradition in which I grew up, which taught that God was masculine, transcendent and separate.2 ‘Praying to’ was the best one could aim for, ‘speaking with’ was close to heresy. This doctrine offered no explanation for things that felt so familiar and accessible to me in my everyday explorations. Nevertheless, it took many years of unconditioning from that strongly patriarchal, protestant instruction of praying to ‘God the Father’ to have the courage to talk with ‘God the Mother’ without feeling awkward about it. My outdoor explorations were soon followed by my first steps at the local ballet school, which would establish my deep passion for dance. At age ten, I 1

2

Opening

started training at the National Ballet School in Amsterdam to become a professional dancer. Despite the rigid (Russian style) ballet training with its fixed formality, ‘dancing nature’ quickly became my main vehicle of expression. In my movements I mimicked picking flowers, reaching for the stars and sharing these gifts with the audience. Later, attending what is now Codarts Academy for Contemporary Dance in Rotterdam, this expression became more philosophical and metaphysical, for example when I made a triptych site-specific solo that explored the relationship between (wo)man and nature (Kieft 1995). I was inspired by Chief Seattle’s speech, in which he said: “Every part of the earth is sacred to my people. Every shining pine needle, every sandy shore, every mist in the dark woods, every meadow, every humming insect. All are holy” (Seattle 1854). Working on that performance invoked my first mystical experience in the sand quarry behind our house. One night at twilight, with the fog rising from the earth, I suddenly found myself outside of linear time, utterly at one with everything, deeply and instinctively recognizing my place in the wider web of life.3 Switching from studying dance to anthropology I encountered alternative views on culture, health, nature and spirituality. In my MA in medical anthropology, I learned about health care systems that, unlike biomedicine, emphasized an overall equilibrium between body, heart, mind, spirit and cosmos, rather than focussing on treating symptoms of a malfunctioning system. This reinvigorated the sense of immanent, nature-based spirituality I experienced since I was a child. In 2005, investigating a topic to pursue my doctorate research and inspired by Jeremy Narby’s Cosmic Serpent (1999 [1995]), I signed up for a three-week residential course called Soul in Nature, at Schumacher College in Devon, UK. There, I had my first hands-on experiences with basic shamanic tools and techniques. The module was taught by Christian de Quincey, Stephan Harding and Jonathan Horwitz. Rhythmic drumming induced an expanded state of consciousness, leading to experiences that fundamentally changed my outlook on life. I travelled through time as a carbon atom, had a conversation with a tree and danced with my first spirit teacher. Somehow these techniques allowed me to remember my ‘antennas’ for perceiving the vast and vibrant web of life around us. I experienced a profound, embodied knowing of interconnection, one-ness and no-separation that became more and more tangible and accessible over the years. Working with shamanic tools felt like coming home to a practice that was deeply familiar, as if all it required was simply waking up to a dormant memory inside. I continued to study with Jonathan Horwitz, co-founder of the Scandinavian Center for Shamanic Studies, and later with his partner Zara Waldebäck, to deepen my understanding of consciousness, shamanic techniques and healing methods. Although I initially learned shamanic journey

Opening

3

skills while laying down, I found that my body naturally wanted to stand up and travel to the spirits through movement. Gaia, the Earth mother, encouraged me to keep dancing with spirit, which brought me back to my deep love for dance. In 2006, I encountered the practice that would soon become Movement Medicine. Here too, I felt I entered a new, yet well-known, landscape. Movement Medicine is a contemporary shamanic dance practice developed by Ya’Acov and Susannah Darling Khan, combining insights from 5rhythms™ ecstatic dance, shamanism, Gestalt psychology, family constellations and neuroscience. It addresses the physical, emotional, mental and spiritual layers of being human, our connection to community, nature, the spirit world and great mystery.4 I studied Movement Medicine in three different ways. Personally, it was a trail that contributed significantly to my learning and development. I practiced new skills and behaviour on the dance floor, reconnecting different parts within myself and further invigorating my connection with the natural and spirit worlds. It created more balance, harmony and alignment in all areas of my life.5 Professionally, I learned how to hold similar spaces for healing and transformation for others. I have been teaching workshops since 2009, first as part of my training and later as a fully qualified teacher.6 Academically, for my PhD in dance, I studied Movement Medicine as a contemporary sacred cosmology, and its contributions to wellbeing, empowerment and spirituality, and interviewed many people about their experience with the practice (Kieft 2013).7 These four ingredients of nature, dance, anthropology and shamanism deeply shape my life, spiritual practice and work. Like all of us, I was a natural creature first, who then developed a kinaesthetic sense through movement as the main modality through which I learn and experience the world. I further honed my academic skills through anthropology. Although its colourful and multicultural lenses introduced me to shamanic cosmologies, they remained theoretical and abstract until I learned to work with the spirits directly, who brought me full circle back to dance. These threads together informed my doctoral research, in which they continued to interweave. This book too is born from a space in-between all these practices. It is neither exactly here nor there, but it emerges from the interactions between nature-dweller, dancer, shamanic practitioner and anthropologist. Living and rooted in all these paradigms, it is impossible to separate them as individual strands. With my body as a primary site of understanding, the book emerges from direct personal experience, interwoven with theoretical reflections and contextualizations, as well as an ongoing inquiry into what serves the work and wants to be voiced here (Romanyshyn 2007). The soulful alchemy at the heart of this work stirs the visceral and poetic.

4

Opening

REFLEXIVITY AND THE DANCING SCHOLAR Although reflexivity is recognized as an essential part of the anthropologist’s toolkit, too much self-reflection or even ‘auto-research’ is often considered a danger to the required distance to question underlying currents in the culture of study. To pass my doctoral exam, I had to clinically write my body out of the thesis to create a semblance of distance. This was always an uneasy task, since so much of my ‘data’ fell outside the academically accepted (positivist) paradigms. What was left of my research if there were no adequate methodologies to support the depths, poetry, intangibility and awe of the lived experience? Working at various UK universities in the seven years afterwards, I searched for an authentic voice that speaks from all these different fields of experience. The possibility of life trail as a methodology emerged, a soulful practice infused by all activities of the researcher, behind and away from her desk. I played with the archetype of the Dancing Scholar, shaped equally by both my dance and academic training (Kieft 2017). As dancer I am one with the movements that arise from my being and that contribute to who I am through many different layers of knowing. Dancing offers a continuous cycle of exploring and shaping, asking and learning and therefore immediately and intimately informs my work as a scholar. My body is always the first instrument with which I collect and later analyse data. Since the 1990s, this notion is somewhat accepted in anthropology, with the introduction of an embodied research paradigm, also called the sensory, somatic or affective turn. Through a rising interest in bodily modes of knowing and healing techniques, the body became recognized as an existential ground for knowledge creation of both culture and self. This paradigm considers the physical and emotional sensations of the researcher as part of the data that contribute to exploring the research questions and topic (Csordas 1993, Shapiro 2011, Stoller 1997, Sklar 1994, Pink 2015). Nevertheless, to my knowledge there is no mainStream ethnographic methodology or training that truly supports researchers to be in their bodies, teaches somatic awareness and includes the body as informative instrument during all phases of the research process.8 As a Dancing Scholar, I write from the sensory and phenomenological awareness of my lived experience, while simultaneously applying the reflexivity of an academic stance. In an earlier publication I observed: This poses the opposite challenge to that faced by most anthropologists, who begin as outsiders and have to get far enough ‘in’ to gain valid insight. For me the questions are: how do I maintain a distance from dance, something as natural to me as breathing, without falsifying my experience? How can I take these

Opening

5

intimacies as a starting point of inquiry? How does something work? Why does it work? When doesn’t it work? Is a certain aspect unique to dance or could it be achieved through other activities as well? (Kieft 2017)

To support this academic reflexivity, I naturally gravitate towards a lighttouch combination of ethnographic, heuristic, hermeneutic and phenomenological methodologies, like many other scholars who investigate perception, embodiment, movement, dance or spirituality (Hanstein 1999, McNamara 1999, Fraleigh 1991, 1999, Csordas 1993, 1999, Hefferon and Ollis 2006, Kuppers 2006, Pink 2011, Williamson 2017, Reeve 2008). This allows empirical evidence and practical immersion to go hand in hand towards understanding a specific topic. Research questions permeate all parts of life, including during sleep and dream states and in the dance. Most researchers will recognize this blurring of boundaries, yet the emergence of apparently random insights is not often acknowledged as part of official methodologies. One exception is the ‘practice turn’ in arts-based research from the 1960s, advocating both research-as-practice and practice-as-research (PAR), as activities that mutually influence each other. PAR favours activity and process over (fixed) structure, process and action over representation, collectiveness over individualism and underlined reflexivity rather than self-consciousness (Rust, Mottram, and Till 2007, Nelson 2013, Spatz 2015). PAR recognizes that the “motives and methods of the researchers are entangled with the knowledges produced” (Naccarato 2018: 436). Indeed, inquiry and research can never be separated from the person who makes the inquiry and conducts the research. Although a great approach, PAR seems to favour artistic practice with clear outputs such as choreography and performance, film making and theatre, while ignoring other types of more individual, spontaneous, impromptu, personal and spiritual practices that have no such clear products to show their value. In addition, auto-ethnography as a sub-discipline within anthropology also acknowledges the entanglement of the researcher in their work (Anderson 2006, Buzard 2003, Ellis, Adams, and Bochner 2011, Strathern 1987). Not only is implication considered a given, but meaning is actively and systematically extrapolated from and through the researcher’s personal experience and translated to wider (cultural) contexts. For example, through the extensive notebooks I kept during my shamanic and dance trainings since 2005, I can study my personal development as if I was a research informant. I can transparently embrace my subjectivity to understand more about the self as key fieldwork tool. The challenge is to transform what could be seen as mere personal enquiry to documented knowledge that is applicable to and useful for wider audiences, or, in other words, to move from subjective experiences to intersubjective meaning-making. Although the emergence of

6

Opening

auto-ethnography is a great step forward within anthropology as a discipline, in my view this remains a relatively cognitive and theoretical exercise. I therefore propose embodied enquiry to take auto-ethnography even deeper, as the body is the place of departure and return for everything we do in life, including research. Emancipating and calibrating the body can increase physical as well as emotional literacy in general and academic contexts and enrich methodologies of both research and practice (Kieft 2018, 2021). Bodies then become a place of enquiry, “where you can search and research what you deeply know within you (…) a place that is on the threshold of possibility” (Snowber 2016: 68). It is those thresholds of possibility that I am interested in, which brings me to the territory of representation. How can we narrate an intimate experience in such a way that makes the “understanding habitable for others” (Todres 2007: 28), or in other words, enable people to imagine another’s experience as from within their own skin, accessible and familiar? WRITING ABOUT DANCE There are several levels of translation involved when writing about a physical, three-dimensional and often non-verbal practice such as dance. First, the dancer faces the challenge of conveying their original, embodied, sensorial experience that includes emotional, imaginary and metaphoric layers as well. To distil the essence and meaning of such an intimately personal experience and verbally share it with others is no easy task. The dancer’s explanations are essential to understand the experience in its original context, which may need “another kind of reasoning, whose grammar and content are most effectively, though not exclusively, expressed in nonverbal language” (Blacking 1985: 66). At the same time, any description can only be approximate and never replace the original event. Second, the dance researcher then tries to represent the dancer’s translation of their first-hand experience in a reflective account that is accessible to others. I consider both reality and its (many) representations as constructed phenomena, with many layers of complexity (Burnier 2006: 410, Anderson 2006: 373, Spry 2001). The general anthropological concern with the difference between experience and representation becomes even more pronounced when it concerns bodies, dances or performances: A concern with the bones ignores the flesh and the blood, the spirit and vitality of form. But a concern with the spirit alone disregards the skeleton around which the form takes shape and which directs but does not determine the character of spirit and vitality. (Kapferer 1986: 192)

Opening

7

This requires finding a balance between form on one hand and spirit and vitality on the other, which is where the archetype of the Dancing Scholar comes in. She is able to breathe life force into theory as well as understand the structural forms of methodologies and theories from an embodied, fluid, flexible moving perspective. She dances the theory and analyses the experience. When the researcher and the dancer are integrated into one being, it also means that there is no external translator between the original experience and the representation that follows. As a Dancing Scholar, one of my aims is to consciously feel and embody each word, be touched by and live within each sentence that I write. I want to register the impact of language with and in my own body and cross-check the rhythm and resonance that the writing creates within my living, breathing body. In that sense, movement is not only the topic of this book but also the medium through which I found clarity to verbalize the complex tapestry of movement, meaning and transformation. My body-in-movement acted as a translator to make the unconscious conscious and so helped to shape the sentences in my mind. Some of the concepts I wrote about would form themselves on a bodily level first, before taking form in words and writing. I tried to take the concept of the ‘anthropologist as instrument’ quite literally, letting phenomena find their way through my moving, feeling, sensing, thinking body (Nabhan-Warren 2011, Potter 2008, Fleckenstein 1999, Sklar 2000, Ness 1996). With other autoethnographers, I consider the body as a literate entity with enfleshed knowledge and text emerging “from the researcher’s bodily standpoint as she is continually recognizing and interpreting the residue traces of culture inscribed upon her hide from interacting with others in context” (Spry 2001: 711). The third translation happens when the reader engages with the text, joining in the experiment of representation and analysis. Choreography means to ‘write’ (graphy) the ‘dance’ (chorus, khoreia). I invite you to interact with the words and treat the text as a living, experience-provoking dance partner. Listen perceptively to the steps of this text with all antennas of your being, and track your somatic, emotional and imaginative responses to the movements that we co-create in the exchange between writing and reading. If you feel called to move, draw, sing or go outside, please follow the impulse of your direct experience. This too is in alignment with auto-ethnography, which encourages readers to engage with their own personal, emergent experience and “to enter the author’s world and to use what they learn there to reflect on, understand, and cope with their own lives” (Ellis, Adams, and Bochner 2011). I believe that, on some level, the reception changes, or at the very least continues, the work, inviting the reader’s background and experience into the text. Reading becomes a dynamic movement interaction across the globe, creating bridges between here and there, you and me and adding to and strengthening danced spirituality and scholarship.9

8

Opening

WRITING ABOUT SPIRITUALITY Like dance, spirituality addresses an area of experience that is hard to capture in spoken or written language. Because it participates in the numinous, it often touches us in inexplicable ways, and words never seem to fully convey the feeling state of the original experience. Dance anthropologist John Blacking recognized the similarities between dance and spirituality when he wrote that “discourse about dance, as about any nonverbal communication, really belongs to metaphysics, because it is, strictly speaking, an unknowable truth” (Blacking 1985: 65). Much like the body, spirituality is an uncomfortable bedfellow for many academics. Although anthropology, with its hallmark method of participation observation, seems particularly suited to study the more intangible aspects of being human, participation in spiritual activities continues to be criticized within the discipline. Studying a spiritual practice continues to be more acceptable than experiencing it, as such participation is thought to endanger the researcher’s rationality and jeopardize the validity of the outcomes (Marcus and Fischer 1999 [1986], Wallis 2003, Clifford 1988, Clifford and Marcus 1986, Fabian 2007). Anthropologist Johannes Fabian proposed an ecstatic anthropology to step outside of “rationalized frameworks of explorations” as well as recognizing subjectivity as a “prerequisite for, rather than an impediment to, the production of ethnographic knowledge” (Fabian 2000: 8). He celebrates changes within the anthropological discipline to overcome polarization between objective and subjective, agnostics and believers, control and abandon. Nevertheless, he remains uneasy regarding anthropologists who embrace faith, either that of those they study or inspired by that (re-) turn to traditional religion in their own culture. Although he recognizes “the importance of religious knowledge, especially of the kind of bodily experience that comes from participating in ritual” (Fabian 2007: xi), he is cautious to abandon the fruits of the emancipation from religion, and so once again valuing cognitive experiences over the immersive, experiential, physical and ecstatic. Originally the domains of religion and science, lived spirituality and academic reflection, were closely interwoven and considered to touch on the same source (Landsman 2005). During the 18th century, or the Age of Reason, science started to focus on fact, matter and tangible reality, while theology concentrated on faith and the intangible dimensions of life. Over time this split has become more and more pronounced with diverging ontologies and epistemologies, each looking at a segment of human experience. Dancing with body, religion and scholarship, this book aims to find a way to bring matter and spirit together again. ‘The right horizon of enquiry’ (Gadamer 2011 [1975]) to meaningfully engage with the questions of an embodied, moving

Opening

9

spirituality stretches beyond what we can see from our familiar context and surroundings and explores both what is deep within and all around us. This requires a process of gapping the mind, attending to the heart and calibrating the body as an instrument (Kieft 2018, 2021). Gapping the mind means a spaciousness to go beyond rational arguments and systematically include alternative ‘shafts of wisdom’ (de Quincey 2005: 124), while acknowledging the mind’s incredible cognitive skills to observe and analyse experiences. It also calls for the heart to be present. Embracing uncertainty as a research strategy and acknowledging our personal vulnerability as researchers are essential to explore the unknown. A new level of freedom emerges when we dare to let go of what we think we know, and of the ideal to ‘grasp’ wholeness or completion. If, instead, we cultivate being comfortable with not-knowing, with unfinishedness, we may enter a place brimming with creative potential, where both academia and spirituality become participatory activities. Our bodies are always tuning to the world around us and provide a familiar place to start new enquiries and return to from whatever journey we undertake. MAP FOR THE BOOK Dancing in the Muddy Temple is constructed through the lens of my experiences and observations, choices of themes and topics, writing style and the order of presentation. Writing is always a choice between including and omitting. I tried to cover the main building blocks that I am currently aware of in my experience of a body- and nature-based, moving spirituality. However, each of these building blocks, chapters or sometimes even sections within chapters, merits a book of its own, and indeed many have been written on each of the subjects already. I stumbled across authors and publications in the library, on Internet or through serendipitous conversations, encounters and discoveries. Rather than attempting to provide a complete overview of all relevant theories and discourses, I include sources that supported my understanding of different experiences. However, there is so much more to be said, so many other wonderful authors to include. This content simply highlights ingredients that, in my eyes, are relevant to a moving spirituality based on body and land. My hope is that the text inspires journeys of discovery, on whatever level of engagement or angle of interest feels relevant, provides sufficient tools to dive into the unknown without being overwhelming and encourages the deepening of existing explorations with new ideas. Although I wrote the chapters so that one flows from another, the chapters can be read as standalone, or in random order if you like to skip to specific topics that grab your attention.

10

Opening

Each chapter starts with a personal anecdote that creates an atmosphere, to set the tone for the more theoretical reflections that follow. Using a model of culture as a river, chapter 1 explores existential questions in contemporary context. With major societal changes over the last few hundred years, traditional religions and belief systems are supplemented by new initiatives. The chapter addresses the difference between religion and spirituality, the rise of postmodern spiritualities and subsequent critiques. Body- and nature-based spiritualities and shamanic approaches are discussed as a specific stream within such alternative currents. The chapter completes with some reflections on tracing northwest European indigenous roots especially in search of a European intangible cultural heritage. Chapter 2 situates dance historically and culturally, looking at why and how people dance. Dance is hard to define since there are many contexts across the world and through time, in which people have rhythmically and meaningfully moved together. Most definitions underline the relational and active nature of this art form and, in addition, I highlight my use of the term dance as a conscious improvised movement that requires no formal training. This takes off some of the performance pressure and underlines that everyone is a dancer. The chapter discusses some sacred and conscious dance approaches and contemplates the benefits of dance as a moving spirituality compared to more static spiritual approaches. Chapter 3 introduces the body as a multi-layered continuum with physical, emotional, mental, energetic and spiritual aspects. It outlines four different expressions of embodiment that make this abstract notion more accessible. These expressions include interoceptive awareness, conscious alignment between body, heart and mind, a sense of ‘presence’ and interconnection with the world around us. The chapter invites a re-negotiation of the body as a sacred dwelling and sanctuary. Chapter 4 looks at how movement informs what we know and how we know. Over time, reason became the dominant modality for knowledge creation, leading to a loss of skill to realize knowledge through other avenues. The chapter discusses the possibilities of expanding beyond (while remaining inclusive of) cognition and the notion of embodied intelligence. Movement improvisation is suggested as a technique to generate other knowledges. This requires a different relationship with the unknown and, as that can be challenging, the chapter offers prompts to structure this activity. Chapter 5 explores immersing ourselves within the land and meeting nature as a teacher. It begins from the intertwinement between body and the environment and describes how, despite our (perceived) disconnection from it, we are nature. It addresses the benefits of spending time in nature, including through familiar activities such as cycling or canoeing, and through more meditative practices such as walking with a question. Finally, this chapter

Opening

11

invites immersive movement practices, such as engaging with textures and mimicking the surroundings. Chapter 6 discusses different ways to understand consciousness and specifically how it extends beyond the human body. It introduces animist and panpsychist worldviews, in which all phenomena are imbued with a spark of spirit or consciousness, as well as the notion of information fields that exist all around us. Such intangible dimensions can be accessed through electromagnetic properties and participatory consciousness, where knowing and being blend into one. The chapter reflects on expanding consciousness, much like changing the frequencies of a radio station to tune into a different channel of attention. It underlines the importance of creating a safe container, as well as exploring the role of the body in creating a bridge with the numinous, by looking at the differences between expanded consciousness, disembodied trance and embodied ecstasy. It completes with the power of shared (repetitive) movements within a larger group, as a path to collective transcendence and its possible effects on the recreation of cultures. Chapter 7 takes the theoretical notions of consciousness to a more concrete level. It introduces spirits as essence sparks, and various ways to move into deeper communion with them. Coming into relationship with the intangible is possible through the embodied awareness skills from earlier chapters and applying a generic, respectful spirit etiquette. The chapter explores steps of dancing with, dancing as and being danced. Dancing with can include qualities of presence as well as mimicking or mirroring the other. Dancing as compares to a form of shape shifting and being danced requires a more extreme form of surrender, which is sometimes referred to as spirit possession. Across time introduces the possibilities of dancing with the ancestors, and with historic events, collective cultural movements and the paradigms of religious views. Chapter 8 takes a plunge into the threshold space of ritual and ceremony. After discussing the difference between the two, it outlines various ways of mapping sacred space and addresses three generic stages of ceremony, preparation, liminality and return. It underlines the importance of integration of insights into the everyday. Reinventing ceremony receives similar criticism to alternative spiritual movements. However, widening the ceremonial stage beyond its traditional contexts into a performance atmosphere can help to reengage the community and strengthen the relationship with the numinous in contemporary society. The chapter also addresses symbolic meaning within, and the potential efficacy of ceremonies, weaving in a recipe for ceremonial performance that promotes individual and collective bridges to an otherworldly space. Chapter 9 focusses on healing, which might come as an unexpected twist at the end of a journey through embodied spirituality. Considering health

12

Opening

and healing as an ongoing and active process towards wholeness includes regular attention to physical, emotional, mental, social and spiritual wellbeing. Inspired by other explanatory models, concepts such as life force, soul essence, medicine and the golden shadow may support a more inclusive and integrated view on health. I propose four archetypes that can model an active role towards well-being to nurture health, prevent symptoms from occurring and develop healthy coping strategies should they nevertheless emerge. The chapter concludes with six active orientations towards dynamic well-being: acknowledging where we are, activating the life force, releasing what is no longer needed, retrieving what was lost, cultivating any messages or insights into the everyday and celebrating what can be appreciated. The Appendix provides practical suggestions and techniques that support each of these orientations, which I found helpful, practical and efficient in my everyday journey with health and well-being. The Closing reflects on the journey as an analogy for the search for sustainable and empowering narratives and what roles the body, movement, nature and ceremony can play in them. Recalling the steppingstones of previous chapters, it summarizes ingredients of a body- and nature-based spirituality. In addition, it draws attention to a few other qualities that emerged between the lines, such as circular and inclusive thinking, the spirals of life, death and rebirth, sacred sexuality and community as important ingredients for new narratives. The final section widens the horizon and extrapolates insights derived from the modalities discussed in this book to other contexts for those who, after being tickled and teased, still feel that moving and dancing in the natural world is not for them. Dancing in the Muddy Temple traces ingredients for an embodied spirituality based in movement and embedded in the land. It offers an intricate road map to explore and strengthen the interwovenness of various layers of self, surroundings and the sacred. Crossing boundaries between cognition and intuition, matter and spirit, it explores the possibilities of improvised movement as a pathway to insight, healing, transformation and direct interaction with source. NOTES 1. The trilogy was completed much later with Colman (2004). Furlong was inspired by (female) mystics, psychoanalysis and feminism, and a fierce advocate for inclusiveness within Christianity (Furlong 1965). These books would plant the seed that would call me to the UK many years later. 2. There are about 80 different protestant denominations in the Netherlands alone. I grew up within the ‘Reformed Churches in the Netherlands’ (‘Gereformeerd

Opening

13

Synodaal’, comparable to the Presbyterian Church), which merged with two other denominations (Dutch Reformed Church and Lutheran Church) in 2004 to become the Protestant Churches Netherlands (PKN). 3. In chapter 5, I write about this experience in more detail. 4. Ya’Acov and Susannah Darling Khan were part of Gabrielle Roth’s core staff for nearly 20 years, 10 of which they co-directed the UK Moving Centre School, representing the 5Rhythms™ in Europe. They created many practices during that time that became part of the 5Rhythms™ curriculum and developed different ways of working that eventually would become Movement Medicine (Darling Khan and Darling Khan 2009: xix, Kieft 2013). The School of Movement Medicine was established in January 2007, but during my first workshops in autumn 2006, the practice was still in transition from 5Rhythms™. 5. The deep immersion in Movement Medicine provided a space to play and explore, discover tools to deal with emotions and confidence to stand on what I metaphorically call ‘my other leg’, those things that I previously perceived as unwelcome. Through the encouragement of teachers and peers, I grew more fluid in the acceptance and integration of both my dark and golden shadows. Through regularly being in ceremonial space, I remembered means to be in direct relationship with other dimensions of life and the unseen. I also learned to be and work in community, something that might seem self-evident, but that I had never been taught. Whereas my initial encounter with shamanism shook the foundations of my life and removed a veil so I could recognize the vast expanse of the unknown, acknowledging the possibilities of mind and consciousness (‘if this is possible, what else is?’), Movement Medicine provided me with additional tools to bring insights home into my body-heart-being and integrate concretely and effectively into my daily life. 6. I was part of the first Apprenticeship and Professional Training (2009–2012) and became accredited as fully qualified teacher in 2015. 7. My PhD was awarded by the University of Roehampton, London, with deep gratitude for the late Prof. Andrée Grau († 2017) and Dr. Anna Pakes for their excellent supervision. 8. In 2017, I received an award from the National Centre for Research Methods (NCRM) as primary investigator to develop a Somatics Toolkit for Ethnographers. The result is freely accessible online: http://somaticstoolkit​.coventry​.ac​.uk and can serve as a modest start for professors, supervisors and students to explore the body as a research instrument as well as source of attention and support during the often challenging process of conducting research (Kieft, Spatz, and Weig 2019). 9. The style in this book strongly resonates with all six of Della Pollock’s premises in her outline of performative writing (Pollock 1998). All of them are implied or directly addressed in the main text. First, my writing is evocative, making bridges to other dimensions of reality, and, like auto-ethnography, recognizing the “interplay of reader and writer in the joint production of meaning” (p.80). Second, is also metonymic, in the recognition that writing displaces others and other worlds, through ‘partial, opaque representations’, and how writing can obscure what is absent from the original experience, in a way “opening language to what it is not and can never be” (p.83). Third, through the notion of subjectivity, “a relation of being and knowing

14

Opening

[emerges] that cuts back and forth across multiple ‘divisions’ among selves, contexts, affiliations” (p.86). It simultaneously creates a critical intimacy by subjecting the reader to my reflexivity. Fourth, following the body’s model, my writing cannot stop moving, it is both “transient and transitive, traversing spatial and temporal borders” as it constitutes knowledge through these movements (p.91). Fifth, it is citational, while realizing that I am quoting “a world that is always already performative—that is composed in and as repetition and reiteration” (p.92). Finally, I hope it is consequential, that ‘the performativity in language’ contributes to making a difference (p.95).

Chapter 1

Existential Questions

HEARING A MURMUR Once upon a time there was a mouse. This mouse kept hearing a murmur in her ears. All the time, wherever she went, gathering things, taking seeds from one place to another, she heard the sound and wondered what it was. Sometimes she would ask others, ‘I hear this murmur in my ears, do you hear it too?’ And the other mice would look at her strangely and say: ‘no, we don’t hear anything, you must be crazy. Get back to work’. So she did, doing all the things that mice are expected to do, but she continued to wonder until one day she finally resolved to finding out what it was.1 I too have heard such a soft yet insistent call for integrating soul and soulfulness in contemporary life, which I have been following since my late teens. I wanted to learn more about ways to address existential questions and the soul through body, dance and nature. This call brought me to many places and my daily life incorporates various practices that help me address those questions. I created my own mind-calming practices as a child. I sung my prayers to ask for strength before I knew about power songs. When I enter sacred space, whether it is a natural grove or a church, I bring my hand to my heart and then touch the ground. I often spend ceremonial time in Neolithic monuments, to connect with the ancestors. My kitchen is an altar that combines delicious food inspirations from all over the world with mindful awareness of where and how it has grown and gratitude for the people who tended it. I combine Christian, Buddhist and shamanic practices to give thanks before a meal. Some of these practices I developed intuitively, others I was taught, or were inspired by books I read and people I met.2 As Dutch citizen with a mixed lineage of catholic/communist artisans in Amsterdam on my maternal 15

16

Chapter 1

side and protestant rural farmers on my paternal side, my original cultural heritage and roots are not easily defined. When I was eight months old, my parents relocated first to Chad (Africa) and later to Portugal. I spent my infancy sleeping in suitcases and drawers instead of proper beds and my early childhood playing mostly outdoors in a small mountain village in rural Portugal. I lived and worked in the United Kingdom for 13 years and recently moved to France. The Noordoost-polder land where I was born was reclaimed from the sea only 30 years before my birth, turning the seabed into agricultural land. These areas were then carefully populated through a government scheme with selection criteria to ensure an accurate representation of the nation’s population in terms of age division, wealth and religious orientation (Vriend 2012). My paternal grandparents happened to be one of the few to populate the new lands, helping to build their village from scratch, with a very diverse community without centuries of traditions or shared lore. With this history, I sometimes joke I am a mermaid who has literally been pulled from the ocean clay. Mermaids have fins, instead of roots. They belong to both sea and land and can shape-shift between different forms. On one hand, not having a strong geographic connection or long-standing local family history generated a sense of displacement. Never quite belonging, nowhere being quite native, I have often felt an outsider. On the other hand, it created an adaptive fluidity and a reliance on body and nature as first ‘homes’. Wherever I was, I was inspired by the murmur or call of the wild soul. Sometimes it was the merest whisper, so soft I thought I imagined it. Sometimes it disappeared in the background when I prioritized other things, or it got obscured by the mainStream cacophony.3 Thankfully, dance ever returned me to this call. My body is always with me, even though that home is changeable as I navigate an auto-immune condition in addition to growing older. Nature too is always accessible as a place where we belong that reflects our wild origins. This can be in the form of a city garden or the vast expanse of the untamed outdoors. My personal dance with existential questions is connected to many threads of today’s global culture that inspire me to celebrate and honour the sacredness of life, body, nature and soul, and to live with kindness and compassion for self, others and our earth. CULTURE AS A RIVER Every society and social activity consists of depths, layers and undercurrents. Anthropologist Geoffrey Samuel compares culture to a river, observing multidimensional ‘patterns formed by the currents in the course of a vast stream or river. The direction of the stream is the flow of time’ (1990: 11). This

Existential Questions

17

analogy serves well for distinguishing the many murmurs we might hear. Like a river, cultural streams also contain many different currents. Samuel calls this the multimodal framework (MMF), as an inclusive alternative for most cultural theories, which often favour either individual or social points of view. The MMF offers both structure and freedom, while addressing the complex dynamics between individual and society, neither moving away from nor imposing a sense of cultural unity (Samuel 1990: 37–8).4 The culture-as-river model supports the inclusion of different experiences, concepts and ways of knowing, including the complexity of apparent contrasts such as individualsocial, subject-object, mind-body and self-other. It also enables studying concepts that are not particularly close to western experience, within an academic framework (Samuel 1990: 3–4). The image of culture as a river is very tangible for me. I feel the river of life in my body. The stream of experience flows, swirls and sometimes stagnates within me, requiring some action to return to natural flow. At times it feels like a wide calm Dutch river quietly passing through still lakes, a sensation I feel strongly in my hips and legs. At other times it more resembles a quicksilver mountain stream with rocks and rapids that I perceive more in my upper body and fast arm movements. The currents bring me in touch with others and introduce new experiences to me. Different streams meet, always flowing onwards, until they branch out into an estuary, again experienced mostly in my hips, where they ultimately merge with the oceans that connect all life on earth. In unusual cases, this embodied river seemingly flows in two directions, or even uphill. Rivers give life to many different activities, beliefs and choices. We could see the mainStream culture as a specific set of values regarding general governance, kinship systems, healthcare and religion.5 The generic, northwestern European mainStream current supports a relatively liberal, democratic political climate, capitalist, free-market economy where all adults have voting rights, education is available and illiteracy is relatively low. To some degree, there is freedom of expression, peace, accessible healthcare and relative affluence. Reason, cognition and the intellect are strongly favoured since the late 17th century, and vision is considered dominant over the other senses. Sub-streams reflect political parties, class, art genres and finer religious divisions within the larger culture. Although mainStream is often defined only by virtue of counter-currents, things are not as clear-cut as they seem. General and specific currents mutually influence each other. Each will have specific response patterns, and over time the importance of streams will shift and new ones will emerge (Samuel 1990: 13, see also 71). It is useful to view currents and counter-currents in their wider context, socially and historically. In the river of body- and nature-based spirituality that is central to this book, three relatively recent changes impacted western

18

Chapter 1

lifestyle choices. First, the Industrial Revolution caused our relationship with the land and natural cycles to change. Work became driven by productivity, endless repetition, economic growth and increased income for some. Second, the crumbling of well-established socio-political and religious ideologies in mid-20th century led to a drain of shared meaning and organized community. Third, rapid technological expansion combined with increased relative wealth fostered a general consumer identity that associated happiness with the acquisition of material goods or thrilling adventures. These developments changed the ways things had been done for generations, without providing sustainable alternatives. In traditional cultures, new experiences are “tested against the moral truths of the culture”, and either absorbed or rejected (Bell 1977: 425). In syncretistic cultures, including the contemporary postmodern western world, individuals appear to have more choice in defining their lifestyle.6 The rise of modernity in the 18th century increased a sense of internal rather than external authority. Capitalism further contributed to a shift from unquestionable obedience of God to a liberal ethic of free individualism and the ideology of perfection (Heelas 1994: 102–4).7 Direct experience gained importance over revelation, tradition and authority, which slowly undermined western religious institutions. The belief in heaven and hell declined, and the traditional moral framework disappeared, leading to a vacuum that radical individualism alone could not fill. However, the need for connection and meaning remained. People sought different ways of grappling with existential questions. The anarchy of the 1960s emphasized wild, personal freedom and created a thirst for deep, fulfilling experiences as well as an inward turn of self-improvement. Some found secular approaches in the form of rationalism, existentialism and civil and political religions (Bell 1977: 429–33). A wide range of social movements emerged, including a fast-growing body of complementary medicine and alternative therapies, various forms of activism (such as feminist, environmentalist and LGBTQI movements) and more recently a growing interest in local, organic, non-genetically modified and ‘slow’ food. Others looked for new forms of spirituality. CURRENTS OF ALTERNATIVE SPIRITUALITY Religion and spirituality both address existential questions, core values and ways to live together in community (Boyer 2000, Hood et al. 1996, Waaijman 2000). The main world religions usually include Hinduism, Buddhism, Islam, Christianity and Judaism and sometimes Confucianism and Taoism as well. These are more or less formally organized and involve a set of teachings, beliefs and practices to follow, often inspired by a historical (or archetypical)

Existential Questions

19

figure. Spirituality for me refers to the cultivation of a direct and personal connection to source, the divine, the mystery. This can be within or outside of formally organized religions and also, especially, in relation to everyday life. When we infuse daily activities with a sense of appreciation, gratitude and perhaps reverence for the sacred, they become inseparable from our spirituality. This makes spirituality both more individual and more spontaneous than traditional religions. Contemporary alternative spiritualities8 bring together elements of ancient and modern practices, Eastern and Western philosophies, as well as psychology, psychotherapy and cutting-edge science. Many of these approaches could be classified under the umbrella term of the New Age movement, or simply the New Age.9 The New Age movement consists of small networks of people with mutual interests, usually without formally organized, hierarchical structure and with varying degrees of commitment (Hammer 2005: 858). Despite the movements’ diversity, there is a shared core of ideas, values and ideologies such as holistic views on health and well-being, social justice, gender inequality and non-violence. The role of emotions and intuition is considered important, which sometimes leads to an idealization of ‘the feminine’ and matriarchal structures. Furthermore, an emphasis on ‘going back to nature’ often leads to involvement with ecology and environmentalism, and to an anti-capitalist ideology. Despite focus on self-responsibility and empowerment of the individual, most New Age approaches also recognize the importance of community and often draw inspiration from Victor Turner’s anthropological term communitas (Prince and Riches 2000). Both individual and collective healing and transformation are considered important. New Age tools usually include ways to work with energies, channelling and divination. Other shared characteristics are the acknowledgement of a ‘divine essence’ within all living forms, and the concept of ‘soul’ as a life force distinct from personality that is carried over after death to exist in a different form. At the same time, New Agers generally prefer the term ‘spiritual’ over ‘religious’ to describe their activities, stressing the individual and fluid character of their explorations over what is considered as dogmatic, fixed and institutionalized religion (Hammer 2005: 856–8, Glock and Bellah 1976). An important current within this river is the ideology of the Human Potential movement, or simply Growth movement, which is sometimes seen as the precursor or even synonym to the New Age. Although the idea of stimulating or accessing (unused or hidden) inner potentials goes back towards the end of the 18th century, more recent roots of this movement lie in humanistic psychology as formulated by Rollo May, Carl Rogers and Abraham Maslow in the 1960s. Maslow considered ‘peak experiences’ as the main drivers of self-actualization. Workshops were and still are offered at so-called ‘growth centres’, residential places where participants immerse

20

Chapter 1

themselves in various therapies and techniques. Esalen Institute in California played an important role in the development of this movement.10 Well-known academics, practitioners and key thinkers of various disciplines were and are invited to teach there, such as psychologist Abraham Maslow, psychiatrists Fritz Perls and Stanislav Grof, anthropologists Gregory Bateson, Carlos Castaneda and Michael Harner, and mythologist Joseph Campbell. Although the New Age movement started as counter- or subculture, it is no longer a fringe curiosity. Many of the tools, concepts and practices are embedded in mainStream fields such as nursing, corporate business and management strategies. MainStream always changes in response to societal developments, and its definition might in part depend on specific discourse, for example of New Agers who identify themselves by having turned away from mainStream. In addition, New Age practitioners themselves do not form a homogenous group. New Age values might be applied in all or only some or all areas of life. Also the degree of active involvement in the movement varies from person to person. Some people make a rigorous departure from the mainStream, while others remain firmly connected to it. Finally, values for which the mainStream is criticized (such as consumerism and material accumulation, technology, individuality, entrepreneurship and competition) are also present in the New Age movement, even though effort is made to translate them into non-materialistic, spiritual language. Still, the term New Age is emotionally charged, simultaneously much idealized and criticized by insiders as well as outsiders. Many people whose lifestyle aligns with its values, strongly distance themselves from the movement to such an extent that not wanting to be considered part of it can almost be seen as an identifying characteristic. The term often conjures a notion of flimsy spirituality that is not grounded in everyday reality. Lowell Streiker observed a polarization between an ecstatic and a more social transformationist New Age. The first, or ‘lefthand wing’, emphasizes energetic and visionary techniques, the second ‘righthand wing’ focusses on social conscience and compassion in action including responsible banking and other sustainable choices for people and environment (Streiker 1990: 10). This distinction seems to cause outsiders and especially those active in the righthand wing to distance themselves from the movement entirely. CRITIQUE ON POSTMODERN SPIRITUALITY The integrity of individually assembled and deliberately purchased spiritual experiences is often questioned, and alternative spiritualities are sometimes regarded as part-time escapism or a collection of ‘spiritual Disneylands’ (Heelas 1994: 107–12). How after all, can quality and depth be rated, if

Existential Questions

21

enjoyment is a strong leading motive? To what extent is such spirituality truly capable of support in difficult times? Although these questions are of course valid, I offer three reflections to counter them. First, existential questions are part of human nature regardless of times or cultural ideologies,11 and the search for and the creation of the sacred appear timeless (Durkheim 2001 [1912]: 160). The way people engage with them will always reflect contemporary life, which means that expressions of religion and spirituality change with time. When organized religions no longer address such questions in a contemporary manner, people will look elsewhere for answers and meaning. Postmodern spirituality is more individualistic and eclectic, a mix and match approach that reflects current cultural habits and demands. It incorporates hedonistic values such as money and pleasure. Experiences can be sold and bought. Values are pieced together according to consumer interests and discarded if they no longer appeal or suffice. However, that current forms are highly individual does not necessarily mean that they are less valid. After all, the great religions too were once individual experiences. In an effort to repeat such transcendent encounters, original experiences became protocolized, but organized religion is not the only route to experiencing “the world as a place of mystery and awesome power, to give form to imagination, (…) and to articulate potent feelings of awe and the sublime” (Steinberg and Coleman 2007: 7). Second, the etymology of the word religion includes a sense of reconnection (re-ligare may refer to ‘reconnect’ [Barnhart 1988, Andrén, Jennbert, and Raudvere 2006]). This takes different forms. Reconnection with the sacred is not dependent on specific religious specialists or contexts but can emerge at any moment and through many different activities, including during sports, washing the dishes, playing or listening to music and making love (Czikszentmihalyi 1975, Maslow 1994). That underlines again that spiritual experience is not the sole domain of traditional religions. Also, reconnection with community is perhaps more important than ever. Especially with diversifying social contexts, lifestyle choices and sexual orientations, an inclusive community is essential for a much-needed social support structure. Rather than feeling marginalized in mainStream religion, people search for a community or ‘tribe’ of like-minded people elsewhere. Third, underlining the importance of happiness and well-being is not just a part of hedonist, capitalist consumerism. Although traditional religions are often associated with austerity, restraint and suffering, their more mystical branches emphasize values such as joy and wonder (Vayalilkarottu 2012, Boon 2003). Also, capitalism and consumerism do not necessarily mean the end of religion but have supported (new) spiritualities through finances, technology, global networks and (workshop-) opportunities for redefining our relationship to the mysterious aspects of life (Urban 2000: 271).

22

Chapter 1

Paradoxically, current environmental, financial and health crises serve as eye-opener for many, to appreciate abundance and cultivate gratitude (see Roszak, Gomes, and Kanner 1995). As well as incorporating contemporary themes and values, alternative spiritual movements also offer a cultural critique. They provide ways to address issues such as gender relations, power dynamics and rationalism and potentially present alternative models for kinder relationships, increased personal and cultural responsibility, healthier group dynamics and relation to authority (see also Samuel 2005: 345, 358, 361). Alternative spiritualities often challenge mainStream culture by renewing existing structures and empowering individuals to make changes. Even if the initial motivation may be embedded in consumerist, capitalist ethos and aimed at seeking fun and entertainment, there appears to be a yearning for settings that enable extraordinary experiences. This implies that the existential questions have not lost their relevance and that creating contexts in which such questions can be addressed remains important. NATURE-BASED SPIRITUALITIES AND (NEO-) SHAMANISM A shared characteristic within many alternative spiritualities is the yearning for a different relationship with the natural world. Such green religion includes paganism, (neo-)shamanism, wicca, Druidry and Heathenry, nature religion, Celtic and Native American spirituality, eco-performance, ecoritual, eco-psychology, eco-paganism, eco-spirituality, eco-somatics and somatic practices. Some of these practices have ancient and unbroken lineages, others are reinvented more recently. Most arise from a lived awareness of body within the natural environment, and 1. recognize the world as alive and imbued with spirit 2. acknowledge a continuity between body and environment 3. perform community and ritual practices that are aligned with the seasons and cyclic awareness 4. acknowledge other ways of knowing beyond cognition and beyond the boundaries of the human body 5. utilize specific techniques to access these expanded states of consciousness and communicate non-verbally with all manner of beings 6. appreciate ancestors as part of everyday ontology 7. maintain sacred sites such as medicine circles and purification lodges 8. are inclusive of pairs such as masculine and feminine, dark and light, recognizing fluidity between the various qualities without favouring one over the other.12

Existential Questions

23

Shamanism is one form of nature-based spirituality. The term generally refers to approaches that work with the unseen and invisible dimensions of life, mediate between the sacred and the profane, conduct ceremonies and provide care for the well-being of individuals and the community. It is usually not considered as a religion, but described as ideology, social phenomenon or set of healing tools and ritual practices that appear across the world. Shamanic elements are present in many religions, and as ecstatic technique it often represents the mystical branch of a particular religion (Eliade 1972 [1951]: 8). Despite cultural variations and changes within specific traditions over time, shamanism is based on a strong relationship with animist nature and include characteristics such as accessing the spirit world through shifts in consciousness (including (ecstatic) trance, magical flight, shape-shifting, lucid dreaming and out-of-body experiences), interacting with spirit beings to ask for insights and assistance for healing, decision making and sometimes for divinatory purposes; and ceremonial leadership and performance to facilitate transformation and re-enchantment.13 The word shamanism is derived from a very local context. Travellers and early anthropologists documented the ideological structure of the Evenki people of Eastern Siberia, whose word ‘saman’ for ‘spirit medium’ or ‘priest’ became descriptive for similar practices word wide. In this sense, shamanism is a constructed category for academic comparison, an umbrella term that sprouted from (reductionist) cross-cultural research (Morris 2006: 14), yet there is no general definition or theory of shamanism that scholars agree on. Some suggest the use of the plural term shamanisms instead, to do justice to local, cultural and historical variations (Atkinson 1992). Shamanisms are continually changing in response to internal cultural processes and external influences. In some cultures, they are discontinued, while others see a revival (Jakobsen 1999, Winkelman 2004a). Shamanic scholarship and any derived practices might have looked very differently if the first accounts had been reported from other traditions, such as for example Kalahari shaking medicine. Instead of a focus on states of consciousness and out-of-body trance, there might have been more emphasis on performance with an interest in ecstatic emotions and polyphonic rhythms (Keeney and Keeney 2018).14 Shamanic practices have an enormous appeal for western alternative seekers, and they lend themselves well for translations to other contexts because of their inherent pragmatism and adaptability. ‘Core-shamanism’ for example is a distillation of some generic shamanic principles by anthropologist Michael Harner that has strongly influenced western workshop settings (Harner 1980). Participants are guided to expand their consciousness with the help of rhythmic drumming, to ask for help or insights from the spirit world. The focus lies primarily on self-help and self-actualization (Morris 2006, Heelas 1996, Stevens and Stevens 1988). Other approaches centre around the use of plant

24

Chapter 1

medicine such as ayahuasca, and often involve travel to exotic destinations to participate in traditional ceremonies (Fotiou 2012). Although ingesting plant-based psychedelics can lead to strong physical reactions such as violent shivering, sweating and vomiting, people report intense life-changing visionary effects. This ambivalent character is also acknowledged in indigenous settings, and ironically it was Michael Harner’s revelatory yet unpleasant experience with ayahuasca that inspired him to explore a substance-free approach to shamanism (Znamenski 2007: 149–52).15 There are of course significant differences between neo-shamanism and original shamanisms. Traditionally, apprentices are chosen based on lineage or because of traumatic events such as illness or near-death rather than through personal interest. Apprenticeships last many years, instead of attending a few weekend workshops. The lifestyle of traditional shamans comes with responsibilities and social consequences. Specific foods might need to be avoided, or the shaman is required to live in isolation away from the village. The traditional shaman might be privy to secret knowledge that is not available to everyone. Generally, however, it is a recognized and accepted role within the culture, one that is embedded in the tacit knowledge of the entire community rather than part of an alternative scene. A shaman is appointed by the community and elders and assumes responsibility with training and restrictions (Jakobsen 1999, Kieft 2020c).16 Despite the differences in vocation, roles and responsibilities of traditionally recognized shamans versus workshop trained neo-shamanic practitioners, balancing the life force seems to be an important intention in both contexts. The attraction to such practices in alternative spiritualities demonstrates a deep yearning to reconnect with nature and the numinous, and a concern for finding solutions to contemporary challenges such as natural resource depletion, global warming, viral threats, chronic health conditions and collective surges of emptiness and disconnection. Shamanism can help us delve into the archaeology of our individual and collective consciousness, revitalize a pre-Cartesian philosophy in which subject and object are undivided and re-establish holistic healing techniques to remedy the conditions of western cultures (Lemaire 2002). However, we must tread carefully, as there is a fine line between being inspired by non-western indigenous knowledge and appropriating other peoples’ cultural traditions. Naturally, indigenous peoples have the right to protect their tangible and intangible cultural heritage, including artefacts, performing arts and material culture, ceremonies and technologies (United Nations 2007: 11). Applying sacred practices without express permission from their representatives can be seen as continued exploitation and colonialism with all its disempowering and devastating effects. This should, of course, never be condoned.

Existential Questions

25

Equally, the archetypal essence of the shaman is deeply ingrained in the collective unconscious, including in the western psyche. Archetypes represent deep-seated experiences, growth processes and initiatory gateways that we encounter through life.17 From a place larger than ourselves they can inspire us, lift us up and show us the world through different eyes. Even if an archetype belongs to the shadow realms, it can be an insightful teacher to learn from and, when we are ready, help us to find our courage and stand in the light once more. Alongside countless other archetypes,18 Shaman embodies the essence of mediator between the human and spirit world, between the seen and unseen. This archetype represents energy of reconnection, healing and empowerment with its own teachings and wisdom gifts that is firmly embedded in our collective spiritual ancestry. This means that relating to nature and the intangible is part of everyone’s birthright regardless of background or heritage. At the same time, in approximately 2000 years of Christianity, body- and nature-based spirituality has all but disappeared from western mainStream awareness. There are not many contexts in which these approaches are practiced and most of us lack the experience to work with such techniques safely. I am deeply grateful for indigenous wisdom keepers who are willing to share their knowledge and especially encourage us to reconnect with our own original roots and ancestors (see for example Eyers 2016, Darling Khan 2020). Shamanic practices are always shaped by specific needs, circumstances and cosmologies. To apply them safely, meaningfully and effectively in western contexts, we need to trace our own indigeneity and examine the conditions of our society that need tending. This requires a return to knowledge of local lore and land, histories and specific cultural issues and symptoms. Then, body- and nature-based spiritual practice can offer an empowering, authentic and equally indigenous force for change. WEST EUROPEAN INDIGENOUS KNOWLEDGE Tracing indigeneity is no straightforward task in a global society. Our families often combine mixed heritage from different traditions. Many of us have been uprooted, either by choice or through forced exile, and contemporary lifestyles are not necessarily linked to a specific place. We are exposed to different traditions through education, leisure activities and travel, all of which influence our views on life. This means that lineage and belonging are no longer clear-cut commodities. Which deities, if any, do we pray to? Which ancestors and traditions can we celebrate as roots? Indigenous Knowledge (IK) is usually associated with non-western cultures. Identifying IK is particularly challenging in Europe. When I started

26

Chapter 1

tracing similar European knowledge and its archetypal roles including witch, seer, knower, magic wielder and even singer of sacred songs, I came across the word weik. In Proto-Indo-European language, weik means a priest or priestess who works with power and ‘consecrates with spirit’ (Parma 2012: 2). I therefore playfully propose WEIK as an acronym for West European IK, which simultaneously indicates a ‘local’ shamanic role that acknowledges the life force and enables working with the spirit worlds. Pre-Christian European history of body- and nature-based practices provides a basis for understanding the historical trajectories and content of WEIK, starting with prehistoric and Neolithic archaeological evidence of activities that appear shamanic in essence (Aldhouse-Green 2005). Cave paintings, figurines and headdresses that have been found throughout Europe depict shape-shifting images of beings that are part human and part animal. Ancient pottery shows drumming and dancing people. Most Neolithic stone circles across Ireland, Great Britain and Brittany display a spectacular awareness of lunar and solar alignments. Passage tombs suggest a different view on life, death and rebirth, and possibly played a role in initiation ceremonies and/or ancestor worship, and an archaeological dig on Orkney unearthed a bronze-age sauna or steam house (4,000–1,000 BC). Roman conquerors described ‘druid’ practices during their conquest of Northwestern Europe (especially Ireland and United Kingdom), and early Christian missionaries recorded local mythology passed down via oral traditions. During the first centuries CE such cultural ‘Celtic’ cultural heritage19 was incorporated in Roman and Christian spirituality. Many of the original local deities, customs and sites of worship were appropriated in these new regimes. During seven centuries of Inquisition (from the dark ages up until the 19th century), we catch a perverse glimpse of Europe’s nature-based practices through the Malleus Maleficarum, a handbook used for capturing and dealing with witches, and subsequent recordings of their supposed confessions. Some ritual notebooks survived, describing practices from families who managed to pass down their craft and traditions to the next generations in secret. All these threads of evidence show remarkable similarities with contemporary non-western shamanic practices, including ways to communicate with animist nature and the spirit world, relationship with power animals or familiars, the use of dancing, drumming and sometimes hallucinogenic plants to induce vision, as well as healing practices using the four elements water, earth, fire and air. Nevertheless, reviving or re-inventing them receives heavy criticism. Archaeological evidence does not provide sufficient insight about the way surviving artefacts or monuments have been used in the past, and much of the actual practices and techniques remain obscure. Also, the descriptive value of testimonials from conquerors or inquisition victims is of course highly questionable, and the use of any family sources is easily dismissed as invented or romanticized.

Existential Questions

27

The combination of critiques leads to a double-bind situation. On one hand, going elsewhere to study nature-based practices can be seen as misappropriation of other people’s cultural heritage while, on the other, reviving indigenous European knowledge is judged as inauthentic because traditions have been interrupted and much of the evidence is questionable. Acknowledging some validity to both points of view, I come back to personal experience. My roots are in the soil of the land, my mermaid fins in the waves of the ocean. As a child I felt the pull of nature, spontaneously collecting herbs for tea and incense, and singing to the sun and the moon. My heart resonates with people from all over the globe, and with stories that articulate our heartbeat on the wings of the soul. When I light a candle, I become present within the mystery. I receive medicine dreams in ancient burial mounds. And dark silence soothes me as I dance in a cave amidst paintings of wild horses, boar and mountain goat that once ran fast through the valley. Dance is my tradition, connecting me to body- and nature-based heritage that precedes any cultural delineations. Might this immediate experience be a form of universal human heritage in its longing for communion with the sacred, wherever we are from? I propose to look beyond the boundaries of nations and cultures and learn together as souls in vulnerable bodies who are all on a journey of living and growing through multiple and varied challenges. Let us go within and dissolve our man-made walls, so we can reach out our hands to connect with one another, across cultures and with our ancestors through time. Every society retains traces of an original, connected and enspirited life world. We simply need to remember those seeds and revitalize them in contemporary meaningful forms. Body- and nature-based practices are accessible to all of us, with utmost respect for all our human and other-than-human-relations and regardless of our life’s circumstances. They can nurture without taking, give without depleting, heal without hurting and unite without polarizing: “If we want to create peace and global healing, we need to build bridges between cultures” (Bourzat 2019). I would add that we also need to build bridges between peoples, practices, between body, heart, mind and soul, between tamed and wild, between people, the land and all its other-than-human-beings, between the tangible and the intangible. NOTES 1. ‘Jumping Mouse’ is a famous Amerindian story, existing in many different versions. This one is adapted from http://www​.katinkahesselink​.net​/other/​/mouse1​ .html, accessed May 20, 2021. I heard the story for the first time when Ya’Acov Darling Khan read this to the participants of the ongoing group Ritual (2006–2008).

