According to Cheyenne medicine man Bill Tallbull, humans are not even necessarily the initiators in this intensive interaction. He explained to me that the animals themselves usually seek contact with certain people rather than the other way around. The animals want to give humans inspiration, dreams, helpful instructions, or warnings. Shamans do not look for their totemic animals. Instead, the animals reach out to the humans that they are willing to protect. Anthroposophist Karl Koenig (2013, 90) writes in a similar vein:
Animals intervene in human lives and humans intervene radically into animals’ existence. They interpenetrate each other’s lives, and it is not only fear and superstition that determine the different taboos, festivities and magical rites. The inner world of the animals, their actions, their behavior, their imaginations and extrasensory experiences have, in fact, a definite impact on the imagination, feelings, and actions of the native people who live in the same environment.
Animals’ telepathic communication with people can be experienced sometimes even from pets or other domesticated animals: One night a cow on the pasture near my house fell into a big, abandoned cement pit full of water that had not been fenced off, and it could not get back out. In the form of the Egyptian cow god Hathor, the cow appeared to me in a dream telling of her distress and where to find her. Authorities arrived just in time to heave her out and save her life. If we are open for it, the connection is there. I also remember how the ants taught me to write when I was a young, slow pupil. I had observed them for hours on end and wrote about what I saw. It was the first time I was really able to write a story. And, once a cormorant’s wing was frozen to the ice in a canal behind our house in northern Freesia because a drastic temperature drop had frozen the ice so suddenly. I felt drawn to go out even into the extremely bitter cold, found the bird, and was able to get its wing free. I felt like the bird had literally called me out to gain my attention and help.
For people who still live as hunters and gatherers or as simple tillers, the lord of the animals—the archetypal animal spirit or the primordial animal deity—is not some abstract idea or merely a matter of belief. It is a direct experience. Shamans do not imagine they can talk to animals; they do talk to them. The shaman gets answers and acts accordingly, and this communication has concrete effects in the “real” world. What he or she finds out from the animals is not a product of subjective fantasy. Likewise, a young Native American man talks to the animal teacher that appears to him in a vision quest and learns from it what duties he is to fulfill in this life. Siberian shamans speak with the lord of the animals who tells them the location of the wild animals gifted to the humans to hunt and satisfy their hunger. The Inuit Angakkok seeks out Sedna, the mother of the sea mammals, to find out where the seals are and ask permission to hunt some of them. Animal spirits also show healers which healing plants to use. Animal spirits who have befriended people warn them of approaching danger.2 Animals also impose rules of conduct and taboos on people that must be adhered to. The gods will also often temporarily take on an animal form.
Our own human ancestors were generally much more connected to nature before industrial times demanded their constant attention, and they also had access to the magical side of animals. Fairy tales, myths, and supposed superstition, all of which have a very long pagan history, demonstrate it definitively. Helpful animals that speak appear again and again to the heroes in these tales, next to fairies, dwarves, and numerous otherworldly beings (Meyer 1988, 114). According to the original Grimms’ Cinderella tale, doves and birds help Cinderella with the nearly impossible task of separating the bad peas from the good ones in time to go to the ball, and two doves in a hazelnut bush (growing over Cinderella’s mother’s grave) tell the young prince which of the young women are the false brides—as he rides on his horse with his presumed bride, the doves coo, “Blood in the shoe, blood in the shoe, the wrong bride are you!” (In the original version, the first stepsister cut her toe off to fit into the shoe and the other cut her heel off, thus fooling the prince until the birds told him as they were on their way to his castle). In another Grimms’ tale, The Goose Girl, Falada the talking horse tells the princess what the imposter, formerly her servant, is hiding from her. Ants also help the dumbest and youngest of three brothers find hidden pearls, ducks help him find a key that was sunk in a lake, and bees show him who the true princess is by landing on her lips because she is the sweetest. They help him, whose brothers are always shaking their heads over his stupidity, because he is good and kind to the animals. Fairy tales are full of such examples. Even Christian tales are full of stories about animals that have befriended people. A dog and a raven bring Saint Roch bread every day so that he will not starve as he struggles with pestilence. Bears bring wood for Saint Gall so he can build chapels.
We modern, educated people may smile condescendingly and comment, “Yes, but those are just fairy tales.” Yes, those are fairy tales, in the literal sense of the word “tales.” The German word maer (Old High German mari, from which comes the German word Maerchen = fairy tale) means “lore, narration from an otherworldly dimension.” Everyone knows that fairy tales are not based on empirical, scientific facts, but they are still true—an older name in English is actually “wonder tales.” They allude to the more essential, transcendent nature of reality. The pure spirit of the different animals, which is filled with wisdom, can only be grasped with shamanic abilities. True tales and legends can tell us about these things.
