Shamanic Skiing

by Michael Drake

I love to ski and shamanize. For the past two weeks, I have been camping and cross-country skiing in the mountains of sunny Central Oregon. The spring skiing has been excellent at the Mt. Bachelor Nordic Ski Center. I camp most nights a few miles below the Nordic center at the Virginia Miessner Nordic Snow Park. Meissner is a great place to camp because the ample parking area is free of snow and has vault toilets, along with a 30 foot diameter warming yurt. I sleep like a monk in a mummy bag on a mattress inside a fiberglass canopy mounted on the back of my pickup.

Each morning, I arise early to greet the sun with song and prayers. I then cook a simple meal of oatmeal with dried cranberries, chopped almonds, and green tea. After breakfast, I am ready to begin shamanic skiing; my offering to "all our relations." As I kick and glide along the groomed trails, I sing songs to the forest and mountain spirits. I sing to the plants, birds, and animals. I pause to touch and connect with the elder mountain hemlocks along the trail. I thank them for the oxygen that I breathe and send out prayers of gratitude to the tree of life. I thank the Thunder Beings for sending down a glorious white blanket of snow to totally neutralize the harmful causes of disease.

On my final morning of skiing, Thunder Beings arise in the Sky and adorn themselves in dark clouds over nearby Newberry Volcano. As I return to the Nordic lodge, the Thunder Beings speak through a clap of rolling thunder. It resonates to my very core. Nothing heightens my senses like the voice of the Thunder Beings. Whenever I hear the rumbling thunder, I take a moment to acknowledge and thank these divine beings for the work they do and the blessings they bestow upon the Earth. Through lightning they directly purify the air we breathe, the water we drink, and the earth we cultivate. I supplicate the Thunder Beings to bestow their enlightenment upon us as the lightning enlightens the Earth.   

After sunset, as I do each evening, I enter the nearby yurt and begin another round of shamanizing. I call in the spirits and I improvise an evening of shamanic music. I open portals to the spirit world with voice, rattle, drum, and flute.  Alone in a mountain yurt, I offer myself as a vehicle of healing. That is how I choose to relate to the spirit world. Interesting, mind-bending things often happen on such evenings, but that is another story.

At the end, after dedicating the power which has been generated by the performance, I close the circle. I then crawl into my sleeping bag; tired, yet vibrant. My heart is wide open and blissful. I love reconnecting with the spirits in the vibrant, volcanic mountains where my shamanic journey began so many years ago.