28

Chapter 1

2. This specifically includes Jonathan Horwitz, Christian de Quincey, Thich Nhat Hahn, Adam Bradpiece, Ya’Acov and Susannah Darling Khan, Zara Waldebäck, Alberto Villoldo, Clarissa Pinkola Estes, Anna Halprin, Charlie Morley, Lee Harris, Lee Holden as influential teachers. Books include a variety of topics such as Jungian archetypes, Constellations theory, phenomenology, alchemy, U-Theory, witchcraft and Wicca, Celts and Druids, pre-patriarchy (western) European spirituality, shamanic works and of course many books on (medical) anthropology that taught me about different cosmologies and explanatory models. In terms of practices, I like to mention journaling and creative writing, working with ceremony, reiki and intuitive card decks, conscious cooking, nature immersion, improvised dance, Movement Medicine and Qi Gong, shamanism, lucid dreaming, singing and sacred art-making. 3. I use this way of writing mainStream to stay with the analogy of the river, which will be explained in the next section. 4. Where Geertz’ image of man “suspended in webs of significance he himself has spun” (Geertz 1973: 5) is characteristic for interpretive anthropological approaches, Samuel observed that this image is “neither purely individual (once spun, they take on a life of their own) nor are they purely social (they have spinners)” (Samuel 1990: 11). Those (two-dimensional) webs exist in a conceptual space which can for example be represented by a third dimension of ‘time’. As such, the MMF includes the Geertzian image of ‘webs’ as currents or vortices within the stream, without needing to take a stance in favour of either individual or social explanations of culture (ibid.: 11, 12). 5. Geoffrey Samuel calls such deeply embedded values the ‘modal states’ that construe a society or ‘manifold’ (Samuel 1990: 13, 68, 71). These overarching modal states of the manifold (MSm) are further characterized by cultural Modal States (MSc), which include phenomena such as different political parties, classes, art genres and religious streams. MSc’s “grow and fade in importance [and] new ones are introduced” (ibid.: 13, see also 68, 71). The New Age Movement can be considered as one of the MSc’s of the general western social manifold (MSm). 6. These individual currents compare to streams within the river. In Samuel’s terms, these “modal states of the individual” (MSi) relate to cognition, images and symbols, moods, feelings, drive and decision structures, a particular sense of identity and way of relating to life. Individual streams are derived from and influenced by both the mainStream and by sub-streams and have certain degree of flexibility in their connection to these other streams, which in turn are influenced and shaped by the countless individual streams. Each individual stream has a personal repertoire or vocabulary which is partly defined by the stream(s) an individual grows up in and/ or is drawn to, but also by his or her personal interpretation and translation of these streams. Growing up in an artistic family will create a very different outlook on life to growing up in a family of labourers or politicians. At the same time, siblings within the same family often have different interpretations of the same setting. Each individual can switch between different states according to what is required in a specific situation, and is also able to introduce new states or patterns (Samuel 1990: 14). As lecturer of a group of anthropology students, I present myself differently than at an academic conference, as workshop leader, or in informal family setting. These different worlds all form part of my individual ‘stream’, yet touch on different streams within our culture, both mainStream and alternative. That means that the New Age

Existential Questions

29

cultural Modal State (MSc) (as one of the many modal states within the contemporary western manifold (MSm) takes different shapes for all individuals that consider themselves part of this movement (MSi). 7. The role that religion played in the rise of science, rationalization, intellectualization, and capitalism, and the tensions between religious versus political and economic institutions are discussed by for example Hooykaas (2000 [1972]), Turner (1982) and Keyes reflections on Weber’s work (2002). 8. These movements are also called New Religious Movements or New Quasireligious Movements (Greenwood 2000, Glock and Bellah 1976). 9. The term ‘New Age’ refers first to a changeover from one astrological period to another. These periods roughly span 2,150 years, and the ‘Age of Pisces’ that roughly overlapped with 2,000 years CE is now changing into the ‘Age of Aquarius’. New eras are also announced in the Mayan Prophecies and the Dark Age or Kali Yuga (York 1995, Hammer 2005). 10. In 1976, Donald Stone counted over 20,000 people attending courses at Esalen yearly, with Esalen being only one of at least 25 similar centres within commuting distance of San Francisco at that time. According to him, in 1973, 17% of the population of Bay Area had participated in workshops such as encounter groups and sensitivity training (Stone 1976: 98). At its 50th anniversary in 2012, Esalen counted 750,000 visitors since its inception (https://www​.esalen​.org​/sites​/default​/files​ /resource​_attachments​/Sep​t182​012P​ress​release​.pdf, accessed January 22, 2021), and in 2020 Esalen still offered over 550 workshops each year (http://www​.esalen​.org/, accessed January 22, 2021). 11. Sociologist Daniel Bell summarized these ‘core questions’ as follows: “how one meets death, the meaning of tragedy, the nature of obligation, the character of love” (Bell 1977: 428). I would phrase them as: where do we come from, who are we, what are we here for, how can we graciously face life’s challenges, and what happens when we die? 12. This is my summary of ingredients that I associate with nature-based spirituality, most of which is echoed in books on ecopsychology, shamanism, and New Age spirituality and all related references throughout this book. Particularly useful reference texts are Pearson, Roberts, and Samuel (1998), Greenwood (2005), Taylor (2010), Harvey (2014), McGaa (1990) and Roszak, Gomes, and Kanner (1995). 13. See for example: Glass-Coffin 2010, Morris 2006, Jakobsen 1999, Harner 1980, Gold 1994, Keeney and Keeney 2018. 14. Although I feel ambivalent to apply the term shamanism for all the reasons outlined above, I will use shaman and shamanisms as well-known descriptors to avoid further obscuration. However, I personally prefer a more generic and descriptive term such as ‘body- and nature-based spiritual practices’, which I propose as an alternative that is free from geographic context and cultural identities. This is so close to ‘shamanic practice’ that it can be used as synonym, with the important difference that it recognizes that, wherever we were born and whatever our cultural upbringing, we are all indigenous to body, nature and the mystery. 15. My routes to expanded consciousness have been through meditation, qi gong, nature immersion, dance, neo-shamanic drum journeys and lucid dreaming techniques. I have no experience with entheogens or other mind-altering substances.

30

Chapter 1

Although plant-medicine such as Ayahuasca can, in the right context and with knowledgeable guides, be a complementary part of the journey (Bourzat 2019), I personally advocate a substance-free practice. Not only is the body a sensitively balanced system, there is still much to explore in the dynamic between body, mind and consciousness without adding additional ingredients to the process. 16. Western practitioners calling themselves ‘shaman’ after a few courses would be like calling oneself doctor, physiotherapist, priest or lawyer without the appropriate study and experience. Until one’s elders and community bestow the title, the word ‘shamanic practitioner’ would be more appropriate, as a statement of intention to align with a specific philosophy or worldview rather than claiming a specific role from a different tradition. 17. Chapter 9 discusses the concept of archetypes in more detail, especially regarding health and well-being. 18. There are many systems of working with archetypes, including in Jungian psychology, Tarot and other oracle systems. Archetypes are deeply embedded within mythology, folklore and storytelling. There are as many archetypes “as there are typical situations in life” (Jung 1936 [1980] in, Saunders and Skar 2001). They can relate to different phases of life (childhood, teenage time or old age), rites of passage that mark important events in our lives (first blood or semen, marriage, parenthood, major illness, death), as well as to expressions of personality (architect, pioneer, rebel) and pantheons (Yemaya, Tara, Mother Mary, PachaMama, the Rainbow Serpent). Other well-known archetypes include Magician, Shapeshifter, Witch, Warrior, Hero, Fool, Lover, Priestess, Victim, Guardian, Shadow, Creator, Hermit, Monarch, Explorer, Gardener, Ally, Maiden, Mother and Crone, Adversary, Stranger and Jailor. In chapter 9, I discuss four specific archetypes that can support a healing journey. 19. Like shamanism, ‘Celtic spirituality’ is another contested term, a label that is attributed by later cultures, referring to a geographical territory with different languages, customs, belief systems and peoples who did not identify themselves in that way (Berresford Ellis 2003, Powell 2000).

Chapter 2

The Spirit of the Dance

WELL OF INSPIRATION From the moment my seven-year-old legs found their way to the ballet studio, my family observed that I could no longer walk normally. When I opened a door to check something with my parents, my leg would swing up behind me while peeking around the corner. I have countless interpretations of Monty Python’s Ministry of Silly Walks that I regularly perform in public places. On one of the first dates with my partner, he noticed that I danced in supermarkets and shoe shops alike – I hadn’t even been aware of it. When there is music, I dance. When I cook, I dance. When I grieve, and heal, I dance. For me dance accentuates my awareness of the ever-changing and flowing nature of life from birth to death. When I ceased my professional training at Codarts, the Rotterdam Conservatoire, a small statue of Lord Nataraja tumbled off my bookshelf and hit my face. Nataraja is a manifestation of the Hindu deity Shiva as a divine dancer. The statues are widely known, representing Shiva’s five activities of creation, protection, destruction, embodiment and release.1 The ring of flames that surrounds his dancing body and represents the cosmos deeply cut into my upper lip. Blood ran over my chin, and a coppery taste filled my mouth. It was the first time I ever needed stitches. Even though I had just decided to stop pursuing professional dance as a career, I took it as a sign to never stop dancing. I don’t know if I ever could. Dancing is deeply intertwined with who I am. I learned and practiced many forms and styles, loving techniques and working the body to improve a certain movement or routine. I also love a wild abandon with hair flying and sweat running in rivulets across my body. Over the years however, the joy of 31

32

Chapter 2

dancing has become simpler and more distilled, as tranquil as breathing or a quiet ecstasy when my hand glides through space. In ancient Greece there were nine goddesses, or muses, of the arts and science. Each inspired a particular discipline. Terpsichore is the muse whose name means ‘delight in dancing’. The word musing relates to reflecting, being absorbed in thought or meditating (muser, in French). Similarly, I can be absorbed in dance as a well of inspiration that never dries up. The spirits, gods and goddesses of the dance are known under many names. One evening during my PhD, I invited all beings that wanted to be part of this research to come and dance with me. A dome of light appeared in my mind’s eye, held by a circle of creatures and archetypes who all expressed love for this work that moved between dance, nature, academia and spirituality. There was an Alchemist sitting in front of the fire, waiting for the connection between spirit and matter to emerge. Hermit, a lonely wanderer, illuminated a way through darkness to reach out to the community. Lady Birch spoke of delicacy and strength, of flexibility and structure, and the Fool just jumped about with a big grin on her face. I saw a forest shaman with amazing body paint dancing wildly and shaking his power staff. Even Einstein made me a desk to write at. A newborn deer foal appeared just out of the womb, with its feet entangled, clumsy without coordination, teaching me that it takes time to learn and remember what we already know, deep inside. In the academic community I often felt cut off from my deep joy and love for the dance and the spirit worlds. Connecting with the diversity of cultures in which these play an essential role in the well-being of society gave me the courage to keep exploring, connecting with these archetypes. I asked all of them to grant this work their breath. MANY DANCES Dance resists definitions because there are so many forms and contexts in which we dance. The same goes for tracing a dance history. Together with singing and body percussion, dance emerges directly from the body, independently from additional tools. This probably makes it one of the oldest art forms, developed by experimenting with shapes and sounds of the body. Alongside hunting, dance as an activity was important enough to record, as evidenced by prehistoric cave paintings that also show that considerable time was spent in making masks and costumes for dance events (Ehrenreich 2007: 22). Dance might have played a significant role in evolution. Becoming bi-pedal and developing language are considered as major evolutionary shifts. Andrée Grau proposed the ability to rhythmically move together as an in-between

The Spirit of the Dance

33

stage, which influenced brain development and fostered collaboration. Toolmaking for example required coordination of gestures, which may have led to language and the development of culture (Grau 2015: 235–6, see also Mithen 2005). Rhythmic and communal movement appears to support productive thinking, improve memory and efficiency as well as foster a sense of enjoyment and belonging. There are indications that survival is linked to optimal neural connections between motor control centres, visual centres that process other people’s motions and the experience of pleasure activated through dancing. Shared movement further plays a role in learning, reproduction, preparation and coordination of hunting activities, and group defense through the effects of muscular bonding and shared transcendent experience, both of which enhance the group feeling. The joy that often accompanies rhythmic movement can also help to overcome fear and be alert to external threats (Ehrenreich 2007: 26–30). Perhaps these advantages increased survival chances of groups that danced. Whatever the historic developments or neurological explanations, dance played a central role in life for the largest part of human history in a diversity of ways (Blacking 1988, in Grau 2015). However, what is seen as dance in some cultures is not recognized as such in others. Some languages do not have a distinct word for dance, because it is considered as strongly intertwined with and inseparable from human movement and life, or indistinguishable from (words for) music, game, play and song (Peterson Royce 2002: 9). Therefore, it is important to focus on what dance means to the dancers and (where relevant) their audience within a specific setting. There are many different reasons to dance, which of course influence its expression, form and context. In addition to dance as evolutionary and biological instinct, people dance for fun and recreation. People dance to give expression to their emotions and manage stress. People dance for beauty, or to show political engagement. People dance to create, reproduce or maintain identities of self and the group. People dance to reflect on, validate and maintain social organization, ideologies or worldviews. People dance to express, to learn, to make decisions, to heal. People dance to be in touch with the mystery and experience communion.2 Despite this variety of contexts and motives, most definitions of dance include two specific aspects (Kieft 2013). The first is its relational nature. Whether it is an improvised, private, solo dance or a performance for a large audience, whatever the function and whatever level or ability, the dancer and the dance always exist in relationship. This concerns relationship to self and the inner landscape, including emotions, identity and, perhaps more unconsciously, to ideology and a way of life. Also, the dancer moves in concrete relationship with the earth (gravity), the sky (vertical alignment), air (breath) and space. And finally, the dancer and the dance are always embedded in the

34

Chapter 2

domains of social, cultural, environmental, political and even cosmological contexts. Dance not only establishes and maintains these relationships but can transform them. This leads to the second aspect, the active character of dance as creative animation, in which new meaning can be sought, found and created. It can dynamically contribute to decision-making, change and transformation. Dance can be seen as “an intensely generative site in which cultural and social identities are being performed, contested, constructed and/or reformulated” (Henry, Magowan, and Murray 2000: 256). Enlivening the body, dance touches directly or indirectly on the creative life force within, a fluid and multidimensional aspect of our being that we are not always necessarily aware of. The mere act of moving, and moving the body through space, displays a decisiveness and will power that accentuates the active agency of the mover and underlines the capacity to adjust direction and implement change. This quality of transformation extends to the audience as well, if present. Spectators or co-participants in a (ritual) performance always view a happening from within their own process of meaning-making, which can in turn be changed through the act of witnessing. Dancing fosters connection between people and also integrates intellect and affect, our cognition and our feelings and emotions within ourselves. This combination makes dancing a very powerful activity (Grau 2015: 240–1). When I dance, I literally move through and actively engage with the unknown. If I move my hand this way or that, the whole world and my relationship to it seems to shift. I am aware of the spaces between the molecules and directly experience my connection to the web of life. It is as if all the pores of my skin become attuned to the life force and creation pulsating within and outside of me. Through this action-in-thedance, I recognize myself as a co-creator, creating with the mystery of life. Dance anthropology looks at culture through the lens of dance, and at dance through the lens of culture. It observes the role of dance in everyday life in relation to cultural values, environmental care, politics and spirituality. Classical ballet can be studied as a form of ethnic dance too, for example how its assumptions and gender stereotypes reflect, represent and recreate specific cultural notions (Aalten 1997: 200). The discipline tries to establish a dance scholarship that emerges from the ‘thinking moving body’ (Grau 1993: 24).3 As a cultural resource, dance might be accessible to anyone, or only to dedicated performers. In performance context, dance anthropology considers the role and participation of spectators, and the intrinsic meaning of symbolic movements for the performers and their audience. In some contexts, movements are specific to a sacred story, or movements invite a certain state of consciousness that allows a spirit or deity to dance through the dancer.4 In western contexts, most children are told to sit still and behave, leading to a disconnection from natural movement impulses. Adding gender stereotypes

The Spirit of the Dance

35

and religious taboos, very few people regularly dance for joy without the influence of mind-altering substances or would consider dance as part of their everyday experience. Perhaps they watch competitions or performances, but dancing is mostly viewed as an activity for professionals on stage or in show business. Whatever the appearance, form or potential limitations of the body, anyone who has some movement capacity and imagination can dance, without needing any specific training. Dancing can be as simple as lifting eyes to the sky in an expressive and conscious manner, or making a hand gesture. To break down potential performance anxiety for people who might otherwise think that they have two left feet, I therefore prefer to speak of ‘movement’ and ‘movement improvisation’. Movement improvisation starts from paying attention to everyday movements including climbing the stairs, sitting down and getting up, turning, speeding up and slowing down. When we stretch, wave or shake hands, meaning infuses itself with the action and the gesture can become a dance. The more we pay attention and bring our awareness into our body, the more all of life becomes a dance. Movement underlines that we are in constant communication with ourselves and everything that exists around us. Such conscious movement does not search for aesthetics, grace or acrobatics, and its variations and expressions are endless and deep. Dance is a metaphor for life: The birds dance and the clouds dance. Everything is in motion, all the time. Life is just in motion. Even everyday movement can take on the awareness of a dance. Dance is what you see, what you smell, what you hear. It’s how you bring your consciousness and awareness to your experience. So, if I bring my consciousness to a tree, and then I bring that consciousness into my body, then that becomes a dance experience for me. I’ve always said ‘Dance is the breath made visible’, and that covers about everything. (Halprin 2009)5

SACRED AND CONSCIOUS EXPRESSIONS Many cultures celebrate a sacred dance practice to express their cosmology and nurture a direct connection with the divine. Bharatanatyam, one of the classical Indian dance forms, expresses the adventures of characters from Hindu narratives through an intricate combination of body postures and shapes. Every gesture carrying layers of meaning, representing and embodying the sacred stories (Katrak 2013). The Hindu Ramayana epic, especially the Ramakien story, is also expressed in masked danced dramas in Buddhist Thailand (Kiriwat 2001). Butoh, a relatively young Japanese meditative movement practice invokes experiences essential to spirituality. ‘Paying

36

Chapter 2

attention to the mind of the dance’ while surrendering to its ‘rhythm and vital essence’ can support experiences such as presence, compassion, empathy, gratitude, effervescence, resilience and enquiries into death and dying (Fraleigh 2015, 17). Dancing with the Torah scroll can provide personified revelations on the annual Jewish Simchat Torah celebration (Tønnessen Schuff 2019). The Kalahari shamans consider shaking as a way to awaken the life force, transforming the body into a lightning rod that brings down spirit and enables direct transmission of cosmic consciousness. As an instrument of divine celebration or ‘kinetic holy grail’, shaking may be the body’s answer to the mind’s search for the meaning of life (Keeney 2005: 139). Similarly, in Sufism, the mystical branch of Islam, whirling dervishes attempt to access higher truths and union with the divine through repetitive circular turns around their axis that represents the world axis. Dervish means ‘doorway’, and this dance ritual is called ‘sema’, or gate of secrets. Emptying the mind and self from distractions, the dancer creates an inner space open to the divine and ‘true reality’ (Hume 2007: 67). This intertwinement of mind, heart and body bears strong resemblance to the more mystical teachings in Christianity. The Old Testament refers to dance as a possibility for worship, encountering god and to turn mourning into gladness. Akin to the Dionysus cults at the time, early Christianity appears to have been quite ecstatic in nature (Ehrenreich 2007). In Acts of John, one of the apocryphal books, Jesus invited people to gather in a circle around him while holding hands. He chanted that god partakes in our dancing, and that those who dance will perceive and understand god’s teachings (Acts of John, 94-6 in Elliott 1993, Slavenburg 2009). I believe this refers to physical dancing as well as a metaphorically following the path of Jesus’ teachings, which then, like the whirling of the dervishes, becomes a journey in and of itself. This text is often considered as one of the most mystical passages in the Christian tradition, despite not being included in the bible. It refers to a deep state of being, knowing and transformation, to both union and communion. Some Christian denominations such as the Shakers and Pentecostals still draw on rhythmic movement, unified motion and ecstatic dance in their worship, to communicate with spirit and god and sometimes to raise healing power (Hume 2007: 65–70). In general, however, Christianity has a difficult relationship with the body and dance.6 Since this is one of the leading mainStream religions, there is a lot of resistance to overcome in terms of connecting to the sacred through the moving body. In secular contexts at the end of the 19th century, people started to investigate the body as it was experienced from within. This came from an urge to break free from Victorian limitations with restrictive body practices, and also often in response to dealing with illness and disabilities (Eddy 2009). This

The Spirit of the Dance

37

development was fuelled by phenomenological and existential philosophy, as well as by expressionist dance.7 In response to the more rigid postures of classical ballet, contemporary dancers sought more natural forms of movement expression. Observing the breath, spiralling movements within the body and paradoxes such as contract versus release led to new movement styles. Some of these forerunners, most notably Isadora Duncan, Ruth St. Denis and Martha Graham, drew direct inspiration from religion and spirituality. Their dance became both a way to study the scriptures as well as a receptor for direct revelation (Roseman 2004). These developments would eventually lead to a canon of somatic practices such as Alexander technique, Feldenkrais, Body-Mind Centring and Authentic Movement. Although there are a variety of different approaches, most practices include an awareness of breath and the senses, focus on conscious relaxation, promote an exchange between inner and outer self in the world, emphasize agency and the role of memory, images and imagination. They tend to offer a way to explore opposites, different points of view and transitions between those. They also investigate habitual movements and introduce new movement possibilities (Halprin 2003, Reeve 2008, Williamson 2009, Reed 2011, DeSpain 2014). Looking at these elements it is easy to see how movement improvisation can serve an exploration of the unseen and intangible dimensions of life. These ingredients allow for meditative reflection on opposites such as being and doing, movement and stillness, and life and death. It can offer a way of tending to the soul, provide an opportunity to understand patterns within the larger whole and create with what is. Improvised movement can be utilized as an active personal plea for support, healing or inspiration, and equally be a prayer to life, light, earth, nature, and our human and non-human communities. In my experience, the more I surrender and give myself over to the dance, the more I feel carried and received. The more I show up, the more responsive spirit seems to become. (Kieft 2017)

From the 1960s onwards, a more dynamic movement trend emerged alongside and often inspired by somatic practices. Conscious dance approaches such as Biodanza, 5Rhythms, Open Floor, Movement Medicine, TranceDance and Soulmotion underline self-exploration and actualization, healing, transformation and empowerment through free-style dance improvisations. In general, these are more dynamic in nature than somatic practices and have a greater focus on community, partner movements and in some cases ecstasy. Most combine elements of shamanism, mysticism, eastern wisdom, gestalt psychology, personal growth movements as well as neuroscientific sources, and

38

Chapter 2

often receive similar critiques to the ‘alternative spiritualities’ discussed in the previous chapter. Nevertheless, I believe that any form of dance can be used to reconnect with gratitude, creativity and life force and the sacred, and find meaning and significance. This also includes dance in mainStream western settings such as club culture (Buckland 2002), raves (Sylvan 2005: 107, Sullivan 2006, Gore 1997), tango (Leseho and Maxwell 2010), American country dancing (Flinn 1995), belly dance (Kraus 2010) and even striptease (Scott 1996). Although the settings as such may not be ‘sacred’ in and of itself, practitioners touch on spiritual dimensions through their dance practice. Dance is a useful tool to recognize and move the spirit that is alive within and all around us and an ordinary way to reconnect with extraordinary phenomena. In such moving spirituality, we come to know the mystery of tangible and intangible reality as inseparable from ourselves. A MOVING SPIRITUALITY Dance holds a unique place among the arts as a medium of expression that is created and experienced within and through the body. As such it is a ‘double act’ of moving and feeling oneself moving at the same time: “Awareness of experiencing what one is expressing is the kind of somatic transformation emphasized by disciplines like yoga or breathing meditation. It is an ultimate intimacy, a doing while being with oneself” (Sklar 2000: 72). This intimacy allows for an active feedback loop in which we bring into relationship what we embody in ourselves, and which in turn brings the world so intimately home to us. It would be misleading to categorize dance as simply physical, as it provides a key to all aspects of the human being, body, heart, mind and spirit (Halprin 2003). Physical movement underlines and can support the integration of different aspects of ourselves. This integration touches on the notion of spirituality as movement towards wholeness, towards and within the holy. Equally, becoming literate in all four areas increases our capacity to be in relationship with the mystery and lets this connection blossom. Although other spiritual practices address parts of this continuum as well, dance has the ability to include all of them. In addition, dance not only contributes to spirituality but can be a spiritual practice in itself. As we have seen, it incorporates many aspects that are generally attributed to religion and spirituality. Expanding consciousness and being touched by the numinous can inspire visions and clarity, increase kindness and gratitude. In addition, danced spirituality has a few additional advantages compared to other forms of spirituality, of which I discuss four below.

The Spirit of the Dance

39

Mobile Connections Practitioners often adopt a specific posture for the duration of a prayer or meditation. Although that immobility can induce strong effects, it is almost as if the body is denied as sacred territory and needs to be overcome to encounter the sacred. Instead of restricting the body, adding conscious gaze and movement brings a dynamic focus to our spiritual practice. Keeping the back straight and the body still has a different effect to inviting the spine to move freely, in all directions and cross the room. Closed or focussed eyes also invite a different experience than touching the environment through soft eyes. Movement can be still, quiet, receptive and reflective as well as exuberant and celebratory. Through embracing the lived experience of the sensual body and its physicality, we recognize spirit and the divine as immanent and therefore immediate and accessible. Instead of bypassing our corporeality, we realize that spirit and the divine envelop and permeate us at all times and are literally just a movement away. When my body is fully engaged, spirit shows up to meet me in different ways. My interaction with spirit is much more direct, dynamic and engaged when I can express what is alive inside me through movements that lightly caress the air around me or roar with the passion of volcanoes. Once again, dance fosters a direct possibility for reconnection because it is relational in essence. If we look at spirituality in terms of re-connection (religare), this can be directly addressed through movement. The dialog between person and (tangible and intangible) environment becomes very tangible through awareness of the breath as physical exchange between interior and exterior. This dialog is further underlined by inward and outward flowing movements. Attuning to the environment through all senses can enable us to detect subtle changes or reverberations and move again in response to those. Through this relational nature, the dancer may recognize herself as embedded in a direct network of relationships, possibly in a more concrete way than other forms of spirituality. Emotionally Evocative Spiritual practice can provide an immense comfort when going through challenging life experiences such as illness, loss, betrayal and emotions such as shame, guilt, fear, anxiety or rage. Dance is an excellent ‘place’ to explore such challenges (both those that existed beforehand and those that arise in the dance),8 partly because they do not have to be verbalized and partly because it brings raw energy in motion in a direct manner. Through the body and dance, people can experience and express the whole range of human emotions.9 The physical release of traumatic emotions can literally crack us open and make

40

Chapter 2

‘space’ for spirit. Dancing through dark nights of the soul and eventually come out ‘on the other side’ can compare to a spiritual emergence (Grof and Grof 1986) and support fuller living. Through the embodied experience of the cycle of descent, crisis and emergence, spirituality becomes tangibly connected to the everyday, rather than an abstract external notion and metaphysical and transcendent concept. Equally, dancing alone or with others can evoke strong positive feelings of joy, pleasure, hope, compassion, play, humour and an appreciation of beauty. The physicality can emphasize the delight of being in a body that vibrates with life force. Dancing in a group contributes to a sense of group cohesion, belonging and solidarity through muscle bonding or collective ecstasy. Both the reward of emerging from a dark night of the soul and the ‘feel-good feelings’ stimulate happiness and well-being in general. When people feel they belong, they will want to make ‘their’ family, social and professional cultures operate in a satisfactory, sustainable way. This circumvents despair and criticism about something external and instead engages people in actively formulating and protecting that which they hold dear. This often translates into involvement in the well-being of others through supporting charities or doing voluntary work; a sense of ‘stewardship’ to look after the earth and preserve nature and life for current and future generations; and a wish to distribute things evenly so that more people can live a good life. These aspects are fundamental to most religions (see for example Moses 2002 (1989)), and in turn these drives generate a sense of meaning, which is again an intrinsic motivation for ‘doing good’ (compare Damasio 2004). It can become a positive circle that reinforces itself. Fluid Consciousness Dancing is one of the widely recognized, substance-free ways to induce expanded states of consciousness. Such states enable people to perceive the world differently. They are often characterized by an absence of thoughts and ego-awareness, and an experience of non-duality, expansion, or dissolving into the cosmos. In a flow state we are fully present in the moment, at one with self, surroundings and source, and unaware of passing time. A deep sense of interconnection with all of life can occur, as well as transformational encounters with the divine (Eliade 1972 [1951], compare Czikszentmihalyi 1975, Maslow 1994, Hume 2007). The dancing body can become an antenna for a direct experience of spirit and the sacred, undefined by sacred stories and their interpreters. As our body becomes a channel for spirit we directly participate in the domain of the sacred (Keeney 2005: 39). For experienced dancers, the dance can be seen not just as a technique to reach an expanded state of consciousness but as an expanded state of

The Spirit of the Dance

41

consciousness in itself. Awareness, mind and body can be trained to drop into presence from the very first opening movement, focussing on calling, connecting and remembering with one’s entire being. This includes moving between states, for example, from a perceived disconnection to an experience of connection within the self (for example between body and mind). It also moves us between self and the world, isolation and unity, duality and oneness, contraction and expansion. The type of dance described in this book can explore tension between different groups of people or seemingly opposite qualities, without favouring one over the other. That way it supports inclusivity and celebrates diversity rather than sameness. Moving in such expanded states enables people to access ‘other’ knowledge than derived from rational thinking processes. This includes personal, inner knowing that for some reason was not yet available or became obscured, as well as information that people perceive as outside of them. Insights often have a visionary quality, or touch on the cycles of life, death and rebirth. Not necessarily spiritual in itself, the way this information has come about, its character, symbolism, clarity and intensity are often attributed to the ‘sacred’ or ‘liminal’ space that opens through the moving body. Dance practice can make the body available for spirit to move through us and teach us on a visceral level. Afterwards, the energetic resonance and teachings remain, literally ‘inspiriting’ the dancer. Chapters 6 and 7 discuss expanded consciousness and moving with other-than-human-beings in more detail. Direct Action There is a wide agreement among dance researchers and dance therapists that dancing, and through kinaesthetic empathy possibly even watching dance, can reshape practices, behaviours, world views, beliefs and ideas (Sevdalis and Keller 2011, Reynolds, Jola, and Pollick 2011, Reynolds and Reason 2012). My PhD research showed changes in body, self, relationships, work and lifestyle (Kieft 2013). Dancing can affect concrete decision-making strategies, choices, actions and interpretations in everyday situations. It can revolutionize psychological perceptions, ways of being together in the world and one’s outlook on life (Hanna 1988, Buckland 2002, Cohen Bull 1997, Rill 2006, Halprin 2003, Williams 2004 (1991)). Dancing seems such a potent vehicle for change because when an insight arrives, we are already in motion, and do not have to motivate ourselves to get up from the couch first before taking action: “the efficacy of dance lies in its cognitive-affective-sensory-motor power to effect change” (Hanna 1987: 103). Knowledge that arises while moving urges us to act in a stronger way than knowledge that originates in the mind alone, and dancing reminds us that we already have active agency to implement changes.

42

Chapter 2

It can also contribute to greater alignment within a person and between them and the world. This alignment does not necessarily have to be ‘spiritual’ in nature (although it often inspires a new sense of direction, calling or vocation), but being happier in themselves, people are more able to embody qualities such as kindness, compassion and care. They also may feel a desire to share this joy by becoming actively involved in the well-being of others and a drive to preserve life (compare Damasio 2004: 284, Naess 2005 [1953]: 101). Moving with and through spirit, dancing can provide an inclusive (fullbodied, full-hearted, full-minded) encounter with spiritual dimensions. In the coming chapters, I unpack various ingredients of such moving body- and nature-based spirituality. NOTES 1. “The gestures of the dance represent Shiva’s five activities, creation (symbolized by the drum), protection (by the ‘fear not’ hand gesture), destruction (by the fire), embodiment (by the foot planted on the ground), and release (by the foot held aloft)”. https://faculty​.chass​.ncsu​.edu​/mgfosque​/ENG219​/Siva​.html, accessed August 6, 2020. 2. In my doctoral thesis (Kieft 2013), I included a table featuring 12 specific reasons of why people dance. This drew from a variety of reference texts as well as case studies including Blacking (1985), Ehrenreich (2007), Grau (1993, 1999), Henry et al. (2000), Ikuta (2011), Peterson Royce (2002), Spencer (1985), Thomas (2003) and Williams (2004). Afterwards I came across additional texts such as Gill (2012), Whatley et al. (2015), LaMothe (2015), Williamson et al. (2014), Williamson et al. (2020).​ 3. Even a relatively small subdiscipline as dance anthropology offers a multitude of ways to study its subject: evolutionary, functionalist, structural approaches, models from communication theory or linguistics, cross-cultural comparison, the culture and personality approach, phenomenological analysis, problem-oriented approach and feminist perspectives (Peterson Royce 2002: 19, Hanna 1979: 317–8, Thomas 2003: 79). 4. See for example Boas (1972), Buckland (1999), Desmond (1997), Fraleigh and Hanstein (1999), Lange (1975), Peterson Royce (2002) Williams (2004 (1991)), Sklar (1991), Thomas (2003), Hanna (1979).​ 5. I was revising this section on the day I heard that Anna Halprin passed away (May 24, 2021). I am very grateful that I was able to meet this iconic and pioneering woman for a one-week training called Empowering Creativity through Movement, Metaphor and Dance, Mountain Home Studio, Kentfield, CA, 24–28 June 2013. I am tremendously inspired by how she translated dance and movement as a way of enquiry for everyone, not just those professionally trained in dance. Her contribution to dance history is incredible, and her personal and professional life is a testimony to healing the earth, communities and the body through the power of dance.

The Spirit of the Dance

43

6. A wealth of scholarship emerged in the last few decades, concerning the relationship between dance and Christianity. Some works discuss church-related historical and societal developments (Gagne, Thomas, and VerEecke 1999, Ehrenreich 2007, Lange 1975, Havelock 1983), others explore theological themes and perspectives (Marshall 2003, Yarber 2013, Debenham and Debenham 2008) or embodied faith and the exegesis of the scriptures through dance as an artform (Snowber 2017, LaMothe 2004, Shoop 2010). More recently, dance is also encouraged in liberal churches especially as a way to re-engage with a younger audience (Tønnessen Schuff 2019). Karen Clemente offers a very useful historic overview of the relationship between dance and Christianity (2008). 7. Many somatic pioneers referred to the work of philosophers such as John Dewey, Maurice Merleau-Ponty and Alfred North Whitehead, as well as expressionist dancers and choreographers such as Mary Wigman, Rudolf von Laban, Kurt Jooss, Ruth St. Denis and Martha Graham. 8. Of course, dancing itself can generate feelings such as self-consciousness, selfcritique, unworthiness, tension, anxiety, mistrust or anger. However, movement can help to work through them, contribute to self-knowledge and support more emotional fluidity and competence to navigate difficult emotions off the dance floor. 9. The relationship between psyche, emotions, body and movement is also recognized in, and fundamental to, body-oriented therapies such as Body-Mind centring (Hartley 1995: 106, Cohen 1993), Feldenkrais (Halprin 2003), Gestalt therapy (Woldt and Toman 2005), Dance Movement Psychotherapy (Meekums 2002, Penfield 2001) and Authentic Movement (Taylor 2007).

Chapter 3

Body and Embodiment

BECOMING (UN)DIVIDED I remember the moment I saw my body beginning to change. It happened in the bath, I think I was 11 or 12 years old. My gaze was drawn to a spot on my chest. Suddenly, I saw my heartbeat! Observing the slight raise of soft breast tissue is my first memory of a situation in which my mind consciously abstracted something ‘other’ in the experience of my body. A new layer of observation emerged, causing a sense of separation between the part of me ‘doing the observation’ and the part that was ‘being observed’. I was no longer undisputedly one body-being, but a witnessing ‘I’ had emerged. Puberty is of course a time of great change, physically as well as emotionally. Unless we encounter illness or disability at an earlier age, this is when we usually start to realize a difference between body and mind. This difference soon results in a sovereignty of mind over body. The seed for a dualist philosophy of mind was planted by Plato. Although his ‘world of forms’ was also animistic, he considered bodies as imperfect copies of eternal forms (Robinson 2020). For many years, animism and Christianity existed side by side. In the middle ages, bodies were still seen as unfinished, sensuous, open and connected to other bodies and the environment without clear boundaries. Perception and knowing were understood as a result of relation and participation with the world around. Over time however, we gradually alienated from our body wisdom and the sensorial world around us. Christianity started to dismiss both nature and the body as dangerous and sinful. At best this led to neglect and denial, at worst to a harsh and shaming relationship with the body. By the time of the Renaissance, science and philosophy demanded further distance between the observer and the observed, 45

46

Chapter 3

and the split between mind and body became more pronounced. Through the objectivist philosophies of Descartes and Newton, bodies became mechanized, divided and separate from the world and from each other. The scienceinitiated shift from participatory to non-participatory consciousness created a new experience of personhood as well. Personhood was no longer collective, participatory, embodied and closely connected to the sensorial world and all other beings in it, but became individual, non-participatory, disembodying and disconnected (Harris 2016: 140–2). These developments led to either a profound sense of alienation from bodily experience or a fascination with engineering the body to desired perfection. In the former, the body is mostly absent from consideration. As long as it works, the body is no more than a means to get from a to b, while bodily functions and processes are often considered taboo. The latter leads to an obsession with outer appearance, in which the body is an object to be improved and beautified, in the gym, beauty salon, hairdresser, nail parlour, waxing or tattoo shop. Often only through illness, ageing or failed plastic surgery, we realize that we cannot take our body and vitality for granted, and we mourn the loss of its previous wholeness. My ballet training caused many excruciating knee injuries. In my early 20s, I also developed a condition that would later be diagnosed as an autoimmune disease on the rheumatoid spectrum, slowly spreading from the lower back to other limbs. I struggle when I feel my body lets me down, when I am in pain, when I cannot do what seems so easy for others. I also have a very thin filter for sensory experiences. Sounds, smells or textures can make me intensely uncomfortable. Rather than from a place of ideal, pristine, solid, unproblematic body, this chapter comes from a process of making friends with and honouring that unpredictable animal, learning to let it “love what it loves” (Oliver 1986: 14), by surrounding it with comfortable textures, quietness and warmth, but also to challenge it a little bit every day so it stays strong. Through that experience of utter (and a-rhythmic, unpredictable) vulnerability, it becomes clear what a spectacular and sacred system the body is. Every day, I am learning to reacquaint myself with the body as “beloved who relies on us” (Pinkola Estés 2011), caring with respect, joy and reverence and in acceptance of the impossibility to comprehend its infinite mystery. THE MULTI-LAYERED BODY Given the history of gradually invalidating the body in religion and science, it is not surprising that the interest in the experiential and sensorial body from an academic perspective is relatively recent. From the late 1960s,

Body and Embodiment

47

cultural theorists started to recognize the role of the body in the construction and transmission of cultural knowledge and meaning. The 1990s saw the emergence of embodied research paradigms, including sensory anthropology, which considered the body as an existential ground for culture and self. This development was specifically inspired by studies on bodily modes of knowing in relation to healing techniques (Csordas 1993, Stoller 1997). The researcher’s corporeal experience slowly became acknowledged as a site of knowing in and of itself. What did they learn from paying close attention to the instrument of their body? How did the culture or topic of study register and resonate in the researcher’s body? This is a challenging exploration. Not only is it difficult to verbalize somatic experience, the body and what we recognize as belonging to the ‘sensory’ domain are also culturally conditioned. Western cultures generally distinguish five senses: vision, sound, scent, taste and touch, whereas other cultures have many more that draw attention to other kinaesthetic experiences.1 Also, bodily feelings and their meanings are always interpreted through the lens of a specific cultural framework (Geurts 2002). Through nature-based and movement practices and through studying bodymind integration systems, I realized that bodily being-in-the-world consists of many different layers. The body is not just a physical structure but includes emotions and thoughts as well as perception of subtle energy. Slowly, I began to understand my body as intricate, complex and deeply interconnected. However, I had to find ways to ‘recalibrate’ my body towards a multi-level literacy since the cultural framework I grew up in did not recognize these additional layers (Kieft 2018, 2021). This multi-level literacy refers to a complexity of the body that includes: 1. physical matter with organic functions, senses and sensations. 2. an emotional landscape coloured by past and present experiences as well as hopes and fears for the future. 3. a mind with extraordinary cognitive as well as creative, intuitive, imaginary and dreaming abilities. 4. an instrument for energetic awareness. 5. and a vessel for something ‘immeasurable’, or ‘unwordable’, in the realm of consciousness, spirit and soul that somehow seems to exist both within and beyond the boundaries of our skin. I see these levels as strongly interlinked, if not inseparable (see also Halprin 2003: 104). Tending to or addressing one of them will affect the others simultaneously. Most disciplines focus on one or perhaps two of these dimensions. Somatic practices foreground sensorial awareness, and although most touch on emotions and mind, only some include more intangible energetic

48

Chapter 3

or spiritual awareness. Cognitive Behavioural Therapy emphasizes emotions and mind with the aim to positively influence behaviour. Energetic awareness practices might ignore physical matter. Mindfulness and spiritual practices underline mental and spiritual dimensions, often at the expense of sensorial and emotional awareness, and so on. There are some paths that connect them all, including conscious movement, shamanic practice and Qi Gong. These practices offer ways to awaken, connect and explore these dimensions and the experiential wisdom that can be gleaned from them, although, of course, it depends on the (interest of the) practitioner if all dimensions are visited and integrated. EXPRESSIONS OF EMBODIMENT We cannot not be in our body. As we live in a body that is located in place and time, ontologically we are of course always embodied.2 However, epistemologically, embodiment refers to “our phenomenological experience of our bodily being-in-the-world”, which of course shifts from moment to moment (Harris 2016).3 Much like the body is a process with physical, emotional, mental and spiritual components; ‘embodiment’ too is a continuity instead of a fixed notion that includes, transcends and bridges movement between self, humanity, the world and divinity (Shaw 1994: 11). Not only does a full sensorial experience contribute to our appreciation of joy, delight and being alive, it also enhances clarity and definition. The ability to distinguish what comes from within our mind, heart and body, and what comes from others, enables clearer decision making and often leads to improved relationships. Embodiment is necessary for change, transformation, and meaning making. All of these require agency, as without the body as anchor, there is no-thing to initiate any change from (Fleckenstein 1999: 284–5). Being in a body is prerequisite for shaping or creating anything else in life, and the more present we are in all layers of the body, the stronger our power is for positively manifesting things in life. Paradoxically, embodiment is both an effect of healing as well as the place where healing begins, the starting point of the journey of self-development. To make this abstract concept more concrete, I discern between four different expressions of embodiment. On a sliding scale from single (unconnected) observations to a deep state of relationality, we encounter awareness, alignment, presence and connection. These are not mutually exclusive but co-exist together. When one changes, it affects the rest. To some degree, each of these expressions already exist: we are never completely numb to inner experiences, nor are we ever not in connection and so on. However, the process

Body and Embodiment

49

of increasing embodied awareness strengthens each expression, supporting healing and empowerment. INTEROCEPTIVE AWARENESS The level of inner awareness of physical, emotional and mental processes varies strongly from person to person. It also fluctuates through the rhythms of the day with more, or less, interior or exterior focus. Especially when everything functions well, the body and its inner workings tend to be unnoticed. Being in a state of discomfort on the other hand will draw attention to it. Increasing this awareness not only cultivates a ground for the other expressions of embodiment, it also supports well-being. It can help to notice imbalance before serious illness manifests and better self-manage in case chronic conditions arise. Eugene Gendlin introduced the concept of ‘felt sense’ as part of his psychotherapeutic method called ‘Focussing’ (Gendlin 1978, 1996). When studying the success rate of psychotherapy, he observed that a patient’s awareness of internal processes seemed more crucial to success than the therapist’s intervention. Felt sense refers to a bodily sense of meaning that is not always easily put into words. It can be a manifestation of sensation, feeling, intuition and thought, as well as of a more transcendent notion. It is a skill that people can easily learn and that supports self-development. Neuroscience uses the term ‘interoception’ (from interior-perception) referring both to concrete physiological feedback of bodily functions and activities and to our perception of that feedback. It includes gut feeling, heartache and other emotions, moods and behaviour. Interoception is psychosomatic, connecting body, brain, behaviour, thought and the rational mind. It is strongly related to empathy, influences our sense of well-being and is essential to consciousness of self (Cameron 2001, Cameron and Hamilton 2002). Like the felt sense, interoception supports self-development as well. This expression of embodiment can be compared to creating a map of one’s inner landscape. Body scan techniques are part of many meditation and somatic techniques, as well as therapeutic approaches. They help to cultivate intimacy with the body and recognize internal processes. Our body sense might be compromised through stress, lack of self-confidence, chronic pain, traumatic experiences or (mental) illness. The more familiar we are with the processes and states within the physical boundaries of our body, the more we can discern what arises and how it is connected to other experiences. By monitoring subtle states and shifts inside ourselves, we become more adapt to notice changes in our environment, which benefits physical survival, relationships and connections with the ‘other-than-human’.

50

Chapter 3

ALIGNMENT OF BODY, HEART, MIND While we can compare interoceptive awareness to mapping the territory of physical, emotional and mental processes, observations can continue to exist in isolation instead of forming a more integrated infrastructure. Can we examine the effects of food on mood, our rhythms of excitation and relaxation, the influence of our dreams on our waking reality (and vice versa)? What thought patterns debilitate or encourage us? How can posture or environment affect concentration? When we consciously pay attention to cause/effect occurrences during the day, we can choose actions that are more supportive of our well-being. I propose alignment as the process of coordinating physical, emotional, mental and spiritual awareness in a healthy and non-destructive way. Working with rather than against their interconnections increases the flow of life force and vitality. When we start gaining more familiarity with our inner landscape, we often notice areas of over-emphasis and/or neglect. Over-emphasis often relates to mental (thought) processes, while neglect tends to occur in the emotional area (compare Watson 2008: 84). This is not surprising. Our education favours the development of cognition as intellectual modality, leading to a tendency of ‘being in the head’, which is something else than being mindful. In this case, the process of aligning requires inviting thoughts and thinking patterns down into the body. There, we can feel the quality, texture, impact, force and effects of our thoughts and explore them in an embodied way. How does our body respond to undermining thoughts, chronic stress and the general pace of modern life? How, on the other hand, does our body respond to creative and loving thoughts? Alongside an over-emphasis on mind, we often lack skills to express emotions safely and constructively. We are generally conditioned to deny or repress feelings such as anger, fear and sadness. When such skills are underdeveloped, emotions can be uncomfortable and indeed potentially dangerous, and it seems unsafe for ourselves and others to access the territory of the heart. Learning to navigate emotions without drowning (in) them, enlarging them or projecting them onto others is part of this alignment process too. It requires skill to hold the wildness and tenderness of our heart without numbing, ignoring or unhelpfully amplifying its voice. We could call this ‘emotional literacy’. This includes fluidity around ambiguity and paradoxes, vulnerability and mortality and finding our resilience in dialog with that. Either scenario (over-emphasis of mind and neglect of emotions) is an invitation to pay attention to the exchange between feeling and thinking. Neurobiological research shows that physical and mental states mutually influence each other. Evolutionary, our biological reflexes and immune

Body and Embodiment

51

responses trigger emotions that support survival and well-being, while attentive, calm feelings (that are processed favourably by the brain) support relaxation and regeneration of the body. Depending on the situation and on which of the modalities (body, heart or mind) is most active, alignment is a two-way process, sometimes going up, sometimes down (Kieft 2017). The ‘top-down approach’ shows certain parallels with the Western assumptions of education proceeding from mind to body, while the ‘bottom-up approach’ is more similar to Eastern views that aim to “affect, train and transform the mind through the body” (Watson 2008: 74). SOULFUL PRESENCE As interoceptive awareness increases and alignment becomes stronger enhance, the connection between body, heart and mind can become an avenue for a fourth element, which is often called ‘higher self’, ‘consciousness’, ‘spirit’ or ‘soul’ (Halprin 2003: 105, Hume 2007: 139). We all experience different degrees of presence and awake-ness. Perhaps presence can manifest without specific attention to the body-heart-mind continuity, but I believe that these three plus the intangible fourth dimension create a strong container for such presence. When we consciously integrate all levels of who we are, we move through life with stronger intention, focus, direction and creative power. Simultaneously, as this muscle of regular presence becomes stronger, we are more alert to its opposite, and notice when we are absent from ourselves, or disconnected from ‘something’ vital. This loss can be painful when we become aware of it. Psychologists speak of ‘dissociation’; shamanic practitioners will be familiar with the word ‘soul loss’ (see chapter 9). There are various degrees of absence or loss. Some are so subtle they are hardly noticed, others happen after a fiercely traumatic event. Some people only leave temporarily, for example ‘zoning out’ during times of sensory overwhelm or strong emotions. Others tend to live a more permanent state of dissociation when the body categorically does not feel like a safe place. This can be the case with eating disorders, self-harm and/or external abuse but also as a result of rigorous spiritual practice in which the body is discarded. Bringing conscious attention to the body is a first step to presence. Maintaining presence on a continuous basis requires discipline, commitment, affirmation and choice, and often includes moving through challenging layers of paralysis, disgust or hopelessness. Dancing both helps the recognition of absence as well as overcoming the separation and retrieving the ‘missing piece’ or repairing the disconnection (this too will be discussed in chapter 9).

52

Chapter 3

WEAVING INTERCONNECTION So far, these expressions of embodiment describe aspects within one person’s subjective body-being. Embodiment however is fundamentally intersubjective, as we exist in an always unfolding matrix of connections with other human and other-than-human-beings. We continuously negotiate between the interior of the body and exterior of the outer world. This fourth and final expression of embodiment acknowledges this ongoing traffic between inward and outward-going movements: A complex weaving of the ‘out there’ and the ‘in here’, in all of the body, not just in the head, of movement, emotion, visceral senses, bodily intuition, entwining with thoughts, theories, philosophy to provide a new ontological and epistemological perspective. (Boyd 2007: 65)

In this sense, embodiment is clearly not only about the body but also “about culture and experience insofar as these can be understood from the standpoint of bodily being-in-the-world” (Csordas 1999: 143).4 Whereas the first three expressions of embodiment tend to be perceived as vertical, (inter) connection seems more horizontal, although it can also be perceived as a sphere extending into all directions.5 RE-ANOINTING THE BODY Practicing the above expressions of embodiment could be a way to calibrate the body towards multi-level consistent with other instances literacy that includes yet goes beyond reason and cognition (Kieft 2018, 2021). It strengthens embodied perception, connects feelings and thoughts and increases the sense of presence as well as conscious interaction with the environment. This process invites a deeper familiarization and intimacy with the body. Given developments such as separating body and the sacred in many religious traditions, the mind-body split in science, as well as personal experiences that challenge the integrity of our body, we may need to renegotiate our perception of the body as safe place and sanctuary. Celeste Snowber developed the concept of ‘body psalms’, sacred verses that remind and rebody us ‘back to what matters’ (Snowber 2012). Body psalms resonate with esoteric wisdom of ancient mystery traditions and can be read as a love letter about the body by the body. Learning to honour the body once again includes tending to sensuality, silence and soul but also to messiness, paradoxes and changeability. Rather than in an industrially measured and often linear pattern, the body rhythms in cycles often with erratic

Body and Embodiment

53

pauses. It does not move steadily upwards towards the sky as the limit, it also burrows deep into the earth, crawls backwards and sometimes comes to such a standstill that movement is barely noticeable. Clarissa Pinkola Estés describes how we have been taught to forget the holiness of our bodies from a very young age (2011). She implores us to remember that the body is something good and benevolent, a being in its own right. This ‘beloved consort’ accompanies us on our journey throughout life and relies on us for nurturing and safe keeping. Whatever harsh circumstances we and our body have lived through, we need to care for it with consideration so that it can thrive and feel supported: Let it be known that the body was made in ecstasy so that we can experience consciousness. Let it be known that spirituality, religiosity, sexuality, beauty, and nature are physical and emotional gateways to consciousness. … Let it be known that every type of body is desiring and desirable till the very end. (Pinkola Estés 2011, audio book chapter 2).

Moving from the divided and uneducated body to a multi-layered and literate body that is brimming with aliveness supports our relationship with the holy. This relationship is stronger when nurtured from a beloved place rather than from a place that neglects the mystery within. NOTES 1. The Anlo-Ewe in West Africa for example have a sense called ‘seselelame’, translated as ‘feel-feel-at-flesh-inside’. This concept combines external stimuli and internal somatic modes such as balance and the feeling in the mouth and is also associated with emotion, temperament and even vocation (Geurts 2002: 178). 2. Maurice Merleau-Ponty observed the difference between the objective (physical) body and the phenomenal body with which we experience the physical body and world (Merleau-Ponty 1968). 3. Harris furthermore states: “We are embodied beings, and what we think, how we feel and ultimately perhaps who we are, emerges from our fleshy embodied existence” (Harris 2016). 4. Writings on New Age (Prince and Riches 2000), magic (Greenwood 2000) and dance (Halprin 1995) also recognize the notion that the interior and exterior are linked and when one changes, the other will be affected too. 5. I wrote most of this text before I encountered Qi Gong. To my delight, Taoism, the philosophy from which Qi Gong emerged, speaks eloquently about the interconnections between mind, heart and body as three internal treasures that reflect the external treasures of universe, nature and the earth with which we are in constant exchange.

