Another Look at Initiation by Joanne Mahler

Near the end of 2006 a flyer crossed my path, setting in motion a sequence of events that bolstered my belief in mystery and magic. I wasted no time in wondering if it needed bolstering—what I knew is that I liked the way it felt, and that was good enough for me.

The flyer advertised a yearlong course on West African Spirituality and Ritualism, spread throughout 6 intense 3-day weekends during 2007. It was to be taught by a California psychologist who practices the arts of divination and conjuring, a woman I’d met once before when she had been in St. Louis performing a ritual in which I’d had the good fortune to participate.

Since creating rituals is part of my current life’s mission, I was immediately drawn to this course — I wanted to register. Yet, I hesitated. I had concerns that physically, I would not be up for the intensity of the weekends, since I’d still not fully recovered from a serious motorcycle accident in June of 2005 followed by a subsequent hip replacement surgery 10 months later. Ongoing severe pain was keeping me from participating in many previously considered normal activities, and I was looking at another major surgery in a few months.

Frankly, I was beginning to wonder whether I’d ever again throw my leg over the back of a motorcycle, lean into my husband and head across the country. What the hell was normal anymore? Ah, but I digress. Back to the flyer and the course on ritualism. It was calling me. I could hear a far-off chorus of mystical voices when I picked up the flyer . . . So, the question: how could I not register?

In January of 2007, wrapping up our first ritual training weekend, Pat Gay, the leader, was giving us a preview of our next gathering, which she said would be about Initiation. I thought to myself, “Hmmm . . . I know a little bit about initiation,” thinking back to my WW weekend and subsequent staffings. She began to speak about initiation as an often dark, challenging and sometimes dangerous place, whereas I’d been thinking of it as a more celebratory ritual. She continued with a few more remarks: that we enter an initiation with a purpose; that during the process we gather gifts, but that often we get stuck in the initiation and don’t want to, or can’t come home to share the gifts; that some of us die, either literally or figuratively, during the initiative process.

I felt myself being nudged, being bumped. Those mystical voices were again whispering in my ear. Somehow, that motorcycle accident was more than it had seemed, more than just a lucky break on the highway where no other vehicle had run over us after the blowout, more than broken bones and punctured lungs and concussions — it had something to do with initiation. The veil was very, very thin at that moment, and I was certain about the message.

Fast forward to our next weekend, in February of 2007. I was learning about the concept of initiation as separate processes—different ones that we enter and exit throughout our lives, depending on individual circumstances. By the end of Saturday evening’s session, which had included a long afternoon spent in ritual time and space, I’d begun to understand that I’d been in a “motorcycle initiation” since 1990, when I first began to ride with my husband. Far from having “something to do with initiation” my accident was a major scream from the universe: GET OUT OF THIS FUCKING INITIATION BEFORE YOU KILL YOURSELF!

The following morning, while meditating, I had a clear vision of a ritual I needed to perform. During it, I would name the reasons for entering the motorcycle initiation, cross into it, pick up the gifts it offered (symbolized as feathers and beads) and gather them in a basket. I would then step over a line that would symbolize my departure from the initiation, and distribute the gifts to the witnesses present at the ritual.

After that “aha weekend” in February, many things fell into place. I realized that one of the reasons I’d needed to enter the motorcycle initiation was to replace the excitement of the drug lifestyle that I’d recently given up when I got clean and sober in 1988. A gift I received almost immediately and which continued to grow, was a heightened and joyful intimacy with my everlovin’ Dave.

Now I understand why over the last few years I’ve been so called to perform weddings. I want to share and model that joy with other couples as they begin their journeys together. Dave and I have been talking about including some of his music in the ceremonies I perform—I love the idea. And, the motorcycle initiation needed to end for this all to come to fruition. (I’m performing 3 weddings this summer — go figure.)

Two months after my vision, I performed my ritual at the regular monthly gathering of our local Warrior-Monk community in St. Louis, effectively stepping out of my “motorcycle initiation”. I felt clear. I felt sad. I felt joyous. I felt done. After almost two years of being asked over and over again “do you think you’ll get another motorcycle?” and answering “I don’t know, I haven’t healed yet”, it feels good to know. Along with the knowing comes big, big grief. Maybe now that I know, I’ll heal . . . who knows?

This is what I do know: when the veil is thin, mystery abounds, and the words, though not always human, speak volumes. Is a sequence of events simply mysterious or mysteriously simple? Is a flyer just a flyer, or a miniature magic carpet? Sometimes it’s impossible to ignore the ride being offered.

Joanne Mahler
(WWTW, House in the Wood, Lake Delavan, WI. March 1992)

I create ritual and beauty by opening to mystery

Email: jsunseeker@sbcglobal.net