Celtic Spirituality, Healing & Dance
Dancing to your Shadow
Celtic Reflection on the Healing of Broken-heartedness
article was very loosely based on the Liverpool Schumacher Lecture that the
author gave on the theme, "Soil & Soul," together with Helena
Norberg-Hodge and Fitjof Capra in 1999. What follows was commissioned by the
lecture co-organisers, The Journal of Contemporary Health, at the
Institute for Health, Liverpool John Moores University, Issue 8, 58-60, 2000. It
was reprinted in the USA in PanGaia, Port Arena, CA., No. 23, 41-45,
this article I want to look at heartbrokenness. In particular, I want to look at
the place of creativity and service in healing such suffering. But because I
come from the Scottish Hebrides I want to approach it by the scenic route. I
want to set it in a wider context of health as seen through changes in
relatively recent Hebridean history. Then I want to widen out the points being
made so that they might speak to peoples far beyond those of Celtic culture
the end of the nineteenth century a remarkable Highlander called Alexander
Carmichael set about documenting the blessings, charms and incantations of the
Gaelic-speaking people of Scotland’s Outer Hebrides.
“Carmina Gadelica” was originally published in six volumes, bilingually, in
Gaelic and English. The English of this is now available in a single paperback
volume (Floris, Edinburgh, 1994, £13.99).
many students of Celtic cultures, I find this to be a remarkable record of an
almost-lost cultural understanding. Indeed, it might be seen as a “remnant”
in that sense of the word that is both Biblical and ecological, meaning the last
embers of a fire that has not quite died out, but which might, once again, be
fanned back into life.
equal importance to the material that Carmichael has collected from the oral
tradition are his extensive endnotes on the worldview of the people who provided
it. This, I can testify, is a worldview that has still not completely died out.
To those who say, “There never was such a thing as ‘Celtic’
spirituality,” this book gives the lie. Nearly every page is resplendent with
that triple unity of God, nature and community which is the distinctive hallmark
of the Celtic soul. Of course, as St Francis reminds us, it ought also be the
hallmark of Christianity as a whole. Too often the politically manipulated
institutional churches have ensured otherwise ... but that is another story.
I want to give a brief insight into the Carmina, one that might be of interest
to those associated with this Journal and the holistic understanding that the
Institute of Health pursues.
want to do this by quoting a couple of items about the wellbeing, respectively,
of body and soul. What links these items is the way in which they show cultural
change impacting upon health in the fullest sense of that word. The passages
speak strongly for themselves and so require little commentary from me.
first (from p. 633 in the Floris edition) was collected from Catherine MacPhee
of the Isle of Uist, which is to the south of Lewis and Roman Catholic in its
southern half. Here she speaks about the times before the Highland Clearances -
that era in history, which arrived late on Uist, where ruthless landlords forced
people off the land to make way for the conquest of greed over authentic human
need. Catherine testified as follows, and note how closely self-sufficiency from
nature’s providence is interwoven with concern about social structures and a
spirituality that emphasises feminine expressions of the face of God:
second example is more about soul than body, but since it concerns dancing it
will be clear that this is rather a false separation. It comes from Alexander
Carmichael’s description of one Mary Macrae of the Isle of Harris - which
adjoins Lewis, is to the north of Uist, and Presbyterian. In 1866 she handed
down to him a spiritual incantation. Let me quote just the first verse of it
here to show the degree to which her spirituality expressed the presence of God
as being revealed through nature. This is the nature spirituality of, for
example, Psalms 104 or Job 36-39. It is not “pantheism” - the belief that
God IS nature, but rather “panentheism” - the experience that God IS IN
nature. As such, panentheism is a wider perspective. It allows God to be both
immanent (that is, expressed in the mundane world - incarnated) and at the same
time transcendent (which is to say, beyond all manifest expression and
understanding). Mary’s hymn commences (p. 36):
with me lying down,
with me rising up,
with me in each ray of light,
I a ray of joy without Him,
one ray without Him.
material is typical of the Carmina. What, then, happened to this spiritual
tradition? It is here that we must turn to Carmichael’s endnotes and their
wider historical context. Oppressed by landlordism and the destruction of their
traditional culture, the people fell prey to a distorted fundamentalism.
Initially this often came from established church clergy who, under the 1712
Patronage Act, were often appointed by the landlord who had a vested interest in
maintaining spiritual control. Later, tragically, it became part of a
self-blaming theology. Salvation became a matter of pie-in-the-sky-when-you-die
rather than here-and-now transformation of the world in which we actually live.