Chapter 4

Movement as a Way of Knowing

LINES AND CIRCLES Early 2016, a few months into a new job, I danced in the studio below my office. My enquiry started with a quality of physical and emotional tension. I found myself pulled between old and new paradigms, structure and freedom, science and soul. Simply walking along the parallel lines of the wooden floor, I felt relief for not having to think for a while, being able to follow a pre-existing pattern rather than inventing something new. Yet after a while, it started to feel disjointed. My limbs did not communicate with each other. The space away from the lines felt inaccessible, unbridgeable. My breath was constricted. I let my deep longing for new horizons grow. First it gently bubbled inside me, and then it rippled out, fiercely. I started playing with the opposites of lines and angles, versus circles and spirals. The lines created a sense of purpose, clear vision from here to there, present to future. With tilts and diagonal expression, I cut the space around me, mostly with a straight spine. I enjoyed the wide (neo-)classical ballet vocabulary of arabesques, defined arms and pointed toes with a strong poise. Covering space in long strides, walking backwards and moving sideways expressed linear intellectual efficiency. A sense of masterful confidence emerged. Yet I also tasted rigidity, predictability and boredom, a superficiality to my being-in-those-movements, a not-quite-realistic and tiresome sense of always going onwards and upwards, a frantic ‘hanging in there’ because there was no obvious way out but crashing. The circular patterns on the other hand organically curved my body this way and that, effortlessly following impulses. Whirling, spiralling, folding in over a changing centre, they had no beginning and no end. This felt more like a journey, a discovery of the unknown through receptive listening rather 55

56

Chapter 4

than active pursuing. Although the lines extended in three dimensions, the circles had a mysterious and orb-like multi-dimensionality to them. They existed outside of me, and without external pressure I could dip in and out of their flow. They tickled some deep curiosity, not knowing what to expect next. After a while, I became dizzy, disoriented and even nauseous. It was difficult to maintain focus. Each on their own, the polarities became dysfunctional. I would quickly become transfixed in them and then it was hard to find the way out. I learned to fluidly move between the apparent polarities and honour the dynamic emergence of one within the other. They taught me about balance and the interaction between going and arriving, intention and surrender, striving and yielding, active design and responsive listening. Most specifically, they taught me that it is this tension that invites effective and fruitful creativity. This movement exploration concerns a duo of spatial concepts but can equally be applied to other themes, abstract as well as concrete. Movement can invite other insights than those that arrive through cognition alone. No previous experience is necessary to participate in such enquiry, and I taught this exercise many times since, 1:1 as well as on courses and at conferences.1 Even 10 minutes enable a concrete experience of learning something through the body. Conscious movement adds another way of knowing to the multi-layered body-being, in continuous emergence with the surrounding environment. EXPANDING COGNITION To acknowledge the possibility of movement as a learning modality, we need to expand on the monopoly of cognition. I deliberately say expand, not move away from, since our cognition is an incredible asset in many situations. Reason and cognition became the dominant way of knowing in western culture and education relatively recently, and to the detriment of other capacities such as soul, spirit, intuition and emotional intelligence. Since the intellectual movement of Enlightenment in the 17th century, the scientist ‘measured’ life through the senses, while the philosopher ‘understood’ it through reason. Other ways of knowing became less respected, such as the shaman’s gift of knowing, who uses emotional intelligence and feeling to study the soul, and the mystic who knows spirit through silence and meditation (de Quincey 2005). Developments in neuroscience and quantum physics, however, show that distinctions between matter/mind and soul/spirit can no longer be so clearly maintained, and it might be time for a more inclusive literacy to return to the educational curriculum.2

Movement as a Way of Knowing

57

Even cognitive knowing is informed and shaped by other faculties than abilities of the mind alone: “a sensory experience (sight, sound, touch, etc.) stimulates a sensory organ (retina, cochlea, touch receptor) where the experience is transduced, or translated, to electrical impulses to be processed in sensory areas of the brain” (Ward 2006, in Henley 2014). In other words, the body is always a foundation of knowing through our kinaesthetic sense that enables movement awareness, spatial location and sense of direction through the proprioceptive nervous system with nerve endings literally all through our body. If we would not have this awareness or kinaesthetic sense, everyday movements such as eating, estimating the space between train and platform or brushing our teeth would be impossible without a great deal of injury and discomfort. Anna Halprin ponders on the excitement of further developing “this heightened awareness so that all of us may live a more ALIVE life and become dancers” (Halprin 1995: 31–2, emphasis in original). To give conscious credit to and develop literacy in these other ways of knowing, we need a willingness to go beyond mind and explore dichotomies such as subjective/objective and scientific/shamanic. We can do this in several ways. One way would be to study knowledge systems from traditions and cosmologies that have not been so heavily influenced by the body/mind split. Another way, discussed in the previous chapter, is to cultivate various layers of embodiment and recalibrate the perceptivity of our body. A third option, and the focus of this chapter, is to look at movement as a way of knowing that connects all the dimensions of our phenomenological experience of body in relation to and informed by the world around us. The lines and circles exploration at the beginning of this chapter can serve as an invitation and can be adapted to work with any pair of opposites. Movement lies at the very basis of our perception. Starting in our mother’s womb, it is the first modality through which we explore the world.3 Movement informs our learning, well before we have the ability to abstract any experiences into thoughts. We could adapt Descartes’ famous phrase ‘I think therefore I am’ into ‘I move therefore I am’.4 Movement integrates all layers of the body, heart, mind and soul. Each offers different, yet inseparable, ways of understanding, expanding on cognition as only avenue to knowledge and understanding. We interpret and create meaning through our bodies as they receive and process data. Our body as sensory-cognitive system not only handles sensory information, it also processes and reacts to information through feelings, intuition and imagination. Although these are not quantifiable, we still process them through our body. Les Todres, a philosophically oriented psychologist, underlines the relationship between emotional atmosphere and understanding:

58

Chapter 4

Before we reflectively abstract our understanding, we ‘register’ how we are in relation to things in a prereflective and unthematised manner. Such prereflexive ‘registration’ functions as a background quality that is not merely neutral but colours our perceptions and understandings with emotional texture. [So] mood provides an important ontological context for perception and understanding. (Todres 2007: 10–11)

Feelings not only connect to sensorial information and reason but also to intuition and consciousness. Rudolf Steiner (1911) saw intuition as “the point at which the world enters and plays a part in consciousness”. To develop this, he considered it essential to foster imagination as well as emotions, which would lead to ‘felt’, rather than ‘understood’, intuition. Once that ability is in place, this could then lead to inspiration, or the approach of “the beings who bring about spiritual events” (ibid.). In his theory of Radical Knowing, de Quincey considers intuition as ‘a gift of grace’ beyond the four gifts of knowing described above. This gift comes from elsewhere and is accessed “through a different shaft of knowing” (de Quincey 2002: 145). This means negotiating the channels that connect us to external, more mystical sources of knowing, or not-knowing, a state of paradox-consciousness that can be reached, among other things, through silence, meditation and improvisation as we will see below. We can develop our personal intuition and awareness of subtle energies around us through meditation, working with the bodies’ energy centres, creative arts, stories, symbols, archetypes and dreamwork. Such activities help to fine-tune our antennas to perceive extra-sensory information. Serena RoneyDougal (1991) spoke of strengthening psychic phenomena and the ‘subliminal mind’ from a parapsychological perspective. Among other things, she underlined the importance of resting and day dreaming to reach a hypnagogic state, but also engaging with the language of symbolism and activities such as biofeedback, yoga and visualization (Roney-Dougal 1991: 25–8). EMBODIED INTELLIGENCE Psychologist Jean Piaget, specialized in child and cognitive development, described an embodied way of knowing that develops in the first two years of our life and is driven by perception and action rather than language. According to him, this sensory-motor intelligence disappears after two years, to be replaced by mental representations of the original ‘motor-schemas’. These mental representations are abstracted and provide a faster way to assess and evaluate the world than the original sensory-motor experimentations from which they were derived. “The physical evaporates into the mental”

Movement as a Way of Knowing

59

or, in other words, knowledge construction eventually becomes a matter of logic and abstract symbols (Piaget 1950, in Henley 2014). Piaget saw three primary differences between physical and mental knowing. Mental, abstracted knowing increases operation speed; knowledge becomes analytical rather than procedural, that is, tied to a specific action; and mental knowing allows for distance from the object, as it can be processed through symbolic representations (Henley 2014). Sensory-motor intelligence was considered as a necessary phase for developing mental cognition but had little merit once that was established. Cognitive psychologist Howard Gardner was one of the pioneers who extended the notion of intelligence beyond cognition. He distinguished between seven different types of intelligences: logico-mathematical, linguistic, musical, spatial, bodily-kinaesthetic, intrapersonal and interpersonal intelligences (Gardner 1983). Whereas the first two seem expressions of cognitive intelligence as we know it, all the others involve more of the body and its movement. Philosopher Richard Shusterman (2008) deduced three types of embodied intelligence: ‘interoception’, ‘proprioception’ and ‘exteroception’. We already encountered ‘interoception’ in the previous chapter, referring to the perception of internal physical states. This would include Gardner’s intra and interpersonal intelligence. ‘Proprioception’ refers to the perception of bodily movement and orientation and resembles Gardner’s bodily-kinaesthetic intelligence. Finally, ‘exteroception’ pertains to perception of the outside world and would include Gardner’s musical and spatial intelligence (Shusterman 2008). Matthew Henley provides a useful example of these three different levels of perception: When I am excited (interoception) I move bigger (proprioception), and bump into things (exteroception). When the music is slower (exteroception), I feel sad (interoception), and my movements are heavy (proprioception). We are constantly interacting with the environment, using perception, action, and emotion to intelligently navigate the physical and social world. (Henley 2014: 17)

These three types of embodied intelligence are useful for developing our familiarity with movement as a way of knowing. As Shusterman’s exteroception seems to be particularly related to sensorial perception, I would like to add two specific layers: of cultural and of metaphysical or spiritual perception. ‘Culturoception’ would refer to the processes of meaning making and knowledge production that are deeply intertwined with and coloured by our culture and community. For a large part we see what we are taught to see. How and what we perceive is determined by values and activities that our culture considers important. In a hunter-gather context, movement serves a different purpose than in a highly industrialized consumerist culture. We

60

Chapter 4

develop a movement vocabulary that allows us to survive and which is also influenced by notions of ‘good use of time’, success measures and gender roles. ‘Metaception’ would refer to the (subtle, energetic) perception of metaphysical phenomena. Being in a perceptive state of listening, or flow, we can tune into different broadcasting stations that give us access to a larger field of information and learn to relate to the intangible dimensions of reality. Whereas the process of culturoception was addressed indirectly in the first two chapters, chapters 6 and 7 discuss the development of metaphysical perception. One concrete technique to measure physiological responses to internal and external questions is Applied Kinesiology (Frost 2013). It can be carried out alone or with the help of another person. An initial muscle test determines the baseline strength of the body. Then, a closed question can be asked, while the muscle is tested again. Muscles react “to different stimuli that interact with the nervous system” (Moncayo and Moncayo 2009). A strong muscle response points to a positive effect or answer regarding the issue, while a weak response indicates a negative answer or effect. I have always marvelled at the intelligence of the body in giving such direct feedback, without our cognition doing any analysis. Traditional Chinese Medicine recognizes that muscle strength is affected by the amount of life force running through the meridians. Meridians are energetic channels within the body that can be affected in many ways, including through general organ health, physical obstructions or blockages but also through the subtle energetic quality that is transmitted when we ask a specific question. IMPROVISATION AS A TECHNIQUE Once we embrace the notion of intelligence beyond our cognitive functions, improvisation is a great technique for exploring things that do not necessarily emerge through systematically preconceived processes. When our driven, focussed and efficient mind gets a chance to relax, we can reflect and meditate in motion, contemplating work problems, relational dynamics or existential questions. Improvisation allows us to examine “a situation from various angles that can be invented in the very process of creation” (Carter 2000: 182). Conscious, improvised movement can connect us to layers in our unconscious and help to understand and re-pattern habitual responses and behavioural possibilities for everyday life (both in movement and, by extension, in personal behaviour in general). As such, improvisation can have therapeutic effects and/or contribute to personal growth. Improvised movement can also be a prayer to and celebration of life. Whatever the context,

Movement as a Way of Knowing

61

improvisation offers a soulful space where the rhythms of ‘being’ and ‘being with’ get room to breathe and move. Often, improvisation is seen as frivolous or superfluous or only turned to as a last resort when all falls to pieces. Even in the field dance, improvisation receives little attention.5 Perhaps it is considered less valuable, since it does not require any formal training. Without scores or recorded performances as end products, it doesn’t leave a trace of external knowledge that can be accessed by others, making it even harder to ‘grasp’ than other forms of dancing. Many artists use improvisation as a tool to get somewhere else, for example, to develop a score, choreography or an entire performance (DeSpain 2014). However, it is the intrinsic capacity to contribute to personal knowledge that intrigues me and that makes it interesting as a way of knowing. The absence of predetermined steps and routines opens a space where the mover can shake off conventional beliefs, ideas and behavioural patterns, and step into a more autonomously shaped “body of self-achieved power” (Buckland 2002: 125). By choosing to move in a certain place, in a certain way, we choose to restructure our consciousnesses in vital ways to which improvisation is central, not only as a personally expressive form, but as a method of creating a space with a powerful political imperative and a modelling of a method to achieve personal and political goals. (Buckland 2002: 181)

Everyone can do this. The invitation is to execute “everyday movements and gestures, such as walking, stretching, turning, rolling” with awareness and attention (Kieft 2018). This requires a shift in focus, a courage to let go of any agenda and enjoy time to play and explore. In an outcome-oriented society, this lack of direction makes many people feel uncomfortable. Our relationship to the unknown and to approaching time without specific goal are the main obstacles to navigate before we can let the improvisation move us. When we acknowledge uncertainty and not-knowing as a fertile and creative state rather than as an unwanted condition, we might be surprised what the unknown can show us. Ideally, finding the limits of our knowing would “demand more rather than less of our attention” (Ellis 2009) because that space is where we learn and expand our knowledge. Susan Melrose speaks of a “‘disciplined unknowing’ – an apparently curious and fragile knowledge-state, (. . .) characterised by a quasi-unknowing” (Melrose 2007). Pedagogically, we learn best when we are slightly, but not too far, out of comfort zone. Otherwise, we are either under- or over-stimulated, and neither is conducive to learning. It is therefore essential to create a sense of permission and encouragement to help people

62

Chapter 4

feel safe with(in) the not-knowing and explore improvisation as an exciting vehicle for knowledge creation. Paradoxically, although improvisation can lead to insights, knowledge creation should not be its aim, because that will defy the purpose. We also need to readdress our relationship with so-called mistakes. We live in a culture that rewards success and fast achievers. Not (yet) knowing is often punished. However, when we rephrase making mistakes as part of learning something new, we can treat them with humour, and perhaps even find some perfection in the imperfection. EXPLORATION PROMPTS To invite the body into movement and navigate the freedom of such spontaneous technique, improvisation techniques apply movement prompts. Common invitations involve exploring polarities and extremes within the body such as inhale/exhale, tension/relaxation, fall/recovery, stillness/motion. These featured in the work of early 20th-century dance pioneers as they started to break free from the prescriptions of classical ballet and were further developed by somatic practitioners, some of which oriented more towards therapeutic benefits while others focussed more on choreographic processes or ecstatic dance. Even though underlying philosophies and objectives of somatic practices differ, there is often a similarity at the core of movement structuring (Halprin 2003, Reeve 2008, Williamson 2009, Reed 2011, DeSpain 2014). As we saw in chapter 2, this includes breathing, awareness of sensations, alignment of the body-heart-mind-spirit continuum, interaction between self and world and observing viewpoints and transitions. We can inquire into our relationship to place, atmosphere and space and our positioning in the middle or at the centre of a room, for example. This awakens body awareness as well as tangible, physical connection with the space around us (which includes both material and immaterial aspects). Other explorations involve textures and touch, postures and shapes, plays of light and shadow, the influence of weight, speed, density and resistance. Imagination often plays an important role in the movement enquiry, as well as working with social and emotional polarities such as comfort and discomfort, inclusion and exclusion, unity and diversity. Kent de Spain, in Landscape of the Now, discerns ‘issues’ and ‘resources’ as two ways to look at techniques of improvisation. Whereas the ‘issues’ are more philosophical reflections on the nature and function of improvisation and not of direct relevance to this paragraph,6 the ‘resources’ offer concrete prompts for improvisation such as discussed above. These include body, senses, movement itself, time and space, emotions and the imagination, cognitive skills, memory, structures and attention and (for artists particularly) whether or not the session works towards an artistic form. Practitioners add

Movement as a Way of Knowing

63

other prompts according to their practice and needs. For me, for example, place is relevant as an additional element that strongly informs my improvisation, which seems different from de Spain’s classification of ‘space’ in terms of the land literally shaping my movements (see chapter 5). Also, the use of strategies such as repetition, mirroring and still shapes are strongly present in my movement practice. My favourite movement prompt resource is Sandra Reeve’s Move into Life card deck A Box of Cards. It is so small that it easily fits in a pocket to take outdoors and provides 50 enchanting movement invitations that draw attention to:7 1. Body parts: ‘When you move, pay attention to your spine’, ‘keep your attention on your back foot’. 2. Orientation: ‘Be aware of the space behind you’, ‘walk backwards’, but also awareness of being among/being alone, proportions of body in relation to room, viewpoints and transitions between them. 3. Qualities: ‘What does acceptance look like in movement?’, ‘try not to be elegant’, ‘can you make a truly inauthentic movement – a movement that has nothing to do with you’, ‘move as a statement’, ‘move as an offering’, ‘notice what you observe as special and ordinary’. 4. Dynamics: ‘Stop where you wouldn’t normally stop’, work with pauses, and whether stillness is different from waiting; play with slowing down or amplifying something. 5. Metaphors: ‘Move with a sense of yourself as a fruit ripening’, move as you would in a dream. 6. Environment: Invitations to ‘let the air touch you’, be part of the patterns in the environment, witness the surroundings as audience member rather than mover. 7. Impulse: Where is a movement initiated from – mind, feeling, sound or a specific body part, for example. 8. Philosophical: ‘Give all your movements equal value’, being ‘on time and in time’. 9. Metaphysical: ‘move with the intention of preparing yourself to become an ancestor’, ‘the idea that your movement creates you and your sense of who you are’, ‘embody change within change’. Nature offers another abundant source for prompts, either metaphorically when moving in the studio or when taking the improvisation practice outside. Awareness of natural cycles of seasons, growth and decay, moon phases and ocean tides can inspire movement from a wilder, more ‘natural’ place. Being outdoors provides a surround visual as well as a soundscape to prompt movements, while interaction with place can shape movement in unexpected ways

64

Chapter 4

(again, see chapter 5). Being in nature, we can let go of agendas, production targets, deadlines and expectations of roles we hold in our everyday life. We can give space to parts of ourselves that receive little attention in other situations. Whatever our approach, movement and perception inform each other. A breeze and my attention to air might cause me to breathe deeper. Moving from shadow into sun will influence my experience through changes in temperature, atmosphere and perhaps symbolism. The possibilities are endless, and each of us can develop our own movement explorations and be open to what emerges. For example, I would explore moving out of my comfort zone by the walls of a room into the centre, which I used to avoid. Challenging myself this way, I found immense strength and vitality in the group dynamic of other bodies moving that I had not experienced before. Similarly, I discovered that my natural default mode was moving from mind and heart. It took courage to move from the gut too, which feels more exposed, but allows me to access raw and untapped energy reserves. As beings are made of movement, movement is primary to our understanding of the world around us. It defines who we are, and perhaps because it is not dependent on words or images, movement allows us to tune into “the presence, power and reality of what may be” (LaMothe 2014: 60). Movement enhances our capacity to perceive, think and imagine and improvisation is a great way to explore new territory, strengthen areas in which we are not strong or fluid yet, and experiment with ideas, concepts and habits in a safe and playful way. NOTES 1. A brief, guided, online version of this exploration can be freely accessed via the UK National Centre of Research Methods (NCRM): https://www​.ncrm​.ac​.uk​/ resources​/online​/embodied​_methodologies/ (second video). 2. See, for example, the writings of Fritjof Capra (2000 [1975]), Gary Zukav (2001 [1979]) and Danah Zohar (1990), although there are many others who discuss the inadequacy of these distinctions. This is also what I argue in my paper Clearing the Way Towards Soulful Scholarship (Kieft 2018). 3. For reflections on the primacy of movement see, for example, Sheets-Johnston (2011 [1999]), and Fraleigh (2004). Realizing that we have been moving since our conception reminds us that we do not need any special training for it. It is merely a matter of consciously remembering how to apply and utilize our inherent movement skills. 4. Not having studied Latin at school, I was very excited when I rephrased Descartes’ famous phrase Cogito ergo Sum, into Moveo Ergo Sum – to quickly

Movement as a Way of Knowing

65

realize I was by no means the first to coin this (see for example Salazar 2018, and references therein). 5. Of course there are exceptions such as improvisation in club cultures (Buckland 2002, Gore 1995, 1997, Rill 2006, Sullivan 2006, Sylvan 2005), (contact) improvisation (Novack 1988a, b, Carter 2000) and Authentic Movement (Adler 2002, Pallaro 1999, Taylor 2007), although the latter would probably fall under somatic practice instead of dance genre. 6. Kent de Spain’s classification of ‘issues’ includes for example ideas and challenges around improvisation, exchange between improviser and potential audience, how quality of improvisation can be measured, but also encounters with something transpersonal that comes from elsewhere than explicit inward or outward attention (DeSpain 2014: 81). 7. Text in quotation marks is literally drawn from the card set, other phrases are my summary. I also took the liberty of dividing them under these headings. The cards are available via: https://www​.moveintolife​.com​/movement​-cards​.html (accessed June 30, 2021).

Chapter 5

Immersion in the Land

NATURE, MY LOVER OF LIFETIMES My first mystical experience happened at twilight, that magical time, one evening when I was 17 years old. There was fog in the quarry behind our house, and overhead I could just make out the pine trees on the ridge. I became aware of a big presence around me. Sensing it consciously for the first time, I also realized that it had always been there. At the time, I was immersed in my professional dance training. It was a confusing year. However much I relished developing physical skills and virtuoso at a very high level, technique became a prison, ironically disconnected from the body, as well as from earth, emotions and, most importantly, meaning. The joy, lightness and the never-able-to-stop-dancing that I felt before completely disappeared. I struggled with continuous injuries and emotional despair, and every weekend I came home to my parents crying. My body screamed that this path was not right for me, but wasn’t this what I always wanted? Out there at dusk, my distress simply dropped away. Being held by the land and cloaked by fog, a deep serenity settled around and inside me. That moment urged a solo, which explored three expressions of the relationship between (wo)man and nature: one of power over and exploitation, one of disconnect and indifference and one of harmonious partnership. It was obvious which one inspired me. At that moment my longing for dancing in, with and as nature took root, a deep yearning to resonate and participate with a place, in a state of mutual and intimate exchange. Ten years later, shamanic practice invited me to consciously strengthen that participatory role, being-a-natural-part-of, rather than admire nature as a visitor. Since the spirits asked me to ‘keep dancing with them’, I danced 67

68

Chapter 5

wherever I could, by the sea, in forests, on the moors. One year I danced outside every day, no matter where I was, and regardless of the weather. That practice gave me a sense of roots and continuity that I previously lacked as mermaid of the in-between. One summer, I travelled to the Orkney Islands as a pilgrimage after being called there in a shamanic journey to meet the Guardian of the Wilds. I spent the stormiest coldest night alone in a stone circle called ‘Ring of Brodgar’. Paradoxically, as the forces of danger and destruction communicated with me, it created a sense of deep connection, a recognition of the vulnerability and preciousness of life. That night, I remembered nature as my lover of lifetimes. It opened me to both fragility and sensuality, and I never felt alone again since. BODY ∞ ENVIRONMENT Just like mind can never exist or function without the sensorial input of our physical body, so too is our understanding and transmission of meaning dependent on our environment. We could speak of another continuum, a loop without beginning or ending. Meaning arises not only through physical responses such as increased adrenalin, heart rate and blood pressure, pain or other signals from the nervous system but also through external sound waves, gestures, textual objects and technology. Quantum physicist David Bohm described this interconnection between body and environment in terms of ‘soma significance’. He underlined how meaning is derived from our environment, while equally our environment is a ‘somatic result’ of the meaning we attribute to it (Bohm 1985). It is constantly in motion, extending and actualizing, never static or complete. Anthropologist Tim Ingold also recognizes that organism and environment are inseparable. One cannot exist without the other, together they form “one indivisible totality” (Ingold 2000: 19). He specifies three things. First, environment is always relative to the being whose environment it is (. . .). Thus, my environment is the world as it exists and takes on meaning in relation to me, and in that sense, it came into existence and undergoes development with me and around me. (Ingold 2000: 20)

Second, like Bohm, he insists that environment is always a process, always becoming and never complete. Third, he underlines not to confuse the environment (in which we are embedded) with nature (which we are outside of). Nature, in his reasoning, is considered as external to both humanity and history, something that can be (scientifically) observed without belonging

Immersion in the Land

69

to it. He also cautions against phrases such as ‘the natural environment’. In my body, this distinction feels like an artificial separation. For me nature represents our wild origins, without human interference and overlaid meaning. I see nature as that indomitable force that shapes the course of rivers and pushes up the blades of grass through asphalt, that is, a force from which we can never be separate. To me the word environment feels more ‘clinical’ and detached, and I will therefore continue to use the word nature. In a later work, Ingold questions whether what we call ‘the environment’ might not be better described as an entangled domain: “It is within such a tangle of interlaced trails, continually ravelling here and unravelling there, that beings grow or ‘issue forth’ along the lines of their relationships” (Ingold 2011: 71). He introduces the concept of ‘meshwork’, a field of relational involvement in the world that recognizes the entire lifeworld as an interconnected field. Human and other-than-human-beings “continually and reciprocally bring one another into existence.” Relationships always exist as a “trail of movement or growth (. . .) along which life is lived” (ibid.: 69). While relations in a network imply two separate elements, in a meshwork “things are their relations” (Ingold 2011: 68–70, emphasis in original), through multiple trails, pathways and interwoven lines.1 Such worldview is based on the primacy of movement, which we encountered in the previous chapter. Like Bohm and Ingold, Adrian Harris too sees the local environment and the physical body as dynamically related, and any boundaries between them as porous. His enactive process model illustrates that “our being-in-the-world is bound up with the immediate environment and that embodied cognition draws upon that space as a source of material to think with” (Harris 2016: 144–5). The individual is undividedly part of the larger organism of the environment. Boundaries between self and environment soften and perhaps even disappear, when ‘nonegoic awareness’ is awakened. This can be facilitated through processes such as the wilderness effect, meditation, movement and the felt sense, which enable a sense of deep participatory consciousness. Paradoxically, a deep dive into the body awakens us from the dualistic dream that we are separate from the ‘wisdom of the body’ [a]. We can experience this psychological shift phenomenologically as a sense of spiritual connection that allows us to ‘attune . . . to the natural world’, and can feel ‘[l]ike being in a great big dream, relevant messages are being spoken everywhere, telling me things I need to hear, and to which I need respond [b].’ (Harris 2016: 154)2

Whereas this chapter focusses on the aspects of nature that we can perceive with our five senses, the next chapter will explore the intangible and more intuitively perceived aspects of our environment.

70

Chapter 5

WE ARE NATURE Even though modern urban lifestyles largely separate us from the natural, in many ways we remain deliciously wild and ungovernable. Our cells change every day. Our hair and nails grow. Women experience a moon cycle every month for many years. There is much in life that cannot be tamed for long. Thankfully, our survival does not depend on us consciously managing our bodily processes, as our organs and various internal systems operate independently from our direct instructions or attention. In many cultures, this connection between body and self, person and environment remain unbroken to this day. The Tiwi Aboriginal people have no specific word for body in their vocabulary since they consider the living human body as innate part of the natural landscape. A body only becomes separate after death when a person’s spirit has left, and the bodily remains can be buried. They also know dancing as something we are born with inside us, naturally ingrained rather than culturally acquired. Furthermore, the mythological time when the world was created can be accessed here and now through the ‘dreaming dances’ that live inside the people (Grau 2005, 2012). When I improvise, my blood and organs, my bones, nails, hair, all of me is part of the dance. This awareness allows me to breathe deeper and I can fluidly expand inwardly and outwardly, finding new landscapes inside and outside of myself. With ballet I would mimic picking flowers or reaching for the clouds. Now I become the flower and cloud and learn from them as they imbue my movements with their essence. When I dance in the surf of the ocean, I am in direct communication with its unpredictable draws and currents. Other times I dance sub-terra in my imagination – with my lower body anchored deep in the earth, connecting to lava streams and tectonic plates. I dance horizontally, diagonally, backwards and forwards. Even stretching my arms wide on the moors or in the forests is an act of belonging, of participating in creation. Such simple movements lift sorrow, melancholy and despair because they help me realize that I am part of the unfolding of time, in ways both magnificent and miniscule. RECONNECTING WITH THE NATURAL WORLD Many authors call for a revaluing, a renegotiating of our relationship with the natural world. Anthropologist and philosopher Ton Lemaire, for example, observes a collective longing for communication with nature, an experience of oneness between subject and object, and an integration of animistic and transcendent worldviews (Lemaire 2002: 160–1, my translation). He views the rising interest in shamanism as a symptom of a simmering desire in our

Immersion in the Land

71

modern society for a dimension that has been repressed. Integrating (neo-) shamanic elements in our culture would change western self-consciousness to a great degree. Shamanism reminds us of that which cogito seemingly conquered. It exposes a deeper layer of consciousness, so we can feel part of the larger whole once again as well as reconnect with our ancestral sensibility (Lemaire 2002: 161). Nature as a concept has meant different things to different people over time (Greenwood 2005: 39), yet it is a source of imagery that easily stirs the imagination. Wouter Hanegraaff points out that New Age nature-based religions generally affirm the harmonious, beautiful and benevolent sides of nature, whereas the cruel side, death, destruction and decay receive very little attention (Hanegraaff 1998: 22). This raises questions about the constructed image and interpretation of nature. Re-connection may not necessarily be a return to something, but reconnection with a (lost) vision of nature, or the creation of a new myth. Susan Greenwood mentions different ways to participate in and with nature (2005: 43–6), which paradoxically do not necessarily need to happen in nature, as it is about “the creation and establishment of connections and relationships with the environment” (Greenwood 2005: 210). She also observes that contemporary nature religion is largely practiced by urban people. After underlining that the body and land are inseparable and that we ‘are’ nature, it might seem paradoxical to suggest reconnecting with it. Just as we are ontologically never disembodied, we can never be disconnected from (our) nature. However, our perception of this connection can vary due to many factors such as upbringing, culture and life experiences, and many of us are profoundly alienated from nature. Some even speak of nature deficit disorder, especially affecting children who spend less and less time outdoors. When teaching embodied research methodology to first-year anthropology students in a countryside setting,3 I often observe a striking contrast between those who are at home in the mud and those who are afraid of it – which usually is the larger group. Nature can inspire fears of injury and illness, animals, getting lost or being caught out in heavy weather (van den Berg and ter Heijne 2005). It also contrasts strongly with the meticulous organization of modern life, which usually follows a detailed daily structure. So why would we bother to conquer potential fears and leave our comfort zone, if we are not naturally inclined to be outdoors? There are at least three reasons to consider spending more time in nature. First, studies show that being in nature is beneficial for health and wellbeing. Hospital patients looking out over green spaces recover more quickly, need less medication and have fewer complications after surgery. If green spaces are not available, even looking at a picture of nature seems to have a beneficial effect (van den Berg and van den Berg 2015, van den Berg

72

Chapter 5

2017). Research has also been done on the therapeutic effects of blue spaces. Regularly being by the sea appears to support better health (and less chronic conditions), greater happiness and longer life expectancy (Bell et al. 2015, Velarde, Fry, and Tveit 2007). Shamanic practices look for resources that support health and allow life to unfold naturally. Such resources are often called ‘medicine’ and can be found both in and outside of us. Nature is one such very strong external medicine resource and can be seen as a healer in its own right. It is full of beings or archetypes that express vitality, such as a healthy tree, or even a mountain. These exist in accordance with their blueprint and can mirror the internal intelligence within the human being, supporting us on our journey towards wholeness. Like long-term movement practitioner Sondra Fraleigh, I experience tangible, beneficial changes when I am in nature: “laugher, tears, a fuller breath, more self-confidence, improved alignment, a smoother walk, a more complete body image, less pain, feelings of peace and wholeness” (Fraleigh 2000: 58). Second, being in nature can contribute to our personal growth because we can fully be ourselves there, without masks or expectations that come with the many roles we assume in life. As we saw in the previous chapter, in nature we can explore and express parts of ourselves that we cannot easily bring to other situations. Simply observing what happens around us opens different perspectives on life questions. We can cultivate intuitive rightbrain abilities and give space to meditative, imaginative and creative aspects of ourselves. Solitary time in nature is part of many indigenous initiatory experiences. Pushing beyond cultural and personal boundaries, the initiand braves the unknown and meets ego, fears and shadows. “Becoming one with nature does not make a person less human but rather completes them in the context of both their selfhood and social world” (Brienza 2014, 484, emphasis in original). I am used to spending large chunks of time in nature, but the prospect of three nights alone on the moors during my first vision quest nearly undid me. My biggest fears were falling and breaking a leg, animals getting into my sleeping bag (as I wasn’t allowed a tent) and fasting for 72 hours. While I have a good sense of direction, some knowledge of herbs and animal behaviour, and enough common sense to deal with unforeseen circumstances, this scared me enormously. Persisting through what I thought was insurmountable significantly changed my perception of the impossible and my relationship to ‘I can’t do that’. Returning to the wilds on a regular basis helps me remember this. Animals, wind and sea can offer a source of strength, inspiration and encouragement. Ocean was one of my first teachers, showing me that she is who she is without worrying about being too big, too small, too shallow, too

Immersion in the Land

73

wild, too calm, too deep. That insight helps to give myself permission to be as I am too. Spending time with these non-human beings or forces teaches me so many things. Finally, the wilds can be a treasure chest of both practical knowledge and wisdom of a more mystical nature, through silence, meditation and of course movement (Lüttichau 2017, Sheldrake 2017). The mere experience of being in nature, without sounds of engines, music or chatter, without asphalt and concrete and bricks, without clock time, without written words, neon signs or cultivated smells that attract attention, helps me realize that I am part of a vast web of life, part of a collective heartbeat. Whether I like it or not, I am part of the eternal cycles of life, including birth, growth, blossoming, decline and death. Immersing myself in the wilds gives me a sense of perspective beyond any personal issues I might be facing. In the bigger scheme of things those issues are simply energy and experience unfolding. When I die, the world will continue without my current form. Nature teaches me that there is no separation, only different forms of manifestation. Regardless of philosophical, atheist, religious or spiritual orientation, belonging appears to be a human need. Once we overcome the cultural rejection of and subsequent separation from the wilds, nature is, paradoxically, the place where we will always belong. Since my stormy night in the Ring of Brodgar on the Orkney Islands, I experience such deep belonging and have never been lonely again. I step out of my home and I am together with wonderful friends: stroking the soft leaves of hollyhock when I pass her on the way to the train station, buzzard crying high up in the sky, and river teaching me about flow and the importance of riverbeds to guide it. I believe that such experiences can lift individual and collective feelings of isolation, separation and alienation. And since we care for what we love, they can also contribute to sustainability. IMMERSIVE PRACTICES When being in nature is neither a natural inclination nor encouraged much in one’s upbringing or education, it can be daunting to shift into new behaviour and spend time outdoors. Activities such as biking, running and canoeing are an accessible way in. Focussing on such sportive activities helps familiarize ourselves with the outdoors and normalize being in natural spaces. It is a great way to be with the elements and start observing what happens around us. What information can accessed through vision, hearing, touch or even taste? What animals can we spot, where have they left traces? Can we pay attention to biological processes such as how a tree grows, or how leaves sprout from a stem?

74

Chapter 5

Hiking is a familiar activity too. Without having to think about the movement mechanics, walking propels our body forward, giving us speed and direction. Walking becomes a way of thinking and knowing through the feet, heart and mind (Rendell 2006), a process of mobile phenomenology in which we make meaning on the move (O’Neill 2018). The conscious person-place interaction offers opportunities for personalized knowledge construction (Anderson and Jones 2009, Anderson 2004). All of a sudden, we might experience an ‘aha moment’ of deep knowing. We can play with our gaze too. We might look down to make sure of our footing. But do we dare to look up, down and sideways as well? Is our gaze narrow or wide? Do we look under the surface, behind things as our position shifts our perspective, and up into the sky? Can we increase our awareness by listening to the space behind us? How close is our horizon? Is our awareness vertical because our bodies are upright, or horizontal as we pay attention to our environment? Another step can be to formulate a specific question before going outside for a walk. This could be a medicine walk or a mini vision quest. After setting a clear intention, everything we experience can be treated as specific answer to that question. What appears in the landscape, how we move through it and how it moves us can provide surprising insights and answers. A herd of cows, a fence that separates or keeps safe, the number of pinecones on the path, the direction and strength of the wind, the shape of a plant, patterns of light. We observe how all of these make us feel at different stages of the walk, in terms of energy, emotions, disconnection or inspiration. Notice the interaction between self and the land and the responses of our body being immersed in this outdoor environment. With the greater sense of embodiment, especially interoception, we can observe subtle shifts in sensations, feelings or images and be more attuned to external, auditory or visual stimuli. Perception is different for everyone and the challenge is to learn to read and calibrate the unique instrument of our own body in this case in relation to the question asked beforehand, and in dialog with the environment (see also Kieft 2021). A third option is finding a quiet spot to sit or meditate, with eyes open or closed. Our chest rises and falls with our breath, our heartbeat pulses our life force through our bodies. Immersed observation and meditation enable a corporeality of learning and knowing. Shamanic practices work with the concept of ‘places of power’. This can be any place that resonates strongly with the practitioner, a place that speaks to them, nourishes, refreshes and re-energizes and contributes to inspiration and vitality. When you offer your time and presence, nature speaks to you (Villoldo and Jendresen 1995 [1990]). After 15–20 minutes of sitting quietly, animals will resume their natural behaviour and will show you more of how they live. This will contribute to both practical knowledge and insights of perhaps a more mystical nature.

Immersion in the Land

75

AND OF COURSE, WE DANCE . . . Once we are comfortable enough spending time outdoors in more familiar activities, conscious improvised movement can be another strategy to interact and communicate with nature. In some ways there is little difference between ‘walking with a question’ described in the previous section and dancing. One of the most important requirements is shifting awareness. Rather than walking through the forest, it becomes a walking-moving-dancing with the forest. A movement meditation opens us to interact with and through all modes of perception. Increasing our awareness to a full 360 degrees around us, as well as upwards and downwards, can help us to ask questions such as ‘where am I?’ and ‘who am I with?’ Our body is positioned in relation to peaks and valleys, the soft undulation of hills, the presence of nearby caves. We are inside of it, on the curves and ridges of the land. Are there lakes or mountains close by? Are we following a river up or downstream? Whether or not we can see these characteristics, we always move in relation to them, as if they are partners in our dance. Imagine connecting with these features, how they were shaped in the landscape historically, their texture and how they move (even if it is a mountain!) and what metaphorical qualities they arouse. How do they influence our state of being? Do they help us to breathe deeper, or not? Do they have a calming, activating, disturbing, shrinking or expanding effect? This is very personal and might also change from day to day, or in different phases in our life. A gentle exposure to new landscapes can literally unearth parts of ourself that were previously unknown. The improvisation prompts from the previous chapter can be applied as guideline. Bear in mind that outdoor space is less contained without immediate walls or ceilings. It is open to the elements, and a variety of natural beings will be present, as well as passers-by whose gaze might affect a movement experience. I will discuss two further techniques that inspire my own practice in the context of body- and nature-based spirituality. QUALITIES OF THE LAND The first is to pay thorough attention to the qualities of the land that resonate differently inside me. Sea, forest, rivers, and mountains move my body in distinct ways. It is almost as if the land plays me like an instrument, pulling on various strings to create different vibrations inside me. Variations such as spaciousness or enclosedness, wetness or dryness, darkness or light, all affect the melody of my dance.

76

Chapter 5

Dancing on a riverbank just after the floods, earth shifts when she receives my weight. Feet slide this way or that depending on the angle of the slope and the way I move. Riverbank dance is soft and receptive. The flowing water next to me connects me to its source in one direction and ocean in the other, softening my heart and perhaps dissolving tears in her gentle meandering. Rock hard granite on the moors also turns slippery after rainfall yet is much less forgiving than riverbank. Granite tells me of strength, steadfastness and dependability. It is so undeniably there. Unlike the river, which is never the same and might alter her course over time, granite will be there many years hence. Ocean also offers a quality of timelessness but reminds me more of the cycles of the soul. Observing the waves coming and going recalls the ebb and flow of human existence. We breathe in and we breathe out. Challenges come in and fade away. There is constant movement. Forest most strongly teaches me about the seasons, but also about community. Trees in their various stages of maturity follow the rhythm of the year. Sometimes they are stark naked skeleton structures against the sky, other times dappled light softly filters through their leaves to create a sense of playful hidden mystery. They grow in solitude or close to each other, creating a different atmosphere. Animal tracks show silent company. Growing up in a flat country, it took a while to get used to extreme contrasts of mountain valleys and peaks, of sun and shadow plays on the slopes. I used to get nauseous, or feel oppressed. When I move in mountains now, there is a sense of endurance, of slow-motion and deep earth-processes shaping the surface. It is not just the type of landscape that shapes movement. Also, the interplay of light fall, texture of the air and temperature, moisture/humidity, time of day or weather affects my experience. Winter frost inspires a crispy stimulus, while on hot and humid days my movements are smaller, lazier and more languid. When mist blankets the farm fields, the horizon is much closer than I know it to be. Familiar country lanes become roads into the unknown. Sounds are different. When I hear a church bell, I am reminded of farmers who have walked here for centuries to follow this ancient call for prayer. But my church is here, outside, where I can hear crow cawing, and a trickle of water running alongside me. I’m already walking in the sacred. MIMICKING The second technique for land-based movement practice uses mimicking as entry point to participate in a specific way of being. Dancing like the trembling leaves in the wind, flowing with the repetitive motion of waves on a

Immersion in the Land

77

shore, imitating bird wings in flight, or a drifting cloud provide glimpses into other perspectives. It kindles an embodied knowledge directly inspired by the being I connect to through mirroring their movement. Mimicking local surroundings, animal behaviour, their shapes, movement signatures and modes of sensory perception probably inspired the oldest forms of dance. Hiroko Ikuta describes four different types of mimicry in Alaskan indigenous dance performance. First, the dancer can identify with the object they mimic using specific sounds and movements. Second, the dancer expresses their human feelings about the animal or environment, such as admiration for an animal’s strength or fear for the loudness of the thunder. Third, the imagery of animal characteristics can be used to illustrate human experience. For example, bird species that display monogamous behaviour, or specific nesting and parenting activities are used as a metaphor for human trust, love and parenthood. Finally, movements can represent everyday activities such as paddling a canoe, fishing, swimming, washing, berry picking, or skin tanning (Ikuta 2011: 57–8). Anthropologist Rane Willerslev underlines the difference between superficial, outward mimicry, simulation or aping and a “deeper, and more intense (. . .) ability to put oneself imaginatively in the place of another, reproducing in one’s own imagination the other’s perspective” (Willerslev 2007: 106). The latter is called ‘mimetic empathy’. Of course, we cannot literally know the world through another’s eyes, but mimicking comes close to being in another’s skin or bark, tasting another type of experience. Even if those experiences are ‘imagined’, they are mediated through the reality of our own lived physicality and therefore have a sense of reality (Willerslev 2007: 106). This may raise questions of anthropomorphizing other-than-human-beings through our subjective experience. Indeed, I relate to the essence of other phenomena through the given fact of my corporeality: “it is through this human body that my understanding happens” (Kieft 2020a), but this does not imply a sense of human superiority. Also, “mimetic empathy registers not only similarity, but also difference” (Willerslev 2007: 107). The ‘copying’ always remains incomplete, which also safeguards the boundaries between self and other, so there is no danger of losing self, nor of diminishing other. In my understanding, it is precisely this awareness of magnificent diversity that opens the door to greater sustainability both in terms of nature and human beings. “It might be easier than we suppose to transcend interspecies barriers with the aid of our embodied imagination” (Willerslev 2007: 107). The land can also play a role for uprooted global citizens to find indigeneity and belonging, over and beyond culture or subcultures of our birth-country and upbringing. As well as mimicking concrete beings, one can mimic, or embody, concepts, phenomena or metaphors. The tree of life, for example, is a symbol that

78

Chapter 5

appears in many traditions. Imagining the human body as a tree with roots, trunk and branches can be very insightful when exploring existential questions regarding our cultural roots, what in our lives provides nourishment, and what we grow towards. Sondra Fraleigh speaks of an intertwined objective of “mapping our way back to our body, our body back into the natural world” (Fraleigh 2000: 54), putting it back where it originates from and lifting the veil of apparent separation. From a concrete immersion in the corporeality of the land with our feet on the earth and the wind in our hair, we will now explore expanded consciousness as a way of relating to the energetic essence of nature and all its beings. NOTES 1. This section is adapted from earlier publication (Kieft 2021). 2. In this quote Harris refers to [a] (Harris 1996: 152) and [b] (Fischer 2002: 103). 3. Jerome Lewis from University College London organizes a yearly fieldwork trip to Somerset for anthropology undergraduates, more recently led by Ludo Coupaye. It focusses on embodied methodology and sensorial experience through storytelling, singing, dancing, nature immersion and ceremony. I have been privileged to be part of the teaching team since 2013/14.

Chapter 6

Expanded Consciousness

INTO THE STONE As mentioned in the Introduction, my first encounter with shamanic tools and techniques was during a three-week residential course Soul in Nature, at Schumacher College in Devon, UK, in 2005. Co-taught by three specialists, Christian de Quincey (consciousness studies), Stephan Harding (ecology) and Jonathan Horwitz (shamanism), we spent an entire morning with a small stone that we chose from a basket. Stephan Harding guided us through an intense Goethean dialog with the stone, zooming in and out between observing details and seeing it as a whole (Bortoft 1996, Goethe 2010 [1792], Whitelegg 2003). I explored its shape, texture, colours, little specks, the contrast between its sensual curves and its hard, hard surface. Its size and weight felt comfortable in my hand and smooth against my cheek, and after a while, its temperature changed. I never got to know a stone that intimately before. Then Jonathan Horwitz invited us to make a shamanic journey. People were instructed to lie down and focus on a specific intention, in this case meeting the spirit of the stone.1 Earlier during the course, we were taught to shift into an expanded state of consciousness, guided by a rhythmic drumbeat. The geography of the shamanic spirit world usually consists of an upper, middle and lower world, which are linked to the roots, trunk and branches of the Tree of Life.2 In general, one goes to the lower world to ask for help or to meet spirit helpers and to the upper world to ask for advice or insight regarding the formulated mission. The middle world is closely related to our everyday reality. This is the realm to search for a plant teacher or power place, go on a medicine walk or vision quest. The descent into the lower world is visualized as an opening into the earth. It can help to choose an entry point that is familiar in everyday (middle world) reality, such as a hole 79

80

Chapter 6

between tree roots, a cave or a well.3 The ascent to the upper world is similarly visualized, for example, by climbing a tree, drifting up with the smoke of a small fire, being carried by a helper who can fly, climbing a ladder and so on. After the initial use of imagination, the expanded state of consciousness takes over, and while taking an active stance on the journey, it is more a sense of participating in the events that unfold, rather than directing them. In this case I laid down and placed the stone on my forehead, throat, heart and under my navel where I left it as the journey developed. Suddenly I feel I’m in the stone. I am heavy. Solid. Unmovable. Unhurried. People seem agile to me. So agile that, as a stone, I cannot imagine such speed. I have no limbs, and I cannot move. I wonder if people don’t get tired from all the constant movement. Even today, a blink in time, I have been moved so far. From the basket, into a warm hand, to a chair, and now I find myself lying on this human body. Unbelievable. Normally I’m never moved that much. As Eline, I ask the stone what I can learn from its spirit today. It takes a stone age before I feel an answer: “Sit still, be stone. Without stone, no earth. Sit without thought and without movement. Heavy. Silent. Slow, as one massive body”. I loved being a stone, with this feeling of pleasant heaviness and unhurried surrender. When the drum called us back, I did not want to return and complied only to save Jonathan the trouble of having to retrieve us, which he promised to do if we did not respond. Then a scary moment – initially I could not move my legs! After five or ten minutes, I stumbled towards my notebook, but it took me half an hour to regain full muscle control and mobility,4 still marvelling at the speed, lightness and bounce of being human. This was an immediate experience of direct three-way interconnection between body, consciousness and external reality. Techniques of expanded consciousness provide ways to interact with the essence of form and phenomena that we can encounter through a participatory ontology that also acknowledges intangible parts of reality. CONSCIOUSNESS BEYOND THE SKIN In nature-based traditions, an experience as the above, or similarly, communing with the essence of a mountain, tree, river or specific animal, is as normal as picking up the phone to talk to a friend or relative. Nature is attributed with meaning and intentionality. Animism and panpsychism are timeless world views that provide a metaphysical framework for (interaction with) the intangible.5 Animism recognizes life force, soul or spirit in all phenomena, human and other-than-human, animate and inanimate. The term is often attributed to Sir Edward Tylor and his influential book Primitive Culture, which appeared at

Expanded Consciousness

81

the end of the 19th century (Tylor 1871).6 In part due to Tylor’s evolutionary contextualization, animism is often considered as a rudimentary belief system from early human civilizations to be replaced by higher-order religions and the rationality of science as cultures evolved. However, this ‘replacement’ led to the loss or obscuration of an inherent human capacity in modern life to understand the surrounding life world. Spirits are central to our “symbolic relationship to the environment” and a fundamental part “of the human search for meaning” (Winkelman 2011: 62). Animistic elements are also visible in all major religions, when we attribute qualities of ‘soul’ to pets, teddy bears, cars and towns, and in the way some people consider the planet earth as a living entity (Bailey 2014a), such as in James Lovelock’s Gaia hypothesis (Lovelock 2000). Panpsychism considers everything in the universe, both the animate and inanimate, as having an interior, subjective reality. Unlike animism, it does not describe the intangible in terms of spirit but rather attributes aspects of consciousness or mind to all things in the universe (Larson 2014). It was first mentioned by Western philosophers over two millennia ago, but like animism it traces back to much earlier cosmologies. Panpsychism is: the idea that even atoms and molecules have a primitive kind of mentality or experience. (The Greek word pan means all, and psyche means soul or mind.) Panpsychism does not mean that atoms are conscious in the sense that we are, but only that they have some aspects of mentality or experience. More complex forms of mind or experience emerge in more complex systems. (Sheldrake 2017: 84–5, emphases in original)

As we have seen in earlier chapters, western scientific understanding focusses on what is measurable through the senses and can be processed through cognition. Complementary medicine and quantum physics reinspire an interest in the relationship between body, energy and consciousness. Explanatory models in, for example, Traditional Chinese Medicine, Ayurveda, Japanese Seiki practices, Kalahari medicine and many South American cosmologies provide ancient views on contemporary discoveries. They demonstrate that consciousness is not located in the human body but connects us to the world around us through the electromagnetic resonance of both heart and brain (McCraty 2015).7 Consciousness might be the medium that enables interaction with the other-than-human. Christian de Quincey (2002) distinguishes between philosophical and psychological consciousness. Philosophical consciousness refers to a quality of being with capacities of sentience and subjectivity. Its opposite would be ‘nonconscious’. In this view, persons and animals (whether waking or sleeping) would demonstrate consciousness while stones, clouds or computers

82

Chapter 6

would not. Psychological consciousness, on the other hand, indicates a state of awareness, of being alert or awake, which contrasts with ‘unconscious’. Someone who is actively engaged in conceptual cognition is conscious, while someone in coma, or an other-than-human-being without clearly recognized cognitive facilities, would be unconscious. De Quincey describes nine characteristics to determine whether or not an entity has consciousness, which are sentience, subjectivity, knowledge, intentionality, choice, self-agency, purpose, meaning and value (de Quincey 2002: 64–5). Philosopher Robert van Gulick (2018) addresses features of consciousness, how it can exist and why it does, before classifying different theories of consciousness that include metaphysical, reflexive, representational, narrative, cognitive and quantum theories.8 He distinguishes between three concepts of consciousness: creature consciousness, states of consciousness and consciousness as an entity. Two of these sub-concepts are specifically relevant for this chapter. The first is a state of access consciousness that allows intra-mental relations and pertains to “availability to interact with other states and (…) the access that one has to its content”. The second falls under consciousness as an entity, in which consciousness is more akin to electromagnetic fields than to life (van Gulick 2018: 6–7).9 Together these point to the possibility of information exchange between both animate and non-animate phenomena: Electromagnetic fields by contrast are regarded as real and independent parts of our physical world. (…) Similarly one could regard ‘consciousness’ as referring to a component or aspect of reality that manifests itself in conscious states and creatures but is more than merely the abstract nominalization of the adjective ‘conscious’ we apply to them. (van Gulick 2018: 7)

This resonates with biologist Rupert Sheldrake’s10 theory of morphic fields that contain information that is relevant to a specific species or phenomenon and can be accessed through resonance and similarity. These morphic fields “are not confined to the brain, or even to the body, but extend beyond it into the environment, linking the body to the surroundings in which it acts” (Sheldrake 1988: 198). In morphic fields, similarity is important for form fields to resonate with each other “across space and time” (Sheldrake 2017: 131). This theory is one of many that underline a very concrete relationship between body, behaviour and environment, in this case, through the medium of resonance. INFORMATION FIELDS Philosopher Ervin Laszlo (2004) proposes a more fundamental field that stores, keeps and transmits energy and information that is not linked to physical

Expanded Consciousness

83

form like Sheldrake’s morphic fields.11 This Akasha field, or A-field, can be compared to other fundamental force fields such as gravity, electromagnetic, nuclear and quantum fields. Akasha is the Sanskrit word for ‘ether’, or all permeable space. It is the womb from which everything emerges that we observe through the senses and to which everything eventually returns. It encompasses all things that have ever happened and will ever happen in all parts of time and space. The quantum vacuum generates, conserves and transmits information by means of torsional waves, which Laszlo likens to the waves in the wake of a ship. Those waves interact with other waves caused by vessels, animals, wind, current and coastlines. Whereas in the ocean the ship’s trail will eventually disappear, in the quantum field the resonance of these interactions remain eternally part of the vacuum’s memory bank (Laszlo 2004: 43–61). Consciousness exists in every one of our cells and resonates with information in the quantum vacuum, or zero-point field, through holograms.12 Hologram theory recognizes the entirety of a phenomenon as present in all its smallest parts. This means that we can access a much broader spectrum of information than the information we receive through our physical senses. In an enhanced state of consciousness, we have the capacity to be in contact with all parts of nature, receive information from and communication with the entire universe. Information is most easily transmitted between similar form structures, as we saw in Sheldrake’s morphic resonance theory. Humans are directly informed by fellow humans (who are similar in form field). However, different forms also resonate with each other, albeit perhaps less direct, intense or evident. Humans resonate with minerals, plants, animals, the biosphere and even the cosmos. This spectrum of information beyond the physical senses can be experienced in meditative state of absorption, when the coarser layers of consciousness drop away (Laszlo 2004: 53, 92–9), as happened to me in the state of consciousness that allowed me to travel deep into the stone. In a publication on non-locality and psi phenomena, Chris Hardy emphasizes that such phenomena are both “beyond the brain and beyond spacetime” (Hardy 2015: 1016). Hardy underlines different ways this information can be perceived and broadcast, several of which he directly links to the physical senses as well as to heart and mind: Psi information can be received or be expressed through a variety of channels in the mind-body-psyche system: anomalous vision, audition or touch sensation, interoceptive perception, empathy at a distance, unconscious expression, body movements, anomalous verbal or written reception, altered state and meditative states. (Hardy 2015: 1016–7)

