Frohlichen Krampusnacht!!

Tuesday the 6^th December is the Feast of Saint Nicholas. He was a Christian Saint and a Greek Bishop of Myra. He was known as Nikolaos the Wonderworker, and has since been used as the model for our modern-day Father Christmas, Old St Nick, Santa Clause. He has many names, he is also known as the Holly King, the Green Man, The Shaman, and even Odin. He rewards the good and well-behaved children of Christendom with gifts and trinkets and sweet delights on Christ’s Mass Eve.

But did you know, like all of us, he has a shadow? He, like me and thee, has a shadow self too. What would Jolly Ole Father Christmas’s shadow look like? What could possibly be a contrasting image of Santa?

Are you sitting comfortably? Are the lights on nice and bright? Are your loved ones near? Then I shall tell you.

He has no shiny, buckled, black boots that tread through the snow, but cloven hooves that clip and clop. No red coat dons this man, but a tangled mass of dark fur. He does not wear a red hat, (and if he did, it would probably be the foulest blood red) instead, two great goat horns curl and twist. Does he say “Ho, Ho, Ho?” Oh no, no, no, he couldn’t possibly, not with those fangs and that long, long red tongue. What about a sack full of toys? I hear you ask, he carries a sack, or sometimes a basket, over his shoulder, but it doesn’t contain toys, only children. He holds, not the reigns of a beautiful sleigh, but chains that attach him to the devil.

On the 5^th December, the part goat, part demon Krampus punishes the naughty children, whipping them with his ruten branches. Or gifting coal instead of toys, ruten bundles instead of sweet nectarines. 

On the eve of The Feast of Saint Nicholas he gifts an early Christmas present to those who have been exceptionally good. But, God help ye merry children if you have been very, very bad. If you have been wicked, then he will take you away leaving a log of wood in your image behind while you are taken to his lair. Maybe he will make you work for him or maybe he will devour you. Or maybe he will drown you the fiery pits of hell.

For me, the Krampus represents the naughty side of this season, Christmas in all it's gory glory. It is the time that the birth of the Holy Sun of God is born, in many ancient paths, not just Christian. And as wholesome and holy as this season is, there is a sombre side to this season too. There is loneliness and bitter sweet memories, there is greed and over indulgence. There is consumerism and debt, there is chocolate, alcohol and burning loins. Families argue and fight, office parties end in shame and guilt, and the streets are littered with drunks wearing sexy Santa outfits.

As advent begins, Saint Nick sits on one shoulder, and Krampus sits on the other, whispering sweet nothings in our ears. I have a soft spot for the Krampus, he has been commercialised into a jolly and slightly satanic Christmas figure, and there is a growing number within the anti-Christmas community, who use the 'bar humbugginess' of Krampusnacht to celebrate something less-than-Holy.

Last year I accidentally celebrated Krampusnacht with my son. He was ill during the last week of November and as he was feeling better and as he had been exceptionally good all week, we decided to gift him an early Christmas present on the night of the 5th December. Later that night I found out it was Krampusnacht.

So, to all my kith and kin, have a cheeky chocolate, or a snifter of rum, watch an X-rated movie or simply snuggle up with your Shnookums or your Snugglybum.

Like everything in life, it’s about balance and moderation, holding the two polarities of life in balance in each hand, so you can be the stillness in the centre.

Be both the bright and the dark, the light and the shadow, the oak and the holly, Santa and Krampus.

Merry Krampusnacht 

The Bearded Shaman

A Hero's Call

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.

So, Trump Won.

So, Trump won. 

There is a lot of debate out there on social media, cities are divided. 

Is it right or wrong? Good or bad? What is right anyway? What is wrong? 

Everyone’s 'stuff' is up, all our buttons are being pressed; anger, rage, fear, doubt, hatred, indolence, apathy…it’s all our stuff.

We can choose to perceive Trump as a bully, a bigot, a misogynistic tyrant, predator, homophobe, racist. Some see him as a great man, a leader, a creator of change and immense walls. Others see him as a man, a son, a husband, a father.

I don’t believe for one second, that the majority of America are hate-filled, angry bigots. 

Maybe the votes were rigged, Trump said that very thing, maybe it’s true? 

I believe in the goodness of people. 