People blamed their own presumed sinfulness for the sufferings imposed upon
them. Such were the dynamics of what Frantz Fanon in his “Wretched of the
Earth called “inferiorisation.” It was a result of what Paulo Freire in
“Pedagogy of the Oppressed” called “cultural invasion.”
tells us that Mary Macrae had come to Harris from Kintail when she was young
with Alexander Macrae. His mother was one of the celebrated ten daughters of
MacLeod of Rararsay, mentioned by Johnson and Boswell. In other words, she was
part of the Celtic tradition of lineage partly through strong women. Carmichael
says (p. 575):
The bigots of an iron time
Had called her simple art a crime.
when I delivered a Schumacher Lecture in Liverpool under the auspices of the
Institute of Health, I played on my whistle Donald MacLeod’s 6/8 march,
“Pipe Major Donald MacLean of Lewis.” I am told that many in the audience
found tears in their eyes. One wrote to me saying, “When you played the flute,
I closed my eyes and the images that came were of fresh faced children, living
within a LIVING community, only for it to be mercilessly snatched away. My
closed eyes welled up.”
me this sort of experience indicates the power of a tradition that is not dead,
but at some level of the psyche, is living. What I want to suggest is that the
REMNANT of Carmichael’s “grand people” has not gone forever. It remains as
traces in our music, poetry and dance. If we let these things flow in us again,
the culture that gave birth to them will be recreated first in our hearts, and
then in our lives and the environment around us. This is how we can learn from
the ancestors. This is how we can hear their wisdom. We must open our eyes to
visions, our ears to music, our hearts to love and our hands to action.
about those who feel they have no such cultural roots to draw upon? To them I
say two things. Firstly, no genuinely spiritual culture is a closed culture. God
seeks the fostership of all. Draw from other cultures if your own one has dried
up, but do so with permission (which is to say, with blessing), with a profound
respect (which is to say, with reverence) and with a generosity that offers
something back (which is to say, with love).
secondly. Allow creativity to work its magic through you. If you do not know
what to do in life, try this. Pick up a paint brush, musical instrument or any
other form of creative expression - for me it was a penny whistle that actually
cost £2! And centre in on your feeling of inadequacy, uselessness and
brokenness. Leave aside the retail therapy of consumerism, by which you feel
miserable and temporarily ease it by another boost from the drip-feed of the
credit card. Leave aside, for a while at least, the alcohol, tobacco and other
drugs by which you - indeed, we all - might daily anaesthetise emotional pain:
pain which, if you are seriously afflicted, you probably euphemistically think
of as being the hooks of chemically determined addiction.
don’t want to deny that there mightn’t be something in our genes that
influences these things. But I do want to support the view that determining
factors might also be in our psyches. Nearly all of us have or have had
addictions of one sort or another. Let us then consider the possibility that our
addictions are not so much chemical dependencies in the brain, as emotional
dependencies. These will be expressed via physiology in brain chemistry, yes,
but that is not necessarily their origin.
me, then, to suggest that instead of denying or masking the pain, we let
ourselves feel that pain. Consider that perhaps the raw pain IS the mantra. Yes,
I mean that emotional pain that you maybe feel like a knife across the guts or
as a tightness in the chest; that sense of “craving” for whatever means of
anaesthesia happens to be your chosen coping mechanism.
of that pain. I remember once hearing a Barnados care worker describe it very
well. He was trying to explain what it feels like when, as a teenager or adult,
a person starts waking up to the realisation that they never received the
emotional nourishment they needed as a child. He said it’s like the feeling
you have when experiencing unrequited love. I think we probably all know that
feeling. What we maybe don’t recognise is the very similar range of emotions
that we feel often without being able to pinpoint their causes, but which
probably have to do with the circumstances of our lives in an imperfect world.
That is what I mean by existential broken-heartedness.