84

Chapter 6

PARTICIPATION CONSCIOUSNESS Scientific knowledge focusses on distinguishing between different phenomena and separating their essence, which has a disembodying effect. Animist embodying knowledge, on the other hand, zooms in on relatedness and participation consciousness. This becomes possible when “awareness blurs into the extended cognition of the deep body” and the wisdom it carries (Harris 2016: 147). I would like to underline once again that expanded states do not require a shift away from our bodies. They emphasize the interconnection between being and knowing. In such states, we learn through absorption, through merging with spirit and source. Insights and understanding arise in a circular way, again, through the deep wisdom of body (Keeney 2005). This type of consciousness is also called immersion consciousness, participation consciousness, magical consciousness and mystical participation. Christian de Quincey speaks of ‘Radical Knowing’, a process in which the essence of the knower blends with “that being known”, leading to a radical transformation (de Quincey 2002: 124). He also speaks of paradox consciousness, which transcends shamanic, philosophic, scientific and mystical knowing: “knowing through not-knowing, [is] an ineffable state of knowledge where the subject becomes the object; where knowing and being blend into one” (de Quincey 2005, 151, emphasis added). Learning through absorption happens “by merging with one’s source of inspiration” rather than by taking in abstract facts about something (Keeney 2005: 23). The dualistic experience dissolves when the barrier between subject and object melts away. It seems as if an original sense of direct communion with everything around us comes back online again. I believe that this quality of inherent embeddedness became obscured through an emphasis on so-called ‘higher-order’ religions and scientific rationality. We all had this sense before the separation from our true origins, and knowingly or unknowingly we always seek to return to it (van Asseldonk 2010). Without understanding how it works, consciousness appears to be everywhere and expand beyond our own skin. CHANGING THE FREQUENCY Techniques for accessing wider consciousness have been known throughout cultures and times and were once firmly rooted in western culture as well (Ehrenreich 2007). Expanded states can occur spontaneously when we fall into an experience of flow. This mostly happens when we are completely in the moment, absorbed in a task without thoughts about past or future. Attentive listening, sensory awakening and meditative silence can

Expanded Consciousness

85

open a subtle perception through which intuition kindles. Mental activity quietens down, a sense of heightened significance or intense experience might arise and separations between self and other become less distinct (Czikszentmihalyi 1975). In contrast, peak experiences are usually associated with either high adrenalin or religious activities. These experiences too can include absence of thoughts, increased sensory awareness, a distortion of time and space, feelings of non-duality, oneness and interconnection, a loss of sense of self or ego, heightened sense of presence and love for all existence (Maslow 1994). Such experiences may require more preparation and therefore happen less spontaneously, even though they too occur in ordinary or unorchestrated situations. Shamanic practitioners seek to expand their states of consciousness actively and regularly to interact with the spirit world to ask for information and guidance. This is often called ‘altered state of consciousness’ (ASC) or ‘shamanic state of consciousness’ (SSC) (Harner 1980).13 With Jonathan Horwitz, I prefer to speak of ‘expanded state of consciousness’ (ESC), as it is a heightened, widened, more inclusive state of natural human perception in which one is more alert, awake and aware, rather than altering to something ‘other’.14 I liken the process of expanding consciousness to ‘changing the frequency’, as if tuning into a different broadcasting station. Shifting between states of consciousness appears to be a general human ability. The pathways that guide such transitions are similar in many cultures, even though they vary according to “the individual’s genetic make-up and social and cultural environment” (Samuel 2001: 77).15 They are also always subject to change. The invitation is to find pathways that open such states, whether that is through making music, running, sitting meditation or cooking. Most people can successfully access them through listening to rhythmic drumming and/or engaging in intensive physical (repetitive) movement (Fachner 2006). Lynne Hume speaks of ‘sensorial formula’ such as repetitive sounds, rhythmic movement, heightened emotions, focussed attention and total participation as components of and routes to expanded states. Combining these formulas can create an ontic shift in which people observe the world from a different perspective (Hume 2007: 15). Depending on the context, consciousness can also be expanded through deprivation of food, sleep and company, hallucinogenic substances, pain or braving extreme weather conditions, but in my experience, these are certainly not essential.16 Within these ESCs, it becomes possible to access ‘other’ knowledge than which is available through the rational mind and its thinking processes, and even through the physical senses. This might be internal knowing that for some reason was veiled or obscured, as well as information from another source of consciousness beyond our skin. It may include insights regarding

86

Chapter 6

the nature of the life-death-life cycle, a lived experience of oneness and interconnection with the larger community of life on earth (and sometimes beyond), encountering divine presence, acceptance of mortality and ‘befriending’ death, but also touch on personal beliefs and patterns, ancestral and family history, recognition of dissociation or soul loss, or receiving a specific vocation. Dependent on the approach, intention and context in which the expanded state emerges, the experience can be light or very deep. “What will be experienced – its actual content – and how it will be experienced are largely functions of the intentions, expectations, and beliefs of the individual and the social and cultural context” (Morris 2006: 37, emphases in original). As with flow and peak experiences, people perceive qualities such as being wholly present in the moment, absence of thoughts, time-space distortion, a sense of dissolving into the cosmos, a sense of oneness and interconnection with source and deep love for others and creation (Eliade 1972 [1951], Hume 2007). A SAFE CONTAINER Whatever the route to ESC, it is important to create a safe container to ease any fear regarding the process and navigate the infinite space that opens as consciousness expands. A step-by-step approach helps to focus on specific threads of information within the wider field without getting overwhelmed by the experience. This includes setting a clear intention such as focussing on a question, seeking an encounter with a specific other-than-human-being or inviting healing and transformation. This intention helps interpreting the experience afterwards as well. Furthermore, having a way to mark a change in the perception of reality can also be beneficial. Activities such as singing, whistling, rattling and calling on support or guidance alert our consciousness to a change in perception and increase receptivity for subtle observations. Unfamiliarity with ESC often leads to fear and resistance. The biggest fear seems to be of losing oneself when relinquishing control.17 As such experiences became marginalized in the west, we lost our skill to access and navigate them safely and successfully, as well as the language to discuss those experiences. However, even people with long-standing practices of trance dancing view this surrender with caution. The Kalahari Khoesaan, for example, consider it an act of bravery likened to facing a mini death when “temporarily relinquishing the power of the rational mind over the body, as well as undertaking possibly fearful metaphysical journeys to a powerful ‘other world’” (Sullivan, 2006: 236). The Sufi whirling dervishes surrender

Expanded Consciousness

87

to a state of annihilation of self and ‘elimination of ego’ so that true reality or divine presence can enter, which occurs with a deliberate focus on the innermost centre and emptying the mind of distracting thoughts (Hume 2007: 67). Indeed, the strongest experiences arise when our sense of self or ego ‘empties’ and we create space for another quality of being to enter. Such apparent loss of self-awareness or ego-death can be frightening, especially when we are strongly identified with ego-self. However, as a state beyond dualities and judgements, worries usually drop away in the ESC, leaving no room for the fears experienced by the ego. When I experience emotions in the expanded state, they are usually positive, such as joy, wonder, love and belonging. Should there be frightening or scary experiences, it is the soul, not the ego-self, that observes them. Since soul has a different relationship to fear, it tends to acknowledge such emotions as opportunities for growth and development. Fear and shock are more likely to happen when we are asked to return to everyday consciousness. In the stone journey described above, there was such feeling of bliss, connection and oneness that a part of me did not want to return to the paradoxes, pain and sometimes despair of actual daily life. It is there after all that the work of integrating any insights needs to be done, within the constraints of physical reality, and that can be a challenging prospect.18 In addition to the step-by-step approach for creating a safe container, being consciously rooted in the body can also provide a foundation for a positive expanded experience.19 Even if the feeling of body-presence can disappear for a time, like in meditation or in the stone experience above, this will return naturally, the body providing a strong anchor to return to and to bridge any other worldly insights to daily life as invitation for positive change. EXPANDED CONSCIOUSNESS, TRANCE AND EMBODIED ECSTASY Some people view embodied trance as a contradiction in terms, considering trance and being in the body as mutually exclusive. Differentiating between expanded consciousness, out-of-body trance and embodied ecstasy as three different phenomena may help to shed some light on this matter. Shamanic scholarship generally distinguishes between two shamanic states of consciousness (Keeney and Keeney 2018). The first one is the ESC I referred to above, which is a subtle shift in consciousness or lighter trance state. This state is taught in most neo-shamanic workshops, following Michael Harner’s distillation of universally applicable core shamanic techniques (Harner 1980). The whole process can be done seated or lying

88

Chapter 6

down, and the goal is to reach a mental trance state. After minimal physical preparation, the body relaxes and plays no further active role. A degree of body awareness usually remains, sensing perhaps a discomfort in the back or the legs, or realizing that a bathroom visit is needed soon, although some people simply fall asleep. Personally, I experience three levels of intensity within the light trance. The lightest version resembles active imagination in which I have a strong sense of directing the journey. I am still very aware of my body, and images appear like in a daydream. In the medium version, I am no longer actively directing the journey, but images, symbols or sensations flash infrequently, mostly to a black and red backdrop. My body sense is less tangible here. In the most deep and intense version, I participate in a full colour 3D movie. The journey happens to me without conscious mental direction or guidance, with an unfolding story that seems to be the spirit world directly addressing my question. Here, I have the least awareness of my body, but as always, I can jolt back into it if needed. There are regular cross-overs with everyday reality, comparable to what sometimes happen in dreams. For example, I might be aware of a clock striking in everyday reality, but it continues for an unreasonable number of chimes. These three variations are not distinct; the journey to the spirit of the stone was a blend of the medium and more intense version. Some journeys are exclusively one style. Other times, two or all three happen within the same journey, which I perceive as shifting gears between states of perception. It also occurs that nothing happens for a while and I lie content in the dark.20 The second view on states of consciousness is most strongly represented in shamanic scholarship, following Mircea Eliade’s deductions (Eliade 1972 [1951]). This involves a much heavier trance, in which the shaman falls into a cataleptic out-of-body state, allowing for shamanic flight. These comatose moments last shorter or longer, depending on their purpose and context. Frantic movements are used as a preparatory technique to get into the trance state that, in itself, is disconnected from the body. I only experienced this twice myself, once during a Ghost dance in a workshop setting and once while dancing with the Kalahari medicine men in Namibia.21 In both situations, my legs suddenly gave out and I fell without hurting myself. I came back to awareness on the floor, wondering how I got there. It resembled feinting, with a soft, unnoticed surrender of muscle control. I do not have sufficient contextual understanding to explain what happened, but both times an unplanned, involuntary bodily response temporarily rendered my body cataleptic, while my mind travelled, in both cases to meet the ancestors. In both light and heavy trances, the concept of ‘embodied trance’ would indeed be a contradiction in terms. In the lighter version, the body does not

Expanded Consciousness

89

play an active role at all; in the heavier trance state the body is temporarily out of order after initial exertion to get into the trance state. Keeney and Keeney (2018) therefore propose a third phenomenon, an emotionally charged, euphoric ecstasy that is firmly rooted in body and heart that is distinct from both heavy and light trances. They consider embodied ecstasy as an in-the-body emotional awakening fostered and expressed through movement, rhythm-making, song and dance rather than an out-of-body hypnotic trance accompanied by physical immobility [which] is expressed and further amplified by a singing, shouting, shaking, trembling or dancing body capable of delivering the ecstatic aps that clear away the preconfigured cognitive maps. (Keeney and Keeney 2018: 188)

As a reflection of the macrocosm, the body mirrors all universal events, forces and processes and always plays a role in opening channels to the otherworld. Especially if body, heart, mind and spirit are all awake and online, the body becomes a two-way channel that both transmits and receives information. There is a metabolic effect of expanded consciousness within the body, in which psychic energy can be perceived as bodily sensation or vision. This is also recognized in Tibetan Tantric Buddhism, which considers the body as “a system of channels through which psychic energy passes” and ritual techniques stimulating the flow of energy (Greenwood 2000: 33). A COLLECTIVE PATHWAY Repetitive movement is often suggested as a route to trance-like awareness. This requires rhythm and/or a pattern to follow, whether it is a simple twostep sequence in a circle, perhaps with arm gestures, a more elaborate circle dance or even a hustle or line dance. These are relatively easy routines that support surrendering to a movement structure. Once the routine is firmly rooted in the body memory and there is no need to think about the next steps anymore, mind and consciousness can travel, supported by rhythm and movement. A steady drumbeat of 3 to 4 1/2 beats per second induces theta (gain) brainwave activity and facilitates the imagery and shamanic states of consciousness in both light and heavy trances: “Theta frequency is usually associated with drowsy, near-unconscious states, such as the threshold period just before waking or sleeping. This frequency has also been connected to states of ‘reverie’ and hypnogogic or dream-like images” (Maxfield 2006).22 Indeed, entry to the spirit worlds in this manner has a somewhat hypnagogic quality to it. Even the many embodied ecstatic moments I encountered when dancing to

90

Chapter 6

4/4 beat music had a certain dream-like harmony to them which we could perhaps call dream-dancing. In contrast, techniques of embodied ecstasy thrive on polyphonic rhythms and musical patterns that sound chaotic to most western ears (Keeney and Keeney 2018: 194, 197).23 In combination with touch, and deliberately applied smells as additional technique, the soundscape evokes strong emotions and entrances the dancing healers as well as the audience. Irregular singing and clapping can cause such shock and disorientation to the system, that it remaps or re-coordinates mind and body, both of the dancers and the audience (Low 2015: 43). Shared movements can build a strong collective field, fostering a sense of unity and collective transcendence. The group of bodies becomes one organism that moves to the same rhythm and directs the energy in a similar direction. Through the experience of ecstatic bliss and intoxicating joy, conceptual boundaries or dualisms disappear (Keeney and Keeney 2018: 188). This includes the distinction between self and other, enabling a sense of unity between the dancers and with the world around them. Emile Durkheim and Victor Turner spoke of such collective surges or group ecstasy in terms of ‘collective effervescence’ and ‘communitas’, respectively. They considered these as a natural and universal part of social existence, and important for their “de-differentiating, equalizing character among participants” (Olaveson 2001). On the one hand, shared ecstasy can contribute to solidarity, stability, group cohesion and creativity. On the other hand, it is good to remain vigilant regarding the power of the mob as potentially manipulative, dangerous and destructive. This can be the case both for social and normative structures, as well as for the individual sense of self. If unity is mistaken for conformity, losing our sense of self to a collective experience with which one can perhaps not fully identify can lead to personal disillusion regarding participating in fabricated and superficial rituals (Grimes 1992) that are not respectful to individual diversity. Western dance floors where people might experience such collective ecstasy do not usually reflect a closely knit structure in the traditional and geographical sense of community in which people share work, leisure and sacred times. Therefore, upsetting a cultural status quo through this type of collective ecstasy is unlikely. The experience can however contribute to profound changes in the individual dancer, which might lead to negotiating changes back home, regarding relationships or professional choices and also inspire alternative culture movements. Although embodied, collective ecstasy can be quite a challenge in cultures that favour understated or subdued behaviour; it appears to be a fruitful aspect of our journey to wholeness. Celebrating hearts that beat together in sync and witnessing soul light radiating from other eyes contribute to recognizing the

Expanded Consciousness

91

magnificence of life and creation, and our humble yet essential place within it. Rather than denying or avoiding this human capability, our energy is perhaps better used to explore our relationship to vulnerability and the unknown as a soulful epistemology. Once more I would like to underline that such states are part of our natural capacity and can support us towards personal and collective healing and transformation, to create more balanced, sustainable, kind and fulfilling lives. NOTES 1. Soon after the stone journey, which was one of my first encounters with shamanic techniques, I found that my body naturally wanted to move while travelling to the other world. After a quick consultation with Jonathan Horwitz, I followed this instinct. Some shamanic practitioners use dance and song as their main modalities to change consciousness and work with the spirits (see also interview with Jonathan Horwitz in Kieft 2020a). Movement Medicine, being a shamanic approach to movement, underlines this specific modality. 2. Various tree specimen stand model for the sacred World Tree, Tree of Knowledge or Cosmic Tree. In Norse mythology, for example, Yggdrasil – the Ash tree – is the centre and representation of many different worlds and from which Odin was suspended for nine days (Otten 1994). Birch and Oak were revered by North Germanic and Central European cultures (De Cleene and Lejeune 1999). In India, Buddha gained enlightenment under the ‘Pipal’ (or Peepal) tree, now revered as the ‘Bodhi Tree’ (Irwin 1990). In Cabbalah teachings, every human being is considered as a potential tree of life (Colin 2000: 501). The symbolism of world trees seems to rest more in the metaphoric meanings of roots, trunk and branches, the connection between earth and sky and possibly other worlds and the metaphor for planting, growing and harvesting than on the importance of the particular species of tree (Eliade 1972 [1951], Halifax 1982). 3. Most people then find themselves in a tunnel that comes out to a landscape specific to their spirit world geography. Both the state of the tunnel and the type of landscape afterwards may contribute to insights regarding the mission. 4. We access a similar state of consciousness every time we dream. When the REM sleep cycle starts, temporary muscle paralysis occurs (Morley 2013: 97). This is interesting from an evolutionary perspective, as we are of course utterly vulnerable if we cannot move. However, dreaming is such an essential part of our well-being that this vulnerability has not been filtered out as we evolved as a species. 5. Similar philosophies are pantheism and panentheism, but they attribute divine nature to such essence. Pantheism emphasizes immanence, while panentheism recognizes the divine as both immanent and transcendent (Larson 2014). 6. Tylor himself refers further back to Georg Ernst Stahl, who coined ‘animismus’ in 1737 as biological theory in which souls are seen as the vital essence of phenomena (Tylor 1871).

92

Chapter 6

7. McCraty furthermore writes: “The magnetic fields produced by the heart are involved in energetic communication, which we also refer to as cardioelectromagnetic communication. The heart is the most powerful source of electromagnetic energy in the human body, producing the largest rhythmic electromagnetic field of any of the body’s organs. The heart’s electrical field is about 60 times greater in amplitude than the electrical activity generated by the brain. This field, measured in the form of an electrocardiogram (ECG), can be detected anywhere on the surface of the body. Furthermore, the magnetic field produced by the heart is more than 100 times greater in strength than the field generated by the brain and can be detected up to 3 feet away from the body, in all directions” (McCraty 2015: 36). I think this is one of the concrete examples of measurable physical energies that provide a bridge to understanding connections that we cannot ‘see’ or ‘touch’ but that are nevertheless ‘real’. 8. Metaphysical theories of consciousness address the “conscious version of the mind-body problem, ‘what is the ontological status of consciousness relative to the world of physical reality?’” (van Gulick 2018: 22), distinguishing between dualist and physicalist theories. Panpsychism is mentioned as a dualist theory on consciousness (ibid.: 23). 9. Van Gulick sets out by describing different concepts of consciousness, distinguishing between (1) creature consciousness, (2) state consciousness and (3) consciousness as an entity, each of which have further subdivisions. Creature consciousness refers to “an animal, person or other cognitive system” that displays characteristics of sentience, wakefulness, self-consciousness, experiential or sensorial point of view and a certain awareness or direction of attention (which he calls transitive consciousness). State consciousness refers to mental states and processes of awareness and being, of specific qualities and phenomenal states, including access consciousness. He further specifies that “In so far as the information in that state is richly and flexibly available to its containing organism, then it counts as a conscious state in the relevant respect, whether or not it has any qualitative or phenomenal feel” (ibid.). Consciousness as an entity views consciousness as a component of reality that resembles electromagnetic fields more than life processes. He reiterates that consciousness is complex “and understanding it will require a diversity of conceptual tools for dealing with its many differing aspects. (…) As long as one avoids confusion by being clear about one's meanings, there is great value in having a variety of concepts by which we can access and grasp consciousness in all its rich complexity” (van Gulick 2018: 7). 10. Rupert Sheldrake started as biochemist and plant physiologist and then developed his work in the field of parapsychology. 11. All references to Laszlo derive from my personal translations from my Dutch edition back to English. 12. As I understand it, the A-field of the vacuum carries a hologram of our body and brains inside it, and this is the receptor/transmitter that enables the connection between us and other, while simultaneously our brains can process the information from the collective holograms (Laszlo 2004: 93). 13. Christine VanPool states that “all SSC are based on ASC, but not all ASC are SSC”. She distinguishes “between the process of creating a trance states [sic] (ASC)

Expanded Consciousness

93

and the interpretation of these trances as to gain access to the spirit world (SSC)” (VanPool 2009). 14. Jonathan Horwitz often underlines this in workshops but has not yet formally published this. It will be discussed in his upcoming book, which is expected in 2022 (Horwitz personal communication 26.11.2020 and 30.6.2021). 15. Geoffrey Samuel specifies that these states concern individual as well as trans-individual states “which imply the patterning of social relationships around and between individuals” (Samuel 2001: 77). 16. As I indicated in endnote 15 in chapter 1, I have no experience with entheogens and advocate substance-free ways to expand consciousness. Most techniques I apply are easily accessible through breathing techniques, qi gong, improvised conscious movement or shamanic drumming, although a few times a year I use more radical approaches including the 72-hour Movement Medicine Long Dances, or solitary ceremonies such as vision quests in nature and spending nights in Neolithic burial mounds (see chapter 8). 17. Fear might have been fuelled by early descriptions of shamanic trance linked to psychopathology such as psychosis, epilepsy or schizophrenia. Differences, however, are the degree of control and choice that the shaman exercises over the trance state and her skills to bring back information to the everyday reality and interpret and translates the experience in a way that benefits the patient or the community (Grof and Grof 1986, Jakobsen 1999, Walsh 1993). 18. Before I joined the Soul in Nature program where I had the stone journey with which I opened the chapter, my aunt asked me if I was afraid to attend this course. I did not understand her question at the time, as I simply looked forward to meeting new people and learning techniques. Only afterwards I understood her concern, as the experience rocked my world and lead to profound changes in my personal life. Despite having had to make some painful choices to be more congruent with these new ways of knowing and perceiving the world, I never regretted joining the course, and would do so again without hesitation. Facing uncomfortable truths that we cannot ‘unlearn’ after we encounter them is challenging. Therefore, it is important to proceed with care, make sound decisions about reliable teachers and facilitators who empower students to follow their intuition and keep checking in with the appropriate personal depth and speed for integrating any insights. 19. This can be a challenging notion, especially when the body does not feel like a safe space at all. Although healing might be needed before the body can be considered as a safe anchor, working with the spirits can equally provide its own remedies and empowerment. Dissociation, or soul loss, can be addressed with techniques for embodiment (chapter 3) or other healing techniques (chapter 9). In some cases, it might be supportive to find specialist care to work through remaining trauma. 20. Each variation is equally represented in my journey notebooks. It took a few years to not consider the first and second variety as a failure, but I learned that each of those three carries their own magic and healing potential. 21. With an early career grant from Coventry University, I was fortunate to go on a short fieldtrip to Namibia in 2017, to meet the Kalahari Shamans. In the three healing dance ceremonies I attended, I observed that the healers did not always fall to the ground. If it happened, they only remained there briefly and would be lifted

94

Chapter 6

back to their feet by assistants. This appears to be different from Eliade’s description of shamanic flight in which the body is immobilized for much longer (Eliade 1972 [1951]). 22. This quote is derived from an abstract that is no longer available online (Maxfield 2006). https://web​.stanford​.edu​/group​/brainwaves​/2006​/Maxfieldabstract​ .html, accessed March 28, 2019. 23. Indeed, experiencing the wild and polyrhythmic cacophony of sound in Namibia (see endnote 21, this chapter) felt disconcerting at first, because it distracted my mental focus which I then thought was essential to fall into trance as I understood it at the time. However, it woke me up and jolted me into excitement. Perhaps the combination of steady and chaotic beats is needed; the steady beat to anchor “the shaman to the ground while unpredictable off beats and rhythmic variation provide an opportunity for a journey into the spirit lands” (Keeney and Keeney 2018: 197).

Chapter 7

Encountering the Spirits

SNAKE TRAILS From my early 20s, Green Snake started knocking on my door in many ways. Out of character, as I was terrified of snakes, I bought a Green Snake carving. Soon after, she started to appear in my dreams, always with a sense of magic, mystery and medicine. It was as if she brought her essence and healing power to whatever dreamscape I experienced. Over the years I came to understand her as a part that represented my inner dreamer and healer. In 2012, I worked with a shamanic practice called Fire Breath (see for example Tunneshende 1999: 84–5), moving energy through the body through focussed breathing up the back and down the front of the body. This resembles the micro-cosmic orbit and kundalini techniques from eastern practices such as qi gong and tantra, which I learned much later. Breath focusses the attention of the mind and helps circulate energy through the body. Breathing in, one visualizes a stream of energy from the pelvis upward along the spine all the way to the top of the head. Breathing out, the attention and energy travel down via the front midline of the body back to the pelvis. Consciously circulating life force in this way, supports organs and energy centres such as chakras and opens points of tension and blocks within the body. When I started this practice, I struggled getting the energy to flow down through my throat chakra. I practiced each day for a month and added journaling and dancing to learn what was blocking it. The block represented a fear of speaking my truth. To remedy this, I drew a circle surrounded by four archetypes that were present in my personality at the time. I let these archetypes dialog with each other through my dance and my writing, but something seemed to be missing in the communication. One day, I saw Green Snake 95

96

Chapter 7

jump into the centre as fifth archetype, or teacher. The moment she appeared I could perform the Fire Breath without any problem. This combination of experiences led to having a Green Snake tattooed on my left arm, as a visual reminder of this slow and ongoing journey towards finding enough ground and courage to speak my truth. Always in touch with the ground, Snake is deeply associated with earth, sensing the lightest vibrations with her body and assuming the temperature of the environment. In shamanic lore, snakes are often associated with transformation and mystery (Lüttichau 2009). The shedding of skin can teach us to welcome change and be in touch with the life-death-life cycle. The eyes go cloudy just before the shedding starts and return to normal when the process is complete. Shamans deduced that snake travels between different dimensions and literally sees with new eyes afterwards. There is also a strong connection between the creative force and sacred sexuality. In eastern traditions, this is known as kundalini energy, which is coiled up at the base of the spine (Andrews 1997). In Spring 2020, I found a small snake on the road, presumably killed by a car. I sat down next to it, fascinated, somewhat horrified too, observing, listening. I asked if I could work with its body and spirit, and I felt a brief but slightly alien ‘flash’ of permission that illuminated my awareness before it flashed out again. I brought her home and worked with her to preserve her skin. What I had mistaken for spilled guts turned out to be seven small eggs. Maintaining body temperature is especially challenging while a snake carries eggs, so I imagine she was sunbathing on the road when she met her untimely end. I danced to integrate the experience, with her skin lying on my altar. It felt as if another consciousness entered me, as if new software was being uploaded to my system. A few nights later, I set a dream intention to work with the symbol of the eggs. I dreamt I was holding a snake egg in my hand, which in the dream was the size of a chicken egg (in waking reality the eggs had been no bigger than my pink nail). Suddenly, the egg started shining with a golden light from within. This scared me so much that I willed myself to wake up. In the state between dreaming and waking, I worked with what Snake represented to me. That the egg started shining with brilliant golden light pointed me to the concept of the golden shadow (see chapter 9). Most of us are aware of the dark shadow, the parts of ourselves that we want to keep hidden or repressed out of shame or guilt. The golden shadow represents the light, radiant and talented parts of us, which we, all too often, also hide or repress. Entire generations grow up with the belief that it is unsafe to shine, to be different. Perhaps, at times of the inquisition this may have kept us safe, but hiding this essence costs a lot of energy that we do not have available to us in the present moment.

Encountering the Spirits

97

What did it mean to find a part of my golden shadow hidden in a body that disgusts and repels most people and quite frankly scared the shit out of me too? Snake is not only ‘wild’ and potentially poisonous, in this case she was literally damaged goods, with entrails and innards leaking out. In my fear I also attributed powers to her beyond the laws of life. As I was taking her home, I expected her to miraculously spring back to life again. It took courage to pick her up and accept the transformation that she teaches me about. I realized something needed to die before my golden shadow could come to light. What did the old body of the snake represent? I have worked with this since, in further dreams, collage-making, and even in finding the courage to sharing this experience here. Probably 20 years have passed since I bought the wooden carving to which I was intuitively drawn, and which sits on my altar to this day. I came a very long way since, but the journey on the snake trail is ongoing. My experience is that spirits show themselves in many ways, through symbols, feelings and associations, if we are open to see with different eyes like snake when she sheds. ESSENCE SPARKS The previous chapter discussed expanded consciousness in a general sense. Interacting with the ‘spirits’ is a concrete reason to engage with such techniques. I understand spirits as the essence sparks of both animate and nonanimate beings. Spirits are uncannily like the bundles of energy described in a quantum worldview (compare Horwitz, in Kieft 2020a). The way people perceive them is coloured by social and religious influences, mythology, local lore and landscape (see also Morris 2006: 15). There are spirits of natural features such as mountains, lakes or rivers, oceans, forests, trees and plants. This compares to the concept of genius loci, the “intangible quality of a material place, perceived both physically and spiritually” (Vecco 2020), as well as spirits of animals. Hunting communities, for example, will work with spirits of the animals that provide sustenance to the people, such as reindeer or seal, but also those of top predators such as jaguar, bear or wolf. Ancestors form another category of spirits that play a part in most indigenous cultural traditions. Western workshops that introduce ancestors within the practice curriculum are often criticized because this is no longer generally part of our tradition (Cox 2007). However, we all have a concrete ancestral family lineage, as well as a collectively shared evolutionary development, whether or not we are in active acknowledgement of such lineage and kinship (Grau 2015). In addition, when we visit other places, we can connect to the people who lived in that area throughout history and left their marks on the land. We might also recognize ancestors from peoples that we are connected

98

Chapter 7

to through our DNA, even if we might not have a concrete relationship with them in our current life context. Finally, I recognize a lineage of spiritual ancestors, a specific way of life that we might feel inspired by. There is often a historical period with which we resonate, almost as a ‘soul family’ that we seem to know from ‘before’. The term ‘other-than-human-persons’ has been proposed to do justice to the diversity of spirit appearances within nature-based cosmologies (Harvey 2003). I prefer to use the word spirits, as this feels more intimate and personal to me (and paradoxically less ‘othering’ and distancing than the proposed alternative). It also retains the original Latin meaning of ‘spirare’, of breathing and inspiration, emphasizing the exchange between inner and outer, giving and receiving as a characteristic of a mutually inspiring relationship. Alternatives often seem to add to mystification and confusion, while spirit emphasizes the essence of “breath, life, wind, awe, mystery, and invisibility” (Morris 2006: 15). In my understanding, spirits exist both outside of us with their own ontological reality (Hume 2007: 147) and as part of the internal landscape of the perceiver (Young 1994: 183). In an earlier publication (Kieft 2020a), I used the example of the four elements – earth, fire, water and air – which are deeply incorporated in most nature-based traditions.1 Ranging from concrete to abstract, these elements manifest in different ways. First, they have a physical, objective presence outside of us (soil, flame, river or wind). Second, they are represented physically inside the human body (body mass, temperature, fluids, oxygen). Third, emotional or metaphorical qualities of the elements are often incorporated in language (being solid as a rock, on fire, frozen, feeling airy). The fourth and most abstract one is their archetypal energy or spirit essence. Although I cannot ‘explain’ spirits, I have a regular, lived experience of sensing such presences or essence sparks in animate and inanimate phenomena, even if I seldom ‘see’ them. Each morning I light a candle at the breakfast table, giving thanks for a new day and the return of the light. This warm flame feels like a tangible companion to me, with whom I can interact and learn from. It holds the essence of fire, as well as the beings I address with my invocation. Usually, people recognize what their culture trains them to notice, honouring survival needs and the sacred laws of their tradition. Appearance also depends on individual perception. Just as we have different visual, auditory and kinaesthetic learning styles, spirits can be perceived as images, symbols, colours, through sounds or other senses, somatic feelings and through abstract shapes or words in our minds. This means that there is a unique interaction between perceiver and perceived, that is, spirits manifest itself in forms and contexts that the human person will recognize, while in turn the human person will recognize the spirits in their own way. The process appears to be

Encountering the Spirits

99

one of mutual interaction, co-created by the human and other-than-humanpartner (see also Morris 2006: 15), even though the spirit essence will be mediated through the physicality of the human person. Having grown up in a protestant environment and with a deep affinity for mythology influences the symbols, spirits and archetypes in my journeys. I never encountered devas or the Buddha, but have ‘met’ Mary and Jesus in my journeys, as well as various Greek and Celtic goddesses (Kieft 2020a).2 The language of spirits or gods as immanent in the human being has largely disappeared in western cultures, so that we mostly think of this language as ‘poetic’ (Samuel 1990: 134, 2001: 74). In other contexts, spirits, such as Tibetan tantric deities and entities of the West African Yoruba, are considered to have their own temperament, generating a specific atmosphere and mood, also reflecting human states (Samuel 1990: 129–35). In classic Greece and Rome, gods and goddesses were seen as “forces within the world because they were forces within the minds of human beings” (Samuel 1990: 135, emphasis added). In the (tantric) Buddhist practice of becoming the White Tara, the deity who can appear in 21 different manifestations is seen as: both a ‘state’ of the individual and a ‘state’ of the social order. She can also be seen, in Tibetan terms, as a particular distribution of prana within the psychic structure of the individual. We could partially translate this into several Western scientific vocabularies, as corresponding to specific emotional states, patterns of neural activity, hormonal distributions within the body, or patterns of muscular activity and relaxation. (Samuel 2001: 81)

These forces are not described as distinct and separate, which resonates with my personal experience of entering a state of awareness in which duality lifts and a sense of continuity between ‘self’ and ‘other’ emerges. This compares to what feminist scholars of the sacred refer to as god(dess) avatars, viewing the divine as plural and processual (Watterson 2019, Cashford and Baring 1991). LEVELS OF COMMUNION We are now diving deeper into the practice of entrancing the body to communicate and dance with the spirits. Like any practice, this can be done at various levels of intensity. Dancing with the intangible is not necessarily about following specific steps or a routine, nor is it (necessarily) about exuberant and wild movements. Non-repetitive, improvised movement can also enable a shift of perception. Movements can be incredibly small, indeed almost

100

Chapter 7

imperceptible, or in the imagination only. Even standing still can allow for picking up subtleties in a nuanced way, observing “events that the consciousness is not causing” (Steve Paxton in Nelson 2015: 38, 39). The ontic shift in this case happens through coming into conscious connection with the essence of a being such as a tree or animal and allowing that connection to move the body. The moving body becomes a sensitive antenna that transmits as well as receives information from all around, across species and across space and time. This way, movement does not only stimulate knowledge arising from the many ‘layers’ of the body (including the unconscious) but also provides a way to access the larger mind of nature. Awareness of mind, heart and body can be trained to drop into ‘simply’ being present at the moment. As with shamanic journeys, a clearly focussed intention will benefit the experience. This can be asking a question, expressing gratitude and appreciation, inviting support, insight or guidance, or simply enjoying a moment of shared presence. Whatever the intention, spending time in such communion usually has an invigorating effect. Coming into conscious relationship is what matters, and this is a two-way process. As in any mutually respectful relationship, connection and intimacy happen in various steps and degrees. Below I introduce the etiquette of initiating contact, followed by four nuances of dancing with the spirits. The first three describe steps of increasing intensity in the here and now, while the fourth dances with spirits and events across time. Spirit Etiquette Just as with any relationship, connections include a respectful introduction (beginning), a consent to spend time together and a completion (ending). It is always courteous to approach a being, introduce yourself and ask permission to spend some time together. Hello Tree, my name is Eline, can I please sit in your shade? Greetings River, may I dance with the currents of your waters? Hi Nettle, are you in the mood for a little wiggle together? Through calibrating the body and increased embodiment (see chapter 3), we can sense the ‘response’ to our approach intuitively with our whole body, instead of with our ears only. This varies from person to person. Sensations of warming, softening, tingling or opening; or feelings of calmness, playfulness, joy might indicate a positive welcome. In contrast, sensations such as cooling, tightening, prickly electricity or closing and feelings such as anxiety or fear might indicate a negative response. Indications can also come through external sensations, such as a beam of sunlight, the sound of birdsong or sirens, a soft whisper of wind in the trees. When we strengthen our connection with the world around us, it starts to communicate to us symbolically. This communication arrives in and resonates through our awareness and embodiment. The more intimately we know our bodies through

Encountering the Spirits

101

interoception, the more we become perceptive to changes. We can discern what arises from within our system and which arrives as an answer to a specific enquiry. Of course, if we perceive the response to our invitation as negative, we withdraw respectfully. I always give thanks for the experience and ask what I can do in return, to honour the mutual reciprocity. In my first journey and many times since, the spirits just asked me to keep dancing with them. Jonathan Horwitz and Zara Waldebäck recognize that as a regular request, so this is not just typical for my love of dance (Kieft 2020a). And then, just as with any interaction there is a moment of saying goodbye, and perhaps an intention to reconnect at a later time. Dancing With After the introduction, we gauge willingness and ask for permission to take the next step. Dancing with a being is like any other dance with a partner, a ‘conversation’ in movement, with questions and responses (that can also be questions!), with pauses, and often with a humorous and playful quality to it. Rather than through words, the connection is mediated through the moving, sensing and listening body, with an interest in learning about the other. We engage with an open mind and senses, to receive and respond to this other being. There is still a distinction between the tree ‘there’ and us ‘here’, recognizing the life force that moves through different forms. It requires very little movement. The dance can simply be an awareness of each other’s presence, the human breathing, the tree rustling its leaves. To dance with, we can use techniques of observation, mirroring or mimicking described in chapter 5. Imagine dancing with a tree. We can embody the structure and movements of the tree within the human body. Embodied imagination allows for a sensation of roots going deep down into the earth and branches reaching up to the sky. The trunk might be straight with rhythmically extending branches, or it might be a gnarly twisted tree full of spirals, or unexpected protrusions. Our tree partner might be a young sapling or an ancient one who weathered many storms. That inspires different movements and calls forth different metaphors. We observe our emotional responses of comfort and discomfort, of familiarity and unfamiliarity. Perhaps we experience comfort in bend-overness, with the head tucked in between the shoulders and slightly facing away. How would it feel to stand up tall, stretch the spine and lift the chin? Vice versa, if familiarity lies in being tall and straight, what can be discovered through spiralling, bending and knotted movements? Through experiencing such metaphors in motion, our partner shows us insights from their experience that can encourage us to enquire into our strengths and growth areas.

102

Chapter 7

Dancing As If it feels appropriate, a next step can be to invite the spirit of the tree into our body. Deeper into the entrancement, the boundaries of self and other dissolve even further, and the tree essence begins to move the human body. So far, we have been dancing with the tree, now we are dancing as We surrender our body to our tree partner,3 receiving its essence into ourselves (mingling human and tree awareness). This is a more intimate involvement than the previous step of dancing with. What observations and processes happen within the tree being? What is its vantage point? Who lives on its skin? Who nests in its branches? What requirements for nutrition, light and diversity might there be? This also includes connections to other beings and species, through mutualism, commensalism, symbiotic or in some cases parasitic relationships. Dancing as fosters a deeper understanding, as we learn directly, experientially, viscerally, from our dance partner whom we can ask “‘please show me how to dance’, or ‘please teach me your dance’” (Zara Waldebäck in Kieft 2020a). Anyone, regardless of cultural background or training, can learn from such other-thanhuman perspectives. Better understanding often leads to empathy and bonding, and therefore to sustainability since we care for what we love. In nature-based traditions, this step is referred to as ‘shape-shifting’ (see for example Eliade 1972 [1951]: 459–61), and consists of shifting consciousness to embody an animal or natural feature. Rock art, cave paintings and other archaeological artefacts often show figures that are part human and part animal, such as a human body with antlers or panther feet, suggesting that this practice has a long-standing history and wide geographical spread (Guenther 2015). Many traditions recognize both animals and humans as ‘persons’ with a personhood with fluid boundaries and the ability to shift between different species. In some cultures, this means that animals might also shape-shift to humans (Kohn 2013). In most situations, however, the process seems to be initiated by the human person. Experienced shamans are reported to actually shift their energetic body into, for example, the body of their power animal (Kohn 2013). However, “the shaman does not literally become an animal or occupy the materiality of another body; it is the shaman’s heart, via song, that becomes inseparable from the other” (Keeney and Keeney 2018).4 This practice deepens the sense of interconnection with nature. The invisible world contributes to gaining information from different perspectives and experiencing specific attributes and strengths of, in this case, the animal. Such qualities are also developed both in techniques for Animal Communication (Breytenbach and Franses 2015) and for surviving dangerous situations by hiding or becoming an invisible part of the natural surroundings (see for example Conway 2000: 203–5. Harner 1980: 66–8, Stevens and Stevens 1988: 83–4). In most basic western shamanic books and courses, people are invited to meet their power animal and to dance with it to deepen that relationship and

Encountering the Spirits

103

integrate its energy and teachings into daily life. Also, conscious dance practices such as Movement Medicine (Darling Khan and Darling Khan 2009) and 5rhythms™ (Roth and Loudon 1990 [1989]) often include exercises that shift to animal body awareness, such as imagining moving with a tail, on four soft paws, or with wings. This immediately creates a shift in posture, movement range and perception (see also Kieft 2020a). Being Danced The most radical step continues on from dancing as to being danced. The human person gets fully out of the way and consciously surrenders the body to be moved by the other-than-human-being. This can serve various purposes. It can give voice to beings that cannot speak in language as we know it, so they can communicate what they need to express through moving us. It can also provide a conduit for healing energy such as the Kalahari n/om, or pertain a form of possession trance, in which a deity enters a human body. Examples include Japanese shamanic Shinto dance called Kagura (Averbuch 1998) and dances of the African diaspora (Daniel 2017).5 This too is a twoway ability: a human person can enter the form of a deity, as well as a deity can enter a human person. The experience of being moved by other is extraordinary, profound and often defies imagination. Whether it is a little bug who dances me, the Amazon rain forest, or the spirit of Benevolent Death, making way for ‘other’ changes my normal movement vocabulary. Each of us has a signature style, which is suddenly different when being danced. My limbs move in new ways, the density or lightness as well as the range of motions and even flexibility can be significantly altered. When the spirit leaves, I usually experience an elevated sense of energy that often lasts for 24 hours and I feel inspired by insights from a very different perspective. It puts the worries of my human mind in perspective of the greater cycle of life-death-life and always leaves me feeling more empowered. I come back with a lived experience of knowing that there is so much more to life than my individual outlook. Like trance experience in general, being danced often has a negative connotation for westerners despite local historic and religious traces. For example, ancient cults of ecstatic worship (of Dionysus in Greece and Bacchus in Rome) included a form of enthousiasmos, literally “having the god within oneself” (Ehrenreich 2007: 33–5). Christianity has an ambivalent relationship with such practices, but among others, the Pentecostal tradition aims for an openness to and an expression of God “upon and through” the participant, in part with the aim of healing (Hume 2007: 70). Voluntarily surrendering one’s body to energy, spirit or deity in this way should not be confused with unwanted energies that attach themselves to humans, either as an effect of mental illness,

104

Chapter 7

or through malevolent practices of power abuse and black magic. In other cases, however, this is a normal part of human experience that, with appropriate guidance and in a safe container, can be enriching and rewarding. The difference between possession and shape-shifting seems to be that with shape-shifting both partners maintain their own identity. In case of a living, animate partner, it is as if temporarily two hearts beat in one body. With possession, the soul and identity of the human disappear for a time, to make way for the divine being.6 Early Sanskrit texts of the Vedic tradition loosely distinguished between shape-shifting and possession. Shape-shifting was occasionally used to assume a suitable shape for a specific physical medium or situation, for example, changing into the form of a bird in order to fly through the air. However, it does not encompass internal shifts of identity or transformations of mental and psychological states that are a characteristic of possession. (Smith 2006: 196)

As implied in the description of the last two steps, none of these experiences are limited to trees. We can also dance with and as, and be danced by, individual animals, a species, ecosystem or habitat and even surrender our dancing body to an ancestor or cultural or historic event as we will see in the next section. Across Time Awareness of personal and collective ancestral information is part of many somatic practices (Cohen 1993). A simple yet profound start to engage with such information can be to imagine our ancestors behind us. In addition, we can meet an ancestor as we met other spirits earlier in this chapter. This can be achieved by sensing them at our backs and turning around to face them, or by visualizing walking back into time. We can apply all the above steps, from connection, to dancing with, dancing as and being danced by an ancestor. In the latter case, temporarily surrendering the body to a specific ancestor often shifts the dancer’s posture and awakens unusual emotions not specific to the person.7 During the earlier mentioned yearly field trip with anthropology students from University College London,8 I always invite the students to dance with the ancestors. Regardless of their cultural background and/or initial scepticism, many of these young people are deeply moved when they encounter one of their ancestors and the transformative power they experience in that exchange. In a similar way, it is possible to work with experiences that we do not recognize from our current life. I have danced situations that felt viscerally familiar, such as captivity, rape and torture that I thankfully did not experience

Encountering the Spirits

105

in my current life. Nevertheless, they had a strong presence in my consciousness, influencing my thought patterns, actions and overall well-being in a sometimes debilitating way. They appear to be rooted in the collective unconscious. Historic and cultural events (such as slavery, inquisition, war, famine or the great depression) as well as cultural movements (communism, capitalism, Calvinism) and religious views (regarding women, procreation, abortion, sexuality, LGBT rights, divorce) create profound effects in culture, psyche, and behaviour that we may not even be aware of. They were essential for survival at the time and then became an unquestioned part of our personal and collective acculturation. Just like dancing with, dancing as and being danced by trees, animals, spirits, deities, oceans or rainforests in the previous section, we can dance with ancestors and events across time. Through movement in a ceremonial space, we can access personal or collective situations, as well as ancestors from our biological or spiritual lineage. This enables powerful healing that liberates adverse external patterns that entwined themselves with our being. As with any relationship, the more we show up, the more responsive spirit seems to become, alerting us to its presence in many ways. In the liminality of ceremonial space, the awareness of the intangible can be heightened even more by enabling a further dissolving of boundaries of time and place, self and other, memory and imagination to establish a tangible connection with the otherworld. NOTES 1. Traditional Chinese Medicine applies a different system of five elements (metal, water, wood, fire, earth) that are represented in the body energetically through meridians and acupressure points (Beinfield and Korngold 1991). 2. Not counting outdoor meditations, initiation ceremonies or danced journeys in Movement Medicine contexts or on my own, this statement is based on 180 documented journeys in the approach I was taught by Jonathan Horwitz and Zara Waldebäck from the Scandinavian Center for Shamanic Studies. 3. My understanding of these deeper levels of communion (especially dancing as, being danced and across time) is influenced by my training both with Jonathan Horwitz and Zara Waldebäck, as well as with Ya’Acov and Susannah Darling Khan. I detail Jonathan and Zara’s approach in an article on dancing with the spirits, based on an exclusive interview with them (Kieft 2020a). In preparation for this book, Susannah Darling Khan also generously explained the roots and background of Movement Medicine’s ‘stepping into exercise’ to embody other beings, archetypes, qualities and aspects of life. All text between quotation marks within this endnote is gratefully derived from this personal communication (Darling Khan 2021).

106

Chapter 7

The ‘stepping into practice’ is inspired by two specific lineages. First, by Susannah’s training in gestalt psychotherapy, which proposes the ‘two cushion method’ that enables “a dialogue between different aspects of ourselves, or to imaginatively come into embodying the presence of another, so that we may explore the relational field from the point of view of embodied projection”. In addition, Hellinger’s Family Constellations offer techniques to explore different parts of a system event, even across space and time (see also Cohen 2006, Whittington 2016, Hellinger and Longstaff 2001). Movement Medicine combines these two lineages in the geography of the dance floor. Areas can be demarcated to represent a person or being, or generic aspects such as past or future, an element or a place. The act of “stepping into that space” and such “deep embodied role play” seems to create a link with “the vibrational (or knowing) field (…) through the antennae of our attuned bodies, hearts and minds”, pointing “to the mysterious way in which we are part of a larger system”. The metaphorical mind, which “thinks in pictures and images”, and the interoceptive body that can move with any emotions that arise are two important components of this work. This practice is fundamental to Movement Medicine as it appears to increase compassion and strengthen awareness of interconnection, which is considered essential to address sustainable ways of living in which humans, earth and biosphere and “every aspect of life can thrive”. Susannah underlines the importance of inclusivity of all parts of self and system for true resolution, healing and transformation to happen. By “embodying these different aspects and places within the system (. . .) we are constellating in an embodied and experiential way an inclusive picture of life, of our world” (end of quotes derived from Darling Khan 2021). 4. Chris Low writes about the understanding of such shape-shifting by Kalahari medicine men: “Some Khoesan alternatively think more in terms of substantiated animal helpers lodged and woken within themselves, which they conceive as the wind or spirit or smell of the animal living inside them. To fully wake these powers requires dancing to a point of overload or rebirth. This is similar to the vodou feint. It is achieved by dancing cycles of increasing intensity until a dancer has peaked. A similar recalibration or half-death is practiced by some Damara (. . .). This seems to affect a ‘rewiring’ of established mental and neuromuscular pathways” (Low 2015: 51). 5. For a discussion of spirit possession or possession trance, see, for example, Ehrenreich (2007), Hume (2007), Jankowsky (2007), Keeney (2007), Morris (2006), Samuel (2008), Hanna (1987), Janowsky (2007), and Gore (1995). 6. This is a personal hunch, I have yet to find literature to support this. 7. Stepping into and surrendering the body to a living relative or personal ancestor should ideally only be done under guidance of an experienced facilitator, as not to trigger any physical, emotional or psychological trauma experienced in this current life. 8. See chapter 5, section on Reconnecting with Nature, particularly endnote 3 in chapter 5.

Chapter 8

The Cauldron of Ceremony

DREAMING WITH THE ANCESTORS Neolithic ritual landscapes have always exercised a strong pull on me. I spent many hours, days and even nights in stone circles and burial mounds all over the United Kingdom, Ireland and more recently in Brittany, France. Walking in the footsteps of the ancestors, I imagine how they participated in the life of the land and the cycles of nature, the meanings they might have attributed to specific places by the sea, in the woods, on forlorn cliffs and peninsula. Around the 2018 summer solstice, I stayed a night in the West Kenneth Long Barrow, in Avebury, UK, which I had done twice before. This time I invited a friend to join me. During the day we walked ‘through Pagan pastures’.1 Every step was part of the preparation, introducing myself to the land and letting the spirits and time wrap themselves around me. During the brief rest afterwards, my ego invented many reasons to cancel the ceremony: I’m too tired, I need my sleep for the next few weeks of work; my body is too sore; we’re paying for this very nice B&B, so why rough it in the burial mound? Perhaps we can do a shorter ceremony so that at least we’ll get some proper sleep.

Continuing when the apparent absurdity kicks in is often one of the hardest stages of ceremony for me. Over the years I learned to remember my motivation for performing a particular ceremony in the first place and the preparations I already put in. This time too, I recalled my deep longing to visit the ancestors and ask for guidance regarding a pending work decision. My friend and I entered the Barrow just before 7 p.m. Other people came in while we were setting up the altar: ‘are you going to have a picnic?’ 107

108

Chapter 8

‘Yeah, something like that’. Just as we were finishing the invocation, a man and woman arrived. While I continued drumming, I explained that we were celebrating the solstice, and that they were welcome to join us. The man had brought a crystal singing bowl, which he started playing after a while. The sound gradually built up until it was echoing off the walls. When it was almost tangible to touch, it felt as if the ancestors truly ‘woke up’. Later, the silence was thick with presence. When the pair left, my friend and I continued with our gratitudes and prayers. As the cold started to creep up on us, we snuggled up in our sleeping bags. It was one of those amazing nights when waking and dreaming seamlessly blend. I had three significant dreams that all featured the Barrow, which expanded and shrunk according to the dream. My friend was also present in all dreams, as she was in everyday reality, just across from me, together in the belly of the Barrow. First, a baby raven snuggled up under my shirt when I was asleep. Its movement and the feeling of warm feathery body in my hands were so real that it woke me up in the dream, and I realized I was dreaming.2 Baby Raven looked at me. There was an immediate relationship and trust. We gazed at each other for a long, long time, with a sense of mystery and humour. At some point I tickled her, but she didn’t like that and shook me off indignantly. After a while she hopped away through the passageway, out into the night. In the second dream, there was a festive party in the Barrow. People were dressed up and celebrating. I spoke to an old man about my earlier baby raven dream. He said: ‘This is your new medicine’. He also told me ‘we need to live, really live, in order to tell stories. And the stories and images need to be so thick and tangible that listeners can feel their lovers’ sperm on their thighs’. In the third dream, a group of school children arrived. The children were between 3 and 12 years old, dressed in traditional Tibetan costume of varied colours. I said hi and asked why they were here. ‘To play our game’. ‘What’s your game?’ ‘Oh, the game is different now’. ‘Why?’ ‘Because you are in it’.

Normally they found the Barrow empty, and they seemed surprised that we were here. ‘So, what’s the game?’ ‘It’s dancing the dance of life, and the goal is to learn a new move’.

The Cauldron of Ceremony

109

My friend and I were invited to join them. The children seemed to move in random patterns across the Barrow, each doing his/her own thing. There weren’t any apparent rules. It was about exploration, discovery. One of the older girls explained: ‘Everyone learns at their own pace. Some people learn three new moves in an evening, others only one in a lifetime. Both are good. We can all still play together.’

