Crossing over — walking my Soul Circle
A ceremonial afternoon to mark my passing into the second — magical — half of life
So I held a Soul Circle.
To celebrate my fortieth birthday and mark the major shift that I felt had taken place in the course of last year, I had called together a number of friends, from all corners of the country and beyond. Some I had known all my life, some had entered it only recently. Dear familiar souls who had helped me in decisive ways to grow into the person I am today, but also fairly new encounters that had blown me away and felt like they had appeared at the exact right moment to jump on board for the next leg of my journey.
We were twenty, and about five more in spirit. Most people knew (except for myself and my husband) perhaps one or two others in the room, some knew less. But by the end of the afternoon we had woven a web of trust and honesty, a place of vulnerability and connection.
I had arranged the living room as a seated circle. In the middle of it I set the slice of teak root I use as a house altar on a daily basis, and arranged symbolic objects around it, according to the four cardinal directions.
I wanted to pass through the four facets of the wheel with the group: by exploring it, thanking them, inviting them to move slightly out of their comfort zones, and receiving gifts.
This was the first time ever I was going to be leading an encounter of this kind, and I was extremely grateful to everyone present. Without their loving participation, there simply would not be a Circle.
I had been very anxious in the weeks leading up to this moment. It felt like stepping into the unknown, while facing some major fears (speaking my deepest feelings to the people who matter most to me, coming out as a spiritually driven person who wanted to play an active role).
But almost as soon as we got started, I felt very much at ease, almost like I had done years ago when I found myself, straight out of university, in front of a full class of teenagers (in Belgium you are allowed to teach any subject you have passed at uni, only you won’t be permanently employed as a teacher, nor payed as one, until you have an official teacher’s degree). Back then, even though I had never been in front of a class in my life, I just knew: I’ve got this. And I did.
Now this, here, was a return to old skills rather than the discovery of new ones. Only the setting was different, and so were my intentions. I didn’t mean to teach — I meant to touch.
The East is about beginnings and explorations, in all innocence and wonder. So after a word of welcome, we did a tour of the circle in which everyone introduced themselves and I gave a brief explanation about the cardinal directions and the particular symbols I had chosen to use for each quadrant. Next I invited everyone to consciously choose a seat, according to the cardinal direction that appealed most to them, or that best seemed to fit their particular phase in life as they experienced it. Some people stayed where they were, some went and sat exactly where I knew they would, some surprised me.
There was room for humor as well. One of the participants introduced himself saying he had only come because I had promised to make a table float — which I hadn’t! Since he wasn’t very familiar with anything ‘spiritual’, to put him at ease I had jokingly promised exactly the opposite, namely that I would do no such thing! It became the running gag of the afternoon.
Choosing seats also turned out to be complicated for some.
This concluded the East facet of the Circle.
The South facet, symbolic for deep growth and stepping out into the world to live, enjoy, forge connections and taking your place in society and life, consisted entirely of giving thanks. I stepped forward and walked my circle from East to North, starting with those I saw in the East in my mind’s eye, then moving to those whom I felt to be in the South, and so on. This meant crossing over all the time, since people had taken a seat according to their own feeling about themselves in the Circle, not mine. In this way I almost physically wove a web of interconnectedness between all of them.
I didn’t think. I just walked over to whoever was next on my list, looked them in the eye and spoke from my heart. The words came.
I had a box of tissues within reach, since I had expected I wouldn’t be able to keep it dry, but I never needed them. There was a great calm inside me, and a gratefulness towards each and everyone in turn. Sometimes there were tears, sometimes there was peace, or surprise, or a deep, shared joy.
Some people were very touched. Some shared wishes, or thanked me in return. Some wanted to know why I put them in a particular quadrant of my Circle — because I saw them there in their own life, or because of what they meant to me in mine? Some were surprised, some echoed my feelings with their own.
Chris later told me he found the South the most powerful facet of my ceremony. I can’t tell, really, not even in hindsight. I only know that there was a lot of love and connectedness, with each and everyone in their own right.
After the sharing of gratitude, we entered the West. Moving into the West is about inviting Spirit and Mystery. I talked about the plateau where I had been stuck for a while, and how I had been able to start a whole new journey from there, carried by the feeling that I had crossed over into a purpose that was somehow greater than myself, and that this Circle was part of it.
The West facet was concluded with something I had looked forward to and had been nervous about for quite some time: I sang Eivør’s Trøllabundin, a song in Faeroer that I had recently discovered after a tip from a music-loving writer colleague. It’s a challenging song, with only your voice and the drum to perform it, and it speaks of the enchantment of a wizard who sets your heart ablaze. Talk about inviting Mystery in…
An absolutely mind-blowing performance of it by Eivør can be watched here. And before you ask: no, my voice is not as spectacular as hers, far from it, and the really incredible part, the unearthly low humming and growling, I don’t even attempt. I can perform the melody decently, but I am nowhere close to producing those sounds, so my version was considerably more gentle than this one. But it ran deep enough all the same.
The North, where Spirit offers council and wisdom in the deep of night, was the moment for gifts. We passed around a deck of cards with spiritual sentences or thoughts, and in this way everyone received a personal message. Afterwards most people shared the words on their card with the rest of the Circle, since the things we receive also turn out to be the gift we can offer others. There was some hesitation, but also amazement, joy, and at times pure vulnerability. It was a moment that ran very deep for some of the participants.
After that, everyone received a postcard print of Sapling#20, the Soul Circle Sapling that went online even as we were holding the Circle. It had Jurgen’s incredibly powerful image on the front, and a quote from my text on the back.
As a closing ritual I walked the circle counter-clockwise, reading the entire text aloud. People spontaneously held out their hands to touch mine as I passed. It was beautiful.
When the reading was done, I had crossed over to the other side.
I looked around the Soul Circle.
I had called my friends. And they had come.
The indigenous thinking and imagery had been very present during all of the Soul Circle. Above the center of the circle I had strung the old dreamcatcher I had brought from Seattle half a lifetime ago, made by a native American from dried seewead and driftwood.
Now at the very end, my sister surprised me with a gift. She and her husband had only just returned from their honeymoon in Canada, and they had found an eagle feather in the woods there. A friend with indigenous roots had told them it could be passed on as a gift during a ceremony. So now she offered it to me as a symbol of my crossing, and my brother-in-law gave me a wooden totem symbol of a bird representing Harmony. It was the most perfect gift imaginable.
Another participant, a friend and teacher, unaware of any of the above, had also brougt a dreamcatcher as her gift for me. She had made it herself, and she had brought little slices of wood that could be clipped onto it. Everyone signed one, thus leaving me a concrete and tangible reminder of the web we had woven that day.
The wheel is ever turning.
The road goes on. A new journey begins.
I’m on my way.
And I am not alone.