His supporters are fearful, they hold scare-city within their hearts, anger, rage and a deeply rooted ancestral shame. 

Whatever is in your hearts, you will perceive outside of yourself; so this is what they see.

Trump, just like all of us, has many wounds. 

He is an archetypal concept, the Wounded Masculine, the Wounded King, an archetype of our time right now. 

Where are our leaders? Where are our fathers? Our mentors, our guides, where is the Fierce Masculine? 

Trump is a beautiful reflection of our most darkest shadows, and we can all see them! 

The Emperor’s New Clothes!

I almost want to thank him for showing up, for stepping into his power and for showing US the parts of ourselves we are unwilling or unable to love, so we can heal them!

All those parts that hate, that judge, that condemn, that despise.

The parts of ourselves that we are ashamed of, that are weak, that are vulnerable. 

These are All of our shadows.

So, Trump won?

If you are reading this, it is because you are energetically drawn to my words, our words, our consciousness.

Remember, there is only one consciousness, even Trump is a part of that divinity. 

He has lessons to teach us, let's listen.

What can we do? 

We can choose to love each other, it’s totally in your power to make a stand and say 'Yes' to love. 

Love your neighbours, love that gay couple around the corner. 

Love the Pakistani family in the flat above you. 

Love that black guy who gets the same bus as you every morning, and that Mexican woman who sells flowers on the corner of your road. 

Love that trans kid who always looks away awkwardly when you stare, and the angry single mother who always looks so tired. 

We can also choose to love that orange guy with the funny hair. 

But more importantly, go to that mirror in front of you, go look in it, see that person, love them.

We can choose love, I choose love.

My Home Town

There used to be a few esoteric shops in Reading, witchy and crystal clad. There used to be a few holistic festivals too, but they are almost all gone, apart from a few, Stardust is a good one.

Reading’s spirituality has gone. It’s like Reading has experienced soul loss. Is its chakra has been blocked? Maybe its ley lines have been crossed? Or maybe its aura has been shattered, I don’t know what has happened, but it has.

Fortunately, something has shifted, people are coming of the wood work, psychics, healers, reiki masters, shaman, artist, visionaries. The Winter Giant visited Reading last Christmas. Something magical happened, just for a while, we stepped into the mythic. A tale of welcoming with open arms and an open heart, a story of compassion and giving and love. It was beautiful.

 Winter Giant

Reading prison is now closed. It is, unfortunately, famous for holding Oscar Wilde. He imprisoned for being gay, so I am glad its closed for that very reason. But now, in his honour, it's open to the public as an art house. More interestingly, I have recently discovered that we have a hidden, lost King.

I went for a walk with my son today in Reading’s town hall museum, and found out that there is a lottery funded team, searching for the lost King.

Henry I

Reading Abbey was one of the wealthiest monastic houses in England, and one of northern Europe’s most prestigious religious centres. It was founded by Henry I, who was the son of William the Conqueror, in 1121. It later became his resting place in 1135. After his death in Normandy, his body was brought to Reading Abbey, sewn into a bull’s hide. He was laid to rest in 1136 somewhere in the grounds, and to this day, he still lays there. 

During the dissolution of the monasteries by Henry VIII, the Abbey was destroyed, leaving only a few remains. There is no record of where Henry I and his wife, Queen Adeliza are buried, only that it was in Reading Abbey, beneath a great altar.

Reading Abbey and its surrounding areas was once Readings spiritual hub, its connection to Spirit. As I watched my son run around the Forbury Gardens, it dawned on me that it still can be, a new alternative, esoteric, all inclusive, multi-faithed spirituality, we’ve just forgotten about it. 

I truly feel that we can rekindle the spiritual fire of Readings heart.

Readings Chalice, womb of our Mother Earth, Font of Forbury Gardens. Kai and I placed flowers in the water as an offering to her.

We have a stone circle, filled with water and life and all sorts, standing beautifully is a statue of shells, symbol of the Divine Feminine.

We have a mountain, Forbury Hill, we have a huge stone cross sat erect and proud, facing the entrance to the Abbey ruins, a powerful symbol of the Divine Masculine.

We have a grotto, a womb tomb, flanked by the two holy thighs of our Mother.