At dawn we cleared up the altar, gave thanks to spirit and all the help and inspiration we received, released and closed the circle. Full of the night’s experiences we greeted the rising sun. Experiences such as these, involving ceremony, dreaming and symbols, inspire me for many years afterwards as I am trying to understand and integrate what I learned at that moment. They are an incredibly rich and nourishing part of my life, and well worth overcoming the resistance in the early stages. In this case, the combination of insights contributed to my decision to leave academia and embark on an independent adventure. RITUAL AND CEREMONY Rituals and ceremonies can be studied from a variety of perspectives, focussing on their function and efficacy, symbolism, psychological or social elements (Greenwood 2000: 34). They are generally considered as a bridge between the ordinary and the otherworldly of spirit, imagination and the mystical, deliberately opening a place to communicate with other dimensions. They can be rites of passage or life cycle rites; calendrical rites, rites of exchange and communion; ceremonies for feasting, fasting and festival; for healing; and to address human rights and politics (Bell 1997). The words ritual and ceremony are often used as synonyms, yet what most scholars and ceremonial leaders label as ‘ritual’, I prefer to call ‘ceremony’. For me, ‘ritual’ is a specific conscious action that is performed regularly, such as purposefully lighting a candle, giving thanks before a meal or even making a pot of Jasmine tea each morning. It is an activity with personal significance and a symbolic sense of connection that usually follows the same steps every time. I also consider a shamanic journey as described in chapter 6 as a ritual. Although it is more elaborate than lighting a candle, it always unfolds along the same sequence, and I perform it randomly, many times a year. ‘Ceremony’ on the other hand has a wider intention such as celebrating the seasons, acknowledging a specific life event, transforming a particular experience or situation or performing a healing. I consider the night in the Barrow as a ceremony,

110

Chapter 8

in which I aligned with and celebrated the summer solstice, gave thanks for all the gifts in my life and asked for guidance for my next steps. Weddings, baptisms, funerals would be western examples of ceremony. Initiations, sweat lodges and vision quests are examples of indigenous ceremonies. Both rituals and ceremonies can be performed solo or with others and can take place in secular or spiritual context. Ceremonies usually require more planning, are more elaborate and longer, and consist of clear phases ‘before, during and after’. Finally, whereas rituals might include a subtle or personal shift in consciousness, ceremonies often involve a more substantial altering of time-space awareness and embodied ecstasy. If effective, participants leave with a sense of change or transformation. Ceremonies establish a conscious, sacred space between worlds that allow participants to connect both to their inner world and to other dimensions of reality. In touch with cosmic forces and energies, the ‘ordinary’ self can expand into something greater. Although ritual consciousness “calls upon and utilises the same (re)sources as our everyday selves” (Greenwood 2000: 41), these resources become heightened in the magical space and can bring about transformation and healing. To facilitate this, ceremonial space is “deliberately constructed, prepared, consecrated and reinforced to be a reservoir for an amplification of power and resources (emotional, physical, spiritual)” (Wiccan Ken Rees in Greenwood 2000: 41). MAPS OF SACRED SPACE There are many types of sacred spaces. Some are natural areas such as moors, ancient forests, mountains, caves and seashores that open a mysterious sensation of being in-between worlds, between past and future, between above and below. Twilight is an otherworldly zone in time as well, when the light is shifting and it is no longer day, but not yet night. Others are architectural sacred spaces with a mystical atmosphere such as labyrinths, Neolithic stone rows and circles, burial mounds, temple ruins and some churches. The quality of air and light appears to be different. Upon entering, one can feel touched and lifted by the sacred, as if there is a tangible channel to a cosmic energy source. Museums or libraries can also exude this quality, like a portal into another world. Even places that serve a different purpose such as school gyms, village halls or conference rooms can be temporarily consecrated through ceremonial actions. In addition to these actual, two- or three-dimensional structures that one can physically enter, there are many symbolic representations of sacred space. The circle as a geometric form often symbolizes an amplification chamber of sacred space, with specific language as a system for channelling

The Cauldron of Ceremony

111

cosmic and mystical power (Greenwood 2000: 36). Examples are the sacred circle in Western Pagan approaches and the medicine wheel in First Nations traditions, which usually apply cardinal directions to map, navigate and facilitate the connections with the otherworld. These directions often correspond to the four elements – earth, fire, water and air – and further associations such as emotions, animals, esoteric beings, seasons or age-connections assigned to each direction, or ‘quarter’. In my view, it is more important that the variety of aspects is represented, than where each is located specifically. 3 The circle or map functions as a visual representation of physical and subtle energies that exist everywhere within and around us. Buddhist practices work with mandalas, the Sanskrit word for ‘circle’. These are symbolic diagrams that represent a specific worldview or ‘imago mundi’, or in other words a “re-enactment of the cosmic drama and a pilgrimage of the soul” (Cooper 1978: 103). The centre of the mandala functions both as a point of departure and return and can be used as an aid for concentration and meditation. All things emerge from it, revolve around it and return to it in two complementary movements. The outward movement from the centre to the circumference compares to “the journey into manifestation and multiplicity”, while the inward movement draws this “multiplicity back to unity, to harmony, knowledge and illumination” (Cooper 1978: 32). This unity takes place both with one’s own spiritual centre and possibly with(in) the great mystery. This shows similarities with labyrinths as sacred spaces, offering a path that weaves from outside to inside and back, turning in on itself many times.4 Another representation of sacred space is the ‘mesa’, a shamanic concept from various traditions including the Peruvian Andes and the Pueblo people of Arizona. The mesa has multiple expressions. It can refer to a concrete, geographical place. In Spanish, ‘mesa’ “means ‘table’ or ‘natural flat surface’ such as a field or hilltop”.5 It is also a translation of mythology to ceremonial space with concrete spatial dimensions or, in other words, the map within which a shaman works. This map includes a world axis with a centre and four directions (Geertz 1984) like the medicine wheel described above.6 Furthermore, mesa is the carry-on healing altar of the shaman, with “a collection of medicine objects” (Villoldo 2000: 51fn). Finally, it can refer to the energetic ceremonial space, or a ceremony itself (Walter and Neumann Fridman 2004: 443, Glass-Coffin 2010: 208).7 PREPARATION While the map describes the landscape of the sacred, the ceremony itself compares to transportation there and back. Most ceremonies consist of three carefully orchestrated stages, with different components within each.8 First is

112

Chapter 8

the preparation, which can take weeks or even months by itself. This includes setting an intention for and designing the ceremony. Through symbolic behaviour such as gathering materials, making sacred art or otherwise reflecting on the theme, participants involve body, heart, mind and psyche in the process to prepare themselves for heightened awareness. Closer to the time this can also include geographical movement to the location of the ceremony, fasting, dressing up in special gear or symbolic clothes and jewellery, and applying make-up or other body decorations. All such activities signal that a special event is about to occur. At the beginning of the actual ceremony, the sacred space is established physically and energetically. A circle or square might be outlined with sticks, stones, ribbons, flour or rice, or drawn in sand or soil. Setting up an altar and invoking otherworldly help change the quality of time-space awareness and support a shift in consciousness while preparing to enter the unknown. Victor Turner described this first stage as a process of separation, of “detachment of the individual or group either from an earlier fixed point in the social structure, from a set of cultural conditions (a ‘state’), or from both” (2007 [1968]: 94). As a metaphor for this stage, one could imagine a ship that has been prepared and stocked for a voyage. The crew and travellers have gathered on board and are ready to leave.9 The time just before calling the spirits and opening the ceremonial container is often the most challenging for me. Still part of the first preparatory phase, but coming closer to the heart of the ceremony, this is when I am most tempted to ‘stop all this nonsense’ and abandon the plan. I experience this in many different forms, some of which I described in the anecdote at the opening of this chapter. Resistance includes logistic sensibilities, concerns for my body, frustration, fear and rage for engaging in such a ridiculous task, wishing for an external excuse to withdraw and in one extreme case my ego even threatened to kill me ‘if I survived this stupid ceremony’. The emotions that come up in the face of ceremony are some of the strongest I experience, which I perceive as a clever way of my ego to resist change of the status quo.10 Doing ceremony solo or in a group makes a difference. In a group, there is a sense of collectively carried momentum. Even when one person temporarily loses courage, the flow of preparation continues. Responsibilities are shared, and each person contributes in their own way. Often different tasks are assigned to teams with specific skills, strength or energy levels, so that everyone can contribute. For example, serving tea or light bites is as important as preparing the terrain, collect the wood, build the fire and so on. The collective effort strengthens the ceremonial container later on. In solo ceremony, performing all practical tasks as well as keeping courage fall to the individual with his/her spirit world support. All these preparations invite a surrender to the unknown.

The Cauldron of Ceremony

113

INTO THE UNKNOWN In the second stage, the metaphorical ship leaves the harbour, sailing into the unknown. The ceremonial intention determines the direction of travel. Activities planned beforehand (journaling, working with ritual objects, dancing, burning something in the fire, performing a healing) will give structure to that intention. This stage is often seen as the core of the ceremony, suspended between the worlds and outside of clock time. It is referred to as a ‘liminal’ space that is neither here nor there but rather ‘betwixt and between’ (Turner 1974: 232). Liminality is derived from the Latin word ‘limen’ for threshold, implying a transition from one space to another. With reference to ceremony, the threshold is not a two-dimensional line that separates one space from another (such as two rooms), but a three-(or multi-)dimensional sphere suspended between the old (pre-ceremony) and the future (post-ceremony) state of the participant. Even though Victor Turner adopted the concept of liminal space originally introduced by Van Gennep, he reflected that ‘cunicular’ would have been a better term (Turner 1974: 231–2). ‘Cunicular’ refers to being in a tunnel rather than being on a threshold. Like concepts of a black box or cauldron, this does better justice to the multi-dimensional container in which the work happens. Either way, the second stage of the ceremony is a place of possibilities, a zone of experience and ritual creativity, also referred to as ‘the mythic center’ or even ‘the collective unconscious’ (Grimes 1992). In a way, liminal space is everywhere, always just outside our regular attention. It is a border zone of wider awareness that can be dipped into spontaneously, via the pathways to expanded consciousness discussed in chapters 6 and 7, and via ceremony which provides guided transitions across the border and back into daily life. Liminality has different components. It enables communication with other dimensions through sacred objects such as art works, masks or instruments, and specific activities such as dancing or performing an instructional (mythical) narrative. Also, being in-between allows for a de- and reconstruction of patterns concerning personal values, habitual thoughts and behaviour, or relationships. Another aspect of liminality prompts an equality among the participants, a levelling out of hierarchies in which relationships between self and authority can be addressed and new identities formed (Deflem 1991). This aspect forms the basis of Turner’s famous concept of communitas (Turner 1974: 45–7). According to him, transformation can only happen in a liminal space because it requires freedom from the socio-structural rules of everyday life, which are temporarily abandoned there (Turner 1982: 84). Viewing liminality as a prerequisite for change underlines the importance of ceremony for development and growth, both individually and collectively.

114

Chapter 8

RETURN AND INTEGRATION The third and final stage of ceremony is that of completion and integration.11 Once the intention is fulfilled, the ceremonial space slowly condenses back to everyday time-space dimensions. The perception of the spirit realm starts to thin, and everyday reality becomes more tangible. As the ceremonial space is closed, participants return to a regular state of consciousness. Depending on the experience, this can be an utterly vulnerable or highly joyful time, and this transition should not be rushed. Staying with the metaphor of a sea voyage, a shift has happened in which people arrive at a radically new coast or perceive the familiar old shore through new eyes. Either way, the parameters of physical reality return, and it can sometimes feel as if spirit or consciousness no longer fits the body in the same way. It may be helpful to remain silent for a while. At other times talking about the experience is more beneficial. It is often good to eat something or perform a simple task such as washing dishes to ground the body after the experience. Ceremony can be followed by a long and sometimes confusing time. This third stage, especially to reach full integration, can take weeks, months or even years. In many ways, it is on return to everyday life that the real work happens. The insights gained in the liminal space might need translation and careful tending to bring them into manifestation. It is good to bear in mind that spirit is not familiar with the physical limitations of being in a body such as the need for rest and food. That usually means that integration of new understandings requires patience and plenty of time. As ceremony changes us, it also may affect our existing relationships. Certain habitual patterns may no longer feel right, and a new balance might be called for. It takes kindness, courage and consistency to consciously and compassionately choose actions that are congruent with the insights received in ceremony. MEANING AND EFFICACY OF CONTEMPORARY REINVENTIONS Like alternative spiritual movements discussed in chapter 1, contemporary ceremonies are critiqued for being individualized and eclectic events that lack integrity, authenticity and significance. However, symbolic meaning and efficacy of ceremonial activities can never be generalized, nor are ritual and ceremony meaningful in and of themselves. Although there is power in repeating time-tested ceremonies when participants feel aligned with a well-established energetic form field, there is also power in uniquely designed, one-off ceremonies created to mark a specific occasion. Indeed, there is a compelling argument for reconstructing, improvising and reinventing ceremony at all

The Cauldron of Ceremony

115

times, because ceremonial consciousness draws from implicit and embodied tacit knowledge, which cannot be learned or repeated by rote (Grimes 1992: 37, following Sperber 1975, my emphasis). Ceremony has the power to connect us to something outside ourselves, and perhaps we could consider symbols as the conductors of that power. A felt connection to those symbols is an essential ingredient for perceiving the numinous. Symbols are inherently personal; they evoke rather than refer. Just as smells are extraordinary powerful yet difficult to recall, rationalize, classify or describe in words, symbols focus our attention, recall memories and open gateways of intuition, receptivity and communication. There is no rationalization necessary to experience ceremonial meaning, nor does ceremony need to lead to religious ideas or political manifestos that establish their meaning (Grimes 1992: 35–6). In response to the above critiques, I developed a ceremonial performance recipe that has remained relatively constant over the years, with variations to adapt to specific circumstances. I intuitively tune into what a situation calls for, draw inspiration from other ceremonial designs and integrate previous experiences both as participant and ceremonial leader in various contexts. When preparing a ceremonial space, I greet and ask permission from the guardians and spirits of the place where the ceremony is intended. Using similar steps of listening with all senses as described in earlier chapters, I pay attention to sensations of affirmation, welcome and invitation, or denial block, closure or lack of permission. If the answer is positive, I establish the sacred space, usually a circle and a dome. I clearly state the intention for the ceremony and ask (specific) spirits, guides and healers to be present, generally ending with an additional welcome to any being who is willing to support this ceremony for the benefit of all our relations. The symbols I choose in a solo ceremony are personal to me and do not have to be understood or shared by others to make the ceremony meaningful. Guiding ceremonial spaces for individuals and groups, I choose more generic symbols that align with the overall intention. As ceremonial leader, I still need to have a strong personal connection to them to create a bridge for others to another world. That compares to choosing music for a dance space; if the music does not resonate with me as a facilitator, I cannot meaningfully invite others to move to it. In addition to symbols that will help me create such bridge in collective ceremonies, I often ask participants to design and create their own ‘sacred objects’ and connect with their personal spirit guides. This way people have their own conductors to communicate with the otherworld, and we collectively strengthen the connections to the ceremonial space. Although planning and designing a ceremony is a left-brain, cerebral activity, the ceremony itself is carried by right-brain capacities such as intuition.

116

Chapter 8

Perhaps this is one of the reasons for confusion in ritual and ceremonial critiques. Modern science is not equipped for “the language of gods and spirits” because “spirit vocabulary cuts across the mind-body and self-other dichotomies through which science distances, carves up, and trivialises the world of inner experience and intersubjective emotion” (Samuel 2001: 74). Equally, we cannot assume to meaningfully interpret the language of soul for others. Right- and left-brain reunite again afterwards, as symbolic language finds its way into concrete action (Schroll and Polansky 2017, Mantas and Miezitis 2014). An important role of ceremony is to (re-)connect to a revitalizing source, which often happens through interaction with soul and the sublime. The soul can be touched in myriad ways, also beyond the spiritual and religious domains in which ceremony originally occurred. Performance, for example, can evoke and reinvigorate the relationship with the numinous both for individuals and communities. An enthusiastically improvised shamanic or ceremonial performance can be “more emotionally moving and satisfying” than a calculated and measured one (Keeney and Keeney 2018: 200–1). In early descriptions, shamans were often portrayed as tricksters and sleight of hand magicians. Rather than considering this an insult, Keeney and Keeney (2018) honour the shaman’s showmanship as a high artform that wakes up the soul and inspires and alivens people. This brings us back to the importance of enthusiasm and of building a strong container. Ceremony can be seen as an interactive and communal performance in which all members of the community actively participate. The word ‘community’ can be traced back to the Latin ‘communitas’, which Victor Turner applied to a specific quality of the liminal state (see chapter 6). ‘Communis’ also indicates ‘public spirit’12 while ‘communitatem’ refers to a “fellowship, community of relations or feelings”, and to “common possession or enjoyment”.13 In a way the community itself can serve as a ceremonial container with an inherent emphasis on relations and feelings, specifically joy. For me, a meaningful ceremony invites transformation. Geoffrey Samuel suggests that such transformative processes work, when they work, because they key in to deeply significant aspects of our psychic structure, aspects that are based in patterning of our mind-body totality as a whole, and that reflect longstanding habits of interaction with our fellow human beings. (Samuel 2001: 89)

There are many contributing factors to ‘assess’ ceremonial efficacy. First, it depends on the personal and collective intention, a strong connection between the human participants and the energies of the otherworld to support the intention and participants’ personal ‘investment’ in it. Like the placebo

The Cauldron of Ceremony

117

effect influences the efficacy of ‘perceived’ medication, so does ceremony have a stronger effect when we ‘believe’ and actively participate in it than when we sit there with our arms crossed waiting for it to be over soon. Second, the timeliness as well as the depth of the sought transformation also play a role. People often experience a stronger motivation and willingness to make changes when they are in a state of turmoil. This can increase the transformative power of the ceremony, while at the same time upheaval is not essential to experience transformation.14 Third, although liminal experiences can generate creative insights and conceptual innovations both personally and culturally, they do need to be translated into everyday life to become effective. Most quick-fix neo-shamanic workshops do not pay much attention to bridging the visionary experiences at the height of a workshop to life ‘back home’ (the integration stage described above), failing to extract and manifest the full change-potential of ceremonies.15 Finally, manifesting an insight or vision takes time and is not always immediately visible. If nothing else, setting up and surrendering to a ceremonial space signals our readiness for change. Perhaps change will come in small drips. Perhaps it will be hardly noticeable at first, but small seeds have nevertheless been planted that will sprout at a later stage. Perhaps it will take many years for the ceremonial effects to fully manifest, and that is fine too.16 Robert Bly points to two general mistakes in western society: not having any ritual spaces at all, or staying in them overlong (Bly 1990: 194). After making time for ceremony, the return to everyday reality is in many ways the most important phase. That is where we integrate the numinous into our daily lives, aptly summarized in Jack Kornfield’s book title After the Ecstasy, The Laundry (2000). Conducting ceremony on a regular basis can inspire us to meet the sacred just around the corner. We can make a ritual (if not a ceremony) of the everyday and indeed do some ecstatic laundry while we listen closely to the soul to know whether it is time for a next ceremony. NOTES 1. The local tourist office provides a leaflet for a walk by that name, which meanders from Avebury village to Silbury Hill, The West Kenneth Long Barrow, The Sanctuary and back to Avebury through the West Kenneth (Stone) Avenue. 2. Lucid or conscious dreaming means knowing that you are dreaming while you are dreaming. Such practices also appear cross culturally (Magaña 2014, Morley 2013, Moss 1996, Castaneda 1993, Wangyal 1998, Holecek 2016, Waggoner 2009). 3. This is a distinction made by the late quantum physicist Hans-Peter Dürr, who was director of the Max Planck Institute in Germany, in a conversation with my father Ir. Henk Kieft, 2006.

118

Chapter 8

4. Jung saw similarities between the mandala and the psyche and self. According to him, the centre of personality represents a point in the psyche “to which everything is related, by which everything is arranged, and which is itself a source of energy”. As in a labyrinth one is directed towards the centre, the energy of Jung’s central point of self (not ego) manifests in an “urge to become what one is”, true to one’s essential natural characteristics, regardless of circumstances (Jung 1971 [1959]: 357, emphasis in original). The innermost point of the centre “is surrounded by a periphery containing everything that belongs to the self—the paired opposites that make up the total personality. This totality comprises consciousness first of all, then the personal unconscious, and finally an indefinitely large segment of the collective unconscious whose archetypes are common to all mankind” (Jung 1971 [1959]: 357). In a way the maps of sacred space reflect the personal journey of individuation, as a sacred process of becoming who we are truly meant to be. 5. http://www​.spanishdict​.com​/translate​/mesa, accessed March 23, 2011. This concrete geographic mesa location resonates with everyday reality or the middle world as described in chapter 6. 6. This too encompasses the image of spirit world geography described in chapter 6. The Tree of Life exists in everyday reality, with roots into the lower world and branches into the upper world. 7. Movement Medicine works with the concept of Mesa as well, which, in my understanding, includes all these various expressions. The dance hall is the concrete, geographical place that is consecrated, or dedicated, before the start of a class or workshop. The logo or mandala provides a map of the territory with 21 reference points that address the cosmology of the practice. Aside from the four elements that are allocated to the cardinal directions (earth in the South, fire in the West, water in the East, air in the North), the logo even has a stylized tree of Life, with five roots and nine branches (please see Darling Khan and Darling Khan 2009, Kieft 2013 for more details on the Movement Medicine mandala). Each teacher and facilitator carries their concrete personal tools and objects to open establish sacred space. Upon graduation, they become part of the mesa, which means they are co-responsible for keeping the energetic space clean and can call on the energetic support provided by the spirits and allies associated with this ceremonial space. 8. Ya’Acov Darling Khan further divides each stage into three, adding up to nine stages in total (Darling Khan 2020: 42–6). These include setting your intention, physical preparation, invocation, acknowledging your condition, the focus, bringing back the gifts, integration, closing the space, first steps. Klara Adalena describes eight steps inwards and eight steps outwards as part of every initiatory journey (Adalena 2004). I understand these more as ingredients that one encounters on the road to and from initiation, than as specific ceremonial steps, although there are overlaps. Her ingredients are (my translation from Dutch): leaving, magic, blind spots, mother earth, triple goddess, lady death, mysteries, oneness on the way ‘in’; and pureness, nesting, inner mastery, fire of life, fulfilment, focus, priestess and giving birth on the way ‘out’. 9. The yearly intensive Movement Medicine workshop Initiation draws on the image of the voyage at various stages during the course. Participants enact the process

The Cauldron of Ceremony

119

of boarding using props such as a broomstick mast, cardboard sail and rope for the outline of the ship, and a collective guided vizualisation of leaving the shore. 10. I am grateful for each time Ya’Acov Darling Khan (who was at the receiving end of many tantrums) diffused such moods. One time we had been digging our grave to spend a night in the arms of ‘Benevolent Death.’ The process took seven hours on hard soil in the pouring rain, and by the time we finished the preparations I was ready to give up and suggested sleeping in the dance hall. Ya’Acov just smiled, which helped me see the humour of the situation and plod on. 11. This is also called the postliminal or reaggregation phase (van Gennep 1960 [1908], Turner 1974, 2007 [1968]: 94). 12. Oxford Lexico: https://www​.lexico​.com​/definition​/community accessed January 31, 2021. 13. Online Etymology Dictionary: https://www​.etymonline​.com​/word​/community accessed January 31, 2021. 14. Five weeks before the end of my contract at university, I held a ceremony with the intention to release any stressful experiences during my work in academia that still held energy, affected my health negatively and prevented me from moving on from a severe state of overwhelm and panic. Although it was powerful in many ways, the ceremony did not ‘lift’ my anxiety, PTSD symptoms and (near-)burnout. Some days I wondered if the ceremony had had any effect at all, or I joked “imagine how bad I would have been without it”. There were many years of pressure to let go of, and maybe the ceremony was a bit too soon. That additional things were necessary to support that shift, such as actually finishing the contract, resting, doing creative artwork and journaling, does not mean it was ineffective or unsuccessful. The ceremony was simply one of the essential steps in the process of letting go. 15. This is something I learned to appreciate through Movement Medicine, which dedicates at least a fifth of any workshop to active integration processes. I have not come across such detailed attention anywhere else and acknowledge the value for creating lasting and meaningful change back home. Everyday life is very different to a heightened workshop experience, and it is there that insights need to be integrated to create tangible and sustainable results. 16. Likewise, Jung recognized that the process of transformation may “be compressed into a single dream or into a short moment of experience, or it may extend over months and years, depending on the nature of the initial situation, the person involved in the process, and the goal to be reached” (Jung 1971 [1959]: 38–9).

Chapter 9

Towards Wholeness

EAST WIND In 2019, I experienced an unplanned pregnancy which I thought I miscarried. However, I remained pregnant with an undiagnosed ectopic pregnancy that nearly became fatal. The healing journey afterwards was multi-layered, addressing the physical recovery, as well as emotional, mental and spiritual integration. Creative writing, journaling, painting, ceremony and nature were some ingredients that helped me integrate this experience. Movement was the one that connected them all. In a danced soul retrieval ceremony, nine months after the operation, I expressed the original events of pregnancy, emergency and recovery, and the shock of nearly losing my life that slowly seeped in over time. I danced the feelings that emerged throughout the process, as well as the stories I told myself about specific parts of the experience. Finally, I reconnected with an important soul piece and harvested the wisdom gifts I received through this challenging life event. The ceremony brought about a new level of integration, and I literally felt reborn into life. Afterwards, I used key moments of the process as a movement score, recording East Wind, a 15-minute online performance (Kieft 2020b).1 This experience taught me about ingredients that constitute our health and wholeness, the dedication it takes to actively integrate such experiences into our lives, and finally the contribution of different practices. Once more, I learned about the tremendous capacity of dance to mend what was broken, retrieve what was lost and to heal whatever is cracked or hurt. My intuitive understanding of health and well-being increased, adding to the more theoretical understanding I gained as a medical anthropologist and the techniques I apply as shamanic practitioner and movement facilitator. 121

122

Chapter 9

Perhaps this chapter comes as a surprise at the end of a book on dance and nature-based spirituality. However, dancing with the life-death-life cycle and grappling with existential questions, intuition and the substance of soul connected me to the sacred nature of healing as an ongoing movement. Tracing the etymology of the word ‘healing’ also implies an inherent connection to the holy: Heal, health, healing, whole, and holy all derive from the same root: Old Saxon hal (or haelen), meaning whole (or to become whole), which is akin to the German heilen, and relates to the Greek holos, meaning whole or entire. The etymology of these words suggests that healing, wholeness, and holiness are closely related. Indeed, both healing and holiness draw us toward deeper awareness of and experience of our wholeness. Wholeness encompasses all of who we are – our body-mind-spirit being within our various environments and relationships and implies harmony within the unitary person. (Burkhardt and Nagai-Jacobson 2002: 27, emphases in original)

The moving spirituality of body and land I propose in this book involves an enquiry into the harmony and balance of different aspects of self, surroundings and source. I am eager to discover more active orientations towards health and wholeness that address physical, emotional, mental, social, energetical and spiritual layers of our being. Inspired by other explanatory models and cosmologies, I consider health as an ongoing process of integration that always requires attention, rather than as a fixed state that is challenged only with the arrival of specific symptoms. HEALTH AS A PROCESS Since 1948, the World Health Organization defines health as “a state of complete physical, social and mental well-being, and not merely the absence of disease or infirmity” (W.H.O. 1998: 1).2 This view was radically inclusive at the time because it considered health as more than the absence of disease. Nowadays, however, this definition would characterize most people as unhealthy. Population, demography and disease patterns have drastically changed, and advanced screening allows for earlier diagnosis. Dealing with one or more, temporary or chronic, health conditions at some point in life is very likely, and a state of complete health rarely occurs. Definitions of health and healing need to be adapted accordingly, starting by viewing health as a process that requires continuous, regular and active attention rather than a state that is only addressed when falling ill (Huber et al. 2011). We can also study the origins of health (salutogenesis) alongside the origins of

Towards Wholeness

123

disease (pathogenesis) that lie at the basis of contemporary western medicine (Antonovsky 1993). Other cultural traditions can help us reframe our outlook on health and well-being. In Traditional Chinese Medicine, for example, health is seen as an organism’s ability to respond to challenges “in a way that insures maintaining equilibrium and integrity” (Beinfield and Korngold 1991: 36). Disease, on the other hand, is considered as a failure to adapt to such challenges, disrupting the system’s equilibrium. Challenges include anything that is hard for the body to cope with, including pain, harmful substances or overwhelming feelings (ibid.).3 Shamanic paradigms too recognize healing as an ongoing process of integrating, maintaining and/or restoring balance between body, heart, mind and spirit. Such inclusive understanding assesses what conditions might need attention4 and expands the range of treatments that could be applied. It also distinguishes between ‘healing’ and ‘curing’. Curing aims to lift any symptoms, erasing the dis-ease as if it never existed. Healing, on the other hand, focusses on the integration of a specific condition on all levels, on becoming more whole within the experience, however difficult it may be (see also Horwitz and Waldebäck 2020). It means that healing is always happening, whether we encounter concrete symptoms or not, whether we are aware of it or not and whether apparent symptoms lift or not. Even at life’s end, a process of healing can take place.5 During my medical anthropology studies, I was fascinated by comparisons between indigenous medicine men and women and western medical doctors, whom we equally invest with magical powers (van der Geest 2005). Their white coats, thermometers and stethoscopes are some of the sacred tools of their profession. They perform ritualistic actions in a specific order. Treatment success is partly influenced by a certain belief in science, as evident in the placebo effect. While specialists often utilize a matter-of-fact approach rather than seeing the patient as a person, patients look to them as having all the answers and trust them to make a correct diagnosis and prescribe appropriate treatment. Of course, in many cases this is an efficient and successful approach to address mechanic aspects of an ill-functioning body, even though it does not usually seek to address emotional, mental, social and spiritual aspects of the illness or disease experience. When viewing health and healing as a holistic and involved process that is always relevant to everyone, we start to develop a more active stance both in prevention of (chronic) disease and in developing coping strategies should illness or disease occur. Maintaining good health and avoiding stress would be the first priorities. Should conditions arise that cannot be cured by a straightforward intervention, it is essential to develop supportive and life-affirming coping strategies to deal with them as effectively and holistically as possible. In both cases, it is essential to address all aspects

124

Chapter 9

of the experience. Inspired by alternative explanatory models for health and wellness, I propose ingredients that can add to our understanding of the territory, such as life force, soul essence, medicine, golden shadow, archetypes and six orientations to become active guardians of our own well-being. Movement strongly underlines and supports this view of health as a process. LIFE FORCE AND SOUL ESSENCE Many indigenous practices recognize an animating ‘life force energy’, such as chi, qi, ki and kundalini, n/um, ruach, prana and mana (Keeney 2005: 15). This usually refers to something of threefold, physical, electro-magnetic and spiritual nature, as there seems to be an intricate dynamic between moving the body and stimulating certain processes. In Namibia,6 I encountered a strong example of activating this life force. With slightly bent knees, the healers lightly lifted their heels one after the other in very quick succession. This movement developed in a quick, rhythmic and repetitive but subtle shake of the buttocks and hips. To me it seemed that this literally kickstarted the engine of the body (compare Keeney 2007). Shaking stimulates the production of dopamine, which is a neurotransmitter central to well-being (Fuller 2008). It also builds muscle strength, develops motor finesse, contributes to stamina and endurance, improves coordination and balance and can even reduce risk of osteoporosis and cardiovascular problems. In short, moving the life force through shaking has numerous beneficial effects. Life force is very closely related to soul. Soul is connected to and often used synonymously with vitality, original nature, instinct, intuition or inner compass. Both terms refer to the mysterious spark that ignites and beats the heart, as well as a quality that can transport us to the sublime, for example, when watching a rainbow, beautiful art or a kind gesture. Whatever the nature of these ‘phenomena’, they seem to be inseparable.7 Shamans speak of the soul as the essential part of us “that continues beyond death and into eternity and into infinity. We could literally say that our soul has a body, much more than saying that our body has a soul” (Villoldo 2018, chapter 3). This soul essence can be impacted by life’s experiences, leading, for example, to tiredness, inertia, depression or illness. In shamanic traditions, this is called ‘soul loss’, which is seen as one of the two main causes of illness (Morris 2006, Ingerman 1991). It is often triggered by experiences that we perceive as shocking, although they do not necessarily have to be traumatic. Sometimes those precious parts disappear almost unnoticed; sometimes they

Towards Wholeness

125

literally leave with a soul-tearing pain. One does not have to believe in metaphysical explanations to consider the reality of loss of wholeness, vitality or inner balance. Psychology speaks of ‘dissociation’ or ‘fragmentation’ either during “normal phases of intensified conflict, development, or complex activation” or in “pathological cases in which the personality is disempowered or poorly adapted to outer reality” (Roberts 1999). The psyche keeps striving to function normally without them, leading to survival strategies or unconscious perceptual bias. These strategies might have been effective to keep us safe in the original circumstance but may simultaneously (mis)shape our essential nature into a shadow of our true potential. Soul loss is remedied by a practice called ‘soul retrieval’, which can be performed by a shamanic practitioner as well as through individual practice. In most (neo-)shamanic contexts, the shaman or shamanic practitioner embarks on a metaphorical journey to the spirit world to retrieve the person’s lost soul piece or essence. The practitioner and the client usually lie down, side by side, touching at the hips and shoulders.8 Guided by the drum, the practitioner goes on a journey, and the client tries to either stay awake or, if familiar with journey techniques, experience their own journey. If the soul piece consents to return, the practitioner brings it back into ordinary reality and blows it into the head and heart of the client. This process can lead to an increase in physical and psychical energy, a greater sense of aliveness and vibrancy and a feeling of coming home to oneself. In general, people feel more empowered afterwards and better able to make decisions and take action in their lives (Ingerman 1991, 2003, Horwitz 1996). When the system is not as whole or complete as it could be, it is more susceptible to imbalance, and particularly to harmful intrusions, which are seen as the second main cause of illness in shamanic explanatory models: something has entered the body that should not be, or stay, there. This is called ‘intrusion’ and could be caused by be toxins ingested through food or environment, strong ‘negative’ emotions directed at us from outside or intrusive energetic beings that attach themselves to a person. Diagnosis happens through sensing with the hands, rattles, interoception and intuition (Villoldo 2018, chapter 6, 2000). Intrusion can be remedied by a technique called ‘extraction’. Asking a healing spirit or the elements earth, water, fire and air can help to loosen and safely dispose of it. Extraction too can be performed both by a shamanic practitioner and by the individual themselves, who can use tools such as visualization, the use of crystals, recapitulation, shaking or other movements and consciously repairing the luminous energy field that surrounds the body, which can prevent both intrusion and soul loss (Villoldo 2018, chapter 3, 2000). The Appendix describes individual practices and techniques to work with both soul retrieval and extraction.

126

Chapter 9

MEDICINE AND THE GOLDEN SHADOW ‘Medicine’ is another intriguing concept within shamanic paradigms. This does not refer, necessarily, to tablets or tinctures but to a specific quality with healing properties. There are external and internal sources of medicine. In chapter 5 we already encountered sources of external medicine provided by nature, such as the healing capacity of a river, mountain, tree or animal. Medicine also appears in the form of archetypal energies, as discussed below. They are inspiring, empowering forces that exist outside of us. People too can provide medicine, especially when they authentically embody a certain quality of being, or integrated the insights from a specific healing trajectory. In tune with themselves, they share their medicine in the transmission of their experience. Another external source of medicine can be in the form of physical objects that bridge the power of other worlds. For example, a medicine pouch, bag or bundle can contain objects that serve for protection, healing, empowerment and working with energies. And finally, practices, such as martial arts, running, creative artmaking or laughing, that bring a state of connection or flow can be medicinal in themselves. When we work enough with these forms of external medicine, we can absorb them as part of our being. However, we also have inner medicine, which we could describe as our strength and ability to access resources. Some internal medicine we are born with, such as a quality or aspect of personality that has always been part of us. Other internal medicine we acquire later in life through specific learning or healing experiences that reconfigure us in a new way. In that case, medicine is the wisdom gift brought on by the experience. In both cases (innate and acquired),9 medicine functions as a resource for the person, as well as something they give to the world. Again, it can include qualities (such as humour or good listening skills), as well as talents (such as listening, singing or painting).10 Ambiguously, medicine is often something we already know intimately, as well as something we still need to learn. As such, it reflects a simultaneous process of being and becoming. A quality or talent is can be hidden so deeply that it is hard to access. At other times our skill or medicine seems so simple and common place that we do not realize it as a special gift, and other people need to point it out to us.11 Medicine has an interesting resonance with the psychological concept of the golden shadow (Miller 1992, Chappell, Cooper, and Trippe 2019). Usually, the shadow is considered as mostly negative and harmful. If, however, we see it as unintegrated or constrained energy, it contains both dark and light aspects. The dark shadow may indeed be full of shame, anger and fear, and in its repressed nature potentially harmful. The light, positive or golden shadow is less well known and refers to inner strength and talents. These however may be equally repressed. Various fears can result in hiding who we really are: fear of rejection, especially of qualities that we hold most dear; fear that

Towards Wholeness

127

our differences from others will isolate us; fear of the magnificent brightness of our highest potential; or of failing that potential by not being good enough. Ironically, it can be much harder to learn to embrace the golden shadow than the dark one (Morley 2017: 6–9). Like medicine, the golden shadow carries incredible and often un-activated potential that can help us heal. The more we are in alignment with who we are at our core, the more energy is available to us. Physically, when our posture is in alignment with anatomy and gravity, we do not need to spend additional energy to stay upright. Similarly, we save energy when we are no longer in competition, or at war, with our essence. Strengthening our original nature, therefore, is one of the best investments we can make in our health and well-being.12 The path of getting to know this medicine contributes to our personal development and empowerment. It requires close listening to who we are underneath the often-loud voices of family, culture and media that tell us we need to be in a particular shape or form to be worthy. The invitation is first to find one’s medicine(s), which can be a challenge in and of itself, and then to dedicate time to hone and honour them diligently yet with a light touch and never to the exclusion of other medicine. FOUR HEALER ARCHETYPES Fascinated by the healing power of stories, I found that archetypes can support us both in terms of general empowerment and during specific healing journeys. Archetypes are components of the collective unconscious that result from common human experiences such as birth, growth, ageing and death, love and loss, dealing with misfortune or disease, leaving and returning. The concept gained popularity through Jung’s psychology but can be traced back to Plato in a more metaphysical and paradigmatic understanding (Jones 2003). Jung described various categories of archetypes, including psychological (such as the archetypes of shadow, anima, wise old man), mythical (characters that appear in healing stories including the heroine, stranger, warrior or trickster) and transformational (such as the alchemist). They are not the same as symbols or images, but they guide our “mental use of images and symbols to conform to certain themes or motifs” (Hart and Brady 2005: 413). Referring specifically to the transformational archetypes, Jung cautioned that they “cannot be exhaustively interpreted”, they are “full of half-glimpsed meanings, and … inexhaustible” (Jung 1971 [1959]: 38). It is that quality of inexhaustibility that makes them such a wellspring of inspiration. I encountered time and time again that working deeply with and alongside an archetype is always different. Like the unconscious itself, in some ways the archetype “reflects the face we turn towards it. Hostility lends

128

Chapter 9

it a threatening aspect, friendliness softens its features” (Jung 1993 [1953]: 25). However, like the spirits, the archetypes also carry wisdom of their own. There are many archetypes that can guide us on our journey to wholeness. According to the story we live, we might resonate more strongly with one or other, or one might take the lead at certain times, making space for another as our story changes. I found four archetypes particularly supportive for taking a more active stance towards well-being and look after my health as a precious commodity. These are the warrior, alchemist, gardener and wild wo/man. The warrior is an archetype that guards and protects that which is precious, in this case our health and well-being. It supports us to face situations with courage and to stand up with and for our dignity, while also knowing to surrender to a greater power. It underlines a certain discipline of practice, applying oneself diligently to a cause. Even though the warrior archetype might seem at odds with messages of harmony, love and respect for self and others, many (shamanic and other spiritual) traditions advocate the path of the warrior to come into right relationship with everything within and around us (Coelho 1997, Cooke 2010, John-Roger 1998, Russel 1998). Such teachings serve as an invitation and guide for transforming oneself and befriending life through integrity, courage, responsibility and respectful and purposeful action. A warrior is not necessarily something to become but rather a path that one chooses to follow consequently and in every action: The attitude of a warrior is a notion, a direction, a persistence in choosing the strongest and most authentic way in each action. Perhaps the most telling characteristic of a warrior is the perennial search for impeccability in every action, even the smallest (…) making optimum use of individual energy. (Sanchez 1995: 23)

We can invite the archetype of the peaceful warrior, or warrior of light, to play an active part in maintaining our health and well-being. This archetype helps to guard specific goals that help us stay well and stand up (fiercely, if needed) to create time, space and optimal circumstances not only to function well but to thrive. The second archetype of the alchemist is found in many cultures too. Alchemy itself is a process of transformation. It searches for unity within chaos and for bringing together opposites that have apparently become separated. In western philosophy, the alchemist’s ideal was to transform led into gold or the creation of the so-called ‘philosopher’s stone’ or ‘elixir of life’. It started with a chemical foundation but usually included a psychological application as well (Jung 1993 [1953]: 25). Taoist alchemy also emphasizes a transformation of energy and internal states, circulating and refining energy through the body, between people and nature, and people and divine source as well (neither of which are considered distinct). Inner alchemy transforms

Towards Wholeness

129

physical life force into loving, creative and positive emotional expressions and transforms those into a clearer mind (Kohn 2009, Holden 2018).13 The third archetype I propose is the gardener. Taoism recognizes an intricate connection between the landscape as body and the body as landscape. The ancient ‘Inner Alchemy Chart’ portrays a figure of a human embryo as a macrocosm of nature. The bones of the body are represented by mountains and rocks, the flesh as earth, arteries and meridians as rivers and streams. It also displays flowing water that represents movement, while still water symbolizes rest (Cooper 1977).14 This analogy stretches further than the anatomical workings of the body and also reflects on metaphorical processes of gestation, growth and decay. A garden blossoms when there is a balance between various elements. The soil needs to be nutritious and moist, but not waterlogged. There needs to be warmth and light for plants to grow but not a burning sun that turns the garden into a desert. Its plants and animals are resilient and exist in a well-balanced ecosystem, of which the gardener is the caretaker. At times (s)he will water delicate plants, dig up weeds that grow too enthusiastically, prune a tree, plant new seeds for the next season and generally ensure the garden is a place of harmony, beauty and health. The gardener archetype can help us reconnect to the notion of our bodies as sacred, like the enchanted garden all around us. We are in continuous resonance and exchange with the universe, and tending the garden serves as a wonderful metaphor to stay tuned to the cycles of the body and its inner seasons, as well as adjusting to outer circumstances. In western culture, with emphasis on continuous growth, we often forget that a period of lying fallow is essential to prepare for new growth and inspiration and equally that not everything needs to be manicured. The gardener helps us to cultivate our inner landscape patiently and diligently. Finally, the archetype of the wild wo/man provides inspiration to reconnect with our original nature. S/he sleeps under the stars, howls to the moon, runs barefoot across the moors and sits at the shoreline watching the tides. As we saw in chapter 5, nature is a tremendous healer in its own right. Spending time outside without specific objectives, agenda or expectations, and without the need to fix or change anything can be incredibly healing. It gives us a break from collective thinking and social pressure. We have a chance to rest, outside the responsibilities that come with the many roles we embody. There, we can strengthen our senses, intuition and visionary skills, and nurture our soul and unique talents. Our psyches and souls “have their own cycles and seasons of doing and solitude, running and staying, being involved and being removed, questioning and resting, creating and incubating, being of the world and returning to the soul space” (Pinkola Estés 2008 [1992]: 255–6).15 Returning to these wild roots on a regular basis is essential, or the source of our inspiration and well-being slowly dries up and we are in danger to lose

130

Chapter 9

our vitality. Where the gardener cultivates, the wild wo/man follows the call of soul with ecstatic abandon and returns with joy and inspiration, filled with the scents and textures of earth and sky. S/he calls us to untamed places. If I were to propose a ceremonial wheel representing these four healer archetypes, I would invite the gardener in the South, the warrior in the East, the alchemist in the West and the wild wo/man in the North.16 The gardener tends the earth with her hands in the soil, the wild wo/man, on the opposite site of the circle, finds herself at the top of the mountain dreaming to the universe. The alchemist mixes the elixir of life, most resonant with the water element, while the warrior draws on the qualities of fire to protect that which is dear. Equally, however, I worked with other archetypal circles that included (various combinations of the above and) earth mother, seer, snake goddess and a specific ancestral teacher. Again, depending on the issue or circumstance and what archetypes we resonate with, we can call on those that inspire, strengthen and nourish us on the path towards wholeness and integration and manage what we are facing in life as gracefully as we can. ORIENTATIONS FOR DYNAMIC WELL-BEING To become dynamic guardians of our own well-being, I propose six concrete orientations that weave together the above ingredients and develop the understanding of health and healing as an active and ongoing process. They support the life force to flow and the soul to shine. The six orientations are: 1. Acknowledge where we are and where we want to go 2. Activate resources that are already at our disposal 3. Release and let go of that which no longer serves 4. Retrieve that which was good but has been lost 5. Cultivate insights into everyday steps and intentions 6. Celebrate things we can be grateful for Together they provide an arc towards wholeness. Each orientation offers several (body-based) practices or techniques, which are detailed in the ­ Appendix. When working with a specific healing trajectory, there might be one or two areas that need particular attention. However, for an active stance towards well-being that maintains the origins of good health and prevents the development of dis-ease, I believe all six are essential to visit regularly. Acknowledging helps to locate ourselves in the multiple conditions and unfolding layers of who we are. This is different in every moment, so we ask, ‘where am I in terms of my health and well-being at this particular point in time, and where would I like to go from here?’ This can be challenging because it requires recognizing where we are without trying to change it,

Towards Wholeness

131

while lightly holding a direction to move towards. Acknowledging a lack of acceptance of a specific situation can be appropriate and enough for a time. Knowing that provides a direction for the next step.17 Activating the energy that is already available (however minimal) as well as generating new energy, supports us to stay engaged with our healing process. Of course, this needs to happen within a realistic, achievable framework with respect to the situation. This can range from simple breathing exercises, tapping on the chest or gentle forms of shaking, to more invigorating and stimulating activities such as hiking, biking, running or other cardiovascular exercise. A practice of strengthening the energy field through imagination, or light movement, can help both with activating and with sealing the energy field after release. Releasing and letting go of old experiences enables our energy to be available in the here and now, rather than be wrapped up in the past. There are many ways to work with this, including shamanic techniques of recapitulation. Ideally, we attend to letting go every day to not accumulate new energetic imprints of undigested experiences. Also, regardless of the way in which we release old energy, it is important to fill the ‘empty’ space with something positive. This can be done by inviting a beneficial, supportive quality into the body, imagining a sacred symbol to slip into the vacated space or by sealing the space around the body. This way the old energetic imprint cannot slip back into the system unnoticed. Retrieving precious energy can be done through specific ‘one-off events’ such as the soul retrieval procedure described earlier but can also be integrated on a more regular basis. We can lose precious life energy through many different causes, also in everyday situations such as work, long-term caring responsibilities, imbalanced relationships, or hearing upsetting news. Tuning into core essence and analysing its wholeness regularly can prompt preventive measures, or the use of simple remedies can solve an emerging issue before it becomes systemic. Cultivating describes the process of planting any visionary insights from (extra)ordinary reality into the everyday like a gardener. In shamanic work this is called ‘bridging’. Transforming neural patterns and thoughts compares to forging a new trail through an overgrown field or forest, which takes more effort than following a well-established path. The same goes for changing thought and behavioural patterns. Just like observing New Year’s resolutions, this can take true dedication and commitment. Additional practices that further nurture and strengthen the intention, such as journaling, artmaking or storytelling, can be part of keeping the commitment. Celebrating the gift of life, both in good and challenging times, is the sixth and last orientation I propose. Many spiritual practices as well as positive psychology underline the benefits of joy, appreciation, gratitude, kindness and compassion for self and other. Such feelings stimulate dopamine and serotonin, which are ‘feel

132

Chapter 9

good’ neurotransmitters that enhance mood and stimulate happiness from within. This has tremendous physical benefits such as stress reduction, increased energy, better immune and cardiovascular systems and even a longer lifespan. Mentally, it decreases the risk of anxiety and depression and improves concentration, creativity and problem-solving skills. Socially, it stimulates empathy, tolerance, forgiveness and altruism. Unlike fear and worry that keep us alert to potential danger and for which we seem to be naturally hardwired, focussing on positive aspects of life appears to be a skill we need to consciously learn and invest in.18 By focussing on concepts such as life force and soul essence, these six orientations support a widening of our understanding of health and healing that addresses complex and interconnected layers of the human being. Our intimate connection to these parts of ourselves enables us to take a more active and direct stance towards our well-being through any of these orientations. This is an empowering gift that helps us thrive and fully live our contribution to the world. That way, nurturing our personal well-being is a responsibility to self as well as to the larger holy whole. NOTES 1. During the first conference I attended after my return to work, participants were asked to introduce themselves as something from nature that started with the same letter as their first name. I spontaneously introduced myself as ‘East Wind’, a name that returned while I was working on editing the performance video. In ceremonial circles and medicine wheels, the East, as the place of the rising sun, is often associated with new beginnings. Erica Charalambous, who sensitively witnessed me in the performance space and recorded the video, also recalled that Mary Poppins arrives with the East Wind. That sense of new beginnings and perhaps magic in the air felt appropriate to underline the nature of the soul retrieval ceremony and recognition of rebirth. 2. This section includes material from an earlier publication on healing and soul retrieval (Kieft 2020c), which I use and develop here with permission of the editors. 3. This view is extended in health care payment strategies, which radically opposite the western system. In Traditional Chinese Medicine, people only pay health contributions when they are in good health. In case of illness, any and all payment obligations cease. This displays a true focus on health with a great incentive for practitioners to keep their clients well. Lee Holden observes that the western health care system is in fact more of a ‘disease care system’, where illness is treated rather than health maintained. It also requires payment when we are ill and at our most vulnerable (Holden 2018). 4. Conditions that may need attention include effects of life experiences that cause inhibition, anxiety, fear and stagnation of the life flow. Traumatic experiences such as abuse, long-term illness, miscarriage, PTSD or addiction may cause parts of the soul to dissociate. They can lead to disruption between parts of the self, as well as between self, others, community and nature which may lead to fragmentation, isolation and loneliness. There may even be new diagnoses such as nature deficit disorder (see chapter 5), or general lack of life purpose.

Towards Wholeness

133

5. This compares to Jung’s concept of psychological individuation, which similarly describes an ongoing process towards wholeness that always happens, whether we are aware of it or not (Jung [1959] 1971: 275). 6. See endnote chapter 6, endnote 21 and 23. 7. Science figured out how the heart works, but we are still at a loss as to what animates it. What is the miraculous force that creates life from a meeting between sperm and egg, from which a whole being grows that, if all goes well, is born alive and full of potential? In Traditional Chinese Medicine, this force is called ‘qi’, and it is unknowable, only to be experienced. Qi Gong refers to is the skill (‘Gong’) to navigate the life force (‘Qi’), and works with three interrelated concepts ‘Jing’, ‘Qi’ and ‘Shen’. Jing reflects the body essence, its posture, mechanics and structure; Qi relates to the life force energy in motion, the flow of emotion and expression; Shen represents consciousness, spirit as well as state of mind, and our inner observer (Holden 2018). 8. There are variations on this, including soul retrieval when the client is not actually present. 9. Qi Gong distinguishes between ‘natal’ and ‘acquired’ Qi (Holden 2018), which I found applicable to medicine as well: medicine that one is born with, and that one gathers throughout life. 10. Indeed, there is some overlap with the practices described under external medicine. Often, we practice something we are talented in, so ‘dancing’ or ‘painting’ can both be a source of internal as well as external medicine. Internally it is an impulse that comes to us naturally, like an original, spontaneous bubbling spring of inspiration. Externally, it is more like a craft or skill we hone, something we might learn from others, or practice in a group. 11. There is a similar concept within alchemy. Jung, for example, refers to a 16thcentury alchemist, Dorn, who describes a metaphysical substance concealed in the human body. This ‘medicine’ is “of threefold nature: metaphysical, physical, and moral”, ‘moral’ being interpreted by Jung as ‘psychological’ (Jung 1993 [1953]: 269). It contains truths that “cannot be seen with the outward eye, but [are] perceived by the mind alone” yet has the capacity to “work miracles” (Speculativa philosphia, Theatr. chem., I, p. 298). Equally, Hans van Asseldonk in his work on Tao and Alchemy in agriculture (2010) describes ‘medicine’ or ‘elixir’ as the concentration of the divine spark in everything. The elixir concentrates the divine in all these forms and as such strengthens the evolutionary process. This can only work when it is understood from the assignment to gather back all the dispersed elements of the original moment of creation, which is, according to van Asseldonk, the essence of mystics’ and alchemists’ work (2010, part V: 119). 12. A description of the Lakota concept ‘wakan’ closely resembles my understanding of ‘medicine’. ‘Wakan’ often refers to power but can also be translated as ‘holy’ or ‘sacred’: “the ‘power’ (really the sacredness) of a being or a thing is in proportion to its nearness to its prototype; or better, it is in proportion to the ability of the object or act to reflect most directly the principle or principles which are in wakan-tanka, the Great Spirit, who is One” (Epes Brown 1953: 3–4fn). In other words, our strength depends on how close we are to our essence, because that is when we reflect most directly the principles of source, the divine or the undivided essence that the alchemists searched for, mentioned in the previous endnote (van Asseldonk 2010).

134

Chapter 9

13. My father is an amazing example of a contemporary alchemist. He has been diagnosed with prostate cancer since 2006. His diagnosis came at a relatively young age (56) with an aggressivity index of 4 out of 5, or Glaeson 8–9. This meant that the cancer was predicted to grow fast. His professional work as agronomist includes an interest in quantum physics and quantum biology. He considers electromagnetism, resonance and the power of heart and mind on matter as influential on all aspects of the agricultural ecosystem including soil, crops, quality of produce and the health of plants, trees and animals (Kieft 2019). Firmly convinced of the effectivity of quantum-inspired techniques on plants and animals, he also applies these principles to his own body. Not only does he try to understand his condition from physical, emotional and psychological points of view, he administers a range of daring alternative treatments as well as reduces conventional medical treatments to less than half the standard dosage or treatment frequency. His choices included bio-magnetic scanning and resonance, crystals, electro-magnetic hygiene, meditation and positive thinking, intuitive connections with nature and the use of specific herbs such as mistle toe injections and home-made CBD products. He remains under specialist care, and they are fascinated by his experiments carried out under his own responsibility and continue to monitor his ongoing good health. He originally aimed to survive five more years, but I am so happy that 15 years later he still thrives! His philosophy is a moving example of the old alchemists, bringing together different modalities and experimenting with their effects on the body in order to create good quality of life. 14. See also http://www​.natuuralsspiegel​.nl​/landschap​.html, accessed January 7, 2021. This is the website of a wonderful Tao-inspired garden in Drouwen, the Netherlands, that minutely follows this physical chart. It is realized and maintained by Marita Mutsaerts, based on the vision of her partner, the late Hans van Asseldonk in his work on the Tao of Agriculture (2010). 15. Clarissa Pinkola Estés speaks of women specifically, but I believe that this is not gender specific. 16. This positioning follows my affinity with the Movement Medicine wheel that places earth in the South, fire in the East, water in the West and air in the North, water in the West and air in the North, which intuitively makes the most sense to me. The Tree of Life, as axis mundi, has its roots in the soil underneath (South) and its branches in the sky overhead (North). Fire is in the East as the place of the rising sun, while the water of the great ocean is literally to the West of Europe. In other western pagan wheels, water is also often placed in the west; however, the positions of earth, fire and air can vary. As I mentioned in chapter 8, such maps highlight and enhance connections between our psyche and various parts of reality. In my view, it is more important that all are represented and that the practitioner has a tacit resonance with the positioning than exactly where they are placed. 17. Movement Medicine proposes finding a balance between acceptance and intention (Darling Khan and Darling Khan 2009: 9), while Clarissa Pinkola Estés speaks of presence and possibility (Myss and Pinkola Estés 2003, chapter 1). 18. This is a very brief summary of many sources including Schueller and Parks (2014), Wood and Tarrier (2010), Layous et al. (2012), Scheier and Carver (1993), Segerstrom and Miller (2004), Sansone and Sansone (2010), Gloria and Steinhardt (2016).

