It Is Talking to Me…A Winter Journey with Shamanic Drums

The snowshoes crunch on the frost-covered snow. The old path through the forest has nearly vanished after last night’s snowstorm, and I can only see occasional depressions in the snow to guide my way. There’s no danger of getting lost, however; I’ve traversed this forest strip so many times that I could almost navigate it blindfolded. The snow is already over half a metre deep, so I take care not to slip off the path, which happens if one steps from the compacted base into the soft snow.

If only I were as sure-footed and strong as a reindeer, I ponder, watching the reindeer trotting with heads held high. They pause occasionally, stopping for a moment to stare at the strange traveller near their route, until they remember the truth; those two-legged, tottering or loudly machine-riding peculiar creatures are best avoided! So after a brief halt, they dash off again with steam billowing from their muzzles, leaving behind a few droppings and deep tracks in the snow.

The sledge behind me rustles and veers, but follows lightly in my wake. The shamanic drums sway against each other, and every so often there’s a snapping sound as the hide tightens in the crisp weather. Water wells in the corners of my eyes, for although the frost is moderate, below -20 degrees, the wind bites coldly at exposed skin.

The Whispers of the Drum

Just a few hundred metres more and I’ll reach the photography spot. Along the forest edge grow stunted and gnarled spruce and pine trees, with indistinct shrub branches poking out of the snow here and there. Further out, the bog emerges and then transforms into a small marsh pond where a pair of swans swim in the summer. Now all is quiet; only the wind occasionally lifts light snow into its vortex, otherwise nature is silent and motionless. The sun still lingers briefly on the horizon, dropping behind the fell summit again after a few hours, taking its light with it.

I place all four drums that I’ve brought for photographing, overlapping on a light blanket. The yellow drum radiates the sun’s power and energy, while the Lapland drum stands strong and wise, like an elder who has seen and experienced everything. My small green drum, turning to the soothing colour of moss, pulses with anticipation for summer; it seems to spin impatiently like a five-year-old, saying let’s go already! Last but not least – I never rank my drums in order of importance anyway – the cool blue-violet drum greets me. Somehow its essence is reserved yet gentle. It doesn’t preach or judge, but it’s hiding something from me.

I lie in the snow, kneel down, climb atop a tree trunk, changing camera angles and drum positions. Mallet in front, mallet on top, mallet behind. I turn and twist the drums so that the sun reveals their colours. It awakens and creates images, hues. After an hour’s effort, there are about a hundred photographs, which will later appear on social media and websites.

The steaming hot cocoa burned a small stinging spot on my tongue but otherwise warmed my chilled being. I had hauled a few dry birch logs from home on a large pulk, and the smoke from the kindling fire mingled with the aroma of cocoa. A cheese bread baked into the root crowned my simple lunch, and the glow of the fire served as a social channel. I needed nothing more.

I turned the blue-violet drum in my hand, observing how it shone with a cool yet majestic light. I took the drumstick between my fingers and listened to my drum’s sound. It rang faintly, sensitively. I warmed the drum by the fire and continued playing. The sound strengthened, became more demanding. It wanted to be heard. The sound drew me in, pulled me into its depths. Calming and caring. Not impulsive, not dangerous. Not malevolent, this beautiful drum of mine. But it wanted to be heard.

The playing became increasingly insistent. I opened myself. I stayed to listen. It was searching for words, or was it I who was partly preventing the sound from being heard immediately? I don’t know.

I began to distinguish words: wisdom, life itself, power, light, shadow… power drew me into its embrace. Its energy lifted me higher and higher. The drum’s sound reverberated, and behind the reverberation, I heard a sentence.

I heard this sentence: You are life itself.

Within you is light and shadow. In all of you dwells wisdom too, if only you pause to listen. You hear my voice best here, in the silence, amidst nature. You are timeless, and you have power. But power also brings responsibility, and responsibility means caring. Therefore, I ask you to remember this sentence: You and nature are one. What you do to nature and Mother Earth, you always do to yourselves as well.

Thank you, my drum!