We even have a fairy tree, mulberry I think. An ancient and twisted and beautiful tree, a temple of nature and the nature spirits. I offered a ribbon to the branches.

The garden is guarded by a great lion, Ottorongol, Hatun Puma, Chocchinchay, the Golden Jaguar. He is a protective entity; The Lion of Reading.

When our lost King is found, I believe that a new emergence of spirituality in Reading will arise. This is my prophecy.

Reading Abbey

We already have Reading Festival, an Abbey, and now a lost King just like our King Arthur, lets create a Glastonburyesc city, a haven of spiritual freedom. Apologies to Reading Borough Council if the Forbury Gardens are over run with hippies and the trees covered in ribbons and fairy offerings, there are there, hiding, one day they will return, I’m sure of it, just like our lost King.

A Letter to America

Dear America.

Firstly, I would like to say, that just like here in the United Kingdom, I know you are not ALL the same, you are not all crazy arse white people, and no, I’m not black. 

I am a shaman, my tradition is with the Q’ero people of the Andes mountains, so I feel energetically linked to the Americas, otherwise I’d be like everyone else in the world, just watching the Merican shit hit the fan.

As a shaman I see shadows, I see reflections in the world of my own inner landscape. In that I also see a reflection in America to our own craziness (thankfully not as crazy/deluded/corrupt as you guys) in England, so know that what I say has some reality in our own culture too, sadly, I know how beautifully fucked up we are.

Over the last few decades you have changed. The once Great America is now a chaotic cesspool of political drama, religious dogma, disrespect, disillusion and disconnection. Racism is the same, if not worse, than it’s ever been, and it’s all being stirred by the dirty hands of people with unquenchable, insatiable desires for power.

We follow you in our pop culture, film, drama, our young idolise you guys. The thing is, you are us. (funny how you call yourselves U.S, us) You are us for another reason, you are our ancestor’s children, you are our relatives; we, Europeans. You left us back in the 1600s because of us, we fucked up. You left because of religious persecution, punishment, we didn’t know what to do with you. Some of you left for other reasons, unfortunate reasons. Some left for adventure, seeking new possibilities! We waited, you didn’t come back. It was a dark time for us too, we made huge mistakes, our ancestors made huge mistakes; we still are making mistakes.

So for that I’d like to ask for forgiveness, I’m sorry.

The American dream is dead, it’s more like an American horror story, a nightmare, what happened? Watching you is like watching history, you are stuck in a time loop. You are destroying the homes and lives of those who You took the land off of in the first place, just like you did when you arrived. You are building walls of hate against the very neighbours in the south that offer their food and services to you, just like you did when you arrived. You are segregating, abusing and murdering our black brothers and sisters, and their children, OUR children. They are being killed by a massively corrupt police society, seem familiar doesn’t it? What’s next? Civil wars? Assassinations? World war?

The place YOU have named America is not yours, it never was, you stole it from the native people of the land; did you even ask them what their land is called? Destruction, murder, genocide, rape. Not just of the land and its animals, but ALL the people. The dreamscape that you hold so dear is crumbling because it’s built on lies, corruption and violence. The bones of these atrocities are sticking out of the ground, tripping up all who walk across it. Some see it, I have friends who I know who live there who see it, and they are those who give us all hope. But many do not. It’s time to open your eyes.

The hidden shame and guilt is seeping up through the veins of American culture and its people. Instead of acknowledging it, making it right, making peace with it, you ride it, buy it, bury it, eat it. You blow it up, shoot at it, inject it, hang it, control it, rape it, abuse it, laugh at it, sell it, bludgeon it, vote for it, until it goes away. But don’t worry, you are not alone, we in Europe have our own shit to deal with.

End your morbid obsession with external sexualised beauty, it’s not that beautiful. Stop using Jesus’s name to justify hatred, judgments and segregation, he was not white. He was a brown skinned Semite Jew, who never spoke a word of English. He fed the poor and needy, and took care of the homeless, he defended woman, and preached love and acceptance. He also never conformed to any religious or political views. I’m pretty sure he would be against guns too; another fucked up obsession, seriously, get rid of them.

You fail to see that the bad guys and villains, like in your movies, don’t all talk with a terrible British accent. They are not the Russians, nor are they the Koreans, they are not the Mexicans or Muslims, they are also not black people, or strong women with pussy’s ripe for the groping, nor are the LGBT community. I’m afraid it’s an inside job.

