What does it mean to birth a drum?
I recently had the honour of creating my own shamanic drum, opening myself to another layer of connection with sound. It was not an easy experience but one full of learning, healing and reverence.
Over the last few years drumming has become increasingly important to me, it feels connected with my voice and the words that flow through me in a very primal and honest way. The drum has, for me, a raw earthiness that complements the expansively shimmering energies of the gong. I have been drawn to creating, or ‘birthing’, my own drum many times but wrestled with my plant based lifestyle; vegi since childhood and not using any animal products for the last 13 years.
I fully understand why people would want to use the skin or even eat the meat of animals routinely culled due to human mismanagement of nature. It is often said that our ancestors would have made use of every part of an animal with reverence, although I imagine they would have consumed less also. We cannot go back or know for sure. But, for me, I have to be honest with how every choice sits in my heart and my gut. I was delighted to come across Heron Drums who offer the option of horse skin which comes from much loved animals who have died of natural causes. My love for horses goes back to childhood and they continue to be a powerful symbol for my work.
The weeks leading up to the workshop were emotional as I contemplated what a gift this skin was, what an honour to make my own instrument with such meaning; choosing an oak hoop reminiscent of my dear Helford woodlands; the holly beater I later discovered would be sourced from the area of Ireland where my fathers side of the family settled before moving to Scotland.
Beginning my bleed on the day of the workshop, feeling this new moon and Spring equinox time of new beginnings, I felt calm and open as I arrived at the art studio where we were to craft our drums. Jonathan the founder of Heron Drums holds a wonderful ceremonial space and draws upon a wealth of experience of the coastal Salish traditions of drum making and the spirituality of our own ‘Celtic’ lands. As we drummed in circle I heard the hooves of stag, reindeer and horse raining on the earth and as we dropped into silence it was clear that we had begun quite a journey.
After watching Jonathan craft an example drum with such skill and ceremony we were (in theory) ready. As I received and thanked my skin I felt a mild panic, with a large ridge through the centre, some areas thick and others soft, it felt a daunting task for a novice like me. Over the next two hours we laced skin and frame sunwise, tightening in stages until the drum head reached the perfect tension. Watching some of the other women work it appeared they had done this before, in another time and body. Jonathan reminds us that the drum links us to healers of the past, of our own lineage, to the rough and smooth of the healing journey. I certainly explored my own doubts, insecurities and waves of tiredness, finding and losing rhythm as the drum began to take shape; humming, breathing, singing for steadiness and gratitude. A euphoric feeling emerged as I bound the piece of serpentine from my local beach into the triple spiral handle … and she was born!
We journeyed together to connect with the spirit of our own drum. She spoke to me of wild lands, the power of sound, of walking my own path without comparison. Jonathan then reminds us of the agonising part, the drum (like us) needs to rest now; having birthed this precious instrument we will not hear its voice for a whole week! Actually it wasn’t agonising at all, to have her silently sitting behind me in the sound temple: acclimatising, strengthening; new shades and patterns emerging like a golden full moon. This was the next part of our intitiation; patience. It reminded me very much of the stories (and my own experience) where the guru makes the disciple wait to test his or her commitment! And then that first strike, created in personal ceremony, felt oh so powerful, tentative, curious; a beginning and a remembering.
The voice of a drum, like a gong, will evolve with the player, with its playing. It reminds us that life moves through every object as well as every being. So to answer my own question, ‘what does it mean to birth a drum’, it is not just adding yet another instrument to the collection but creating a vivid and visceral connection with sound as medicine, with healing as a journey and with nature as ally and inspiration. I hope you will meet this wild and wonderful creation soon!