Approaching Jubilation:
10 Days in the Myth Cauldron with Dr. Martin Shaw
“Stories are ancestors, and without them we become ghosts.”
-Martin Shaw
They say not to talk about what happens to you when you go up “on the hill” for 4 days and nights. Some things are too fragile to speak of, as if by naming them we will scare away the rare magic that they contain. Secrecy and silence are old technologies.
But here is one thing I’m certain of: the Otherworld wants to make itself known in this one. And part of our task as true human beings is to help mediate that exchange. It may be the oldest, and only task there is.
I’ve just spent the last 10 days in Canada with the legendary storyteller and mythologist, Dr. Martin Shaw, a man whose work became a life raft for my soul while I slogged through the trenches of grad school. Reading Martin’s words (and listening to his stories) provided me with a wild reorientation towards the work I was slowly making my way into, and reshaped my writing, thinking, and relationship to the more-than-human world.
I’m going to do my best to share some of the wonder of this experience, and to pose and possibly answer some questions that this encounter conjured. But I’ll say from the start–I am not the slightest bit capable of summarizing what just occurred. Rather, I will share some of the questions, quotes, and wonderings that I am left steeping in, several days after returning to my home territory.
(For a more thorough retelling of the tour and the many gatherings that occurred, I invite you to check out Ian’s wonderful account.)
Two years ago, I was welcomed on to the last third of Martin’s previous tour in Canada by Ian MacKenzie, host of the Mythic Masculine Podcast, who has since become a dear friend. (Our interview together can be found here.)
So I found myself something of a myth-roadie, setting up chairs and taking care of various logistics to help the last week of the tour round off smoothly. For those of us along for the ride, it felt clear that we were a part of something very special and unlikely to ever happen again.
Two years later, I am staggering out of a new experience. And, just like last time, I found myself at the center of the cyclone, having been brought in to help with various elements of production, as if drawn in by a mythic force thoroughly against my will. Though, to be fair, Ian and Tad Hargrave welcomed me with open, enthusiastic arms and brought me on board. I have them to thank for being such generous friends and hosts.)
Once again, I feel steeped in a magic that I can only describe as a blessing, a conjuring, and a medicine that has its roots in the ancient practice of storytelling. In the age of virtual connection and media saturation, something deep in our bones recognizes when we are in the presence of an arcane art form. Our cellular memory perks its ears when we allow ourselves to put down our devices, step away from the incessant chatter of digitized discourse, and become wrapped in the many-colored cloak of myth.
“One of the great sadnesses of the West is that our myths have retreated inside ourselves.”
-Martin Shaw
What does it mean to “work with myth?” Why bother to lend our ears to these ragged old stories from the long-forgotten past? And what happens when people gather together to intentionally participate in this indescribably ancient practice?
If you dig beneath the surface of most stories, you will eventually hit a terrain that we could call “culture.” A culture is little more than a conglomerate of its stories, beliefs and practices, which all, initially have their origins in myth. This isn’t a new idea.
To contemplate or work with myth means to contemplate and work with culture. But what happens when a culture no longer knows the stories it emerges from? What happens when a people shove their myths back into the basement of their collective psyches, denies their relevance, and forgets the medicine contained within these wild tales?
When stories becomes internalized, they become symptoms.