Once a year I gather with a group of wild women, shy and boisterous, artsy and not-sure-if-they're artsy. We spent a weekend together, teaching each other and learning from each other. Sometimes we share our gifts in formal sessions, and in the quiet spaces between scheduled sessions, we teach each other songs, how to cast on, and how to live with joy.
This year I presented a guitar workshop, as well as a belly dance session. I knit a few more inches on those darn socks that seem like they'll never be finished (I started them at last year's gathering...)
Once again, I was drawn to the drumming workshop. This year, I asked the question that had been whispering at me: can I try the djuns? With the patience and encouragement of that sweet teacher to my left, I had it.
Her wisest words to me when I kept saying that I have no rhythm, that my husband is the drummer, that I can't coordinate my hands were:
That's the past. Why talk about it anymore?
So. In this present moment, I do have rhythm. I am a djun player, albeit a beginner.
This retreat stretches the limits of who I think I am, year after year. I come home replenished, confident, and certain that the arts will be the saving grace in this troubled world. I am reminded of the magic that is conjured when women gather together creatively in a place of support and love.
I am so very thankful.