I want to suggest that that pain is your “cross.” There is nothing original
in this suggestion. Read books by spiritual teachers like the Indian Jesuit,
Anthony de Mello (e.g. “Sadhana: a way to God”), and you will find much
greater expertise than mine in understanding and resolving such pain.
than masking it, we maybe need to recognise that it is that pain which, over the
years that a lifetime provides, we are called to address within ourselves. So,
don’t be uptight about it. Don’t try and be puritan in forcing yourself to
give up life’s pleasures. Just try doing without the smokes or the drinks or
the Prozac or the compulsion to buy or for speed in the car or whatever it is
for short periods, now and again. See what it feels like when you reflect on the
raw pain of the craving. Don’t moralise yourself by making commitments to give
up on whatever eases the passage of life for you. That may be neither necessary
nor desirable. But what is both necessary and desirable is that you control what
you take in to your body or life, and not the other way round. And there is a
considerable body of thought that there is only one sure way of achieving that,
and it is through anchoring life in spiritual reality.
means calling not upon the bottle or whatever to carry our pain but upon God -
the deep inner self. After all, what is this existential pain but, at source,
the pain of heartbrokenness. Yes, we might pin it down to a broken relationship
or “failed” career or difficult childhood or birth trauma or even notions
about “past incarnations” ... but ultimately it is the pain of that
universal human condition that, in my experience, I’d call heartbrokenness.
And what is at the root of all heartbrokenness but a dysfunction, a twisted
blockage, of love. And what is the ultimate cure to dysfunctions of love but
spiritual healing - reconnection with God, the Goddess, Allah, Tao, Jah, Brahman
... as the source of all love. This demands facing life - reality - with naked
honesty. The Buddhists know this. It is the core of Vipassana and other
meditation practices based upon learning how to feel and processing, with the
insight of consciousness, the undisguised feelings. In Christianity, likewise,
Jesus says in Luke 4:18 of the “Authorised” translation: “He hath sent me
to heal the broken-hearted.”
on that passage or one like it with which you are comfortable. And as you do so,
consider starting to explore and thereby address the pain through creativity.
Pick up your instrument and play; your brush and paint; or your body and dance.
worry how bad your output sounds or looks. Don’t worry how ridiculous you may
appear. This isn’t for the gallery or concert hall. It is for you. Facing our
emptiness, our disability in matters creative, is all part of coming to terms
with where we’re at and doing so without the denial that usually masks the
recognition of reality. So, do what you are doing with a PRESENCE that amounts
to worship. Be present here and now in this “sacrament of the present
moment.” Imagine that your God - your beloved, the love behind the love of
your dreams - is there. Imagine you are expressing your soul to that being or
even just to the void if that is what you experience. I am talking here about
nothing other than the grounding of your deepest self. And then start to learn.
Open your inner ears and see what you are taught. You will be surprised. I
remember once playing a mournful wail on my whistle. Then I heard birds outside
and it was like an inner voice said in my mind’s ear, “If you want to PLAY,
play like you hear the birds singing.” And so it was that I learnt the meaning
of grace notes.
Mary Macrae. As a last resort she danced, Carmichael tells us, “to her own
shadow.” That might be how low we have to stoop.
Yes. Jung tells the story of a student
who once said to a Rabbi, “In ancient times the holy people used to see the
face of God. Why is that no longer so?”
said the Rabbi, “nowadays there’s nobody willing to stoop low enough.”
... opening up to our creativity to let the soul dance is my first point. Then
there’s the second step. Ram Dass says that if in doubt what to do with our
lives, “feed the hungry.” It’s not good enough just to get into our
creativity, or sort out our inner “stuff.” We must undertake outer work too,
and do so iteratively - in parallel - with the inner work. We need the
“praxis” of acting, reflecting, acting again and reflecting some more in a
continuous process of being and becoming.
work requires an ethic of service - both to ourselves and to others. So we need
to look around ourselves. In ways that are both actual and metaphorical, we need
to feed ourselves. But also, feed the hungry. And be healed from our blindness,
our lameness and our broken-heartedness.
Internet Users Please Note: The material on this page is original text as submitted to the publication stated beneath the title. As the editing process means that some parts may have been cut, altered or corrected after it left my hands, or I might have made minor subsequent amendments, please specify in citation “internet version from www.AlastairMcIntosh.com” as well as citing the place of first publication. Note that author particulars, including contact address(es) and organisational affiliations may have changed since first publication.
This material is © Alastair McIntosh and/or first publishers. However (and without prejudice to any legal rights of the original or subsequent publishers), I give my permission for it to be freely copied for non-commercial educational purposes provided that due acknowledgement is given. Please advise of any uses that might particularly interest me. For commercial enquires, please contact original publishers and/or email me, mail@AlastairMcIntosh.com. Thanks, folks, and enjoy, enjoy, enjoy!
To RETURN to any sub-index from which you approached this page, click BACK on your web browser. To return to my homepage, click www.AlastairMcIntosh.com.
27 July 2000