Closing

THE JOURNEY Like Jumping Mouse, who opened the first chapter, wanted to find out about the roar she heard, I too searched for a coherent and constructive cultural narrative to make some sense of life. Exposure to different approaches and working with incredibly gifted teachers encouraged me to reflect on what I value and how I place experiences in a meaningful perspective. I queried how I could work with the limitations of my body while continuing to grow in greater alignment with who I am, to fully contribute to the world from a place of abundant well-being. It took me many years to realize that my being does not thrive in most ‘mainStream’ environments. Just like a penguin will not survive in the desert, I had to find out what creature I am and search for, or create, a ‘habitat’ that helps me thrive.1 The cauldron of body- and naturebased techniques contributes to a narrative that restores, empowers and reconnects the mystery and the everyday, with a lived awareness of ongoing integration into wholeness. Many cultures recognize the need for harmony and right action in relation to the quality of life, care for self, others and environment. Art of Living philosophy explores what constitutes a good life and endows us with a responsibility to search for it. Whereas Socrates postulated that there was one specific art of living for everyone, philosophers such as Montaigne, Nietzsche and Foucault underlined that this art is unique to each individual (Epictetus and Lebell 1995). There are, however, certain guidelines to create a personal art of living: “Imitation, in this context, is to become someone on one’s own; but the someone one becomes must be different from one’s model” (Nehamas 2000: 10). Unfortunately, finding ways outside the norm is discouraged in many places. When we choose a different path, we face feelings of not 135

136

Closing

belonging and perhaps even guilt for discarding the well-intended directions of family and friends. We might fear that we weaken the community by going our own way. However, we must ask ourselves whether what we have been taught help us to thrive, develop according to our blueprint and enable us to make the most optimal contribution to the community of life that we can. If that is not the case, we need to search for alternative approaches. Stories can serve an educational purpose, provide ground for moral enquiry or a place to test one’s edges and overcome challenges. They are an invitation to look for allies in unexpected places. As times change, the stories we tell must evolve accordingly so that they can continue to teach us meaningfully about negotiating the demands of contemporary lifestyles. Searching for alternative narratives compares to going on a journey like Jumping Mouse. In literature and mythology, journeys are a recurring motive. Whether the story tells about a journey to learn a skill or search for a cure, a mystical journey to sacred sites, or an inner journey of alchemical, psychological transformation, the traveller is trained, tested and prepared for initiation. Some of these journeys concern actual, literal travelling from one place to another, but I am especially intrigued by the metaphorical travelling from one place in consciousness to another, learning skills and gathering tools along the way which help the traveller to arrive in him or herself more deeply. As psychologist and dancer Daria Halprin writes: “Our thirst for soul will not be quenched by travelling abroad, but by travelling inward, and, when we find ourselves, we will rediscover the world” (Halprin 2003: 79). All of us travel the road of exploration and self-development, or ‘individuation’, whether we are aware of it or not (Jung 1993 [1953]: 338). Even if we are passive passengers in someone else’s vehicle, or if we physically never move, we are still journeying. The journey takes as many shapes and forms as there are people. How we perceive the road is coloured by culture, upbringing and character, so no journey is ever the same. We all have different starting points and different vehicles to travel with. These can be craftsmanship, music, religion, community service, parenthood, illness, work or sports. Some are chosen deliberately, others are thrust upon us. We have obstacles to overcome, choices to make and lessons to learn, and each journey brings its own medicine. Any activity that stretches our boundaries strengthens embodied values such as courage, compassion, resilience, honour, equilibrium, acceptance, perseverance, reflexivity and focus. Sometimes we journey together with others, sometimes alone. Along the way, we meet people who show us different ways of life. At some point, the protagonist returns to their starting point, returning with new stories, views and insights. Their experiences also benefit those who stayed behind (Armstrong 2004: 302). This is crucial: although the journey is deeply personal, the effort also nourishes wider communities. In that sense,

Closing

137

no matter how isolated the traveller may feel at times, journeys are always reciprocal. They nurture an exchange between self and the outer world, and often carry an element of healing for the individual as well as the collective, leading to connection on many levels. TOWARDS SUSTAINABLE AND EMPOWERING NARRATIVES What are essential ingredients for empowering narratives and the type of communities that would demonstrate them? Dancing with this question, one of Alain de Botton’s books literally jumped off my shelf. In Religion for Atheists (de Botton 2012), he asks what we can learn from religions, without necessarily having to believe in their supernatural claims. Attributes such as education, art and architecture, and values such kindness, tenderness and perspective support people to cope with life’s challenges such as pain and illness, loss, stress, job insecurity, relationships, as well as foster community building. I propose similar and additional ingredients for narratives that encourage health and empowerment, diversity of life on earth, sustainable and socially just developments, in an awareness of the great mystery of life. This book explored the possibilities and ingredients of a body- and naturebased spirituality immersed in the land that holds us. Following the thread of chapters, we encountered the persuasive and ongoing presence of existential questions. Whatever our backgrounds and orientations, we are curious about our origins, our future direction and how to live as best we can in the present moment. We encountered dance as a timeless way to connect with the numinous. Developing a multi-level literacy that includes body, heart, mind and spirit is a way of sensitizing the body as instrument for enquiry and communication within self, and with all dimensions of reality. This allows for complementary ways of knowing to bridge the gap between different life experiences and paradigms. Movement becomes a building block, always acknowledging a fluid connection and engagement between different phenomena. Immersing this movement in the land awakens a participatory consciousness that utilizes intuition and the sensitized antennae of the multi-level literate body. We encountered the spirits as essence sparks in animate beings as well as nonanimate matter, and our increased body awareness allows us to pick up subtle changes in the energetic matrix inside and all around us. Accessing liminal space on a regular basis in the context of conscious ceremony enables an invigorating flow of inspiration and resourcing. Finally, with a view on healing as an active and ongoing process, we can re-examine our personal values, internalized beliefs and behavioural patterns. Do they feel nourishing, life

138

Closing

giving and true, or is it time to check the compass and direction, and perhaps change the story? We looked at actively engaging the body, dance, nature and ceremony as vehicles to reconnect with self and with life in all its myriad forms, with joy, creativity and abundant life force. Each of these has an inherent power for reconnection, change and transformation. They can simultaneously provide refreshing ways to engage with the challenges and delights of being human on a personal level, as well as lift the veils and tap into a larger presence around us on a mystic level. A strange schism emerged when we lost the capacity to navigate life from a place of being rooted in the body with a capacity for wild reverence, awe and wonder. I believe it is the separation from body, soul and spirit that causes many contemporary challenges such as emptiness, isolation, loneliness and estrangement. This division happened at the expense of both buoyant self-reliance as well as deep respect for nature. An embodied moving spirituality engages with all dimensions of life, making the experience of spirituality concrete and accessible through the everyday, rather than an abstract and transcendent concept. It includes all aspects of the human being as it weaves and roots the sacred within all layers of body, heart, mind and spirit. Movement awakens and connects different states within us and strengthens the connection with the external world. It enables access to other states of consciousness that reveal connections that we are not normally so acutely aware of. These already exist within us, in our cells, bones and body field, but movement draws them into conscious awareness where they can then settle, in body, heart and mind. This way, improvised dance can create an increased awareness of the complementary nature of seemingly opposite poles and contribute to a wider range of expression, diversity and inclusivity. Upon closing, I would like to highlight a few other ingredients for constructive narratives that have been implied, but not directly addressed, in the book. CIRCULAR INCLUSIVITY We encountered many apparent polarities between embodiment and disembodiment, body and mind, emotions and cognition, inner and outer, human and spirit world, individual and community, tangible and intangible. Rather than being stark opposites, they seem to exist on a fluid continuum. Klaas van Egmond, emeritus professor in Earth and Sustainability at Utrecht University, the Netherlands, observed that most world views can be described in pairs of paradoxes, which soon not just describe reality but seem to become reality (van Egmond 2010: 47). Based on analysis of historic patterns and philosophical notions of especially Hegel, Steiner, Jung

Closing

139

and Pauli, van Egmond distilled a cultural model consisting of two axes. The vertical axis, or Axis Mundi, covers the relationship between heaven and earth, between immaterial and materialistic, between religious and profane, between mind and body. His horizontal axis addresses the opposites of ‘I’ and ‘Other’, of unity and diversity, of individual and collective orientation, and is compared to the Anima Mundi or World Soul. When specific value systems become dominant in a culture (for example capitalism and communism overemphasizing materialism and collectivity, respectively), imbalance can lead to wastefulness, discontinuity and disaster. An integration of both axes and their polarities is necessary to avoid this. The two axes are placed within the image of a circle, representing culture and society. By design, a circle joins opposites and emphasizes the relational dynamic between them. It is a powerful symbol of unity, highlighting inclusivity, diversity and connection: within one community and between different communities worldwide. The circle also reflects time. Van Egmond’s argument for balance is situated within an awareness of past and present crises. As time unfolds, cultures and individuals move along the outside of the circle, literally through their different views of the world, often from one polarity to the next in a circular movement. According to van Egmond, a sustainable future is possible only when we manage to unite paradoxes in our own worldview and view of humanity, and so eliminate the heavyweight of ‘one-sidedness’. Movement of whatever kind is essential to explore and integrate polarities towards diverse and sustainable narratives and the circle as a unified space. LIFE, DEATH AND REBIRTH As circles connect past, present and future, they also represent the ongoing cycle of life, death and rebirth. Re-addressing our connection to this cycle is another ingredient for sustainable and empowering narratives. This refers to cycles of beginning and ending, of growth and entropy within activities, projects and relationships. Everything we do unfold through phases of creativity, excitement, stagnation, chaos, decay and transformation. We are not generally taught how to navigate the latter part of the cycle and pretend that upward linear growth is realistic, denying the need for rest, recuperation and lying fallow before embarking on a new cycle. Natural cycles however show that growth is never linear or one-directional, but also includes pause, surrender, darkness, hibernation and reignition if, and when, it is time. Equally, our narrative will benefit from awareness of our ultimate mortality in this particular body-life and examining our relationship to our physical death at the end of the journey. The process of taking stock of our lives, as if

140

Closing

this is our last day on earth, can put in perspective what we truly value, what we can celebrate or need to grieve, and especially if there is any unfinished business to attend to. Like the undigested personal events from our past, unfinished business with others can cage a significant part of our available life energy. In awareness of death, we become more conscious of tending the life spark, to make the most of it while we can, and celebrate it as a precious gift. Also, carefully feeling into what might happen after we die can help to enquire into ongoing meaning beyond that moment and renegotiate our fear of death. We can consciously take our place in a long lineage of ancestors and descendants, regardless of whether we have physical children, knowing that our dreams do not have to be completed and manifested in this life only. In this process of reflection, we contemplate the legacy we might leave, and ask ourselves what ancestor we will be for the generations that follow. We contribute to the bigger picture we believe in, and when we die, we surrender our visions with a contented sigh, knowing we did all we could while we were alive.2 Finally, a narrative of dancing differently with time, vulnerability and death also invites a different perspective on elderhood. Our cultural emphasis on youth, beauty, fertility and vitality denies the inevitability of old age. Although ‘graceful ageing’ may be a contradiction in terms, we can at least try to approach the process with a dose of humour and dignity. This life cycle and the lived experience and maturing wisdom of people who have seen many seasons deserve a generous respect. SACRED SEXUALITY Where the body received a bad press in many traditional religions, sexuality became a taboo topic that was entirely ignored, if not actively repressed. Spirituality and sexuality are often seen as extreme opposites. Invoking the earlier notion of the circle can reconnect them again. Naturally, a moving spirituality of land and body embraces the sensorial and ecstatic pleasure that can be awakened when bringing the life force in motion and loosening stagnant energy within the body. In chapter 5, I boldly introduced nature as my lover of lifetimes. I can experience erotic joy from touching different textures or feeling the wind caress my skin, and even having a sense of being made love to by spirit or the elements. This refers more to an activation of the creative force within us, than to the common meaning of sexuality that involves self-pleasure or love making with a partner. It is a force that can simply be experienced as another expression of being human, without (necessarily) having to find an outward direction. Connecting with sexuality as creative energy can return us to our ‘undivided’

Closing

141

wild origins (or indeed, genesis) and release a fountain of joy, wonder and vitality. Dancing too can awake inner fire and passion, which, again, do not necessarily have to be sexual. Simply bringing the body in motion lets the creative, sexual energy move more freely. It can also help heal trauma, and re-assert boundaries, autonomy and wholeness in this area. In addition, shape-shifting provides a way to explore non-binary fluidity in a safe context, as well as how masculine and feminine expressions can collaborate from their own unique strengths. This way, working with the creative life force as a ‘neutral’ (undirected) power can address gender relations and identity and present alternative models for relationships, personal and cultural responsibility, group dynamics and authority (see also Samuel 2005: 345, 358, 361). Luxuriating in a sensual celebration of the body and the possibility of pleasure within an awareness of sacred sexuality might need some rewriting of our psychic software (Urban 2000: 294) but can ultimately contribute to fuller living within a more holistic, inclusive, respectful and empowering narrative. THE ROLE OF COMMUNITY In a highly individualized society, life can sometimes feel as a lonely and isolated affair, especially when we have left our familiar communities behind. It is important to remember that we are social creatures at heart and that a sense of belonging is essential for our well-being. Therefore, searching for coherent and meaningful narratives needs to consider the role of community. Finding one’s tribe or soul family appears as a theme throughout alternative movements that emerged from the second half of the 20th century. This underlines a yearning for a meaningful connection through which they can be themselves with(in) the larger unity (com-unity, meaning ‘with’ unity). Reaching out to like-minded people and consciously choosing membership can generate a deep sense of belonging, which in turn often leads to a more engaged and committed connection. Nowadays communities can be more fluid than in traditional societies, and made up impromptu around a specific activity, for a short amount of time and even in virtual reality. Dance itself can provide a way to explore different expressions, emotions and behaviours and learn new skills. These need to be practiced in relationship, in the container of community, through embodied perception and expression. Dance supports a fluid awareness of boundaries between self and other, and how to uphold, respect and negotiate these. It can support us to learn to speak in movement and better understand body language. Being present within our own body-space helps us to relate to other with authenticity and clarity. In addition, as we saw in chapter 8, dance

142

Closing

can also unite people on a deep level. What would the world look like if we would dance together at the start of meetings, councils and tribunals? Such exchanges can potentially enhance a healthier, more vibrant and respectful society. Another thing to consider is the role of community with regard to healing. Most western contexts place a highly individual and personal responsibility on health and well-being (see for example Prince and Riches 2000: 177). Although there is a degree of communal support when someone needs active care, health is usually not regarded as part of the community fabric. There appears to be however, a direct reciprocity between the health of the community itself and the health of its individual members. People thrive better within caring and harmonious circumstances than when there is strife, aggression or loneliness. In other words, when the system is healthy, the individuals will flourish. Equally, if one person is unwell, the whole group suffers. Shamanic cultures recognize that imbalance of any type influences the individual, the society and in some views even the cosmic order: “Within the non-dichotomizing language of the shamanic visionary state, there is no real distinction between them, and the mechanisms for restoring balance likewise are thought of as operating in all these spheres at once” (Samuel 1990: 119, see also 87–9). That makes healing a communal matter that requires collective efforts so that all members can be as healthy as possible. The focus of shamanic work concerns maintaining and/or restoring individual and community health and balance. The shaman may be working on one client specifically, but often the entire community participates and contributes, as this personal healing is considered to benefit the well-being of the entire society (Winkelman 2004a: 65, b: 150). This inclusive view stretches the boundaries of consciousness and self, and values the support and reciprocity experienced in community. It is important to ask how new narratives can support community, as well as how community supports the new narratives. This asks for a type of community that encourages exploration, fluidity and change, in which people remind each other of their new orientation and gently help to adapt course if needed. WIDENING HORIZONS We have taken a journey through many aspects of body- and nature-based awareness, enquiry and spirituality. Naturally, movement, nature and ceremony are not the only paths of exploration. However, many of the insights derived from these modalities can be effectively translated to other contexts

Closing

143

such as schools, care homes, organizations for homeless people, work reintegration, prisons and recovery clinics. Key ingredients are re-establishing a positive sense of self and one’s capacity of choice, in combination with reconnection to others, nature and the mysteries of life. This can support fulfilment from within and through nurturing the connection with the world around us. Important is not the form, but rather the intention with which we approach the journey, as well as choosing the situations we immerse ourselves in as mindfully as we can. I imagine educational contexts that emphasize unique individual qualities and learning styles, cultural contexts in which adults too have permission to play, laugh and experience pleasure, and sacred contexts where life can be honoured and celebrated in all its challenge and brilliance. The relational and active qualities of dance and movement and the levelling out of hierarchies within the ceremonial space can inform knowledge creation and inspire models for (re-)creating culture. Movement enables active change, internally as well as externally, in choices for a different lifestyle. This supports empowered individuals who can create a rippling effect that can ultimately influence society through arts, academia and politics, which has the potential to enhance the general well-being of all human and other-than-human-beings, and the earth. The muddy temple welcomes the incomplete, the chaotic, the humble and the magnificent. Mystical participation depends on our interaction with the world around us and on our ability to open our soul to source, which is right here, permeating and surrounding us. ‘All’ we have to do, and I say this with tongue in cheek and wiggly toes, is take a breath and open our senses and awareness. We reach out with our consciousness, imagination and movement, to a vibrant, multi-dimensional tapestry around us. Woven from diverse and multi-texture threads that hum with the vitality and inspiration of all beings and all life, this tapestry helps us remember that we already move in an enchanted world in which we are supported by the great mystery. Dance is a gift that unites and reconnects and drops us right in the present moment. From (t)here we can heal and let go off the past and envision our next steps for a future in which we can all thrive. Feet on the earth, breathing in the sky and listening to the drum of our hearts, let’s dance into the unknown and back to the familiar, let’s embrace paradoxes and dare to dream. Breathing out . . . and Breathing in … Closing . . . and Opening . . .

144

Closing

NOTES 1. This was one of the lessons that Seagull taught me many years ago, about the necessity of an environment that suits a creatures’ needs in order to survive and thrive. Thank you, Sabrina Dearborn, for reminding me of this metaphor more recently. 2. Thank you, Ya’Acov Darling Khan, for this piece on the long rhythm of cocreation of large visions, which lifts the pressure of having to complete them in this life and the burden of thinking we have to complete them alone.

Appendix Six Practical Orientations towards Dynamic Well-Being

In chapter 9, I introduced health as a process that requires regular attention. I proposed six concrete orientations to become active guardians of our wellbeing that restore vitality through enhancing the flow and expression of life force and soul essence. This appendix offers practical suggestions for each of these orientations that I found beneficial and efficient in my everyday journey with health and well-being. Most include a variety of physical, emotional and mental techniques to adapt to available energy and presence of pain. Obviously, there are many more tools suitable for each orientation, so please use this as inspiration to create your own integrated approach. ACKNOWLEDGE To set an intention for our health and well-being, we first need to orient where we are. While a GPS determines geographical location, our ‘Body Positioning System’ (BPS) checks where we are physically, emotionally, mentally, socially and spiritually. In this orientation, we acknowledge how we are, even if that is sheer exhaustion or despair for ever getting better or being unable to think because of pain. From that space of recognition, we set an intention to take one small step towards wholeness that feels manageable that day. That can be as simple as resting but can also be tending to work or parenting responsibilities without self-criticism or self-doubt. The key is to listen to what feels possible within the realistic everyday framework. This orientation and intention process helps to make sustainable decisions as we map the amount of energy available against what will be required of us for the day.

145

146

Appendix

Sandra Reeve’s movement enquiries help to orient ourselves in body and space. Playing with concepts such as the awareness of angle/line/point, transition/position and proportion, we can enquire into the unique view that our experience ‘affords’ us (Reeve 2008). This awareness cultivates a receptivity from the lived understanding that each experience is unique; it would be differently viewed from another height, angle or from a different pair of eyes. What does our position and experience ‘afford’ us? What is present, and what is absent? Might there be things, persons or parts of ourselves missing in this moment? This invitation is an ongoing becoming familiar with the territory of being human, with a spirit in a body in space.1 There are days that even this gentle enquiry might feel too much. When we have little energy, are distracted by pain or everything seems eclipsed by uncertainty, worry or grief, it may feel impossible to do anything at all. Such a state can be hard to acknowledge, let alone accept. However, the alchemist knows that there is nothing as dark or heavy that it cannot be transformed into gold. Like the symbol of yin and yang, opposites are always contained in the experience. Even if the tunnel feels endless, and the light that announces a change might not be visible yet, recognizing the underworld as a rich and fertile place can reframe the experience to a time of dreaming in the dark, recuperation and rest. A wonderful technique in this place is listening to stories, returning to inspiring archetypes such as the hero(ine) who overcomes challenges and comes out strengthened and reborn. Perhaps delve into a story that still resonates from childhood and find out what teachings it brings. How can archetypal role models such as Inanna or Persephone guide us on our journey through the night? Even if the body is a painful place to be at times, we can surrender to the earth underneath us, as a support structure that is always there. ‘Arriving’ in such awareness makes us more accessible to life, simultaneously more vulnerable and stronger, whatever experience we might be having.2 ACTIVATE After orienting ourselves, we need fuel for the journey and a way to combust it. This can be any activity that lights our spark, such as listening to music, taking a bath, self-massage, acupressure, a walk or making a green smoothie. Activation is one of the principles in Qi Gong, both to wake up the qi, or life force, and generate new energy (Holden 2018). This can happen through breathing exercises, tapping on the body and specific movements. Also, as explained in chapter 9, shaking stimulates dopamine production, which enhances a sense of well-being (Fuller 2008). In addition, it builds muscle

Appendix

147

strength, coordination and balance, stamina and endurance, and even reduces the risk of osteoporosis and cardiovascular problems. The level of activation needs to be within our realistic possibilities, encouraging us just to take the next step, such as a brief movement meditation, or a five-minute stroll that becomes a ten-minute walk. Challenging ourselves a little outside our comfort zone while still working with the parameters of our body and energy helps to maintain an active stance towards our health and well-being. We can consciously activate the energy field around our body, to keep it brimming with vitality. This Luminous Energy Field (Villoldo 2000) is a three-dimensional shape that extends in all directions – front, back, above the head and also below the feet, approximately as far as the arms can reach. It is a permeable and transparent zone between our body and the world, through which information can come in and go out. This luminous egg, aura or light body can be weakened by inner discord and external events, but also strengthened through conscious breathing, visualization, positive thoughts and dancing. Activation of this field is the purpose within this orientation, so that the sphere around our body is strong and vibrant. Reaching out to this field with our hands, senses and imagination, we can perceive if the membrane is strong, whole and unbroken, or whether there are gaps or weak spots. Using the multi-level literacy of the body, we can feel into the texture (density, thinness), the quality of the energy (erratic, pulsating, electric, peaceful or steady) or perhaps sensing energy coming in or leaking out. Information can come in sounds, colours, tastes or other forms of interoceptive and intuitive knowing. I like to imagine activating, or if necessary ‘repairing’, the membrane, when necessary, through artisan skills such as plastering, weaving, knitting or otherwise repairing rents in the energetic fabric, until it shimmers again with aliveness and vitality. RELEASE We are very good at holding onto emotions, energy of other people and situations, bodily tension and past experiences. All that energy is not available to us on a day-to-day basis. Regular practices of letting go can be useful. A simple way is to use the out-breath to consciously release something we no longer need, visualizing stress, emotion or worry leaving the system while breathing out. Sighing, making a sound or imagining blowing through a straw can further enhance this. Another simple way is to deliberately tighten all the muscles in the body, holding the tension for a few seconds and then releasing it. This Qi Gong

148

Appendix

technique helps the muscles to remember a true state of relaxation and let go of unnoticed muscle strain. Swinging the arms with an audible out-breath on each swing, or again, shaking the body, is a more vigorous method to release tension and stress. In the animal kingdom, shaking is observed as a natural response to discharging stressful experiences from the system to release the adrenalin that courses through the body and let go of fear (Levine 1997). After an unsuccessful chase, for example, a gazelle will shiver from the tip of her nose to the end of her tail, to release any stress hormones that might still linger. She is then able to continue grazing as if nothing happens. This shaking holds a different intention to the earlier activation shake, although in many ways they are similar. Dancing also provides a way to express undigested emotions. In general, this would include fear, anger and sadness, although we can also quiver with joy, love and surprise. Without necessarily having to ‘understand’ why we experience a particular feeling at a particular time, dancing is a safe way to express and explore it, as long as we are careful not to hurt ourselves and others in the process. This way we can reframe emotions and become more skilled at negotiating them instead of reverting to fight, flight or freeze responses, or even getting stuck in putting on a brave or happy face. A particular shamanic approach to release energy trapped in undigested past experiences is called ‘recapitulation’. On average, it is estimated that an urban western adult will have 3–4,000 such unintegrated experiences, which can be compared to carrying around a heavy sack of stones that have no imminent use for the present. However, we can release the energetic residue of these experiences so that the previously trapped energy becomes available in our everyday life. Traditional recapitulation techniques recommend making an inventory of all events to release and sit down in a relatively enclosed space. Revisit one event at a time, in as much detail as possible. Move the head to the left while breathing out. Then, on breathing in, slowly move the head from left to right, while imagining a particular memory, or scene. On the next out-breath, the head turns back to the left. This movement is called ‘fanning’ or ‘sweeping’ (Sanchez 1995, 2001, Castaneda 1981). One of my memory aides is ‘Left is for Letting go’, so the head turns left on the outbreath that symbolizes and supports the release. Repeat this until the memory has cleared and all energy from that scene has been released, before turning to the next item on the list (or another one that comes to mind spontaneously). There are many versions of recapitulation, including a Descansos Ritual to release all the moments of ‘mini-deaths’ (Pinkola Estés 2008 [1992]) and a Mask Ritual that also serves as a lucid dreaming technique (Magaña 2014). Of course, this process can also be done while dancing. For me it simply works to ‘embody’ the story I want to release, move through the different

Appendix

149

postures or feelings that are attached to it and then release it, as I did in East Wind (see chapter 9), where I danced through deserts of despair, oceans of grief, volcanos of rage and so on. Movement Medicine offers a ritualized danced version of recapitulation, called S.E.E.R. process, which stands for ‘Systematic Essential Energy Retrieval’, and consists of specific steps that can be moved through relatively fast, even in five or ten minutes (Darling Khan and Darling Khan 2009: 162–9, Darling Khan 2020: 175–90). An important part of this process is a conscious choice for a ‘new’ story. In whatever form we release old energy, it is important not to flick energy at someone or a specific situation but send it to your personal equivalent of ‘the great cosmic energy recycling plant’ where it gets transformed without harming anyone or anything. Also make time to consciously seal the newly opened space by using the luminous egg technique described under the section ‘Activate’, so that the old story cannot come back in. RETRIEVE When essential energy or soul parts gets dissociated, we can visit a shamanic practitioner to perform a soul retrieval ceremony for us. Some people hold that one cannot perform soul retrieval for oneself, but I found that performing a soul retrieval in a personal shamanic journey (as described in chapter 6), as well as dancing the soul back, is very effective. For me, dance has always (consciously and unconsciously) provided a way to catch up with myself, notice gaps and call back what has gone missing. Although I am thankfully relatively untraumatized, I still lost quite a few soul parts throughout my life. Sometimes I spontaneously danced them back in sunlit bluebell fields, on raging cliff tops, in stone circles and sandy hollows, on dance floors, in Neolithic burial mounds and the surf of the ocean, on windswept moors, in magical forests and even in a 700-year-old ruin in Coventry. At other times, such as the ectopic pregnancy healing ceremony, it was a well-prepared space for calling back parts that had gone missing. Retrieval usually involves moving through a sequence of re-enacting, remembering, and release before the soul is ready to come back. Sometimes these retrievals are one-off events in which a part returns with lightning clarity, sometimes it takes a longer dialog of negotiating, patiently letting go of what no longer serves while changing habits and patterns to create a more conducive environment for a specific soul part to return. Using the techniques of interoception, expanding consciousness and the creation of ceremonial space support dancing the ‘effects’ of an experience in the body, including shapes and gestures, vocal sounds and expression of feelings. Then focus on the luminous egg around the body (see under ‘Activate’).

150

Appendix

In its whole and relaxed state, it is permeable and transparent, while information can come in and go out from the world around. With hands, senses and imagination, feel into the texture of the energy field, searching for gaps, or even thinness, in all directions. Reach out for the soul piece, which may feel like a gossamer stream, laser beam or subtly scented smoke. It can be anything, but it will be intimately familiar to you. Feel its texture, quality, the direction of energy, its colour, smell, taste, vibration or melody. If the soul piece is ready to return, imagine calling it closer and inviting it back. This can be done through imagination and through guiding it with the hands towards the body, breathing it in, swallowing it or massaging it into the skin to affirm its return into physicality. Listen for any messages, insights or instructions. To complete, seal the luminous egg again. Remember to give thanks for the experience in a way that feels appropriate and close the sacred space consciously.3 Movement Medicine offers a ritualized form of soul retrieval for systematically dealing with difficult moments of the past, releasing energy and reclaiming lost soul pieces. This ‘Phoenix Process’ derives its name from the symbolism of the mythical Phoenix, rising from its ashes as a metaphor for transformation and rebirth into a new state of being. This is best done under the guidance of an experienced facilitator (Kieft 2013, 2020). CULTIVATE The previous activities might have produced insights about actions towards greater health and well-being. This fifth orientation aims to integrate these insights into our daily life. Making a conscious choice for a new way of being that is more in alignment with who we are is one thing, following up with actions is another. Our brains have the capacity to transform neural pathways and habitual thought patterns at any point in life. This compares to creating a new path through an overgrown field or forest, which takes conscious effort and is more challenging than following an existing path (Doidge 2007: 209). In shamanic work, bringing the insights back into the everyday is called ‘bridging’. We create an anchor in physical reality to remind us of the essence of our experience. This can be done in many ways. We can find or create something that symbolizes or represents the essence of our insight and/or intention, such as a stone or shell, or any other concrete object that we can place in our home. We can also wear a specific piece of jewellery, body art or create a painting, drawing or collage that reflects the teachings we received. Such concrete reminders help to integrate the message and intention. We can also design affirmations, postures or simple movements that remind us of our insights. Movement Medicine works with a technique called

Appendix

151

‘incantations’, which consist of a phrase (comparable to an affirmation), a strong feeling and a posture or repetitive movement. This way, the incantation works simultaneously on the levels of mind (words of the affirmation), heart (feeling intention) and body (structure in posture and movement) and is therefore triply effective (Darling Khan 2020: 141–2, Darling Khan and Darling Khan 2009: 208–11). Stories are a third modality for cultivating new ways of being. They provide structure to re-imagine and re-invent our lives. If we do not consciously develop these skills, “our lives get made up for us by other people” (Le Guin 2004: 208). Searching for alternative narratives is an invitation to look at what we value and want to nurture, and what is no longer useful to carry around. What meaning do we attribute to events and situations? How do we interpret the characters and challenges we meet along the way? Who are our allies? The range of tools and ways to communicate with (spirit) companions discussed throughout this book can be applied to re-create the story we tell ourselves about life and our role in it. It is good to keep in mind that behavioural patterns are stubborn. They are constantly reinforced through social interactions and communication, as well as through the roles we adopt. Unlearning or reshaping them requires diligent repetition and patience, as well as kindness for the times we slip back into old habits. Consciously choosing a story that is more in alignment with our new insights supports this process, and it is helpful to have a trusted buddy to remind us when we forget. CELEBRATE After acknowledging, activating, releasing, retrieving and cultivating aspects of our health and wellbeing, the final orientation emphasizes celebration and gratitude. It is time to sit back and enjoy the harvest of our work, and/or to shift focus from a harrowing experience to the many things we can nevertheless be grateful for. A culture that zooms in on lack and imperfection cultivates fear for the future and takes us away from the moment, as there is always something to strive for, to reach, to get. Not many of us are taught to actively appreciate the small delights of the everyday nor the diligent care and effort we invest in living as harmoniously as we can. How would it be to make time to appreciate the smile of a child, the magic that lingers after a dream, or the curious sensation of moving through dappled light in the forest? One way to make a conscious shift to appreciation is to keep a gratitude journal and highlight the positive aspects of each day. This helps to focus away from lack or absence towards appreciating abundance. None are too small to be noted. Some people recommend writing at least three to ten things

152

Appendix

every day. My teacher Ya’Acov Darling Khan invited us to write 21 things we were grateful for each night, for nine months. The nine months for a foetus to be born serves as a metaphor for the time it takes to cultivate new attitudes in life. He used to joke: ‘if you can’t think of 21, make it 42!’ In 2005 I spent six weeks in Plum Village, the late Thich Nhat Hahn’s monastery in France. Every meal would be an invitation for mindful and appreciative eating. While chewing the food, you were invited to connect with the sun and earth that nourished the vegetables, the people who cultivated, transported and sold them, and those who prepared them in the kitchen nearby. Some meals took place in complete silence, during others talking was allowed, but then you would put your spoon down to talk and to listen, because mindfulness invites focusing on one thing at a time. Most traditions recognize the importance of harmony, balance and right action. In the Closing chapter I already mentioned the ancient Art of Living philosophy. The Navahos practice something similar as the ‘Way of Beauty’ (Gold, 1994). It aspires to create and live an attitude that nourishes not only ourselves but “all of our relations” within the human and non-human worlds. Like the attitude of the peaceful warrior (chapter 9), this is something to strive for and, together with the previous orientations, a powerful way to come into balance on a regular basis. Of course, none of the above techniques for health and healing are new in and of themselves. I simply highlighted them in a circle of acknowledging, activating, releasing, retrieving, cultivating and celebrating. I hope this contributes to another outlook on active and continuous engagement with health as a precious commodity, so that we all blossom and can contribute to a thriving planet for all its creatures. May it be so. NOTES 1. These were poignant movement invitations during Sandra Reeve’s Urban Retreat workshop Coventry, 14–18 March 2016. Other inspiration can be derived from the Exploration Prompts outlined in chapter 4. 2. Paraphrasing Ya’Acov Darling Khan, dance diary, March 6, 2009. 3. This section is adapted from an earlier publication, with permission of the editors, which also includes a full recipe for dancing the soul back (Kieft 2020).

Bibliography

Aalten, Anna. 1997. “Performing the body, creating culture.” The European Journal of Women’s Studies 4 (2):197–215. Adalena, Klara. 2004. Leven in Geluk. De inwijdingsweg uit de oude godinnenculturen. Haarlem, The Netherlands: Altamira-Becht. Adler, Janet. 2002. Offering from the Conscious Body. The Discipline of Authentic Movement. Rochester, VT: Inner Traditions. Aldhouse-Green, Miranda and Stephen. 2005. The Quest for the Shaman. Shapeshifters, Sorcerers and Spirit-healers of Ancient Europe. London: Thames & Hudson. Anderson, Jon. 2004. “Talking whilst walking: A geographical archaeology of knowledge.” Area 36 (3):254–261. http://www​.spatialmanifesto​.com​/wp​-content​/uploads​ /2010​/12​/anderson​-area​.pdf. Anderson, Jon, and Katie Jones. 2009. “The difference that place makes to methodology: Uncovering the ‘lived space’ of young people’s spatial practices.” Children’s Geographies 7 (3): 291–303. doi: 10.1080/14733280903024456. Anderson, Leon. 2006. “Analytic autoethnography.” Journal of Contemporary Ethnography 35 (4):373–394. Andrén, Anders, Kristina Jennbert, and Catharina Raudvere, eds. 2006. Old Norse Religion in Long-term Perspectives. Origins, Changes, and Interactions. Lund, Sweden: Nordic Academic Press. Andrews, Ted. 1997. Luisteren naar Dieren. Spirituele en magische lessen uit het dierenrijk als sleutel tot zelfkennis en bewustzijnsverruiming. Bloemendaal: Gottmer (original title: Animal-Speak. The Spiritual and Magical Powers of Creatures Great & Small, 1993, St. Paul, MN: Llewellyn Publications). Antonovsky, Aaron. 1993. “The structure and properties of the sense of coherence scale.” Social Science & Medicine 36 (6):725–733. doi: 10.1016/0277-9536(93)90033-Z. Armstrong, Karen. 2004. The Spiral Staircase. A memoir. London: HarperCollinsPublishers. Atkinson, Jane Monnig. 1992. “Shamanisms today.” Annual Review of Anthropology 21:307–330. 153

154

Bibliography

Averbuch, Irit. 1998. “Shamanic dance in Japan: The choreography of possession in kagura performance.” Asian Folklore Studies 57 (2):293–329. doi: 10.2307/1178756. Bailey, Lee W. 2014a. “Animism.” In Encyclopedia of Psychology and Religion, edited by David A. Leeming, 73–78. New York: Springer. Bailey, Lee W. 2014b. “Re-enchantment.” In Encyclopedia of Psychology and Religion, edited by David A. Leeming, 1476–1480. New York: Springer. Barnhart, Robert K., ed. 1988. Chambers Dictionary of Etymology. Edinburgh: Chambers Harrap Publishers. Beinfield, Harriet, and Efrem Korngold. 1991. Between Heaven and Earth. A Guide to Chinese Medicine. New York: Ballantine Books, The Random House Publishing Group. Bell, Catherine. 1997. Ritual. Perspectives and Dimensions. New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press. Bell, Daniel. 1977. “The return of the sacred? The argument on the future of religion.” The British Journal of Sociology 28 (4):419–449. Bell, Sarah L., Cassandra Phoenix, Rebecca Lovell, and Benedict W. Wheeler. 2015. “Seeking everyday wellbeing: The coast as a therapeutic landscape.” Social Science & Medicine 142:56–67. doi: 10.1016/j.socscimed.2015.08.011. Berresford Ellis, Peter. 2003. A Brief History of The Celts. London: Constable and Robinson. Blacking, John. 1985. “Movement, dance, music, and the Venda girls’ initiaton cycle.” In Society and the Dance. The Social Anthropology of Process and Performance, edited by Paul Spencer, 64–91. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Blacking, John. 1988. “Dance and human being: Stengthening children’s individuality and angelic qualities for adaptation to cultural convention.” In Proceedings of the Dance and the Child Conference, 3, edited by Irene K. Glaister, 1–14. London: Roehampton Institute. Bly, Robert. 1990. Iron John. A Book about Men. Shaftesbury, Dorset: Element. Boas, Franziska, ed. 1972. The Function of Dance in Human Society. A Seminar Directed by Franziska Boas. New York: Dance Horizons. Original edition, 1944. Bohm, David. 1985. “Soma-significance: A new notion of the relationship between the physical and the mental.” In Unfolding Meaning: A Weekend of Dialogue with David Bohm, 72–120. London: Routledge. Boon, Jessica A. 2003. “Trinitarian love mysticism: Ruusbroec, hadewijch, and the gendered experience of the divine.” Church History 72 (3):484–503. Bortoft, Henri. 1996. The Wholeness of Nature: Goethe’s Way of Science. Edinburgh: Floris Books. Bourzat, Françoise. 2019. Consciousness Medicine. Indigenous Wisdom, Entheogens, and Expanded States of Consciousness for Healing and Growth. Berkeley, CA: North Atlantic Books. Boyd, Jeni. 2007. “The rhythm method.” Body, Movement and Dance in Psychotherapy 2 (1):57–67. Boyer, Pascal. 2000. Religion Explained. The Evolutionary Origins of Religious Thought. Paris: Editions Robert Laffont.

Bibliography

155

Breytenbach, Anna, and Philip Franses. 2015. “Inter species communication.” Holistic Science Journal 2 (4), https://holisticsciencejournal.co.uk/ojs/index.php/ hsj/article/viewFile/125/141. Buckland, Fiona. 2002. Impossible Dance. Club Culture and Queer World-making. Middletown, CT: Wesleyan University Press. Buckland, Theresa J., ed. 1999. Dance in the Field. Theory, Methods and Issues in Dance Ethnography. New York: Palgrave MacMillan. Burkhardt, Margaret A., and Mary Gail Nagai-Jacobson. 2002. Spirituality: Living Our Connectedness. New York: Delmar Thomson Learning. Burnier, DeLysa. 2006. “Encounters with the self in social science research: A political scientist looks at autoethnography.” Journal of Contemporary Ethnography 35 (4):410–418. Buzard, James. 2003. “On auto-ethnographic authority.” The Yale Journal of Critcicism 16 (1):61–91. Cameron, Oliver G. 2001. “Interoception: The inside story: A model for psychosomatic processes.” Psychosomatic Medicine 63 (5):697–710. Cameron, Oliver G., and W.D. Hamilton. 2002. Visceral Sensory Neuroscience: Interoception. New York: Oxford University Press. Capra, Fritjof. 2000 [1975]. The Tao of Physics: An Exploration of the Parallels between Modern Physics and Eastern Mysticism: 25th Anniversary Edition. Boulder, CO: Shambhala Publications Inc. Carter, Curtis L. 2000. “Improvisation in dance.” The Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism 58 (2):181–190. Cashford, Jules, and Anne Baring. 1991. The Myth of the Goddess: Evolution of an Image. London: Viking published by Penguin Group. Castaneda, Carlos. 1981. The Eagle’s Gift. New York: Simon & Schuster. Castaneda, Carlos. 1993. The Art of Dreaming. New York: HarperCollins Publishers. Chappell, Stacie, Elizabeth Cooper, and George Trippe. 2019. “Shadow work for leadership development.” Journal of Management Development 38 (5):326–335. Clemente, Karen. 2008. “The sacred or the profane. The challenge of modern dance in religious educaitonal settings.” Journal of Dance Education 8 (2):62–72. Clifford, James. 1988. The Predicament of Culture. Twentieth-Century Ethnography, Literature, and Art. Cambridge, MA and London: Harvard University Press. Clifford, James, and George E. Marcus, eds. 1986. Writing Culture. The Poetics and Politics of Ethnography. Berkely and Los Angeles, CA: University of California Press. Coelho, Paulo 1997. Manual of The Warrior of Light. London: Harper. Cohen Bull, Cynthia Jean 1997. “Sense, meaning, and perception in three dance cultures.” In Meaning in Motion. New Cultural Studies of Dance, edited by Jane C. Desmond, 269–287. Durham, NC and London: Duke University Press. Cohen, Bonnie B. 1993. Sensing, Feeling, and Action: The Experiential Anatomy of Body-Mind Centering. Northampton, MA: Contact Editions. Cohen, Dan Booth. 2006. “‘Family Constellations’: An innovative systemic phenomenological group process from Germany.” The Family Journal 14 (3):226–233. Colin, Didier. 2000. Dictionary of Symbols, Myths & Legends. London: Hachette Livre.

156

Bibliography

Cooke, Graham. 2010. Qualities of a Spiritual Warrior. An Interactive Jounal, The Way of the Warrior. Vacaville, CA: Brilliant Book House. Cooper, J.C. 1978. An Illustrated Encyclopaedia of Traditional Symbols. London: Thames and Hudson Ltd. Cooper, Jean. 1977. “The symbolism of the Taoist Garden.” Studies in Comparative Religion 11 (4), http://www.studiesincomparativereligion.com/public/articles/ The_Symbolism_of_the_Taoist_Garden-by_Jean_Cooper.aspx. Cox, James Leland. 2007. From Primitive to Indigenous: The Academic Study of Indigenous Religions. Aldershot, Hampshire: Ashgate Publishing Limited. Csordas, Thomas J. 1993. “Somatic modes of attention.” Cultural Anthropology 8 (2):135–156. Csordas, Thomas J. 1999. “Embodiment and cultural phenomenology.” In Perspectives on Embodiment: The Intersections of Nature and Culture, edited by Gail Weiss and Honi Fern Haber, 143–162. New York: Routledge. Czikszentmihalyi, Mihaly. 1975. Beyond Boredom and Anxiety. Experiencing Flow in Work and Play. San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass. Damasio, Antonio. 2004. Looking for Spinoza. Joy, Sorrow and the Feeling Brain. London: Vintage. Original edition, 2003. Daniel, Yvonne. 2017. “Transcendence and glimpses of conversion: In/through the dancing diaspora body.” Dance, Movement & Spiritualities 4 (1):93–111. Darling Khan, Susannah. 2021. “Personal Communication via email, June 22, 2021 discussing the influence of Gestalt psychotherapy and Family Constellations on Movement Medicine.” Darling Khan, Susannah, and Ya’Acov Darling Khan. 2009. Movement Medicine. How to Awaken, Dance and Live Your Dreams. London: Hay House. Darling Khan, Ya’Acov. 2020. Shaman. Invoking Power, Presence and Purpose at the Core of Who YOU Are. Carlsbad, CA, New York City, London: Hay House. de Botton, Alain. 2012. Religion for Atheists, A Non-believer’s Guide to the Uses of Religion. London: Penguin Books. de Cleene, Marcel, and Marie Claire Lejeune. 1999. Compendium van Rituele Planten in Europa (Compendium of Ritual Plants in Europe). Gent, Belgium: Uitgeverij Stichting Mens en Kultuur. de Quincey, Christian. 2002. Radical Nature: Rediscovering the Soul of Matter. Montpelier, VT: Invisible Cities Press. de Quincey, Christian. 2005. Radical Knowing. Understanding Consciousness through Relationship. Rochester, VT: Park Street Press. Debenham, Pat, and Kathie Debenham. 2008. “Experiencing the sacred in dance education: Wonder, compassion, wisdom, and wholeness in the classroom.” Journal of Dance Education 8 (2):44–55. doi: 10.1080/15290824.2008.10387358. Deflem, Mathieu. 1991. “Ritual, anti-structure, and religion: A discussion of Victor Turner’s processual symbolic analysis.” Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion 30 (1):1–25. Desmond, Jane C., ed. 1997. Meaning in Motion. New Cultural Studies of Dance. Edited by Stanley Fish and Frederic Jameson, Post-Contemporary Interventions. Durham, NC and London: Duke University Press.

Bibliography

157

DeSpain, Kent. 2014. Landscape of the Now. A Topography of Movement Improvisation. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. Doidge, Norman. 2007. The Brain that Changes Itself. Stories of Personal Triumph from the Frontiers of Brain Science. London/New York: Penguin. Durkheim, Émile. 2001 [1912]. The Elementary Forms of Religious Life. Translated by Carol Cosman, Oxford World’s Classics. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Eddy, Martha. 2009. “A brief history of somatic practices and dance: Historical development of the field of somatic education and its relationship to dance.” Journal of Dance and Somatic Practices 1 (1):5–27. Ehrenreich, Barbara. 2007. Dancing in the Streets. A History of Collective Joy. New York: Metropolitan Books, Henry Holt & Company. Eliade, Mircea. 1972 [1951]. Shamanism. Archaic Techniques of Ecstasy. Princeton, NJ and Oxford: Princeton University Press. Elliott, J.K. 1993. The Apocryphal New Testament: A Collection of Apocryphal Christian Literature in an English Translation, Second Revised Edition based on M. R. James 1924 Oxford Clarendon Press. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. Ellis, Carolyn, Tony E. Adams, and Arthur P. Bochner. 2011. “Autoethnography: An overview.” Forum: Qualitative Social Research 12 (1). https://www.qualitativeresearch.net/index.php/fqs/article/view/1589/3096. Ellis, Simon. 2009. Performance-presentation: Hands That Don’t Want Anything, Discussing Recent Collaborations with Kirstie Simson. Plymouth: Theatre and Performance Research Association (TaPRA) Performance and the Body Working Group, meeting 7 September 2009. Epes Brown, Joseph. 1953. The Sacred Pipe. Black Elk’s Account of the Seven Rites of the Oglala Sioux. New York: Penguin Group. Epictetus, and Sharon Lebell. 1995. Art of Living: The Classical Manual on Virtue, Happiness, and Effectiveness. San Fransisco, CA: HarperSanFransisco. Eyers, Pegi 2016. Ancient Spirit Rising. Reclaiming Your Roots & Restoring Earth Community. Otanobee, Ontario, Canada: Stone Circle Press. Fabian, Johannes. 2000. Out of Our Minds. Reason and Madness in the Exploration of Central Africa. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Fabian, Johannes. 2007. “Preface.” In Extraordinary Anthropology. Transformations in the Field, edited by Jean-Guy A. Goulet and Bruce Granville Miller, ix–xii. Lincoln & London: University of Nebraska Press. Fachner, Jörg 2006. “Music and altered states of consciousness: An overview.” In Music and Altered States. Consciousness, Transcendence, Therapy and Addictions, edited by David Aldridge and Jörg Fachner, 15–37. London and Philadelphia, PA: Jessica Kingsley Publishers. Fischer, A. 2002. Radical Ecopscyhology: Psychology in the Service of Life. State Albany, NY: University of New York Press. Fleckenstein, Kristie S. 1999. “Writing bodies: Somatic mind in composition studies.” College English 61 (3):281–306. Flinn, Juliana. 1995. “American Country dancing: A religious experience.” Journal of Popular Culture 29 (1):61–69.

158

Bibliography

Fotiou, Evgenia. 2012. “Working with ‘La Medicina’: Elements of healing in contemporary ayahuasca rituals.” Anthropology of Consciousness 23 (1):6–27. Fraleigh, Sondra. 1991. “A vulnerable glance: Seeing dance through phenomenology.” Dance Research Journal 23 (1):11–16. Fraleigh, Sondra. 1999. “Witnessing the frog pond.” In Researching Dance. Evolving Modes of Inquiry, edited by Sondra Fraleigh and Penelope Hanstein, 188–224. Pittsburgh, PA: University of Pittsburgh Press. Fraleigh, Sondra. 2000. “Consciousness matters.” Dance Research Journal 32 (1):54–62. Fraleigh, Sondra. 2004. Dancing Identity. Metaphysics in Motion. Pittsburgh, PA: University of Pittsburgh Press. Fraleigh, Sondra, and Penelope Hanstein, eds. 1999. Researching Dance. Evolving Modes of Inquiry. Pittsburgh, PA: University of Pittsburgh Press. Frost, Robert. 2013. Applied Kinesiology, Revised Edition: A Training Manual and Reference Book of Basic Principles and Practices. Berkeley, CA: North Atlantic Books. Fuller, R.C. 2008. Spirituality in the Flesh: Bodily Sources of Religious Experience. New York: Oxford University Press. Furlong, Monica. 1965. With Love to the Church. London: Hodder & Stoughton Ltd. Furlong, Monica. 1987. Wise Child. New York: Random House. Furlong, Monica. 1990. A Year and A Day (Juniper). New York: Random House. Furlong, Monica. 2004. Colman. New York: Random House. Gadamer, Hans-Georg. 2011 [1975]. Truth and Method. London: Continuum International Publishing Group. Gagne, Ronald, Kane Thomas, and Robert VerEecke. 1999. Introducing Dance in Christian Worship. Rev. ed. Portland, OR: Pastoral Press. Gardner, Howard. 1983. Frames of Mind. The Theory of Multiple Intelligences. London: Fontana Press. Geertz, Armin W. 1984. “A reed pierced the sky: Hopi Indian cosmography on third mesa, Arizona.” Numen 31 (2):216–241. doi: 10.2307/3269955. Geertz, Clifford. 1973. The Interpretation of Cultures. London: Hutchinson & Co LTD. Gendlin, Eugene T. 1978. Focusing. New York: Bantham Books. Gendlin, Eugene T. 1996. Focusing-oriented Psychotherapy: A Manual of the Experiential Method. New York: The Guilford Press. Geurts, Kathryn Linn. 2002. “On rocks, walks, and talks in West Africa: Cultural categories and an anthropology of the senses.” Ethos 30 (3):178–198. Gill, Sam. 2012. Dancing Culture Religion. Edited by Richard M. Carp and Rebecca Sachs, Studies in Body & Religion. New York: Lexington Books. Glass-Coffin, Bonnie. 2010. “Anthropology, shamanism, and alternate ways of knowing-being in the world: One anthropologist’s journey of discovery and transformation.” Anthropology and Humanism 35 (2):204–217. Glock, Charles Y., and Robert N. Bellah, eds. 1976. The New Religious Consciousness. Berkeley and Los Angeles, CA: University of California Press.

Bibliography

159

Gloria, Christian T., and Mary A. Steinhardt. 2016. “Relationships among positive emotions, coping, resilience and mental health.” Stress and Health: Journal of the International Society for the Investigation of Stress 32 (2):145–156. doi: 10.1002/ smi.2589. Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von. 2010 [1792]. “The experiment as mediator of object and subject.” In Context 24:19–23. Gold, Peter. 1994. Navajo and Tibetan Sacred Wisdom: The Circle of the Spirit. Rochester, VT: Inner Traditions. Gore, Georgiana. 1995. “Rhythm, representation and ritual: The rave and the religious cult.” In Border Tensions. Dance & Discourse. Guildford,: University of Surrey, April 20–23, 1995. Gore, Georgiana. 1997. “The beat goes on: Trance, dance and tribalism in rave culture.” In Dance in the City, edited by Helen Thomas, 50–67. Basingstoke and London: MacMillan Press LTD. Grau, Andrée. 1993. “John blacking and the development of dance anthropology in the United Kingdom.” Dance Research Journal 25 (2):21–31. Grau, Andrée. 1999. “Fieldwork, politics and power.” In Dance in the Field. Theory, Methods and Issues in Dance Ethnography, edited by Theresa J. Buckland, 163– 174. New York: Palgrave MacMillan. Grau, Andrée. 2005. “When the landscape becomes flesh: An investigation into body boundaries with special reference to Tiwi dance and Western classical ballet.” Body & Society 11 (4):141–163. Grau, Andrée. 2012. “Dancing bodies, spaces/places and the senses: A cross-cultural investigation.” Journal of Dance & Somatic Practices 3 (1–2):5–24. doi: 10.1386/ jdsp.3.1-2.5_1. Grau, Andrée. 2015. “Why people dance: Evolution, sociality and dance.” Dance, Movement & Spiritualities 2 (3):233–254. Greenwood, Susan. 2000. Magic, Witchcraft and the Otherworld. An Anthropology. Oxford and New York: Berg. Greenwood, Susan. 2005. The Nature of Magic. An Anthropology of Magic. Oxford and New York: Berg. Grimes, Ronald L. 1992. “Reinventing ritual.” Soundings: An Interdisciplinary Journal 75 (1 (Spring 1992)):21–41. Grof, Stanislav, and Christina Grof. 1986. “Spiritual emergency: The understanding and treatment of transpersonal crises.” ReVISION 8 (2):7–20. Guenther, Mathias. 2015. “‘Therefore their parts resemble humans, for they feel that they are people’.” Hunter Gatherer Research 1 (3):277–315. doi: 10.3828/ hgr.2015.16. Halifax, Joan. 1982. Shaman. The Wounded Healer. Edited by Jill Purce, The Illustrated Library of Sacred Imagination. New York: Cross Road. Halprin, Anna. 1995. Moving towards Life. Five Decades of Transformational Dance. Edited by Rachel Kaplan. Hanover and London: Wesleyan University Press. Halprin, Anna. 2009. Breath Made Visible: A Documentary Film by Ruedi Gerber about the Life of Anna Halprin. https://www.imdb.com/title/tt1351105/.