Clinton or Trump? I have seen the timelines of both, both will cause pain and suffering, both will cause more of the same, the circle will keep turning, never evolving into a spiral. We always get what we’ve always got if we continue to do what we have always done, or thought, or voted for.

I see America as a police state, there is no freedom. One day America, you will be great again, it has vast potential. But this will only come with reconnection to those you have segregated, it will only come when you give back the land to its true inhabitants, it will only be great again once everyone is free to think and feel and love and chose as they wish. Everyone deserves to be held in the arms of the Sacred.

Those who are awake, teach your children to love and forgive, teach them acceptance and that they are perfect exactly who they are. But more importantly, listen to them, let them teach you!

Yours hopefully,

A Concerned citizen of our planet.

The Bearded shaman

Happy Mothers Day!

Happy Mothers Day!

To all Our Mothers, the Divine Mother, the archetypical Mother, the Universal Mother.

To those mothers who have passed on, grandmothers ancient wise women; we honour you and we love you 🌺💐

Imbolc Joy

Imbolc, Ewes Milk, day of Our Lady Brigid. 

Bree, the divine feminine of Spring. Early budding, spring flowers, sap that oozes quietly through the veins of our earth and all her children. There is a stirring, there is a blossoming. What have you planted? What are you growing? What are you nurturing right now? 

The winds of change are blowing, are you ready to let go and let Be? 

I ask Our Lady of the Flames to burn brightly our passions, the fire in our bellies, and stir change and transformation  from fear and death to joy and life 💫

Happy All Saints Day!

Today is All Saints Day, a day to celebrate the saints in heaven. 

Saint Mary to me is actually one of the Divine Feminines of the Christian community, to me personally She is a Goddess, a Divine and Cosmic Mother. In her dark aspect she is the Black Madonna,  archetype of the dark goddess, along the same guises as Ereshkigal, Cerridwen and Hecate. My first experience with the Black Madonna wasn't that long ago. During a ceremony in the Glastonbury Abbey House, we were lucky enough to have a Black Madonna bought to us from the White Spring. It was such an honour and a blessing. As we entered her chamber deep in the crypt of the old Abbey House, we had our feet washed with water from the White Spring, we sat in the tiny dark room, candle light flickered quietly, highlighting the tiny figurine. We sung our sorrows and pain to her, we sang our shame and our guilt to her, tears fell and joy slowly blossomed within our hearts. And there She stuck, another piece of myself. The Black Madonna.

I was thinking about this experience, and poetry was the only way I could express it.

I hope you enjoy it, here's to the beautiful Saint. 

Smoked Black by Candle Light

The scent of old damp stone.

Your very image,

Smoked black by candle light.

A gentle light flickers against your face.

Your very image,

Smoked black by candle light.

Small flecks of guild still shine.

Your very image,

Smoked black by candle light.

Christ child, beloved one.

Your very image,

Smoked black by candle light.

Tears, so many tears.

Your very image,

Smoked black by candle light.

Peace, let there by peace.

Your very image,

Smoked black by candle light.

Your face, O your face,

Smoked black by candle light.

By Daniel Mcilvenny-Cox

Pachamama

Pachamama - Patron saint of the Pampamesayoc. 

The woman is the Divine Feminine of the Q'ero people; Mother Earth, Tierre Madre, Dragon Woman. 

The Pampamesayoc, those who built the sacred sites of the earth, from the pyramids of the Divine Masculine; Giza, Machu Picchu, to the stone circles of the Divine Feminine; Stonehenge, Avesbury. 

They are the Gatekeepers of these sites, the altar keepers. 

We as shaman of the Inca tradition, carry our altars with us, our mesa's; sacred bundles of Kuya (sacred stones) wrapped in holy cloth, seem at the bottom of the painting. 

Love Letter to Our Lady

A void of grating scales,

seeps electrifying purple fumes.

Tiamut's crimson blood drips Iike jewels of Gaia.

The sound, all that is, the sound - rushing, echoing like stars both born and dead.

Ninhursag's loneliness drops like a black stone. 

Life burns in the belly of Kisha.