Animal Allies
Indigenous peoples tell us that each person has his or her animal or animal helpers that are connected to the person for better or for worse. The Aztecs called a person’s doppelganger nagual, that is, the animal that mirrors the person’s wild nature. The nagual often shows itself during pregnancy. During the night of a birth, Central American Indios watch to see and hear which animals appear. If a jaguar, a boar, or another strong animal appears, then the newborn will surely have a strong personality and will possibly become a shaman. Often the child will be named after his or her animal doppelganger. For European peoples of ancient times, such thoughts were not at all strange either. In Scandinavia, animal doppelgangers were called “accompanying souls,” or fylgia (related to “follow”). The souls of strong men or women roam the woods as bears, wild pigs, stags, or wolves. They fly through the skies as eagles, ravens, and swans, and as salmon or otters they swim through the waters (Meyer 1988, 262). The warrior Bjarki (described in a story in Chapter 13) fought as a bear on the battlefield while his body lay rigidly in a deep trance.
The connection to powerful animals is shown in such names as Rudolf (Old High German hrod and wolf = glorious wolf), Bernhard (Old High German bero and harti = powerful, persevering bear), Bjoern (Swedish for “bear”), Bertram (Old High German behrat and hraban = shining raven), Arnold (Old High German arn and walt = he who rules like an eagle), Falko (Old High German falkho = hawk, falcon), Art and Arthur (Old Celtic arto = bear), and Urs or Ursula (Latin ursus = bear). Such names are echoes of totemic name-giving in the realm of European culture.
A shaman on a magical journey, riding a bear. The drawing on the shaman’s costume is that of a Samojedic shaman from Siberia.
A shaman without an animal familiar would be weak and helpless, while any animal can be this kind of friend. Ravens can fly out for the shaman and find things that remain otherwise hidden, as was the case for the Old Nordic god, Odin. While his body is lying rigid and in a trance, a South American shaman can send his spirit out in the shape of a jaguar to roam the jungle. With the help of a wild boar spirit helper, a jhankrie, a Nepalese shaman, can sleuth out the disease or the magic arrow that is in the patient’s body making him sick. Native American shamans, or dream dancers, fly in the form of an eagle while doing the sun dance and return with messages from high spirits to help guide the tribe. “Changed into werewolves,” Lithuanian peasants used to comb through forests and wilderness in the full moon night of May, fighting the winter spirits that bring the last harmful frosts o
f the year.
Legends are also full of prophetic swans, talking horses, magical stags, and other animals that interact with shamanistic personalities. Albeit our long-forgotten heritage, shamanism is also even relevant for modern people. Shamans, who were once rivals to Christian missionaries, were discredited and bedeviled in the course of Christian conversion in Europe. But, for a long time, many not-quite-converted people remained and would send their animal familiars, spiritus familiaris, to roam the forests at night as wolves or bears, moving stealthily as black cats through the villages, or flying as wide-eyed owls.
Although brutally abolished during the Inquisition of the late Middle Ages, witchcraft is one of the last vestiges of old European pagan shamanism (Mueller-Ebeling, Raetsch, and Storl 2003, 48). However, animal alliances did not die with the ascendance of Christianity; Christian traditions, too, include animal companions. Examples include the donkey at the crib, Joseph’s riding animal, cows, and sheep at the holy infant’s manger, Luke as a steer, John as an eagle, and the Holy Spirit as a dove. Konrad von Wuerzburg even saw Christ as a weasel: “Christ the high weasel in all of his power, slipped down into the depths of hell and bit the murderously poisonous worm to death” (Zerling and Bauer 2003, 333).
The tradition of shamanism and its acquaintance with protective animal spirits is still very much alive for native peoples around the world. For Native Americans, every medicine man or woman has an animal helper that gives them strength, sends dreams, and accompanies them on trips into the spirit world. The animal spirit can adopt the medicine man or woman as a child or even marry him or her—even if the person concerned already has a human spouse. “Eagle dreamers,” “bison dreamers,” and other medicine people who are bonded with the coyote, the ants, or the badger usually show characteristics of their animal familiars in their own personalities. A shaman who has a stag familiar, the “stag dreamer,” will be robust, very healthy, and, like a stag with his harem, enjoy many women. He will be able to heal sick women and possess love magic to bring young men and women together (Lame Deer and Erdoes 1972, 155). A buffalo shaman is a great visionary who can lead his tribe safely, like a buffalo bull would. A snake shaman, who is usually summoned to this role by the bite of a poisonous snake, is connected to these reptiles and knows the herbs and songs that can cure snake bites. The soul of the wolf shaman is pure like freshly fallen snow and can roam far into the spirit world. A rabbit medicine man is very clever, but, like a rabbit, he can also die of shock (Garrett 2003, 29).