160

Bibliography

Halprin, Daria. 2003. The Expressive Body in Life, Art and Therapy. Working with Movement, Metaphor and Meaning. London and Philadelphia, PA: Jessica Kingsley Publishers. Hammer, Olav. 2005. “New age movement.” In Dictionary of Gnosis and Western Esotericism, edited by W.J. Hanegraaff, 855–861. Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill (Academic Publishers). Hanegraaff, Wouter J. 1998. “Reflections on new age and the secularisation of nature.” In Nature Religion Today. Paganism in the Modern World, edited by Joanne Pearson, Richard H. Roberts and Geoffrey Samuel, 22–32. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Hanna, Judith Lynne. 1979. “Movements toward understanding humans through the anthropological study of dance.” Current Anthropology 20 (2):313–339. Hanna, Judith Lynne. 1987. To Dance is Human. A Theory of Nonverbal Communication. Chicago, IL: The University of Chicago Press. Original edition, 1979. Hanna, Judith Lynne. 1988. Dance and Stress. Resistance, Reduction, and Euphoria. Vol. 13, Stress in Modern Society. New York: AMS Press, Inc. Hanstein, Penelope. 1999. “Models and metaphors: Theory making and the creation of new knowledge.” In Researching Dance. Evolving Modes of Inquiry, edited by Sondra Fraleigh and Penelope Hanstein, 62–88. Pittsburgh, PA: University of Pittsburgh Press. Hardy, Chris H. 2015. “Nonlocal processes & entanglement as a signature of a cosmic hyperdimension of consciousness.” Journal of Consciousness Exploration & Research 6 (12):1015–1030. Harner, Michael. 1980. The Way of the Shaman: A Guide to Power and Healing. New York: Harper & Row Publishers. Harris, Adrian. 1996. “Sacred ecology.” In Paganism Today: Ancient Earth Traditions for the Twenty-First Century, edited by G. Harvey and C. Hardman. London: Thorsons. Harris, Adrian. 2016. “The knowing body: Eco-paganism as an embodying practice.” In Contributions to Law, Philosophy and Ecology: Exploring Re-Embodiments, edited by De Lucia Thomas-Pellicer and Sullivan, 139–158. London: Routledge. Hart, David W., and F. Neil Brady. 2005. “Spirituality and archetype in organizational life.” Business Ethics Quarterly 15 (3):409–428. Hartley, Linda. 1995. Wisdom of the Body Moving. An Introduction to Body-Mind Centering. Berkely, CA: North Atlantic Books. Original edition, 1989. Harvey, Graham. 2003. “General introduction.” In Shamanism: A Reader, edited by Graham Harvey, 1–23. London: Routledge. Harvey, Graham, ed. 2014. The Handbook of Contemporary Animism. Oxon & New York: Routledge. Havelock, Ellis. 1983. “The art of dancing.” In What is Dance? Readings in Theory and Criticism, edited by Roger Copeland and Marshall Cohen, 478–496. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Original edition, The Dance of Life. Heelas, Paul. 1994. “The limits of consumption and the post-modern ‘religion’ of the new age.” In The Authority of the Consumer, edited by Russel Keat, Nigel Whiteley and Nicholas Abercrombie, 102–115. London: Routledge.

Bibliography

161

Heelas, Paul. 1996. The New Age Movement: The Celebration of the Self and the Sacralization of Modernity. Oxford: Blackwell Publishers. Hefferon, Kate M., and Stewart Ollis. 2006. “‘Just clicks’: An interpretive phenomenological analysis of professional dancers’ experience of flow.” Research in Dance Education 7 (2):141–159. Hellinger, Bert, and Ian Longstaff. 2001. “Consenting to ‘What Is’. Bert Hellinger interviewed by Ian Longstaff.” Systemic Solutions Bulletin 2001 (2):6–9. Henley, Matthew. 2014. “Dance and embodied intelligence.” Journal of Emerging Dance Scholarship 1 (2):1–20. Henry, Rosita, Fiona Magowan, and David Murray. 2000. “Introduction.” The Australian Journal of Anthropology 11 (3):253–260. Holden, Lee. 2018. Online Teacher Certification Program or Online Teacher Training. Santa Cruz, CA: Holden QiGong, LLC. Holecek, Andrew. 2016. Dream Yoga. Illuminating Your Life Through Ludid Dreaming and the Tibetan Yogas of Sleep. Boulder, CO: Sounds True. Hood, Ralph W., Bernard Spilka, Bruce Hunsberger, and Richard Gorsuch. 1996. The Psychology of Religion. An Emperical Approach. New York: The Guildford Press. Hooykaas, Reijer. 2000 [1972]. Religion and the Rise of Modern Science. Vancouver: Regent College Publishing. Horwitz, Jonathan. 1996. “Coming home: The Shaman’s work with soul-loss.” Sacred Hoop (13):16–20. Horwitz, Jonathan. 2020. “Personal Communication via email, November 26, 2020, book to come in 2021.” Horwitz, Jonathan, and Zara Waldebäck. 2020. “Shamanic healing.” Shaman Circle Center YouTube Channel, episode. https://www​.youtube​.com​/watch​?v​ =LSWUIE86jUc. Huber, Machteld, J. André Knottnerus, Lawrence Green, Henriëtte van der Horst, Alejandro R Jadad, Daan Kromhout, Brian Leonard, Kate Lorig, Maria Isabel Loureiro, Jos W M van der Meer, Paul Schnabel, Richard Smith, Chris van Weel, and Henk Smid. 2011. “How should we define health?” BMJ 343. doi: 10.1136/ bmj.d4163. Hume, Lynne. 2007. Portals. Opening Doorways to Other Realities Through the Senses. Oxford: Berg. Ikuta, Hiroko. 2011. “Embodied knowledge, relations with the environment, and political negotiation: St. Lawrence Island Yupik and Iñupiaq Dance in Alaska.” Arctic Anthropology 48 (1):54–65. Ingerman, Sandra. 1991. Soul Retrieval: Mending the Fragmented Self. New York: HarperCollins. Ingerman, Sandra. 2003. “Tracking lost souls.” In Shamanism: A Reader, edited by Graham Harvey, 355–364. London: Routledge. Ingold, Tim. 2000. The Perception of the Environment. Essays on livelihood, dwelling and skill. Oxon & New York: Routledge. Ingold, Tim. 2011. Being Alive. Essays on movement, knowledge and description. London and New york: Routledge.

162

Bibliography

Irwin, John. 1990. “The ‘Tree-of-Life’ in Indian sculpture.” South Asian Studies 6 (1):27–37. doi: 10.1080/02666030.1990.9628398. Jäger, Willigis. 2007. Die Welle ist das Meer: Mystische Spiritualität. Freiburg: Herder. Jakobsen, Merete Demant. 1999. Shamanism. Traditional and Contemporary Approaches to the Mastery of Spirits and Healing. New York and Oxford: Berghahn Books. Jankowsky, Richard C. 2007. “Music, spirit possession and the in-between: Ethnomusicological inquiry and the challenge of trance.” Ethnomusicology Forum 16 (2):185–208. John-Roger. 1998. Spiritual Warrior. The Art of Spiritual Living. Los Angeles, CA: Mandevill Press. Jones, Raya A. 2003. “Mixed metaphors and narrative shifts: Archetypes.” Theory & Psychology 13 (5):651–672. doi: 10.1177/09593543030135008. Jung, Carl Gustav. 1936 [1980]. “The concept of the collective unconscious, Volume 9/1 Collected Works of C.G. Jung, Volume 9 (Part 1).” https://www.degruyter. com/document/doi/10.1515/9781400850969.42/html Jung, Carl Gustav. 1971 [1959]. The Archetypes and the Collective Unconscious. Edited by Herbert Read, Michael Fordham and Gerhard Adler. Vol. 9 part 1, The Collected Works of C.G. Jung. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul. Jung, Carl Gustav. 1993 [1953]. Psychology and Alchemy. London: Routledge. Kapferer, Bruce. 1986. “Performance and the structuring of meaning and experience.” In The Anthropology of Experience, edited by Victor Turner and Edward M. Bruner, 188–203. Urbana and Chicago, IL: University of Illinois Press. Katrak, Ketu H. 2013. “Innovations in contemporary Indian dance: From religious and mythological roots in classical bharatanatyam.” Religion Compass 7 (2):47– 58. doi: 10.1111/rec3.12030. Keeney, Bradford. 2005. Bushman Shaman. Awakening the Spirit through Ecstatic Dance. Rochester, VT: Destiny Books. Keeney, Bradford. 2007. Shaking Medicine. The Healing Power of Ecstatic Movement. Rochester, VT: Destiny Books. Keeney, Hillary, and Bradford Keeney. 2018. “Revisiting the Shaman’s ecstasy: The intense emotion that ignites the performance of song and dance.” Journal of Dance, Movement & Spiritualities 5 (2):183–205. Keyes, Charles F. 2002. “Weber and anthropology.” Annual Review of Anthropology 31:233–255. Kieft, Eline. 1995. “Solo performance: Hoe kun je de lucht bezitten?” Rotterdam: Codarts Academy For Contemporary Dance. Kieft, Eline. 2013. Dance, Empowerment and Spirituality. An Ethnography of Movement Medicine. London: University of Roehampton. Kieft, Eline. 2017. “(Re)discovering the enchanted garden through movement and the body.” Revue Théologiques 25 (1):139–154. Kieft, Eline. 2018. “Clearing the way towards soulful scholarship.” In A World of Muscle, Bone & Organs: Research and Scholarship in Dance, edited by Simon

Bibliography

163

Ellis, Hetty Blades and Charlotte Waelde, 456–479. Coventry: C-DaRE at Coventry University. Kieft, Eline. 2020a. “Dancing with the spirits, Act 1: ‘Being grounded and being able to fly are not mutually exclusive’.” Dance, Movement & Spiritualities 6 (1&2):27–48. Kieft, Eline. 2020b. “East wind: Dancing the story of my ectopic pregnancy.” Online Performance, freely available on https://vimeo​.com​/424718341. Kieft, Eline. 2020c. “Soul loss and retrieval: Restoring wholeness through dance.” In Spiritual Herstories: Soulful Research in Dance Studies, edited by A. Williamson and B. Sellers-Young, 180–206. Bristol & Chicago, IL: Intellect. Kieft, Eline. 2021. “Calibrating the body: Embodied research strategies for attuning to subtle information.” In Subtle Agroecologies: Farming With the Hidden Half of Nature, edited by Julia Wright, 191–202. Boca Raton, FL: Routledge, CRC Press, Taylor & Francis Group. Kieft, Eline, Ben Spatz, and Doerte Weig. 2019. A Somatics Toolkit for Ethnographers. Coventry: Coventry University, available online: http://somaticstoolkit​.coventry​.ac​ .uk. Kieft, Henk. 2019. Quantum Leaps in Agriculture: Exploring Quantum Principles in Farming, Gardening and Nature. Beaubassin, Mauritius: Lambert Academic Publishing. Kiriwat, Amolwan. 2001. Khōn: Masked Dance Drama of the Thai Epic Ramakien. Unpublished MA thesis, Maine: University of Maine. Kohn, Eduardo. 2013. How Forests Think. Toward an Anthropology beyond the Human. Berkely and Los Angeles, CA: University of California Press. Kohn, Livia, ed. 2009. Internal Alchemy: Self, Society, and the Quest for Immortality. Edited by Livia Kohn. Magdalena, NM: Three Pines Press. Kornfield, Jack. 2000. After the Ecstasy, the Laundry. How the Heart Grows Wise on the Spiritual Path. London: Bantam Books. Kraus, Rachel. 2010. “They danced in the bible: Identity integration among christian women who belly dance.” Sociology of Religion 71 (4):457–482. Kuppers, Petra. 2006. “Vibrant agencies: Dance, disability embodiment and phenomenology.” Discourses in Dance 3 (2):21–31. LaMothe, Kimerer L. 2004. Between Dancing and Writing: The Practice of Religious Studies. New York: Fordham University Press. LaMothe, Kimerer L. 2014. “Transformation: An ecokinetic approach to the study of ritual dance.” Dance, Movement & Spiritualities 1 (1):57–72. doi: 10.1386/ dmas.1.1.57_1. LaMothe, Kimerer L. 2015. Why We Dance. A Philosophy of Bodily Becoming. New York: Columbia University Press. Landsman, Klaas. 2005. Requiem voor Newton. Amsterdam: Contact. Lange, Roderyk. 1975. The Nature of Dance. An Anthropological Perspective. London: MacDonald & Evans Ltd. Larson, Paul. 2014. “Pantheism.” In Encyclopedia of Psychology and Religion, edited by David A. Leeming, 1283–1285. New York: Springer.

164

Bibliography

Laszlo, Ervin. 2004. Kosmische visie. Wetenschap en het Akasha-veld. Deventer: Ankh-Hermes. Layous, Kristin, S. Katherine Nelson, Eva Oberle, Kimberly A. Schonert-Reichl, and Sonja Lyubomirsky. 2012. “Kindness counts: Prompting prosocial behavior in preadolescents boosts peer acceptance and well-being.” PLoS ONE 7 (12):e51380. Le Guin, Ursula K. 2004. The Wave in the Mind: Talks and Essays on the Writer, the Reader, and the Imagination. Boston, MA: Shambala Publications. Lemaire, Ton. 2002. Met open zinnen. Natuur, landschap, aarde [With open senses. Nature, landscape, earth]. Amsterdam: Ambo. Leseho, Johanna, and Lisa Rene Maxwell. 2010. “Coming alive: Creative movement as a personal coping strategy on the path to healing and growth.” British Journal of Guidance & Counselling 38 (1):17–30. Levine, Peter A. 1997. Waking the Tiger: Healing Trauma. The Innate Capacity to Transfor Overwhelming Experiences. Berkely, CA: North Atlantic Books. Lovelock, James. 2000. Gaia: A New Look at Life on Earth. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Low, Chris. 2015. “The role of the body in Kalahari San healing dances.” Hunter Gatherer Research 1 (1):29–60. doi: 10.3828/hgr.2015.3. Lüttichau, Chris. 2009. Animal Spirit Guides. Discover Your Power Animal and the Shamanic Path. London and New York: Cico Books. Lüttichau, Chris. 2017. Calling Us Home. Find Your Path, Your Balance and Your Inner Strength. London: Head of Zeus. Magaña, Sergio. 2014. The Toltec Secret, Dreaming Practices of the Ancient Mexicans. Carlsbad, CA: Hay House. Mantas, Kathy, and Solveiga Miezitis. 2014. “Mermaid (a/be)musings from/on/into/ through the in-between “ Cultural Studies: Critical Methodologies 14 (6):574–588. Marcus, George E., and Michael M.J. Fischer. 1999 [1986]. Anthropology as Cultural Critique. An Experimental Moment in the Human Sciences. Chicago, IL: The University of Chicago Press. Marshall, Molly T. 2003. Joining the Dance. A Theology of the Spirit. Valley Forge, PA: Judson Press. Maslow, Abraham. 1994. Religion, Values and Peak Experiences. New York: Viking. Maxfield. 2006. “Brainwaves, conference abstract.” https://web​.stanford​.edu​/group​/ brainwaves​/2006​/Maxfieldabstract​.html, Accessed March 28, 2019. McCraty, Rollin. 2015. Science of the Heart. Exploring the Role of the Heart in Human Performance. vol. 2. Boulder Creek, CA: HeartMath Institute. McGaa, Ed. 1990. Mother Earth Spirituality. Native American Paths to Healing Ourselves and Our World. San Fransisco, CA: HarperSanFransisco. McNamara, Joann. 1999. “Dance in the hermeneutic circle.” In Researching Dance. Evolving Modes of Inquiry, edited by Sondra Fraleigh and Penelope Hanstein, 162–187. Pittsburgh, PA: University of Pittsburgh Press. Meekums, Bonnie. 2002. Dance Movement Therapy. A Creative Psychotherapeutic Approach. London: Sage Publications. Melrose, Susan. 2007. “The (written) confessions of an uneasy expert spectator.” accessed Novemember 21, 2017. http://www​.sfmelrose​.org​.uk.

Bibliography

165

Merleau-Ponty, Maurice. 1968. The Visible and the Invisible: Followed by Working Notes. Evanston, IL: Northwestern University Press. Miller, William A. 1992. Your Golden Shadow: Discovering and Fulfilling Your Undeveloped Self. San Francisco, CA: Harpercollins. Mithen, Steven. 2005. The Singing Neanderthals: The Origins of Music, Language, Mind and Body. London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson. Moncayo, Roy, and Helga Moncayo. 2009. “Evaluation of applied kinesiology meridian techniques by means of surface electromyography (sEMG): Demonstration of the regulatory influence of antique acupuncture points.” Chinese Medicine 4 (1):9. doi: 10.1186/1749-8546-4-9. Morley, Charlie. 2013. Dreams of Awakening: Lucid Dreaming and Mindfulness of Dream and Sleep. London: Hay House. Morley, Charlie. 2017. Dreaming Through Darkness. Shine Light into the Shadow to Live the Life of Your Dreams. London: Hay House. Morris, Brian. 2006. Religion and Anthropology: A Critical Introduction. Cambridge, New York: Cambridge University Press. Moses, Jeffrey. 2002 (1989). Oneness. Great Principles Shared by All Religions. New York: The Random House Publishing Group. Moss, Robert. 1996. Conscious Dreaming. A Spiritual Path for Everyday Life. New York: Three Rivers Press. Myss, Caroline, and Clarissa Pinkola Estés. 2003. Intution and the Mystical Life. Woman to Woman: An Original Conversation. Audio Recording. Louisville, CO: Sounds True. Nabhan-Warren, Kristy. 2011. “Embodied research and writing: A case for phenomenologically oriented religious studies ethnographies.” Journal of the American Academy of Religion 79 (2):378–407. Naccarato, Teoma. 2018. “Artistic practice-as-research: A genealogical account.” In A World of Muscle, Bone & Organs: Research and Scholarship in Dance, edited by Simon Ellis, Hetty Blades, and Charlotte Waelde, 435–455. Coventry: C-DaRE at Coventry University. Naess, Arne. 2005 [1953]. The Selected Works of Arne Naess. Dordrecht, the Netherlands: Springer. Narby, Jeremy. 1999 [1995]. The Cosmic Serpent, DNA and the Origins of Knowledge. London: Phoenix. Nehamas, Alexander. 2000. The Art of Living: Socratic Reflections from Plato to Foucault. Berkeley and Los Angeles, CA: University of California Press. Nelson, Karen. 2015. “Why standing? Steve Paxton talks about how the stand relates to stage fright and entrainment in contact improvisation.” Contact Quarterly Journal Winter/Spring:37–40. Nelson, Robin. 2013. Practice as Research in the Arts. Principles, Protocols, Pedagogies, Resistances. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan UK. Ness, Sally Ann. 1996. “Dancing in the field: Notes from memory.” In Corporealities. Dancing Knowledge, Culture and Power, edited by Susan Leigh Foster, 129–154. London: Routledge.

166

Bibliography

Novack, Cynthia J. 1988a. “Contact improvisation: A photo essay and summary movement analysis.” TDR 32 (4):120–134. Novack, Cynthia J. 1988b. “Looking at movement as culture: Contact improvisation to disco.” TDR 32 (4):102–119. O’Neill, Maggie. 2018. “Walking, well-being and community: Racialized mothers building cultural citizenship using participatory arts and participatory action research.” Ethnic and Racial Studies 41 (1):73–97. doi: 10.1080/01419870.2017.1313439. Olaveson, Tim. 2001. “Collective effervescence and communitas: Processual models of ritual and society in Emile Durkheim and Victor Turner.” Dialectical Anthropology 26 (2):89–124. Oliver, Mary. 1986. Dream Work. New York: The Atlantic Monthly Press. Otten, Marcel. 1994. Edda. De liederen uit de Codex Regius en verwante manuscripten (Edda. The songs from the Codex Regius and related manuscripts). Translated by Translated from Old Icelandic and annotated by Marcel Otten. Amsterdam: Ambo. Pallaro, Patrizia, ed. 1999. Authentic Movement: Essays by Mary Starks Whitehouse, Janet Adler and Joan Chodorow. London: Jessica Kingsley. Parma, Gede. 2012. Ecstatic Witchcraft: Magick, Philosophy & Trance in the Shamanic Craft. Woodbury, MN: Llewellyn Publications. Pearson, Joanne, Richard H. Roberts, and Geoffrey Samuel, eds. 1998. Nature Religion Today. Paganism in the Modern World. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Penfield, Kedzie. 2001. “Movement as a way to the unconscious.” In Where Analysis Meets the Arts. The Integration of the Arts Therapies with Psychoanalytic Theory, edited by Yvonne Searle and Isabelle Streng, 107–126. London and New York: Karnac Books. Peterson Royce, Anya 2002. The Anthropology of Dance. Alton, Hampshire: Dance Books Ltd. Original edition, 1977. Piaget, J. 1950. The Psychology of Intelligence. New York: Routledge Classics. Pink, Sarah. 2011. “Multimodality, multisensoriality and ethnographic knowing: Social semiotics and the phenomenology of perception.” Qualitative Research 11 (3):261–276. doi: 10.1177/1468794111399835. Pink, Sarah. 2015. Doing Sensory Ethnography. London: Sage Publications. Pinkola Estés, Clarissa. 2008 [1992]. Women Who Run With The Wolves. Contacting the Power of the Wild Woman. London: Rider. Pinkola Estés, Clarissa. 2011. The Joyous Body. Myths and Stories of the Wise Woman Archetype. 5 vols, The Dangerous Old Woman Series, vol. 3, audio recording. Louisville, CO: Sounds True. Pollock, Della. 1998. “Performing writing.” In The Ends of Performance, edited by Peggy Phelan and Jill Lane, 73–103. New York: New York University Press. Potter, Caroline 2008. “Sense of motion, senses of self: Becoming a dancer.” Ethos 73 (4):444–465. Powell, T.G.E. 2000. The Celts. Edited by Glyn Daniel, Ancient Peoples and Places. London: Thames and Hudson.

Bibliography

167

Prince, Ruth, and David Riches. 2000. The New Age in Glastonbury. The Construction of Religious Movements. New York and Oxford: Berghahn Books. Reed, Sara. 2011. The Articulation of a Dance Somatics for a Twenty-First Century Higher Education. Guildford: University of Surrey. Reeve, Sandra. 2008. The Ecological Body. Unpublished PhD thesis, University of Exeter. Rendell, J. 2006. Art and Architecture: A Place Between. London: I.B. Taurus. Reynolds, Dee, and Matthew Reason. 2012. Kinesthetic Empathy in Creative and Cultural Practices. Bristol and Chicago, IL: Intellect and University of Chicago Press. Reynolds, Dee, Corinne Jola, and Frank E. Pollick. 2011. “Dance research electronicintroduction dance and neuroscience-new partnerships.” Dance Research: The Journal of the Society for Dance Research 29 (2):259–269. Rill, Bryan. 2006. “Rave, communitas, and embodied idealism.” Music Therapy Today VII (3): 648–661. Accessed June 5, 2008. Roberts, Maureen B. 1999. “Re-visioning soul retrieval: The spectrum of active and passive healing in shamanism and jungian psychotherapy.” Online Publication: www​.jungcircle​.com. Robinson, Howard, ed. 2020. Dualism. Edited by Edward N. Zalta. Vol. Fall 2020 Edition, The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy. Stanford, CA: Metaphysics Research Lab, Stanford University. Romanyshyn, Robert D. 2007. The Wounded Researcher. Research with Soul in Mind. New Orleans, LA: Spring Journal Books. Roney-Dougal, Serena. 1991. Where Science and Magic Meet. Shaftesbury, Dorset: Element Books. Roseman, Janet Lynn. 2004. Dance was her Religion. The Spiritual Choreography of Isadora Duncan, Ruth St. Denis and Martha Graham. Prescott, AZ: Hohm Press. Roszak, Theodore, Mary E. Gomes, and Allen D. Kanner, eds. 1995. Ecopsychology. Restoring the Earth, Healing the Mind. San Francisco, CA: Sierra Club Books. Roth, Gabrielle, and John Loudon. 1990 [1989]. Maps to Ecstasy. Teachings of an Urban Shaman. Kent: Mackays of Chatham. Original edition, 1989. Russel, Stephen. 1998. Barefoot Doctor’s Handbook for the Urban Warrior: Spiritual Survival Guide. London: Piatkus Books. Rust, Chris, Judith Mottram, and Jeremy Till. 2007. Practice-Led Research in Art, Design and Architecture. AHRC Research Review. Sheffield and Nottingham: Arts & Humanities Research Council. Salazar, Noel B. 2018. “‘Moveo Ergo Sum’: Mobility as vital to humanity and its (self-) image.” In 5th World Humanities Forum: The Human Image in a Changing World, Busan, South Korea. Samuel, Geoffrey. 1990. Mind, Body and Culture. Anthropology and the Biological Interface. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Samuel, Geoffrey. 2001. “The effectiveness of goddesses, or, how ritual works.” Anthropological Forum 11 (1):73–91. Samuel, Geoffrey. 2005. Tantric Revisionings: New Understandings of Tibetan Buddhism and Indian Religion. Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass Publishers.

168

Bibliography

Samuel, Geoffrey. 2008. “Possession and self-possession: Spirit healing, tantric meditation and Āveśa.” DISKUS 9. https://orca.cardiff.ac.uk/24574/. Sanchez, Victor. 1995. The Teachings of Don Carlos. Practical Applications of the Works of Carlos Castaneda. Santa Fe, NM: Bear & Company. Sanchez, Victor. 2001. The Toltec Path of Recapitulation: Healing Your Past to Free Your Soul. Rochester, VT: Bear & Company. Sansone, R., and L.A. Sansone. 2010. “Gratitude and well being: The benefits of appreciation.” Psychiatry (Edgmont (Pa. : Township)) 7 11:18–22. Saunders, Peter, and Patricia Skar. 2001. “Archetypes, complexes and selforganization.” Journal of Analytical Psychology 46 (2):305–323. doi: 10.1111/1465-5922.00238. Scheier, Michael F., and Charles S. Carver. 1993. “On the power of positive thinking: The benefits of being optimistic.” Current Directions in Psychological Science 2 (1):26–30. doi: 10.1111/1467-8721.ep10770572. Schroll, Mark A., and Claire Polansky. 2017. “Bridging transpersonal ecosophical concerns with the hero’s journey and superheroes through comicbook lore: Implications for personal and cultural transformation.” International Journal of Transpersonal Studies 36 (2):1–27. Schueller, Stephen M., and Acacia C. Parks. 2014. “The science of self-help.” European Psychologist 19 (2):145–155. doi: 10.1027/1016-9040/a000181. Scott, David A. 1996. Behind the G-String. An Exploration of the Stripper’s Image, Her Person and her Meaning. Jefferson, NC: McFarland & Company, Inc., Publishers. Seattle, Chief. 1854. “Letter to all.” Segerstrom, S.C., and G.E. Miller. 2004. “Psychological stress and the human immune system: A meta-analytic study of 30 years of inquiry.” Psychol Bull 130 (4):601–30. doi: 10.1037/0033-2909.130.4.601. Sevdalis, V., and P.E. Keller. 2011. “Captured by motion: Dance, action understanding, and social cognition.” Brain Cogn 77 (2):231–6. doi: 10.1016/j. bandc.2011.08.005. Shapiro, Matan. 2011. “The transfer of affective knowledge as anthropological knowledge.” Anthropology Matters 13 (1), https://www.anthropologymatters.com/ index.php/anth_matters/article/view/225/410. Shaw, Miranda. 1994. Passionate Enlightenment: Women in Tantric Buddhism. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Sheets-Johnston, Maxine. 2011 [1999]. The Primacy of Movement, Advances in Consciousness Research. Amsterdam: John Benjamins Publishing Company. Sheldrake, Rupert. 1988. The Presence of the Past. Morphic Resonance & the Habits of Nature. Rochester, VT: Park Street press. Sheldrake, Rupert. 2017. Science and Spiritual Practices. London: Coronet. Shoop, Marcia W Mount. 2010. Let the Bones Dance: Embodiment and the Body of Christ: Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press. Shusterman, Richard. 2008. Body Consciousness: A Philosophy of Mindfulness and Somaesthetics. New York: Cambridge University Press. Sklar, Deirdre. 1991. “On dance ethnography.” Dance Research Journal 23 (1):6–10.

Bibliography

169

Sklar, Deirdre. 1994. “Can bodylore be brought to its senses?” The Journal of American Folklore 107 (423):9–22. doi: 10.2307/541070. Sklar, Deirdre. 2000. “Reprise: On dance ethnography.” Dance Research Journal 32 (1):70–77. Slavenburg, Jacob. 2009. Het Grote Boek der Apokriefen. Geheime vroegchristelijke teksten. Translated by Arend Jan Bolhuis, Gerdie Brongers, Heijnen Paul-Jan, Egbert van Houwelingen, Peter Roelofsen, Aleid Swierenga and Ruud van Wees. Deventer: Ankh-Hermes. Smith, Frederick. 2006. The Self Possessed: Deity and Spirit Possession in South Asian Literature and Civilization. New York: Colombia University Press. Snowber, Celeste. 2012. “Dancing a curriculum of hope. Cultivating passion as an embodied inquiry.” Journal of Curriculum Theorizing 28 (2):118–125. Snowber, Celeste. 2016. Embodied Inquiry. Writing, Living and Being Through the Body. Rotterdam: Sense Publishers. Snowber, Celeste. 2017. “Dancers of incarnation. From embodied prayer to embodied inquiry.” Théologiques 25 (1):125–138. Spatz, Ben. 2015. What a Body Can Do. Technique as Knowledge, Practice as Research. Abingdon, Oxon and New York: Routledge. Spencer, Paul. 1985. “Introduction: Interpretations of the dance in anthropology.” In Society and the Dance. The Social Anthropology of Process and Performance, edited by Paul Spencer, 1–46. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Sperber, Dan. 1975. Rethinking Symbolism. Translated by Alice L. Morton. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Spry, Tami. 2001. “Performing autoethnography: An embodied methodological praxis.” Qualitative Inquiry 7 (6):706–732. Steinberg, Mark D., and HEather J. Coleman. 2007. “Introduction: Rethinking religion in modern russian culture.” In Sacred Stories: Religion and Spirituality in Modern Russia, edited by Mark D. Steinberg and HEather J. Coleman, 1–21. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press. Steiner, Rudolf. 1911. Wisdom of Man, of the Soul, and of the Spirit. Part III: Wisdom of the Spirit (Pneumatosophy). Lecture III: Imagination - Inspiration - Intuition. Interlochen, Michigan: Steiner Online Library. Stevens, Jose, and Lena S. Stevens. 1988. Secrets of Shamanism. Tapping the Spirit Power within you. New York: Avon Books. Stoller, Paul. 1997. Senuous Scholarship (Contemporary Ethnography). Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press. Stone, Donald. 1976. “The human potential movement.” In The New Religious Consciousness, edited by Charles Y. Glock and Robert N. Bellah, 93–115. Berkeley and Los Angeles, CA: University of California Press. Strathern, Marilyn. 1987. “The limits of auto-anthropology.” In Anthropology at Home, edited by Anthony Jackson, 16–37. London and New York: Tavistock. Streiker, Lowell D. 1990. New Age comes to Main Street. What Worried Christians Must Know. Nashville: Abingdon Press. Sullivan, Sian. 2006. “On dance and difference. Bodies, movement and experience in Khoesaan trance-dancing: Perceptions of ‘a Raver’.” In Talking about People:

170

Bibliography

Readings in Contemporary Anthropology, edited by W.A. Haviland, R.J. Gordon and L.A. Vivanco, 234–241. New York: McGraw Hill. Sylvan, Robin. 2005. Trance Formation. The Spiritual and Religious Dimensions of Global Rave Culture. New York and London: Routledge. Taylor, Bron. 2010. Dark green Religion. Nature Spirituality and the Planetary Future. Berkely and Los Angeles, CA: University of California Press. Taylor, Jamie. 2007. “Authentic movement: The body’s path to consciousness.” Body, Movement and Dance in Psychotherapy 2 (1):47–56. Thomas, Helen. 2003. The Body, Dance and Cultural Theory. Hampshire and New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Todres, Les. 2007. Embodied Enquiry. Phenomenological Touchstones for Research, Psychotherapy and Spirituality. Basingstoke and New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Tønnessen Schuff, Hildegunn Marie. 2019. “Dancing faith: Contemporary Christian dance in Norway.” Journal of Contemporary Religion 34 (3):529–549. doi: 10.1080/13537903.2019.1658939. Tunneshende, Merilyn. 1999. Rainbow Serpent. The Magical Art of Sexual Energy. London: Thorsons, imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers. Turner, Victor. 2007 [1968]. The Ritual Process. Structure and Anti-Structure. New Brunswick and London: AldineTransaction. A Division of Transaction Publishers. Original edition, 1969. Turner, Victor. 1974. Dramas, Fields, and Metaphors. Symbolic Action in Human Society. London: Cornell University Press. Turner, Victor. 1982. From Ritual to Theatre. The Human Seriousness of Play. New York: PAJ Publications. Tylor, Edward Burnett. 1871. Primitive Culture: Researches into the Development of Mythology, Philosophy, Religion, Language, Art, and Custom. London: John Murray. United Nations. 2007. United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (UNDRIP). New York: United Nations. Urban, Hugh B. 2000. “The cult of ecstasy: Tantrism, the new age, and the spiritual logic of late capitalism.” History of Religions 39 (3):268–304. van Asseldonk, Hans. 2009. De versplitste oorsprong: nabeschouwing [Dispersed Origins: Afterword]. Available on http://www​.taovandelandbouw​.nl. van Asseldonk, Hans. 2010. De Tao van de Landbouw [The Tao of Agriculture]. Available on http://www​.taovandelandbouw​.nl. van den Berg, Agnes E. 2017. “From green space to green prescriptions: Challenges and opportunities for research and practice.” Frontiers in Psychology 8 (268). doi: 10.3389/fpsyg.2017.00268. van den Berg, Agnes E., and M.M.H.E. van den Berg. 2015. “Health benefits of plants and green space: Establishing the evidence base.” Acta Horticulturae 1093:19–30. van den Berg, Agnes E., and Marlien ter Heijne. 2005. “Fear versus fascination: An exploration of emotional responses to natural threats.” Journal of Environmental Psychology 25:261–272. van der Geest, Sjaak. 2005. “‘Sacraments’ in the hospital: Exploring the magic and religion of recovery.” Anthropology & Medicine 12 (2):135–150. doi: 10.1080/13648470500139957.

Bibliography

171

van Egmond, Klaas. 2010. Een vorm van beschaving (A form of civilisation). Zeist, the Netherlands: Christofoor. van Gennep, Arnold. 1960 [1908]. The Rites of Passage. Chicago, IL: The University of Chicago Press. van Gulick, Robert. 2018. “Consciousness.” In The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, Spring 2018 Edition, edited by Edward Zalta, N. Stanford, CA: Metaphysics Research Lab, Stanford University. VanPool, Christine S. 2009. “The signs of the sacred: Identifying shamans using archaeological evidence.” Journal of Anthropological Archaeology 28 (2):177– 190. doi: 10.1016/j.jaa.2009.02.003. Vayalilkarottu, John. 2012. “Holistic health and well-being: A psycho-spiritual/religious and theological perspective.” Asian Journal of Psychiatry 5:347–350. Vecco, Marilena. 2020. “Genius loci as a meta-concept.” Journal of Cultural Heritage 41:225–231. doi: 10.1016/j.culher.2019.07.001. Velarde, M.D., G. Fry, and M. Tveit. 2007. “Health effects of viewing landscapes: Landscape types in environmental psychology.” Urban Forestry & Urban Greening 6 (4):199–212. doi: 10.1016/j.ufug.2007.07.001. Villoldo, Alberto. 2000. Shaman, Healer, Sage. How to Heal Yourself and Others with the Energy Medicine of the Americas. New York: Harmony Books. Villoldo, Alberto. 2018. Shamanic Energy Medicine: The Healing Practice of Tomorrow. 10-Part Video Course. New York: Evolver Learning Lab. Villoldo, Alberto, and Erik Jendresen. 1995 [1990]. Dance of the Four Winds. Secrets of the Inca Medicine Wheel. Rochester, VT: Destiny Books. Vriend, Eva. 2012. Het Nieuwe Land. Het verhaal van een polder die perfect moest zijn. Amsterdam: Balans. W.H.O. 1998. Health Promotion Glossary, PFD file. Accessed May 5, 2011. Waaijman, Kees. 2000. Spiritualiteit: Vormen, Grondslagen, Methoden (Spirituality: Forms, Foundations, Methods). Kampen/Gent: Kok/Carmelitana. Waggoner, Robert. 2009. Lucid Dreaming. Gateway to the Inner Self. Needham, MA: Moment Point Press. Wallis, Robert J. 2003. Shamans/Neo-Shamans. Ecstasy, Alternative Archaeologies and Contemporary Pagans. London and New York: Routledge. Walsh, Roger. 1993. “Phenomenological mapping and comparison of shamanic, buddhist, yogic, and schizophrenic experiences.” Journal of the American Academy of Religion 61 (4):739–769. Walter, Mariko Namba, and Eva Jane Neumann Fridman, eds. 2004. Shamanism: An Encyclopedia of World Beliefs, Practices, and Culture. E-Book: www​.abc​-clio​ .com. Wangyal, Tenzin (Rinpche). 1998. The Tibetan Yogas of Dream and Sleep. Boulder, CO: Snow Lion, imprint of Shambala Publications. Ward, J. 2006. The Student’s Guide to Cognitive Neuroscience. Hove and New York: Psychology Press. Watson, Gay. 2008. Beyond Happiness. Deepening the Dialogue between Buddhism, Psychotherapy and The Mind Sciences. London: Karnac Books Ltd.

172

Bibliography

Watterson, Meggan. 2019. Mary Magdalene Revealed: The First Apostle, Her Feminist Gospel & the Christianity We Haven’t Tried Yet. New York and London: Hay House. Whatley, Sarah, Natalie Garrett Brown, and Kirsty Alexander, eds. 2015. Attending to Movement. Somatic Perspectives on Living in this World. Axminster, UK: Triarchy Press. Whitelegg, Midge. 2003. “Goethean science: An alternative approach.” The Journal of Alternative and Complementary Medicine 9 (2):311–320. doi: 10.1089/10755530360623428. Whittington, John. 2016. Systemic Coaching and Constellations. The Principles, Practices and Application for Individuals, Teams and Groups. 2nd ed. London: KoganPage. Willerslev, Rane. 2007. Soul Hunters: Hunting, Animism, and Personhood among the Siberian Yukaghirs. Berkely and Los Angeles, CA: University of California Press. Williams, Drid. 2004. Anthropology and the Dance. Ten Lectures. Urbana and Chicago: University of Illinois Press. Original edition, 1991. Williamson, Amanda. 2009. “Formative support and connection: Somatic movement dance education in community and client practice.” Journal of Dance and Somatic Practices 1 (1):29–45. Williamson, Amanda. 2017. “Falling in love with language, in phenomenologies.” In Of the Body in Performance, edited by Sondra Fraleigh, 78–98. Champaign, IL: University of Illinois Press. Williamson, Amanda, and B. Sellers-Young, eds. 2020. Spiritual Herstories: Soulful Research in Dance Studies. Bristol & Chicago, IL: Intellect. Williamson, Amanda, Glenna Batson, Sarah Whatley, and Rebecca Weber, eds. 2014. Dance, Somatics and Spiritualities. Contemporary sacred narratives. Bristol and Chicago, IL: Intellect. Winkelman, Michael. 2004a. “Cross-cultural perspectives on shamans.” In Shamanism: An Encyclopedia of World Beliefs, Practices, and Culture, edited by Mariko Namba Walter and Eva Jane Neumann Fridman, 61–70. Santa Barbara, CA: ABC-Clio. Winkelman, Michael. 2004b. “Shamanism.” In Encyclopedia of Medical Anthropology: Health and Illness in the World’s Cultures, edited by Carol R. Ember and Melvin Ember, 145–154. New York: Kluwer Academic/Plenum Publishers. Winkelman, Michael. 2011. “Shamanism and the evolutionary origins of spirituality and healing.” NeuroQuantology 9 (1):54–71. Woldt, Ansel L., and Sarah M. Toman, eds. 2005. Gestalt Therapy: History, Theory, and Practice. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications. Wood, Alex M., and Nicholas Tarrier. 2010. “Positive clinical psychology: A new vision and strategy for integrated research and practice.” Clinical Psychology Review 30 (7):819–829. doi: 10.1016/j.cpr.2010.06.003. Yarber, Angela. 2013. Dance in Scripture: How Biblical Dancers Can Revolutionize Worship Today. Edited by Clayton J. Schmit and J. Frederick Davison, Art for Faith’s Sake. Eugene, OR: Cascade Books.

Bibliography

173

York, Michael. 1995. The Emerging Network. A Sociology of the New Age and NeoPagan Movements. Lanham, MD and London: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers. Young, David Earl. 1994. “Visitors in the night: A creative energy model of spontaneous visions.” In Being Changed by Cross-Cultural Encounters, edited by David Earl Young and Jean-Guy Goulet, 166–194. Peterborough, Ontario: Broadview Press. Znamenski, Andrei A. 2007. The Beauty of the Primitive. Shamanism and the Western Imagination. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Zohar, Danah. 1990. The Quantum Self. Human Nature and Consciousness Defined by the New Physics. New York: Quill/William Morrow. Zukav, Gary. 2001 [1979]. Dancing Wu Li Masters: An Overview of the New Physics. New York: Perennial Classics, HarperCollins Pub.

Index

5rhythms, 3, 13n4, 37, 103 absence (as opposed to presence), 40, 51, 85–6, 146, 151 acknowledging where you are, 52, 61, 63, 118n8, 122, 130–1, 145–6 activation, 124–5, 130–1, 140, 146–7; of life force, 12, 33, 75, 124–5, 127, 130–1, 140, 146–9, 152 Adalena, Klara, 118n8 Adler, Janet, 65n5 adventure. See journey aesthetics (appreciation of beauty), 33, 40, 46, 53, 129, 140, 152 affordance, 146 Age of Reason, 8. See also reason; Renaissance ageing, 46, 127, 140 agency, 34, 37, 41, 48, 51, 82. See also body: agency; dance: force of change akashic field, 83, 106n3. See also information field alchemist, 32, 127, 128–30, 133nn11– 12, 134n13, 146. See also archetypes alchemy, 3, 28n2, 128–30, 133nn11–12; medieval writings, xvi, 133n11. See also transformation Aldhouse-Green, Miranda and Stephen, 26

Alexander Technique, 37 alignment: body-heart-mind-spirit, 2, 7, 10, 13n5, 27, 36, 38, 41–2, 43n9, 47–51, 53n5, 55, 57, 62, 83, 88–9, 92n7, 100–3, 106n3, 112, 122–4, 128, 137–8, 145, 151; inner, 42, 50–1, 62, 72, 127, 135, 150–1; lunar and solar, 26; self-environment, 22, 33, 39, 42, 51, 53n4, 62, 68–70, 72, 78, 82, 127–8, 138; aliveness, 53, 125, 147. See also vitality altar, 25, 96–7, 107, 109, 111–2 altered states. See expanded consciousness; visionary states and techniques ancestors, 15–6, 22, 25–7, 63, 71, 88, 97–8, 104–5, 106n7, 107–9, 140 ancient: Greece, 32, 152; mystery traditions and ecstasy cults, 52, 103; nature-based practice, 19, 22, 26–7, 81, 101–2, 110, 152 anger, 43n8, 50, 126, 148 animal medicine, 1, 26, 71–4, 76–7, 80–1, 83, 95–100, 102–4, 106n4, 108, 111, 126, 129, 134n13, 148. See also shamanic medicine animism, 11, 22–3, 26, 45, 70, 80–1, 84, 91nn5–6, 97, 137. See also shamanism; spirits

175

176

Index

anthropology, 2–8, 16–7, 19–20, 23, 28nn4–6, 68, 70–1, 77, 93n15, 99; dance, 34, 42n3; medical, 2, 28n2, 121, 123; sensory, 4, 46–7, 78 Antonovsky, Aaron, 123 anxiety, 8, 39, 43n8, 67, 100, 119n14, 132, 132n4 Applied Kinesiology, 60 archetypes, 4, 7, 12, 25, 28, 30nn17–18, 32, 58, 72, 95, 99, 105n3, 118n4, 124, 127–130, 146; dancing scholar, 4–7; deities, 3, 30n18, 31, 81; gardener, 30n18, 128–131; healing, 72, 127–130, 146; hero/ine, 30n18, 127, 136, 146; shaman, 25; warrior, 30n18, 127–8, 130, 152; wild wo/ man, 31, 128–30. See also alchemist Armstrong, Karen, xviiin2, 136 art making, 28, 112, 119n14, 131. See also sacred: art art of living philosophy, 135, 152. See also alchemy artistic expression, 38, 58, 62, 102, 113, 116, 119n14, 137, 143, 147, 150 arts-based methodology, 5, 32, 43n6 Authentic Movement, 37, 43n9, 65n5 authenticity, 4, 25, 27, 63, 114, 126, 128, 141 auto-ethnography, 3–7, 13n5, 13–14n9, 16, 46. See also ethnography Ayurveda, 81 balance: inner, 3, 49, 56, 91, 114, 122–3, 125, 129, 142, 152; physical, 124, 147 ballet, 1–2, 31, 34, 37, 46, 55, 62, 67, 70 Bateson, Gregory, 20 becoming one with nature, 72, 74, 78, 102. See also nature immersion becoming self, 38, 42, 45, 68, 72, 118n4, 123, 126, 146 behaviour, patterns of, 3, 41, 48–9, 60–1, 73, 82, 90, 105, 113–4, 131, 137, 141, 151

being: human 3, 7–8, 13, 34, 38, 68–9, 72, 80–2, 99, 132, 138, 140, 146; in experience, 4, 38, 40–1, 52, 55, 61, 72, 76–7, 87, 114, 126, 129, 138; instead of doing, 36, 45, 61; otherthan-human, 27, 41, 49, 52, 69, 77, 80–2, 86, 98–103, 143; state of, 7, 9, 32, 36, 38, 42, 48–50, 55, 60–1, 63, 75–6, 86, 141, 150–1 being and becoming. See personal growth or development. See under self being and knowing, 11, 13n9, 36, 45, 73–4, 84, 93n18 being danced, 99, 103–5, 105n3. See also trance being-in-the-world, 41, 47–8, 52, 53n2, 67, 69 Bell, Catherine, 109 Bell, Daniel, 18, 29n11 belonging, 16, 24–5, 33, 40, 68, 70, 73, 77, 87, 136, 141 Bharatanatyam, 35 Biodanza, 37 Blacking, John, 6, 8, 33, 42n2 Bly, Robert, 117 bodily literacy. See multi-level literacy bodily practices and techniques, 31–9, 43n9, 49, 60–3, 74, 87–8, 95, 112, 130, 146–8, 150 body: adorning, 46, 96, 112, 150; agency, 34, 41–2, 42n5, 47–8, 61, 89–90; awareness, 35, 38, 40, 45, 47, 49, 62, 88, 137, 141, 145–6, 149, 151; calibrating, 6, 9, 47, 49–52, 57, 74–5, 84–6, 98–9, 100–4, 115, 137, 145–6, 150; energy, 47–8, 89–90, 95, 97–9, 102, 105n1, 124–5, 128, 131, 133n7, 133n11, 134n13, 140, 147, 149–50; home and anchor, 16, 47–8, 51–3, 86–7, 93n19, 114, 131, 138, 146; image, 45–7, 70, 72; instrument, 3–7, 9, 13n8, 32–6, 46–7, 50, 53n1, 53n2, 55–8, 64n1, 69, 74–5, 77, 98, 100–4, 137; intimacy with own body, 38, 49,

Index

50, 52; loving the, 1, 40, 46, 50, 52–3, 67–8, 108, 128, 140; out of body experience, 23, 86–9, 94n21; religion, 25–7, 36, 39, 41, 43n6, 45–6, 140; sacred, 10, 16, 39, 45–6, 52–3, 129; site of understanding, 3–4, 6, 15, 17, 45–7, 55–8, 70, 77, 84, 112, 115 body- and nature-based spirituality, 2, 12, 15, 17, 22–7, 29n12, 29nn14–15, 38–40, 42, 47, 53, 67–71, 74–5, 80, 98, 102, 122, 135, 137–8, 140, 142. See also ancient: nature-based practice; shamanism body-being, 13, 45, 53, 56, 74, 122 body-heart-mind-spirit. See under alignment body-mind. See under dichotomies Body-Mind Centring, 37, 43n9 Bohm, David, 68–9 boundaries, 5, 12, 22, 27, 45, 47, 49, 69, 72, 77, 90, 102, 105, 136, 141–2 Boyer, Pascal, 18 brain, 33, 49, 51, 57, 72, 81–3, 89, 92n7, 92n12, 94n22, 115–6, 150 breath, 35, 37, 39, 55, 72, 74, 95–6, 98, 143, 147–8 bridging. See under shamanic techniques Buckland, Fiona, 38, 41, 61, 65 Buckland, Theresa J., 42 Buddhism, 15, 18, 35, 89, 91n2, 99, 111, 152 Butoh, 35 calibrating the body, 6, 9, 47, 49–52, 57, 74–5, 84–6, 98–9, 100–4, 115, 137, 145–6, 150. See also alignment; sensorial awareness calling (vocation), 15–6, 24, 42, 53, 86, 135 Calvinism, 105 Campbell, Joseph, 20 capitalism, 17–8, 21–2, 29n7, 105, 139 Capra, Fritjof, 64n2 Cartesian split, 24, 46, 57, 64n4

177

Castaneda, Carlos, 20, 117n2, 148 celebration, 12, 16, 25, 36, 39, 60, 108– 10, 130–1, 140–1, 143, 151–2 ceremonial efficacy, 109, 114–7, 119n14 ceremonial leadership, 23, 28, 107, 109, 112, 115, 119n10 ceremony, 28n2, 78n3, 96–6, 107–17, 118n8, 119n14, 121, 132n1, 137–8, 142, 149; initiation, 26, 105n2, 110, 118nn8–9, 136; masks, 32, 35, 113, 148; medicine walk, 10, 74–6, 79, 104, 107; rites of passage, 30n18, 109; sweat lodge, 110; vision quest, 68, 72, 74, 79, 93n16, 107–10, 117. See also ritual ceremony, reinventing, 22, 114–6. See also spirituality: postmodern Chief Seattle, 2 Christianity, xviiin1, 12nn1–2, 15, 18, 25–6, 36, 43n6, 45, 103; attitude toward body, 25–7, 36, 39, 41, 43n6, 45–6, 140; See also Protestantism Clifford, James, 8 Coelho, Paulo, 128 cognition, 6, 8–9, 12, 17, 22, 28n6, 34, 41, 47, 50, 52, 56–60, 62, 69, 71, 81–2, 84, 89, 92n9, 138. See also mind Cognitive Behavioural Therapy, 48 Cohen, Bonnie B., 43n9, 104 collective (un)conscious, 24–5, 105, 113, 118n4, 127 collective ecstasy, 40, 89–90. See also dance: ecstatic; ecstasy; trance comfort zone and familiarity, 61, 64, 71, 86, 101, 146–7. See also overwhelm comfort-discomfort, 9, 39, 46, 49–50, 61–2, 75, 88, 93n18, 101 communion, 27, 33, 36, 84, 99–100, 105n3, 109, 113 communitas, 19, 90, 113, 116 community, 3, 13n5, 18–9, 21–4, 30n16, 32, 37, 59, 76, 86, 90, 93n17, 116, 119nn12–13, 132n4, 136–9, 141–2

178

Index

compassion, 16, 20, 36, 40, 42, 106n3, 114, 131, 136 Confucianism, 18 connection, 3, 15, 17–9, 27, 32, 34–6, 28, 38–41, 45–6, 48–9, 51–2, 58, 60, 62, 67–71, 76–7, 81, 87, 91, 92n7, 92n12, 96–8, 100–2, 104–5, 109–11, 115–6, 121–2, 126, 129, 132, 137– 41, 143. See also interconnection; reconnection conscious dance. See under dance conscious dreaming. See dreaming practice consciousness, 2, 7, 13n5, 23, 29n15, 35–6, 40, 47, 51, 53, 58, 60–1, 71, 80–7, 89, 91n4, 92nn8–9, 96, 100, 105, 114, 118n4, 133n7, 136, 142; ceremonial, 109–10, 115, 150; expanded, 2, 22–3, 29n15, 34–5, 38, 40–1, 47, 71, 79–80, 82–9, 91n1, 92n9, 92n12, 93n16, 93n17, 94n21, 97, 99–100, 102–4, 110, 112–4, 138, 143, 149 consumerism, 18, 21–2 contact improvisation, 65 contemporary dance. See under dance continuum of body-heart-mind-spiritenvironment. See under alignment contrasts. See dichotomies coping strategies, 12, 123 corporeality, 39, 47, 74, 77–8 cosmology, 3, 25, 28n2, 34–5, 57, 81, 98, 118n7, 122. See also worldview courage, 25, 61, 64, 96–7, 112, 114, 128, 136. See also permission and encouragement creation, xvi, 31, 34, 42n1, 60, 62, 70, 71, 86, 91, 128, 133n11, 143, 144n2 creative potential, 9, 50–1, 61, 72, 117. See also manifestation; potential creativity, 38, 47, 56, 90, 129, 132, 138–9; activities, 28n2, 34, 58, 113, 119n14, 121, 126. See also sacred: art Csordas, Thomas J., 4–5, 47, 52

cultivating new abilities and ways of being, 9, 12, 19, 22, 49, 57, 72, 129–31, 146, 150–152 cultural appropriation, 24, 26 cultural critique, 10–1, 20, 22, 26–7, 38, 114–6 culture, 15–22, 24–7, 29n6, 52, 62, 105, 117, 123, 136, 138–9 curing vs healing, 123 Czikszentmihalyi, Mihaly, 21, 40, 85 Damasio, Antonio, 40, 42 dance: conscious, 3, 10, 35, 37, 48, 56, 60, 75, 93n16, 103, 175; contemporary, 2, 36–7, 43n7, 62, 67; ecstatic, 31–2, 40, 62, 86, 87–90, 93n21, 94n23, 103, 106nn4–6; force of change, 32–5, 38, 41, 42n5, 43n8, 53n4, 121–2, 136, 140–1, 143; healing, 16, 33–5, 41, 42n5, 43nn8– 9, 51, 57, 87–90, 93n21, 95–7, 104, 121–2, 136, 147–50; history, 26, 31– 3, 36, 42n5; improvisation, 28n2, 37, 61, 70, 75–7; meaning making, 31–5, 35, 38–40, 42n2, 68, 95, 101–105; research, 5–6, 34, 42nn3–4, 43n6; shamanic, 3, 5, 67, 87–90, 91n1, 93n21, 94n23, 102–4, 105n2, 105n3, 106nn4–5, 103; spiritual practice, 3, 5, 7–8, 15, 29, 31–2, 35–42, 42n1, 43n6, 67, 75–6, 86–90, 99–105, 105nn2–3, 106nn5–6, 113, 128, 131, 137, 140, 143; techniques, 3, 5, 7, 33–5, 37, 61–2, 65n5, 75–7, 103, 106n3; vocation, 16, 31, 67, 133n10, 141; writing about, 6–8. See also improvisation; movement dance and culture, 32–5, 40, 70, 87–90, 93n21, 94n23, 103–4, 106n4, 138, 140–2 dance movement psychotherapy, 41, 43n9, 60 dancing in and with nature, 2–3, 27, 33–5, 39, 67–8, 70, 75–7, 101–3. See also nature immersion