The Great She, adorned in severed heads and fragile hearts.

Coatlicue, adorned in evergreen and serpent skins,

dancing the dance of creation.

Tierrra Madre, show us your red sole that treds upon our hearts.

Giver of life Pachamama, I love you.

I love you, love me.

I forgive you, forgive me.

I'm sorry, we're all sorry.

Hold me in your void Mother Mary.

Let me be soothed by the rushing and the grating of scales.

Art and poem by Daniel Mcilvenny-Cox

The Munay Ki Rites’

The Karpay rites’ are Rites of Passage, nine initiations that have been passed down through the lineage of the Shaman Priests of the Q’ero people of Peru.  These are medicine men and women known as the Laika (translates as ‘long hairs’) who have until recent times kept these initiations sacred.

Alberto Villoldo is the director of the ‘Four Winds Society’ in 2006 he was instrumental in bringing the Karpays to the western world, as the Munay Ki rites’.  Villoldo is a Cuban born psychologist and anthropologist who studied the shamanic healing practises of the Amazon, Andes and the Laika medicine men and woman of the Inca tradition for over 25 years.

There is a prophecy in the Inca tradition that the medicine people of the future will come from the West, those who helped destroy the earth, the conquistadores, will be the ones to help repair the earth, and bring us  back into Ayni,  right relationship and balance, and become the new healers and medicine peoples.  

Their prophecies also stated that one man from the conquistadores will be the one to share this wisdom to the west. They chose Villoldo to be this messenger.

There was and still is a controversy surrounding the Munay Ki rites’.  Villoldo was very much a participant in all of the rites and customs of the Amazon and the Andes, whereas most other ‘Anthropologists’ took the approach of non-participatory observational learning’s, seeing the indigenous ways through a non-dogmatic and non-mythic place, Villoldo immersed himself in the life of a Q’ero Shaman, as a westerner to the west this was considered as a misrepresentation of the tradition.

The Karpays (the rites) are the keys to our evolution to the next level of humanity, to that of Homo -luminous.  Bringing about a rainbow body, the Karpays are the initiations into the Shamanic Priesthood.

The Munay Ki rites are an evolution of these indigenous Karpay rites’, out of the pot of the whole Inca/Q’ero traditions with all its rattles, drums and feathers sprang forth a seed of the Munay Ki rites, this seed has grown into a set of simplified rites, more accessible to the Western world, using a simple Pi stone, a torus shaped stone.

A decision was made with the Q’ero and Andean medicine men and women, that the time to share these rites was now.  But a question was posed, ‘Can we give these rites to everyone, in a matter of a few days or weeks?’  You see the Karpays were traditionally given to a student over a period of years, during which training was given to the student …the answer was:  ‘No, I don’t think so….this hasn’t been done before…..so let’s do it!’

Time is speeding up, and so are our energy fields, so it makes sense……all things need to evolve, each one of us, each view, each thought, each action, each breath….otherwise we will always get what we have always got which is no longer working. This is an evolution of shamanic practise.

The rites’ are stripped of some of their Q’ero traditions, these rites’ are still given in the traditional way, during the shamanic training, but the Munay Ki rites are much more simpler, much more clean, it is energy work….for everyone. Today they are available to anyone who ‘shows up’ to receive them, honouring and accepting their guardianship of all of creation…becoming co-creators of the infinite.

‘Munay’ means ‘Love’ in Quechua, the language of the Q’ero, descendants of the Inca, ‘Ki’ means ‘Power’. It is the power of love in its purest form, all healing is simply a form of love, any shaman or healer will tell you this, it’s all love…A good healer doesn’t actually do anything to anybody, a good healer knows how to heal themselves, to hold the client already healed, and hold sacred space energetically so they can both embark on a healing journey together, hand in hand along the way.

At the core of these rites’ lay a foundation of five principles.

·         Non-violence; Rather than a principle of ‘peace’, non-violence allows us to act accordingly when faced with a difficult life situations, with non-violence we become the peacemakers rather than a passive participant of life.

·         Moderation; We learn to not take more than we need, and also not to give more than we have.

·         Integrity;  With integrity we learn not to compromise our self in order to please others, we see what our values are, and as long as they serve us well, we live by them, to help us serve others.

