Yesterday I birthed a drum, a frame drum, the wooden frame is ash and the rest is constructed with deer skin.
It felt like the perfect day to bring this drum into the world. A new moon, new intentions, new wishes, new dreams, all coming into existence with my new drum.
I thought before that it was weird that it’s called birthing a drum, but now it feels like that’s exactly what it was.
We were asked about our births, and our relationships to birth. I got sad when asked if I had given birth, because I haven’t. I felt sadness for babies that I’ve never had, for a life that I haven’t lived.
It was an emotional session as we we were all opened up to grief. Grief for what had been lost, grief which had been buried, hidden behind a brave face and a need to get on with life. But it hadn’t gone, it was there, bubbling away, waiting for the right moment to erupt, to finally be acknowledged and given the time and attention it needed to be healed.
It was a safe space to release this grief and in doing so, I feel like not only was a drum birthed, but I had a kind of rebirth. I was able to let go of what was holding me back from speaking my truth, from putting myself out there. I’ve been hiding with my grief, keeping myself out of sight, keeping myself small, not wanting to be seen, or heard. I feel like that is over now, I feel like I can step out of the shadows, leave all of my upset from the last few years behind me and come back out to play.
I can’t actually play my drum for a week, it needs to dry. I keep checking on it, willing it to dry faster, excited to hear the sound. I need to be patient and wait though, this isn’t something I can speed up, it will be ready in its own time.
Whilst I wait, I will be reading When the drummers were women by Layne Redmond. Discovering the secrets of the past and the drumming Priestesses.
