They say that you can hear the call three times before you
find the courage to answer it; a call to adventure, a call to destiny and life.
Writer and storyteller Joseph Campbell said,
“A hero ventures forth from the world of common day, into a
region of supernatural wonder: fabulous forces are there encountered and a
decisive victory is won: the hero comes back from this mysterious adventure
with the power to bestow boons on his fellow man.”
Well, I'm back! Anyone care for a boon?
My call was a call to parenthood, but that doesn't sound
very extraordinary, being a gay man means I would need to make some tough
decisions, and do something out of the ordinary, other than the usual
ins-and-outs of life to produce a child (pun intended). When is anyone truly
ready to be a parent? ‘When I have X amount of money in savings’ ‘Once I've
seen the world’ ‘Once I’ve grown up’ Knowing I couldn't just ‘Fall pregnant’
meant that if I decide to have a child then the ball will start
rolling….Ok…..deep breath….Yes! Call answered.
It just so happened that my partner Tom works for an
adoption agency. The call felt like a silent bell going off in my heart. I felt
like a spider tentatively stepping and sensing his way along a thin thread trying
to grasp what was on the other end, the thread was my new path, a heart string
had been pulled.
I was due to go on an advanced shamanic class, ‘Working with
the Mythic’ with Chris Waters (www.spiritoftheinca.com)
‘Bring with you a fairy-tale that you feel connected too…’ I couldn't even
think of any, so I called another shaman friend of mine, Charlotte Gush (www.shamanicway.co.uk) who was given
the name ‘Rumpelstiltskin’ by Spirit, I listened. It was one of my favourites
but I couldn’t see how it related to me.
I arrived at misty hills of Avalon,
The Glass Isles of Glastonbury, where the world reflects back to you. I sat in
a group waiting to tell the tale I brought with me, the trees eagerly listening,
I told the tale of Rumpelstiltskin from the place of ‘I’ - the I being the poor
nameless girl who was trapped in the dungeon by the King, who demanded an
impossible task of her; to spin straw into gold, a lie told by her father.
I could definitely feel the link; I was trapped in a dungeon
like 9-5 life that was not authentic, and I had the impossible task of creating
a family that was biologically not going to happen, in a Kingdom that was not
all 100% happy with LGBT parents. But I couldn't fully connect with her, she
wasn't my story.
We performed many tasks and beautiful ceremonies within the
land of Glastonbury that week, re-enacting myths and legends, of Percival, the decent of Inanna. We visited Gwen App Nudd the lord of the underworld, and
Cerridwen of the cauldron of transformation. Sat on the altar in our sanctuary was a beautiful
statue of the horned lord, I longed to be connected to him, and for me his
presence represented fatherhood in its purest form. His resplendent horns are
the horns of passion, fierce love, protector and guardian, provider and
teacher, all the things needed to be a father, I lost my horns a long time ago.
Where was he in this story? We hadn't discussed him at all. Where are my horns?
There is a thorn tree in the Chalice Well Gardens, it is
said that the tree grew from a sapling from another tree that grew on Wearyall
Hill, and this particular tree grew from the staff of Joseph of Aramathea,
Jesus’s Uncle, the staff was cut from the same thorn tree that Jesus's crown of
thorns was made from. A small ceremony we have done many times before is walk under this
tree in the Chalice Gardens, and comb our hair through its thorns and give back
our own crown of thorns, we no longer need this guilt in the world. I was
looking forward to visiting this ancient tree and as I approached, to my
horror, it had gone. The year previously the even more ancient tree on Wearyall
Hill had been vandalised beyond repair and died, a year later the tree in the Chalice Garden was struck by lightning and split in half. All that is there now is a
fairy ring. I stood looking at this fairy ring and it dawned on me a story of
the horned lord. I have heard that there once was a sacred garden, maybe the
Garden of Eden? And in that garden stood an ancient tree, for some reason
lightning struck it and it split in half, and out of its centre stepped the
horned lord. Had he stepped out of this tree?
Once I was back at base camp at the Abbey House, I decided
to tell my story from the place of ‘I’ but instead of the young girl I chose
Rumpelstiltskin, after all it is his story, the only one with a name.
Suddenly it all started to make sense. Rumpelstiltskin did the impossible, he
spun old straw into gold, an impossible task a bit like creating a family with out a woman. He was promised a child, I held on to the hope that Toms agency would say yes to us. He had a secret
name, a secret identity that is anyone found out would cause his demise, I am not an 'office worker' its not my name, I have a secret name, a secret identity, one that involves children, magic and mystery. He was
betrayed and the promise of a child was taken away from him, and he tore
himself in two with the pain and rage.
“What if this story came true?”
“It can’t, I would be devastated.”
“But what if this is exactly how things are supposed to be?”
“I feel like my life would be over, I would be in so much
pain and rage I wouldn’t know what to do…”
That night we burnt our stories in a ceremonial fire. In the
flaming remains of all the stuff I was working on that week I saw the image of
a King. Also that night Tom went into a meeting to officially ask to
start the adoption process with his agency. After the fire I ran through misty rain back
indoors, put on kettle for a hot chocolate and checked my phone for a response
from Tom. I called him after reading his text. We weren’t allowed due to employment boundaries, which is understandable, but still rage flared inside my heart. My head aching with the loss, the story came true, I
went to bed heavy hearted.
Something was splitting, my head, my soul, my heart? One of
my kuyas is a split stone, I call it ‘Emergence’ is this what is happening? It didn’t
feel like it.
The next morning I had a powerful migraine, I stormed about
the place swearing and punching walls in rage. I felt like I was splitting in
half, I was Rumpelstiltskin tearing myself in half, I had to tell my story!
Someone took the words out of my mouth, “Where is the fierce masculine in all
of this? Where is the horned lord?” YES! Where the fuck is he?! So I told my
story.
“Where do you feel this loss in your body?”
“Its in my head, and my heart, but mainly my head, I feel
like I am about to split in half.”
“What would happen if you allowed yourself to split?”
My heart swam in relief, I could finally let go, I raised my
hands to my head and slowly with grace tore myself in two, and it felt liberating!
I felt peaceful, still in pain, but accepted pain.
“Can anyone else see his horns?” I heard someone say, ‘I’
stepped out of myself and there instead of the old me was a horned lord, a
father, albeit a childless one. Little did I know that my son was being born
just a few miles away.
I always knew he was on his way, I could feel him. Every
time I journeyed to the upperworlds and visited with the children of the future
there was always a particular little child, full of energy and big beautiful
eyes who couldn't wait to see me, I presumed it was a piece of myself, but
something told me otherwise. “I can’t wait to come down! It looks amazing!” he
once said to me. A golden little boy.
One year later and I am sitting nervously on the floor of a
foster carer’s house. Fear and excitement rumble within me, I think I'm going to be sick! I hear him in the kitchen making a right noise! “Do you want
to meet him?” the foster carer asks. She calls his name and his tiny little
face pokes around the corner looking sheepish and coy, he gingerly crawls towards us, my heart melts, I am in love! This is what munay felt like,
sacred love. Our son was looking at us, my golden little boy! I pick him up
and put him on my lap, I feel like I was anointed king! I am the victor of my
hero’s journey, I am King of my Kingdom, I am the Horned Lord, I am Dadda, with a
bag full of boons.