·         Truthfulness; To hold and live truth. Once you know that what you believe, think, speak will manifest, you develop a great responsibility to be truthful. What you speak contains the principles of non-violence, moderation and integrity.

·         Generosity; Giving without looking for what we can get back, taking your gifts out into the world to share, to be in service.

So, why did I show up?  Good question, I have always known I wanted to be a part of the healer’s lineage, ever since I was a kid, I wanted so much to take all the pain and suffering away from the world, I saw sadness everywhere, illness, famine, pain, it’s a lot for a kid to deal with, I always wished I had magical powers to heal, see into the future, fly….growing up I went through vast challenges which knocked me down to the floor, power-less I became very interested in the occult and witchcraft, to regain my powers and control…But it doesn’t quite work like that does it?

I was told about the Munay Ki rites’ from a Shaman, we spoke about becoming a Shaman and receiving the rites’, so my reason for showing up? I wanted to be the most beautiful vessel I could be, to contain the healer’s knowledge, enabling the grace of Great Spirit to flow through a clean and clear channel, for the service of mankind and the earth.

I didn’t know what to expect when receiving the rites’, as far as I could tell the rites’ run contrary to scientific beliefs that say that who we are, and our determined futures selves, comes from our past, by the gifts and illnesses of our ancestors, bound by time and genetics…..the Munay Ki teaches you that when you step outside of time, into the timeless, we can be influenced by who we are becoming, like a giant hand from the future pulling us forward into our destiny.

One thing I remember vividly when receiving and especially performing the rites’ on others was that they somehow felt very familiar, like I had always known how to do this….the tools of the Munay Ki are very simple, a small round stone with a hole in its centre, found all over the Americas, and throughout many other lands and cultures, these ‘Pi Stones’ represent the luminous energy field which is torus shaped. It becomes the star gate in which these rites’ are channelled through, and also the physical presence of this stone takes ‘You’ out of  the equation, allowing you to become a vessel, rather than the great ‘I’

 I have received all of the Munay Ki rites’ and now a shamanic practitioner,

One of the rites’ is called the ‘Ayni Karpay Rite’ here we received the archetypal spirits of the four direction into each of the lower chakras, and three arch-angels of the Inca tradition into the higher chakras.

During the Munay rites, I laid down in sacred space while enveloped in the other persons energy field, a seed was then placed in each of my chakras for me to grow. A Serpent was sent to my base chakra, a Jaguar was sent to my second chakra, I then received a Hummingbird into my stomach, then a great Condor into my heart. I received the three arch-angels, Huascar Inca came to my throat, Quetzelcoatl came to my brow, and Pachacuti Inca came to my crown.

This was simple and beautiful to receive and to gift.

During my South class training we received these rites again, but this time in the traditional way.

A shaman elder lays out her Mesa, (healing bundle of sacred stones) and seven were set out to become the vessel in which the archetypes were to be transmitted. The archetypes were blown into each chakra and sacred words were spoken over them in Quechua, oils and sacred water sprinkled over them, the dark room was filled with incense, I sensed a menagerie of animals all fluttering and pounding about the room, I could almost smell the heat and the sweat of the animals, all waiting to join with their new beloved host. Two Elder shamans sat at the back waiting to tie our Mesas to all the other Mesas in the world through time and space, above them I could see Grandmother Spider weaving out threads of silver and gold tying all our Mesas with everything in the universe, all is one…It was a truly remarkable and very different experience.

Both the Munay Ki rites’ and the traditional Karpay rites’ were just as effective and just as beautiful, the Munay rites’ were simple, less fuss, but just as powerful, they did not feel like they had been made up. It felt like a deep remembering, not just from our ancient past from our future.  But if, like me, you like tradition, then the Karpays from the elder shamans are powerful and evocative, full bodied! But you can only receive them this way if you are on the path of Shamanhood.

Amongst all the controversy and tradition, these rites’ are a true blessing, and I hold them dear to my heart, they transformed me and helped me fall in love with life again.  I have a deeper and greater connection to the world around me and with Spirit and Mother Earth, how can that be controversial?

For more information on these rites and to read more of my personal experience with each of these rites’ please visit my blog www.heartofmunayki.co.uk 

Danny McIlvenny-Cox  - Shaman – Writer - Artist