Index

dancing scholar: See under archetypes. See also movement as a way of knowing Darling Khan, Susannah, xviiin2, 3, 13n4, 28, 103, 105n3, 118n7, 134n17, 149, 151 Darling Khan, Ya’Acov, xviiin2, 3, 13n4, 25, 27, 28, 103, 105n3, 118nn7–8, 119n10, 134n17, 144, 149, 151–2, 152n2 de Botton, Alain, 137 de Quincey, Christian, 2, 9, 28n2, 56, 58, 79, 81–2, 84 death and dying, 19, 24, 26, 29n11, 30n18, 36–7, 70–1, 86–7, 103, 106n4, 118n8, 119n10, 124, 127, 139–40. See also life-death-rebirth cycle; mortality decision making, 23, 28n6, 33–4, 41, 48, 93n18, 107, 109, 125, 145 deity, xviiinn1–2, 1, 3, 18, 30n18, 31–2, 36, 99, 103, 116, 118n8, 130. See under archetypes denial and repression, 45, 50, 96, 126, 140 depression, 124, 132 Descartes, René, 46, 57, 64n4. See also dichotomies: body-mind deSpain, Kent, 37, 61–2, 65n6 Dewey, John, 43n7 dichotomies, 17, 22, 50, 55, 57, 62, 116; body-mind, 38, 41, 45–7, 52, 56–7, 83, 87, 90, 92n8, 116, 138–9; insider-outsider, 4, 16, 20, 70, 111; interior-exterior, 39, 49, 52, 53n1, 53nn4–5, 56, 59–60, 70, 72, 81, 85, 98, 104, 111, 126, 128–9, 133n10, 136, 143; sacred-profane, xvi–xviii, xviiin1, 1, 11–2, 19–20, 23, 40, 57, 113–4, 117, 131, 135, 139, 150; self-environment, 22, 33, 39, 42, 51, 53n4, 62, 68–70, 72, 78, 82, 127–8, 138; self-other, 17, 77, 85, 90, 99, 102, 105, 116, 131–2, 132n4, 135, 141; self-world, 37, 40–1, 48, 62,

179

69–70, 74, 85–7, 129, 132, 132n4, 135–7; spirit-matter, 8, 12, 32, 47–8, 56, 137; subject-object, 8, 17, 24, 57, 70, 84, 116, 84. See also alignment; duality dignity, 128, 140 disease, 46, 122–3, 127, 132n3. See also illness disembodiment, 46, 48, 51, 71, 84, 86, 88–9, 138 dissociation. See soul loss diversity, 19, 32–3, 41, 62, 77, 90, 102, 137–9 divine, xviiinn1–2, 19, 27, 39–40, 75, 86–7, 91n5, 99, 104, 115, 128, 133nn11–12; direct experience of, 12, 19, 35–6, 40, 86–7, 103. See also deity; source Doidge, Norman, 150 dreaming practice, 5, 27, 28n2, 29n15, 47, 50, 58, 63, 69, 70, 88–90, 91n4, 95–7, 107–9, 117n2, 119n16, 130, 140, 143, 146, 148 drumming. See shamanic techniques: drumming duality, xviiin1, 41, 45, 69, 84, 87, 90, 92n8, 99; non-duality, 40, 85, 90, 99. See also dichotomies Duncan, Isadora, 37 Durkheim, Émile, 21, 90 ecology, 19, 29n12, 40, 79 ecstasy, 32, 37, 53, 117; embodied, 11, 87–90, 110. See also trance ecstatic dance. See under dance education, 50–1, 56, 73, 136–7, 143 Ehrenreich, Barbara, 32–3, 36, 42n2, 43n6, 84, 103, 106n5 electromagnetic field, 11, 57, 81–3, 92n7, 92n9, 114, 124–5, 134n13, 147, 150. See also information field elements, 1, 26, 73, 98, 105n1, 106n3, 111, 118n7, 125, 130, 134n16 Eliade, Mircea, 23, 40, 86, 88, 91n2, 94n21, 102

180

Index

embodied: ecstasy, 11, 87–90, 110; inquiry, 3–6, 8, 42n5, 55–6, 62, 122, 137, 142; spirituality, 9, 12, 16–7, 22, 35–6, 38–9, 70–1, 74–5, 87–9, 101–4, 122, 129, 137–8, 142; wisdom, 45, 48, 69, 84, 140. See also body: awareness; multi-level literacy; sensory anthropology embodiment, 2, 4–8, 31, 40, 46–50, 52, 53n3, 57–9, 63, 69, 71, 74, 77, 84, 87–90, 93n19, 94n21, 100–2, 105n3, 110, 115, 126, 129, 138, 141, 148 embodying the land, 9, 17, 22, 68–70, 74–8, 82, 101–3, 122, 129, 140 emotional literacy. See multi-level literacy emotions, 3–4, 6–7, 13n5, 19, 23, 33–4, 39–40, 47–52, 53n1, 87, 125, 129, 133n7, 134n13, 138, 141, 145, 147–8 empathy, 36, 49, 83, 102, 132; kinaesthetic, 41; mimetic, 77 empowering narratives, 12, 135, 137–9, 141, 151. See also stories empowerment, 3, 19, 22, 25, 37, 49, 93nn18–19, 103, 125–7, 132, 143 emptiness, 24, 36, 87, 138 enchantment, 23, 27, 71, 129, 143 energy. See body: energy; life force entheogens, 23–4, 29n15, 93n16 environment that surrounds us, 49–50, 52, 56, 59, 63, 68–71, 74, 77, 81–2, 85, 96, 122, 135, 144n1, 149. See also ecology; nature; sustainability essence. See soul essence ethnography, 5, 8. See also autoethnography everyday: life, 20, 22, 34–5, 41, 60, 64, 113–4, 117, 119, 131, 145, 148; movement, 35, 57, 61, 77; reality (contrasted with expanded consciousness), 79, 87–8, 93n17, 108, 110, 114, 117, 118nn5–6, 131, 150; spirituality, 19, 22, 40, 117, 135, 138, 151 existential questions, 4, 10, 15–6, 18, 21–2, 29n11, 37, 47, 60, 78, 122,

137, expanded consciousness, 2, 22–3, 29n15, 34–5, 38, 40–1, 47, 71, 79–80, 82–9, 91n1, 92n9, 92n12, 93n16, 93n17, 94n21, 97, 99–100, 102–4, 110, 112–4, 138, 143, 149. See also everyday: reality; mystical participation experience: being in experience, 4, 38, 40–1, 52, 55, 61, 72, 76–7, 87, 114, 126, 129, 138; being-in-the-world, 41, 47–8, 52, 53n2, 67, 69; direct metaphysical experience, 12, 19, 35–6, 40, 86–7, 103; out of body, 23, 86–9, 94n21; pain, 46, 49, 51, 68, 72, 85, 87, 123, 125, 137, 145–6; peak, 19, 21, 85–6; phenomenological, 4, 7, 37, 48, 53n2, 57, 69, 74, 77, 80, 84, 92n9, 98; extra-sensory perception, 58, 83. See also calibrating the body extraction, 125, 131. See also shamanic healing Fabian, Johannes, 8 family constellations, 3, 106n3 fear, 33, 39, 47, 50, 71–2, 77, 86–7, 93n17, 95, 97, 100, 112, 126–7, 132, 132n4, 136, 140, 148, 151 feelings. See emotions Feldenkrais, 37, 43n9 felt sense, 49, 69 feminist spirituality, 1, 18, 42n3, 99 Fischer, Michael M.J., 8 Five Rhythms. See 5rhythms Fleckenstein, Kristie S., 7, 48 flow. See peak experience Focussing, 49 Fraleigh, Sondra, 5, 36, 42n4, 64n3, 72, 78 freedom, 9, 17–8, 55, 62, 113 Furlong, Monica, 1, 12n1 Gadamer, Hans-Georg, 8 Gaia, 3, 81 gardener. See under archetypes Gardner, Howard, 59

Index

Geertz, Clifford, 28n4, 111 gender, 19, 22, 34, 60, 134n15, 141 Gendlin, Eugene, 49 Gestalt: psychology, 3, 37; therapy 43n9, 106n3 gestures, 33, 35, 42, 61, 68, 89, 124, 149 Gill, Sam, 42n2 god/goddess. See deity Goethe, Johann W. von, 79 Gold, Peter, 29n13, 152 Gore, Georgiana, 38, 65n5, 106n5 grace, 35, 58 Graham, Martha, 37, 43n7 gratitude, 15, 19, 22, 36, 38, 100, 108, 130–1, 151–2 Grau, Andrée, 13n7, 32–4, 42n2, 70, 97 great mystery, xviiin2, 3, 111, 133n12, 137, 143. See also mystery Greenwood, Susan, 29n8, 29n12, 53n4, 71, 89, 109, 110–1 grief, 31, 140, 146, 149. See also sadness Grimes, Ronald L., 90, 113, 115 Growth movement, 19–20, 29n10 Halprin, Anna, 28n2, 35, 42n5, 53n4, 57 Halprin, Daria, 37–8, 41, 43n9, 47, 51, 62, 136 Hammer, Olav, 19, 29n9 Hanegraaff, Wouter, 71 Hanna, Judith L., 41, 42nn3–4, 106n5 happiness, 18, 21, 40, 42, 72, 132, 148 Harding, Stephan, 2, 79 Harner, Michael, 20, 23–4, 29n13, 85, 87, 102 Harris, Adrian, 46, 48, 53n3, 69, 78n2, 84 Hartley, Linda, 43n9 Harvey, Graham, 29n12, 98 healing, 12, 37, 42n5, 48–9, 93n19, 103, 105, 106n3, 121–4, 126–7, 141–2; archetypes, 72, 127–130, 146. See also dance: healing; orientations for dynamic well-being; shamanic healing

181

healing techniques, 2, 4, 23–4, 26, 31, 33, 36, 46–7, 49, 90, 93n21, 95, 109–11, 113, 115, 123–4, 145–52. See also shamanic medicine healing vs curing – 123 health, 2, 12, 19, 22, 24, 30n17, 50, 70– 2, 121–5, 127–30, 132, 142, 145–7, 150; active process, 12–3, 47, 121–4, 128, 130–2, 134n13, 137, 145–52; care 2, 17, 81, 123–4, 132n3; community, 19, 22, 24, 91, 137, 142; conditions, 16, 24–5, 46, 49, 51, 72, 122–3, 130, 132, 132n4; holistic, 12, 19, 24, 123–5; ingredients 121, 123, 130, 132, 137, 145–52; nature, 70–2, 86, 126, 128–9, 134n13; See also under journey; well-being; wholeness health views 2, 12, 18, 60, 81, 122–5, 137, 142, 145–52. See also Traditional Chinese Medicine heart, 9, 15, 27, 42, 45, 50, 64, 68, 73–4, 76, 80–1, 90, 92n7, 102, 104, 124–5, 133n7, 143, 151. See also alignment: body-heart-mind-spirit Heelas, Paul, 18, 20, 23 Hellinger, Bert, 3, 106n3 hermeneutics, 5 hero/ine. See under archetypes hiking, 72, 74, 107, 131, 146–7. See also ceremony: medicine walk Hinduism, 18, 31, 35, 104 history of dance. See under dance Holden, Lee, 129, 132n3, 133n7, 133n9, 146 Holecek, Andrew, 117n2 holism, 19, 24, 123, 141 holy, xviiin2, 2, 36, 38, 53, 122, 132, 133n12. See also sacred home, 1, 2, 13n5, 16, 38, 67, 71, 90, 96–7, 117, 119n15, 125, 150. See also belonging hope, 40, 47, 51 Horwitz, Jonathan, 2, 28n2, 79, 85, 91n1, 93n14, 97, 101, 105nn2–3, 123, 125

182

Index

Huber, Machteld, 122 human potential movement, 19–20, 29n10 humanistic psychology, 19 humanity, 48, 68, 90–1, 136. See also vulnerability Hume, Lynne, 36, 40, 51, 85–7, 98, 103, 106n5 humour, 40, 62, 108, 119n10, 126, 140 identity, 18, 28n6, 29n14, 33–4, 45–6, 102, 104, 113, 141 illness, 39, 45–6, 49, 71, 103, 123–5, 132nn3–4, 136–7. See also disease imagination, 6–7, 16–7, 21, 35, 37, 47, 57–8, 62, 64, 70–2, 75, 77–8, 80, 88, 100, 101, 103–5, 106n3, 107, 109, 112, 131, 143, 147–8, 150–1 imitation, 77, 135. See also mimicking immanence, xv, xvii, xviiin1, 2, 39, 91n5, 99. See also transcendence imperfection, 45, 62, 151 improvisation, 2, 10, 12, 28n2, 33, 35, 37, 58, 60–4, 65n5, 70, 95n16, 99–100, 138; contact, 65; prompts, 62–4, 74–8, 101–2. See also learning through movement; unknown inclusivity, 12n1, 17, 21, 41, 106n3, 138–9, 141 indigenous wisdom: 24, 25, 29n14, 37, 72, 77, 97, 110, 123–4; European, pre-Christian, 17, 24–7, 28n2, 91n2 individualism, 5, 18 individuation, 118n4, 133n5, 136. See also Jung, Carl G.; personal growth or development Industrial Revolution, 18, 59 information field, 60, 82–3, 86, 90, 92n10, 92n12, 106n3, 125, 131, 138, 147, 149–50. See also electromagnetic field Ingerman, Sandra, 124–5 Ingold, Tim, 68–9 initiation. See under ceremony inner potential, 19, 35, 125, 127, 129, 133n7

insider-outsider. See under dichotomies insight, 4–5, 12, 23, 41, 56, 62, 74, 79, 84–5, 100–1, 103, 136, 150. See also integration of inner work; manifestation; shamanic techniques: bridging inspiration, 25, 31–2, 37, 42, 58, 63, 71–2, 74, 76–7, 84, 98, 126–7, 129–30, 133n10, 137, 145–6. See also narratives intangible cultural heritage: European, 17, 25–7, 28n2, 91n2 intangible dimensions, 1, 8, 11, 13n5, 23, 25, 27, 37–9, 47, 51, 60, 69, 80–1, 97–9, 102, 105, 138. See also perception integration of inner work, 13n5, 34, 38, 41, 47, 50–1, 57, 87, 96, 103, 109, 114–7, 118n8, 119n15, 121–3, 126, 130–1, 150. See also insight, manifestation intention: ceremony, 109, 112–6, 118n8, 119n14; focused, 51, 56, 63, 101, 130–1, 134n17, 143, 145, 148, 150–1. See also under shamanic techniques intentionality in nature, 80, 82 interconnection, 2, 10, 40, 47, 50, 52, 52n5, 68–9, 80, 84–6, 102, 106n3, 132. See also connection; reconnection interior-exterior. See under dichotomies interoception, 49, 59, 74, 83, 100–1, 106n3, 125, 149 intersubjectivity, 5, 52, 116 intimacy, 4–5, 14, 100; with own body, 38, 49, 50, 52 intrusion, 125. See also release; shamanic healing intuition, 12, 19, 28n2, 47, 49, 52, 56–8, 69, 72, 85, 97, 100, 115, 121–2, 124–5, 129, 137, 147 invisible world. See intangible dimensions Islam, 18, 36 isolation, 132n4, 138, 141

Index

Jooss, Kurt, 43n7 journey: healing and wholeness, 12, 46, 48, 72, 121, 126–8, 142, 145–6; life, 9, 27, 36, 48, 53, 90, 96–7, 111, 118n4, 136, 139, 143; metaphor, 55, 112–4, 118n9, 125, 135–7, 142, 146. See also shamanic techniques: journey joy, 21, 31–3, 35, 40, 42, 46, 48, 61, 67, 87, 90, 100, 114, 116, 130–1, 138, 140–1, 148, 151 Judaism, 18, 36 Jung, Carl G., 30n18, 118n4, 119n16, 127–8, 133n5, 133n11, 136, 138 Jungian archetypes, 28n2, 127–8. See also archetypes Kalahari shaking medicine, 23, 36, 81, 86, 88, 93n21, 94n23, 103, 106n4, 124 Keeney, Bradford, 23, 29n13, 36, 40, 84, 87, 89–90, 94, 102, 106n5, 116, 124 Keeney, Hillary, 23, 29n13, 87, 89–90, 94, 102, 116 kinaesthetic sense, 3, 41, 47, 57, 59, 98 kindness, 16, 38, 42, 114, 131, 137, 151 knowing: different approaches to, 4, 7, 12, 22, 34, 41; embodied, 2, 4, 7, 34, 47, 50, 55–8, 61, 74, 103; inner, 41, 74, 84–5, 147; movement as a way of, 3, 7, 4–5, 27, 31–6, 38–41, 55–9, 62, 70, 75–7, 83, 100; not-knowing, 9, 58, 60–2, 84; other ways of, 17, 22, 36–7, 56–8, 61, 74, 83–6, 93n18, 117n2, 137; radical, 58, 84–5. See also information field knowing and being, 11, 13n9, 36, 45, 73–4, 84, 93n18 knowledge: creation, 4–6, 10, 57, 59, 62, 143; indigenous; 24, 25, 29n14, 37, 72, 77, 97, 110, 123–4; tacit or intrinsic, 24–5, 42n8, 61, 115, 134n16. See also learning; wisdom Kornfield, Jack, 117 kundalini, 95–6, 124

183

Laban, Rudolf von, 43n7 LaMothe, Kimerer L., 42n2, 43n6, 64 land, 9, 12, 16, 18, 63, 75, 77, 97; embodying the, 9, 17, 22, 68–71, 74–8, 82, 101–3, 122, 129, 140; relationship with, 18, 25, 27, 67, 70, 74, 100, 107, 137. See also nature immersion landscape: metaphor, 3, 33, 47, 49–50, 70, 91n3, 94n23, 98, 111, 129; ritual, 107, 111 language, 6, 13n9, 26, 30n19, 32–3, 58, 98; body, 7, 141; metaphysical, xviiin2, 8, 20, 86, 99, 103, 110–2, 116, 142; symbolic, 58, 110, 116. See also dance: writing about; spirituality: writing about Laszlo, Ervin, 82–3, 92nn11–12 Le Guin, Ursula K., 151 learning: through absorption, 9, 38, 41, 84, 122, 126, 136, 143, 151; through movement, 3–4, 7, 33–4, 38, 41, 50, 55–8, 61–2, 74, 83, 89, 98, 101, 124, 140. See also knowing; knowledge Lemaire, Ton, 24, 70–1 letting go. See release; surrender letting go of goals, objectives, and agendas, 61, 64, 71–3, 129. See also improvisation; unknown Levine, Peter, 148 life force, 7, 12, 19, 24, 26, 34, 36, 38, 40, 50, 60, 64, 74, 80, 95–6, 99, 101, 124, 129–30, 132, 133n7, 138, 140, 141, 145–6. See also soul essence life-death-rebirth cycle, 12, 26, 31, 41, 73, 86, 96, 103, 122, 139–40, 148. See also death and dying; mortality; rebirth lifeworld, 69 liminality, 3, 40–1, 82, 105, 110, 113–4, 116–7, 118n8, 137 loneliness, 73, 132n4, 138, 141–2 love, 29n11, 73, 77, 85–7, 102, 127–8, 148 Lovelock, James, 81 lucid dreaming. See dreaming practice

184

Index

luminous energy field, 125, 147, 149– 50. See also body: energy Lüttichau, Chris, 73, 96 magic, 23, 26, 30n18, 53n4, 67, 84, 93n20, 95, 104, 110, 116, 118n8, 123, 132n1, 149, 151 magical consciousness. See mystical participation manifestation, 48, 111, 114, 117, 118n4, 140; manifesting possibility, 6, 12, 13n5, 37, 39, 56, 60, 64, 72, 113, 134n17, 137, 141, 145–7. See also insight; integration of inner work; potential; shamanic techniques: bridging Marcus, George E., 8 masks. See under ceremony; nature: without agendas, masks, or roles Maslow, Abraham, 19–21, 40, 85 May, Rollo, 19 meaning-making, 1, 5–7, 13–14n9, 18, 21, 29n11, 31, 34–6, 38, 40, 47–9, 57, 59, 67–9, 74, 80–2, 91n2, 97–8, 107, 114–6, 127, 135–6, 140–1, 151. See also dance: meaning making medicine. See under shamanic medicine medicine walk. See under ceremony medicine wheel. See under shamanic techniques meditation, 29n15, 32, 35, 37–9, 49, 56, 58, 60, 69, 72–5, 83–5, 87, 111, 147 Meekums, Bonnie, 43n9 memory, 2, 33, 37, 45, 62, 83, 89, 105, 148 mental awareness. See alignment: bodyheart-mind-spirit; mind Merleau-Ponty, Maurice 43n7, 53n2 metaphor: culture as river, 16–20; elements, 98; journey, 55, 112–4, 118n9, 125, 135–7, 142, 146; landscape, 3, 33, 47, 49–50, 70, 91n3, 94n23, 98, 111, 129; muddy temple, xvi–xvii, xviiin2, 9, 12, 143; natural, 63, 91n2, 101, 129, 132; ship

and ocean, 112–4, 118n9. See also symbols metaphors, working with, 6, 13n5, 35–6, 42n5, 63, 75, 77, 91n2, 97, 106n3, 132n1, 108–9, 136, 152 metaphysical phenomena, 38, 58, 60, 63, 69, 80, 82–4, 91n6, 92n9, 98, 115, 124. See also divine; source methodology: arts-based, 5, 32, 43n6; auto-ethnography, 3–7, 13n5, 13– 14n9, 16, 46; performative writing, 13–14n9; practice as research, 5, 13, 13–14n9; soulful, 3–4, 27, 56, 61, 64n2, 91 mimicking, 2, 11, 76–7, 101. See also imitation mind, 7, 27, 36, 45–51, 53n5, 56–7, 68, 74, 81, 83, 85–7, 98–100, 106n3, 133n7, 133n11, 138, 151; expanding cognitive skills, 9, 13, 58, 60, 63–4, 88–90, 98, 101. See also alignment: body-heart-mind-spirit; cognition mind-altering states. See expanded consciousness; visionary states and techniques mind-body. See dichotomies: body-mind mindfulness, 15, 36, 41–2, 48, 50, 87, 95, 103, 129, 143, 152 Morley, Charlie, 28n2, 91n4, 117, 127 morphic fields. See information field Morris, Brian, 23, 29n12, 86, 97–9, 106n5, 124 mortality, 50, 86, 139–40. See also death and dying; life-death-rebirth cycle Moss, Robert, 117n2 motivation, 22, 40, 107, 117. See also calling (vocation) movement: everyday, 35, 57, 61, 77; primacy of, 57, 64, 64n3, 69; relational nature of, 33, 36, 38–9, 42, 45, 75, 143; rhythms, 32–3, 36, 46, 85, 89–90, 94n23, 124; symbolic, 34, 42n1. See also dance; improvisation

Index

movement as a way of knowing, 3–5, 7, 27, 31–6, 38–41, 55–9, 62, 64n1, 70, 75–7, 83, 100. See also body: instrument; dancing scholar; learning: through movement Movement Medicine, 3, 13nn4–5, 28n2, 37, 91n1, 93n16, 103, 105nn2–3, 118n7, 118n9, 119n15, 134nn16–17, 149–50. See also Darling Khan, Susannah; Darling Khan, Ya’Acov muddy temple, xvi–xvii, xviiin2, 9, 12, 143 multi-level literacy, 6, 7, 38, 47–53, 55– 7, 100, 137, 147. See also alignment: body-heart-mind-spirit; calibrating the body muscle bonding, 33, 40 music, 21, 23, 31, 33, 59, 73, 85, 90, 94n23, 115, 136, 146 mystery, xv, xviiin2, 1, 3, 19, 21, 27, 29n14, 33–4, 38, 46, 52–3, 76, 95–6, 98, 108, 111, 135, 137, 143, 175 mystical participation, xvi, 2, 8, 12n1, 21, 23, 36–7, 46, 56, 58, 67, 69, 71, 73, 74, 80, 84, 107, 109–11, 113, 133n11, 136–8, 143 mythology, xvi, 20, 26, 30n18, 70–1, 91n2, 97, 99, 111, 113, 127, 136, 150. See also narratives, stories Naess, Arne, 42 Narby, Jeremy, 2 narratives: empowering, 12, 135, 137–9, 141, 151; personal anecdotes author, 1–2, 9, 15–6, 27, 31–3, 45–6, 55–6, 67–8, 79–80, 95–7, 107–9, 121–2, 135; sacred, 3, 34–5, 40, 111, 113, 136–142. See also mythology; stories Nataraja, 31, 42n1 natural rhythms, 1, 7, 49–50, 52, 61, 63, 76, 101, 107, 144n2 nature, 2–3, 15, 32, 45, 53n5, 67–71, 80, 100, 121, 129, 142; become one with, 72, 74, 102; without agendas, masks, or roles, 64, 71–3, 129; connection

185

to, 3, 22–5, 70–1, 73, 74, 83, 102, 128–9, 132n1, 132n4, 134n13, 138, 143; health and, 70–2, 86, 126, 128, 134n13; human, 21, 124; nature as home, 16, 29n14, 73, 77–8; nature as place, 16, 21, 25, 63, 67, 73–4, 79, 97, 107, 110–11, 129; religion, 22, 71; return to, 19, 24, 70–2; sacred, 16, 37, 53, 67. See also animism nature-based spirituality. See body- and nature-based spirituality; shamanism. nature immersion, 3, 15, 27, 28n2, 29n15, 63–4, 67–78, 78n3, 129, 137, 139 Nehamas, Alexander, 135 neo-shamanism, 22–6, 29n15, 30n16, 70–2, 87, 102–3, 117, 125 Neolithic, 15, 26–7, 93n16, 107, 110, 149 neuroscience, 3, 33, 37, 49, 50, 56, 106n4, 124, 132 New Age movement, 19–20, 28nn5–6, 29n9, 29n12, 53n4, 71 Newton, Isaac, 46 non-locality, 83. See also information field non-verbal communication, 6, 8, 22 non-violence, 19 Novack, Cynthia J., 65n5 numinous, xv, xviii, xviiin2, 8, 11, 24, 38, 115–7, 137. See also mystery; source object-subject. See under dichotomies objectivity, 8, 46, 53n2, 57, 70, 84, 98 Olaveson, Tim, 90 oneness, 41, 70, 85–7, 99, 118n8 Open Floor, 37 opposites. See dichotomies orientations for dynamic well-being, 122–3, 130–2, 145–52 original nature, 124, 127, 129. See also soul essence; wild origins other-than-human-being, 27, 41, 49, 52, 69, 77, 80–2, 86, 98–103, 143

186

Index

out of body experience, 23, 86–9, 94n21 outdoors, 1, 16, 63, 71, 73–5. See also nature overwhelm, 51, 86, 119n14, 123. See also comfort zone pain experience, 46, 49, 51, 68, 72, 85, 87, 123, 125, 137, 145–6 pairs. See dichotomies panentheism, 91n5 panpsychism, 80–1, 92n8 pantheism, 91n5 paradigms, 3, 4, 11, 47, 55, 123, 126, 137 paradox consciousness. See mystical participation paradoxes. See dichotomies participation consciousness. See mystical participation participation mystique. See mystical participation patience, 114, 151 patriarchy, 1, 28n2 peak experience, 19, 21, 85–6 Pearson, Joanne, 29n12 perception, 5, 45, 58, 64; embodied, 49, 52, 57–9, 74–5, 77, 83, 141; of subtle dimensions, 47, 53, 58–60, 71, 85–6, 88, 98–9, 103, 105, 114; psychological, 41, 72, 125. See also calibrating the body; interoception performative writing, 13–14n9 Perls, Fritz, 20 permission and encouragement, 9, 13n5, 50, 61, 72–3, 101, 142–3, 147, 153 personal anecdotes author, 1–2, 9, 15–6, 27, 31–3, 45–6, 55–6, 67–8, 79–80, 95–7, 107–9, 121–2, 135 personal growth or development, 5, 37, 60, 72, 126–7, 129, 135. See also individuation Peterson Royce, Anya, 33, 42nn2–4 phenomenology, 4–5, 7, 28n2, 37, 42n3, 53n2, 69, 74. See also experience: phenomenological

physiological feedback. See interoception; sensations: physical and emotional Piaget, Jean, 58–9 Pink, Sarah, 4–5 Pinkola Estés, Clarissa, 28n2, 46, 53, 129, 134n15, 134n17, 148 place: body as, 6, 9, 38–9, 46, 48, 51–3, 138, 146; genius loci or spirit of place, 97, 106n3, 107, 115; nature as, 16, 21, 25, 63, 67, 73–4, 79, 97, 107, 111, 129; power place, 74, 79, 111, 139; sitespecific, 31, 61–3, 110. See also space plant medicine, 23–4, 29n15, 79, 93n16. See also shamanic medicine Plato, 45, 127 play, 13n5, 16, 21, 33, 40, 55, 61–4, 74–6, 100, 106n3, 108–9, 143, 146 pleasure, 21, 33, 40, 140–1, 143 polarities. See dichotomies Pollock, Della, 13–14n9 posture, 35, 37, 39, 50, 62, 103–4, 127, 133n7, 149–51 potential: creative, 9, 50–1, 61, 72, 117; human potential movement, 19–20, 29n10; inner, 19, 35, 125, 127, 129, 133n7. See also manifestation power, 67, 90, 104, 110–1, 123, 128, 133n12; healing power of dance, 11, 34, 36–7, 41, 42n5, 104–5, 106n4, 141; inner, 34, 48, 51, 61; place, 74, 79, 111, 139. See also shamanic medicine; shamanic techniques: working with power practices power animals. See animal medicine power of ceremony, 114–5, 117, 119n14. See also ceremony practice as research, 5, 13, 13–14n9 prayer, 1, 15, 25, 37, 39, 60, 76, 108 presence, being present, 9, 27, 36, 40–1, 48, 51–2, 64, 67, 74, 85–7, 100–1, 137, 141. See also alignment; embodiment presence, mystical/metaphysical. See divine; source

Index

present moment in time, 40, 86, 95–6, 137, 143, 146, 148. See also time primacy of movement, 57, 64, 64n3, 69 proprioception. See kinaesthetic sense Protestantism, 1, 12n2, 16, 99. See also Christianity psi phenomena. See extra-sensory perception psychedelics, 23–4, 29n15, 93n16 psychological states, 41, 51, 58, 69, 81–2, 104, 106n7, 109, 125, 127–8, 133n5, 133n11, 136. See also expanded consciousness; visionary states and techniques psychology, 3, 19, 20, 22, 29n12, 37, 57–9, 92n10, 125–6, 131, 136. See also Jung, Carl G.; Jungian archetypes psychotherapy, 19, 43n9, 49, 106n3 Qi Gong, 28n2, 29n15, 48, 53n5, 93n16, 95, 133n7, 133n9, 146–8, 175. See also Traditional Chinese Medicine quantum field. See information field rationalism, 18, 22 reason, 10, 17, 52, 56, 58; thinking process, 7, 41, 50, 59, 85. See also Age of Reason; cognition; mind rebirth, 12, 26, 41, 106n4, 132n1, 139, 150 recapitulation. See under shamanic techniques reconnection, 3, 21, 24–5, 34, 38–9, 41, 46, 51, 67, 70–1, 74, 88, 101, 106n8, 116, 121, 129, 135, 138, 140, 143. See also connection; interconnection Reed, Sara, 37, 62 Reeve, Sandra, 5, 37, 62–3, 146, 152n1 reflexivity, 4–5, 13–14n9, 82, 136 reinventing ceremony, 22, 114–6. See also spirituality: postmodern relational nature of movement, 33, 36, 38–9, 42, 45, 75, 143 relationship. See intimacy

187

relationship mystery, xviiin2, 13n5, 21, 38, 53, 98, 102–3, 105, 116, 139. See also mystery relationship others, 22, 41, 48, 60, 69, 90, 93n15, 101–2, 106n3, 113–4, 122, 131, 135, 137, 139, 141. See also self-other relationship self, 38, 43n9, 48, 57–8, 72, 81, 87, 128, 135, 143. See also under alignment relationship surroundings, 2, 18, 22–3, 26–7, 33–4, 45, 49, 57–8, 62–3, 67– 71, 75, 81–2, 100–2, 108, 115, 128, 135, 141–2, 152. See also nature: connection to; self-environment; selfworld relationship unknown, 61–2, 91 release, 39, 119n14, 130–1, 141, 147–9. See also surrender religion, 8, 10, 16–9, 21, 23, 28n5, 35–6, 40, 52, 81, 84–5, 97, 103, 105, 115, 136, 137, 139–40; body, 25–7, 36, 39, 41, 43n6, 45–6, 140; contemporary, 18, 21–22, 71, 81, 114; science, 8, 29n7, 45–6, 84; spirituality, xviiin2, 8, 10, 18, 21–2, 37–9, 53, 71, 73, 116. See also spirituality religious experience. See peak experience Renaissance, 45. See also Age of Reason representation, 5–9, 13n9, 34–6, 58–9, 91n2, 98, 106n3, 110–1, 134n8, 139. See also archetypes; symbols resilience, 36, 50, 129, 136 resistance, 86, 109, 112 retrieval. See soul retrieval rhythmic drumming. See shamanic techniques: drumming rhythms: movement, 32–3, 36, 46, 85, 89–90 94n23, 124; natural, 1, 7, 49– 50, 52, 61, 63, 76, 101, 107, 144n2. See also 5rhythms Rill, Bryan, 41 65n5

188

Index

rites of passage. See under ceremony ritual, 8, 22–3, 26, 27n1, 34, 36, 89–90, 109–10, 113–4, 116–7, 123, 148–50; See also ceremony, reinventing ceremony ritual landscape, 107, 111 Rogers, Carl, 19 Romanyshyn, Robert D., 3 Roney-Dougal, Serena, 58 Roseman, Janet, 37 Roth, Gabrielle, 13n4, 103 sacred, xv–xvii, xviiin2, 16, 19, 21, 23–4, 26–7, 38, 40, 52–3, 90, 91n2, 98–9, 117, 118n4, 122–3, 131, 133n12, 138, 143; art, 26–7, 28n2, 32, 102, 112–5, 121, 126, 133, 150, 175; body, 10, 16, 39, 45–6, 52–3, 129; dance, 10, 35–6; earth, 2, 12, 76, 129; narrative, 3, 34–5, 40, 111, 113, 136–142; nature, 16, 37, 53, 67; sexuality, 12, 21, 96, 140–1; sites, 15, 22, 26, 93n16, 107, 110, 136, 149; space, 11, 15, 38–41, 110–5, 118nn4–5, 118n7, 150 sacred circle. See shamanic techniques: medicine wheel sacred-profane. See under dichotomies sadness, 50, 59, 148. See also grief safe space. See under space Samuel, Geoffrey, 16–7, 22, 28nn4–6, 29n12, 85, 93n15, 99, 106, 116, 141–2 Sanchez, Victor, 128, 148 science, philosophy of, 45–6, 52, 55–6, 81, 84, 116, 123, 133n7 Seiki, 81 self, 4–5, 12, 19, 33, 36, 40–1, 47–9, 51, 70, 72, 82, 87, 90, 92n9, 110, 113, 118n4, 122, 132n4, 137–8, 142–3; becoming, 63, 118n4, 125–6, 135–6, 146; confidence, 49, 55, 72, 128, 143, 145; consciousness, 5, 43n8, 49, 71; relationship with, 38, 43n9, 48, 57–8, 72, 81, 87, 128, 135, 143. See also alignment

self-environment, 22, 33, 39, 42, 51, 53n4, 62, 68–70, 72, 78, 82, 127–8, 138 self-other, 17, 77, 85, 90, 99, 102, 105, 116, 131–2, 132n4, 135, 141 self-world, 37, 40–1, 48, 62, 69–70, 74, 85–7, 129, 132, 132n4, 135–7 sensations, physical and emotional, 4, 17, 47, 49, 51–2, 53n1, 62–3, 68–9, 73–4, 77, 83, 85, 88–90, 100–2, 115, 151 sense, making. See meaning-making sense, sixth, 58, 67, 69, 84, 86, 98, 110, 129, 147. See also kinaesthetic sense; intuition senses, five, 17, 37, 39, 46–7, 56, 62, 69, 81, 83, 85, 143, 147, 150. See also sight; smell; sound; taste; texture; touch sensorial awareness, 4, 6–7, 39, 45–8, 57–9, 77, 78n3, 84, 92n9, 96, 98, 108, 129, 140–1; heightened, 84–5, 98, 100–2, 104, 110, 125, 137. See also alignment; calibrating the body sensory anthropology, 4, 46–7, 78. See also anthropology sensory motor power, 41, 58–9 sensuality, 39, 45, 52, 68, 79, 140–1 separation, 2, 45, 51, 69, 73, 78, 84–5, 112, 138 sexuality, 21, 53, 96, 105, 140–1. See also sacred: sexuality shadow, dark and golden, 13, 96, 126–7 shaman. See under archetypes; shamanism shamanic healing, 2, 23–5, 51, 72, 86, 93n21, 95, 109–11, 113, 115, 121, 123–5. See also extraction; intrusion; soul loss; soul retrieval shamanic medicine, 12, 22–4, 72, 74, 79, 108, 111, 124, 126–7, 133nn11– 12, 136. See also animal medicine, dreaming practice, shamanic techniques, plant medicine, nature shamanic state of consciousness. See expanded consciousness; visionary states and techniques

Index

shamanic techniques, 2, 25–6, 67, 74, 87, 91n1, 131; bridging, 7, 11, 13n9, 27, 48, 87, 92n7, 96, 109, 115, 117, 126, 131, 137, 148, 150–1; dance, 3, 5, 67, 87–90, 91n1, 93n21, 94n23, 102–4, 105n2, 105n3, 106nn4–5, 103; drumming, 2, 23, 26, 29n15, 32, 79–80, 85, 89, 90, 93n16, 94n23, 108, 125; intention, 24, 30n16, 74, 79, 86, 96, 100; journey, 2, 29n15, 68, 79–80, 86–8, 91n1, 93n20, 94n23, 99–101, 105n2, 109, 125, 149; medicine wheel, 22, 26, 68, 95, 107, 109–12, 115, 118n4, 130, 132n1, 134n16, 139–40, 149; recapitulation, 125, 131, 148–9; shape-shifting, 16, 23, 26, 102–4, 106n4, 141; working with power practices, 15, 26, 32, 74, 79, 86, 95, 111, 113, 116, 126, 139. See also ceremony; dreaming practice; elements; visionary states and echniques shamanism, 1–3, 13n5, 15, 22–6, 28n2, 29n12, 29n14, 30n16, 30n19, 37, 48, 57, 67, 70–2, 79–80, 84, 95, 102–3, 123–5, 128, 142. See also neoshamanism; spirit; spirit teachers; spirit world; spirits shame and guilt, 39, 96, 126, 136 shape-shifting. See under shamanic techniques Shapiro, Matan, 4 Shaw, Miranda, 48 Sheets-Johnston, Maxine, 64n3 Sheldrake, Rupert, 73, 81–3, 92n10. See also information field Shinto, 103 Shiva (Hindu deity). See Nataraja shock. See trauma Shusterman, Richard, 59 sight, 17, 47, 57. See also visionary states and techniques silence, 27, 52, 56, 58, 73, 84, 108, 114, 152 Sklar, Deirdre, 4, 7, 38, 42n4

189

smell, 35, 46–7, 73, 90, 106n4, 115, 150 Snowber, Celeste, 6, 43n6, 52 social justice, 19 social movements, 18 solidarity, 40, 90 solitude, 32, 68, 72, 76, 93n16, 129 somatic experience. See being-in-theworld somatic practice, 4, 7, 13n8, 22, 37–8, 43n7, 47, 49, 53n1, 62, 65n5, 68, 98, 104 soul, dark night of the, 40, 146 soul essence, 2, 12, 15–6, 19, 27, 37, 47, 51–2, 55–7, 61, 76, 80–1, 87, 90–1, 98, 104, 111, 116–7, 122, 124–5, 129–30, 132, 136, 138, 139–41, 143, 145. See also original nature soul in nature course, 2, 79, 93n18 soul loss, 51, 86, 93n19, 104, 124–5, 132n4, 149–50 soul retrieval, 121, 125, 130–1, 132nn1– 2, 133n8, 149–50, 152n3 soulful methodology, 3–4, 27, 56, 61, 64n2, 91 Soulmotion, 37 sound, 15, 32, 46–7, 57, 63, 68, 73, 76–7, 85, 90, 94n23, 98, 100, 108, 147, 149, 150. See also music source, xv, xviiinn1–2, 8, 16, 19, 40, 58, 84, 86, 110, 116, 122, 128–9, 133n12, 143; direct experience of, 12, 19, 35–6, 40, 86–7, 103. See also divine space, 32–4, 55, 57, 62–3, 71–5, 83, 86, 131, 139, 146; ceremonial, 13n5, 61, 64, 87, 105, 109–11, 113–7, 118n7, 134n16, 143, 148–9; inner, 36, 128–9, 145, 149; learning, 13n5, 61, 69, 72; sacred, 11, 15, 38–41, 110–5, 118nn4–5, 118n7, 150; safe, 11, 25, 50–3, 62, 64, 77, 86–7, 93n19, 96, 104, 112, 116, 125, 141; transformation, 109, 110, 113, 116– 7, 128. See also liminality; place space and time, 28n4, 48, 63, 82–3, 85–6, 100, 106n3, 110, 112, 114

190

Index

spirit: etiquette, 96, 100–1, 105, 112, 115; human, 3, 6–7, 48, 50–1, 56, 70, 114, 133n7, 138, 146; possession, 103–4, 106nn4–5 spirit-matter. See under dichotomies spirit teachers, 2, 3, 15, 22–3, 26, 58, 67, 79–80, 88, 93n19, 95–7, 115, 125. See also animal medicine spirits, 22, 26–7, 31, 36–40, 47, 80–1, 84, 97–105, 106nn4–5, 107, 112, 115–6, 118n7, 128, 137–8, 140, 151; dancing with, 3, 31–2, 34, 38, 40, 42, 67, 91n1, 99–105, 105n3. See also ancestors; animism; other-thanhuman-being spirit world, 3, 23, 25–6, 32, 79–80, 85, 88–9, 91n3, 93n13, 94n23, 111–2, 114, 118nn5–6, 125, 138 spiritual awareness. See spirituality spiritual practice, xv, 3, 5, 8, 48, 51, 53; dance as, 3, 5, 7–8, 15, 29, 31–2, 35–42, 42n1, 43n6, 67, 75–6, 86–90, 99–105, 105nn2–3, 106nn5–6, 113, 128, 131, 137, 140 spirituality, xv–xviii, 2, 3, 5, 19, 26, 28n2, 30n19, 32, 34, 50, 59, 110–1, 124, 140; alternative, 18–24, 26, 29n8, 29n14, 30n19, 38, 114; everyday, 19, 22, 40, 117, 135, 138, 151; feminist, 1, 18, 42n3, 99; moving, xvii, 3, 7–9, 35, 38–40, 122, 138, 140; New-Age, 19–20, 28nn5– 6, 29n9, 29n12, 53n4, 71; personal, 15, 19–21, 26–7, 121–3; postmodern, 20–22, 26–7; religion, 18–9, 21–2, 29n7, 38, 53, 73, 116; science, 8–9, 29n7, 84; writing about, 7–9. See also body- and nature-based spirituality; religion; shamanism St. Denis, Ruth, 37, 43n7 states of consciousness. See dreaming practice; expanded consciousness; visionary states and techniques; see also being: state of; psychological states Steiner, Rudolf, 58, 138

Stoller, Paul, 4, 47 stories, 15, 27, 27n1, 30n18, 58, 88, 108, 121, 127–8, 131, 135–8, 146, 148–9, 151. See also mythology; narratives Strathern, Marilyn, 5 stress, 33, 49–50, 67, 119n14, 123, 132, 137, 147–8 subject-object. See under dichotomies subjectivity, 5, 8, 13n9, 52, 53n2, 57, 70, 77, 81–2, 84 success, 60, 62 Sufism, 36, 86 surrender, 36–7, 56, 80, 86, 88–9, 102– 4, 112, 117, 128, 139–40, 146. See also letting go of goals, objectives, and agendas sustainability, 18, 20, 22, 34, 40, 73, 77, 91, 102, 106n3, 137–9 sweat lodge. See under ceremony symbolic: language, 58, 110, 116; movement, 34, 42n1 symbols, 28n6, 41, 58–9, 64, 77–8, 88, 91n2, 96–9, 100, 109–12, 114–6, 127, 129, 131, 139, 146, 150; anima mundi, 129; cauldron, 113, 135; mermaid, 16; phoenix, 150; snake, 95–7; tree of life, 77–8, 91n2; world soul, 129. See also archetypes; metaphor; metaphors, working with Tantra, 89, 95, 99 Taoism, 18, 53n5, 128–9 taste, 31, 47, 55, 73, 147, 150 texture, 46, 50, 62, 75–6, 79, 130, 140, 147, 150 therapy: Cognitive Behavioural Therapy, 48; dance movement psychotherapy, 41, 43n9, 60; Gestalt therapy, 43n9, 106n3; psychotherapy, 19, 43n9, 49, 106n3 thinking process, 7, 12, 33, 41, 50, 59, 85. See also body: site of understanding; cognition; movement as a way of knowing; reason

Index

Thomas, Helen, 42nn2–4 threshold, 6, 89, 113. See also liminality thrive, 53, 106n3, 128, 132, 135–6, 142–3, 144n1, 152 Tibetan spirituality, 89, 99, 108 time, 16, 28n4, 60–3, 70, 73–4, 90, 100, 104–5, 110, 112, 114, 129–30, 139– 40; past-present-future, 40, 47, 55, 84, 106n3, 110, 113, 137, 139–40, 143, 151; timelessness, xv, 2, 21, 40, 76, 80, 82–3, 84–6, 104–5, 106n3, 110, 112, 137 time and space, 28n4, 48, 63, 82–3, 85–6, 100, 106n3, 110, 112, 114 Todres, Les, 6, 57–8 touch, 47, 57, 62–3, 73, 83, 90, 140 touch. See also kinaesthetic sense Traditional Chinese Medicine, 60, 81, 105n1, 123, 132n3, 133n7. See also Qi Gong trance, 23, 86–90, 92n13, 93n17, 93n21, 94n23, 99, 102–4, 106nn4–5, 106n7; possession, 103–4, 106n5. See also being danced; dance: ecstatic; ecstasy; expanded consciousness TranceDance, 37 transcendence, xv, xvii, xviiin1, 1, 11, 21, 33, 40, 49, 70, 77, 90, 91n5, 138. See also immanence transformation, 7, 12, 19–20, 23, 48, 51, 91, 96–7, 104, 106n3, 119n16, 127–9, 131, 136, 138–9, 146, 150; ceremonial space, 3, 109–10, 113, 116–7, 128; dance, 34, 36–8, 149; metaphysical encounter, 40, 84, 86, 104. See also alchemy; dance: force of change; dance: healing transitions, 37, 62–3, 85, 113–4, 146 trauma, 24, 39, 49, 51, 87, 93n19, 106n7, 121, 124, 132n4, 141, 149 Tunneshende, Merilyn, 95 Turner, Victor, 19, 29n7, 90, 112–3, 116, 119n11 Tylor, Edward B., 80–1, 91n6

191

uncertainty, 8, 9, 61, 146 understanding. See knowing unfinished, 9, 17, 45, 139–40 unity, 17, 27, 41, 62, 90, 111, 128, 139, 141–3 unknowable, xviiin2, 8, 133n7 unknown, 8–10, 13n5, 34, 55, 61, 72, 75–6, 91, 112–3, 143 van den Berg, Agnes E., 71 van der Geest, Sjaak, 123 van Egmond, Klaas, 138–9 van Gennep, Arnold, 113, 119n11 Villoldo, Alberto, 28n2, 74, 111, 124–5, 147 vision (sense). See sight vision quest. See under ceremony visionary states and techniques, 1, 20, 24, 26, 38, 41, 55, 72, 83, 89, 117, 129, 131, 140, 142, 144n2. See also intuition visualization and visual stimuli, 33, 58, 63, 74, 79–80, 96, 98, 104, 111, 125, 147 vitality, 6–7, 46, 50, 64, 72, 74, 124–5, 130, 140–1, 143, 145, 147. See also life force vocation. See calling (vocation) vulnerability, 8–9, 46, 50, 52, 68, 91, 91n4, 140. See also humanity W.H.O., 122 warrior. See under archetypes Watson, Gay, 50–1 ways of knowing. See under knowing well-being, 12, 19, 21, 23, 30n17, 32, 40, 42, 49–51, 91n4, 105, 121–4, 127–30, 132, 135, 141–3, 145–7, 150; six orientations for dynamic, 122–3, 130–2, 145–52. See also health Whatley, Sarah, 42n2 Whitehead, Alfred N., 43n7 wholeness, 9, 12, 38, 71–2, 90, 121–5, 128, 130–2, 133n5, 135, 137, 141,

192

Index

145, 147, 150. See also soul loss; soul retrieval Wigman, Mary, 43n7 wild origins, 16, 27, 69–70, 72–3, 94n23, 97, 99, 129–30, 141. See also original nature wild wo/man. See under archetypes Willerslev, Rane, 77 Williams, Drid, 41, 42n2, 42n4 Williamson, Amanda, 5, 37, 42n2, 62 Winkelman, Michael, 23, 81, 142 wisdom: embodied, 45, 48, 69, 84, 140; gift, 25, 121, 126, 132, 151; indigenous, 24–5, 29n14, 37, 72, 77,

97, 110, 123–4; mystical, 9, 52, 73, 128. See also shamanic medicine wonder, 21, 87, 138, 141 worldview, 25, 30n16, 69, 97, 111, 139. See also cosmology worry, 72, 87, 103, 132, 146–7 writing about dance. See under dance yearning, 15, 22, 24, 67, 141 yin and yang, 146 zero-point field. See information field Zohar, Danah, 64n2 Zukav, Gary, 64n2

About the Author

Dr. Eline Kieft is an independent scholar, consultant and coach, combining her background as anthropologist, movement facilitator and shamanic practitioner. Currently a Visiting Knowledge Exchange Fellow at the University of Winchester Institute for Contemplative Education and Practice (WICEP), she promotes alternative approaches to learning, teaching and research including body- and nature-based spirituality through utilizing movement and the green spaces on campus. Eline danced from a young age, including rigorous classical and contemporary training to become a professional dancer. In her cultural and medical anthropology degrees (BA, MA), she explored different views on health, wellbeing and spirituality. During her PhD in dance at Roehampton University, London (2013), she studied improvised dance as a modality for healing and spirituality, looking at Movement Medicine as an embodied epistemology and contemporary shamanic technique. From 2015 to 2020, she worked as Research Fellow at the Centre for Dance Research (C-DaRE) at Coventry University, where she designed a Somatics Toolkit for Ethnographers, to cultivate the body as a research tool (http://somaticstoolkit​.coventry​.ac​.uk/). She is a long-term shamanic practitioner and student of Jonathan Horwitz, as well as a qualified Movement Medicine teacher and Holden Qi Gong instructor. Through 1:1 coaching, classes and interactive workshops, she supports people to thrive by reconnecting to their inner wisdom and power in relationship to the great mystery. Her work weaves together the depths of embodied practice (conscious dance and qi gong), nature immersion and shamanic techniques, sacred artmaking, the power of stories and archetypes and lucid-dreaming techniques and is always resourced by the liminality of ceremonial space in which transformation is invited.

193

194

About the Author

Relevant Publications Kieft, Eline. 2013. “Dance, Empowerment and Spirituality. An Ethnography of Movement Medicine.” University of Roehampton. Kieft, Eline. 2014. “Dance as a moving spirituality: A case study of Movement Medicine.” Journal of Dance, Movement & Spiritualities 1 (1):21-41. Kieft, Eline. 2017. “(Re)discovering the enchanted garden through movement and the body.” Revue Théologiques 25 (1):139-154. Kieft, Eline. 2018. “Clearing the way towards Soulful Scholarship.” In A world of Muscle, Bone & Organs: Research and Scholarship in Dance, edited by Simon Ellis, Hetty Blades and Charlotte Waelde, 456-479. Coventry: C-DaRE at Coventry University. Kieft, Eline. 2020a. “Dancing with the Spirits, Act 1: ‘Being grounded and being able to fly are not mutually exclusive’.” Dance, Movement & Spiritualities 6 (1&2):27-48. Kieft, Eline. 2020b. “East Wind: Dancing the Story of my Ectopic Pregnancy.” Online Performance, freely available on https://vimeo​.com​/424718341. Kieft, Eline. 2020c. Embodied Methodologies: The Body as Research Instrument (online presentation with three separate videos). In National Centre for Research Methods Online Resources. Southampton: University of Southampton. Freely available on: https://www​.ncrm​.ac​.uk​/resources​/online​/all/​?main​&id​=20730. Kieft, Eline. 2020d. “Four body- and nature-based practices to move your life-force.” Journal for Dance, Movement and Spiritualities 7 (1&2):33-45. Kieft, Eline. 2020e. “Soul Loss and Retrieval: restoring wholeness through dance.” In Spiritual Herstories: Soulful research in dance studies, edited by A. Williamson and B. Sellers-Young, 180-206. Bristol & Chicago: Intellect. Kieft, Eline. 2021. “Calibrating the Body: Embodied Research Strategies for Attuning to Subtle Information.” In Subtle Agroecologies: Farming With the Hidden Half of Nature, edited by Julia Wright, 191-202. Boca Raton, FL: Routledge, CRC Press, Taylor & Francis Group. Kieft, Eline, Ben Spatz, and Doerte Weig. 2019. “A Somatics Toolkit for Ethnographers.” In Coventry: Coventry University, available online: http://somat icstoolkit.coventry.ac.uk.