Cape Town - Walking through the gate at Terry’s house feels like entering another dimension.
The light filled airy space hums with good vibes. Religious icons, rocks, bones and feathers are artfully placed in spaces defined by bold and delightful colour combinations. Outside, the courtyard is filled with a labyrinth made from rose quartz crystals.
Terry de Vries is a shamanic minister who leads shamanic walks that are miniature vision quests that help people find direction in their life.
The morning begins with a smudging ceremony, a traditional Native American purification practice. Terry uses an eagle feather to waft smoking sage around my body while chanting. It feels like being nestled within the beating wings of an eagle.
Next we sit in a circle and draw animal guide cards. Terry explains that in shamanism animals, insects and birds are invested with meaning and are harbingers of our future. My animal spirit guide is a dolphin.
Our nature walk takes place in Jonkershoek, Stellenbosch. Unlike the many other hikers enjoying the reserve, we are not just exercising our muscles, but walking with purpose and not only enjoying the stunning scenery, but entering the space between the physical and known world and the world of spirit. The walk is intended to provide an answer to a question that we want answered. “Nature is the best way for you to shift consciousness,” Terry explains. “It shows you exactly what is happening. The nature that you come across outside mirrors what is going on inside.”
Spiritual beliefs aside, the morning at Jonkershoek is nothing short of a miracle. In March, eight months ago, fire had ripped through the reserve as evidenced by the black, gnarled protea bushes. Life had determinedly reclaimed the charred landscape with greenery. The mountains were festooned with multitudes of pink Watsonias and from a distance, it looked as though an artist had drawn a thick brushstroke of pink paint along the ridge of the hills. Where better to pray and seek spiritual guidance than among such awe inspiring scenery? Maybe churches are religious refuges built in response to bad weather.
Before we begin to walk, Terry shows us a ritual to perform at the threshold of the space. As I wave my arms in the air, I ignore passing cyclists whose Lycra clad bodies, in my opinion, look just as strange as our arm waving.
Terry gives us each a pouch of tobacco and tells us to make an offering to show our appreciation to any animals we might encounter. At a stream we perform another ritual to invoke the river goddess and ask for our safe passage in the mountains.
Then it is time for us to go on a solitary two-hour hike.
The mountains shimmer with a daunting and ferocious mid-day heat. As though reading my mind, Terry says “You can go for a swim if you like.” So for 90 minutes I play with water and rocks, getting in touch with my dolphin energy.
I’d been skeptical when Terry told us to look out for animals. What could I possible see? But suddenly I find myself entranced by a damsel fly. With no distractions other than the sound of the water rippling over the rocks, I watch, utterly absorbed, marvelling as the creature’s stretched taut and transparent wings that beat so fast that they appear to stay still. The insect’s lithe and muscular body, splashed with iridescent gold and green, is strikingly beautiful. Its tail dips repeatedly and determinedly into the water and I wonder if it is fishing, or cooling itself.
Then… splat, squelch! A slimy, warty toad pounces, trying to catch the damsel fly which flits off.
When we congregate, sitting next the stream, Terry tells me her story. “I’m called Terry for terrorist, not Theresa,” she jokes. Terry first experienced a deep connection with nature at age two when her grandmother, in an attempt to confine her hyperactive grandchild, barricaded the front door. Terry imagined herself as a snake and slithered under the obstacles and escaped to the river where she held an imaginary conversation with an iguana. “At that point, everything stood still and I realised this is what life is about.” The ability to shape shift and the ability to connect deeply with nature are two central features of shamanism.
While working as a professional journalist, Terry qualified as a yoga teacher and spent years studying an array of healing techniques, from Reiki to reflexology. In 2011, she was ordained as a shamanic minister by American shamanic elder, Linda Starhorse.
“Shamanism is so natural for me. There’s no effort. I just know,” says Terry.
Although shamanism is becoming increasingly popular globally, it’s still an anomaly in conservative Stellenbosch where Terry lives. “People are curious. They know that I’m different,” she says.
The term shamanism comes from the Tungus tribe in Siberia and means “to know”. Anthropologists coined the term and applied it to the spiritual elders of indigenous cultures. The term has been popularised by new agers and embraces a hotchpotch of esoteric practices, but essentially a shaman is an intermediary between the human and spiritual world. Shamanism is about strengthening our connection with nature, which is the core of ancient spiritual practice.
Back at Terry’s home, Terry interprets our experiences. Damsel fly promises transformation and frog promises abundance. Wonderful! People have always tried to predict their future by peering into things, whether tea leaves, tarot cards or bones.
For me, opening to nature is delightful and harmless. I’ve no interest in picking shamanic beliefs apart and prefer to believe that nature, indeed, intercedes on our behalf and conspires to guide us; that we are a part of, rather than apart from, the web of life.
The shamanic walk was a sublime experience that awakened my senses, healed my body and gave me clarity. Terry is a nurturing, supportive and knowledgeable guide. If you are feeling stuck, jaded or city locked, a shamanic walk is an excellent antidote.
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