Pray, me? Raised as the complete atheist that I was? Having only ever visited churches as a historian, for the sake of the beautiful buildings, and otherwise with the eye of an ethnologist, to study the “strange customs of the locals”?

Yes, indeed.

What could be a more brilliant prayer than the Lord's Prayer? “Thy will be done.” Not mine. I surrender myself. I give everything I have to give—myself. I give it without knowing what will come, without expecting anything in return.

That's what distinguishes a prayer from a request. I ask for something, for a car (“Oh, Lord, won't you buy me a Mercedes Benz...”), for health, for peace. I want to receive something. Of course, I can also pray for others or for the community—the Christian tradition even has its own term for this: intercession. But at its core, it's about me. I want something.

In prayer, on the other hand, what I want as a person, as a human being, is irrelevant; I myself am completely unimportant. “Thy will be done.”

Of course, I have a will and also the freedom to take any path I choose, and no matter which path I choose, I am still in God's hands. “I trust that I cannot fall deeper than into God's hands.” I had to “sign” this sentence in front of my spirits a few years ago. And it was difficult for me, very difficult. Can I really trust? Can I trust even when the ground is being pulled out from under my feet?

It is quite impossible to walk the shamanic path without being mercilessly confronted with yourself, with your own shadows and untidy corners, over and over again, like an onion being peeled layer by layer to reveal its innermost core. This summer, there was a point where I was tired of this endless roller coaster ride, I had no strength left for it. I was tired, I didn't want to do it anymore, I longed for peace. Loving myself could heal the pain, my spirits said. But I had no strength left for that either. “Thy will be done,” I prayed, because I myself had no will left.

And once again, the solution lay in this complete surrender, in letting go. This time not immediately (I had something like that previously, like a switch being flipped), but not long after, two weeks, maybe three. One clue came from a journey someone did for me, another in a dream. Another dream in which perhaps the last obstacles were removed. Finally, one evening while five rhythms dancing, I was suddenly carried completely away from the dance floor, and before me was a forest, a gate. I realized that it was about a decision, about the place that was mine. “Then go!” said the spirits—permission and encouragement to actually follow through with the decision I had made, with the statement.

Whether for ourselves or for others: shamanic work not only requires surrender, shamanic work is surrender, is humility, is a prayer.

(Fall 2015)