Of all the medicine people, the bear shaman, or bear dreamer, has a very special status because bears are, in fact, almost like humans. The Quechua people in the Andes call bears ukuku, which means half-human. Those who know bears well tell us that each bear has a very individual personality. However, unlike humans, its ego is not capsuled off and caught up in a net of culturally specified verbal and symbolic constructs. Despite the bear’s particular individuality, it remains intimately connected to the macrocosmic group soul, to the bear spirit, to nature. In this way, the bear is a mediator between the worlds, and this is exactly how many indigenous people have experienced the bear. For them, a bear is not simply an animal; a god-like being is hidden under his bearskin. For many Native American and Siberian peoples, such as the Khanty, Tungus, Samoyed, and Finns, the bear is a go-between for the heavenly god and the earth goddess. The bear, this animal of Earth and caves, is attributed to the earth goddess and the fertile female realm. But at the same time, it is also attributed to heavenly spheres, highest gods, and fertile weather deities. Like a genuine shaman, it is a being of both worlds. A bear is a forest animal and a forest human, a strong guardian of the threshold to the otherworld. The bear is the messenger of the gods and as such, a benevolent guest of the middle world, the human world.
An Old Stone Age engraving from La Marche, Vienne, France
A bear shaman partakes of the bear’s being. He wears a bear mask, bearskin or a necklace, or amulet of bear teeth or claws, all showing that the bear spirit is his totem; he also possesses the ferocious power of a bear, which can cause even the worst demons of sickness to flee in fear. It follows that a shaman who has been called by the bear spirit is one of the strongest healers. For the Kirati, a tribe in eastern Nepal, which still follows an old shamanistic nature tradition, the bear (balu) is considered the grandfather of the shamans. Their shamans always have bear claws with them that function as a talisman, a guru, and a protection (Mueller-Ebeling, Raetsch, and Shahi 2002, 177). They also prefer bearskin for their drums. Anthropologist Christian Raetsch tells that bear parts are taken neither from living bears nor from hunted bears—in order for them to be truly powerful, the shaman has to find them in a trance (Mueller-Ebeling, Raetsch, and Shahi 2002, 251). Even the bark from a tree where a bear has scratched can give power. Mongolian-speaking Burjatians, who live east of Lake Baikal, dry and crumble such bark and mix it with their smudging plants in order to give them more power.3
Tungusic shaman with bear paws (Witsen 1692)
The Plant Healers’ Teacher
According to northern Native Americans and many Paleo-Siberian peoples, bears not only know plants but can also pass this knowledge on to human beings. In addition to observing these animals when they dig up the roots and try out the herbs and barks, the shaman can receive dreams from the bear spirit that inspire healing. Consequently, one who has a direct vision or dream about a bear has been summoned to be a plant healer, or plant shaman. Ojibwa medicine man, Siyaka, explained it to anthropologist Frances Densmore:
The bear is quick-tempered and is fierce in many ways, and yet he pays attention to herbs which no other animal notices at all. The bear digs these for his own use. The bear is the only animal, which eats roots from the earth and is also especially fond of acorns, juneberries, and cherries. These three are frequently compounded with other herbs in making medicine, and if a person is fond of cherries we say he is like a bear. We consider the bear as chief of all animals in regard to herb medicine, and therefore it is understood that if a man dreams of a bear he will become an expert in the use of herbs for curing illness. The bear is regarded as an animal well acquainted with herbs because no other animal has such good claws for digging roots. (Densmore 1928, 324)
The famous Sioux medicine man Lame Deer tells that the Wícása Wakan, the shamans, get their power (“medicine”) through a dream or vision sent by an animal teacher.
Much power comes from the animals, and most medicine men have their special animal which they saw in their first vision. One never kills or harms this animal. Medicine people can be buffalo, eagle, elk, or bear dreamers. Of all the four-legged and winged creatures a medicine man could receive a vision from the bear is the foremost. The bear is the wisest of animals as far as medicines are concerned. If a man dreams of this animal, he could become a great healer. The bear is the only animal that one can see in a dream acting like a medicine man, giving herbs to people. It digs up certain healing roots with its claws. Often in a vision it will show a man which medicines to use. (Lame Deer and Erdoes 1972, 152)
Old medicine men of the Sioux used to have bear claws in their medicine pouches. They pressed the claw into the flesh of the sick person so that healing bear power could flow into the patient’s body. The songs of the Sioux bear dreamers ended with mato hemakiye—“A bear told me this.” Then, everyone knew that this medicine man had received his healing power from a bear. The bear dreamers were especially gifted in straightening out and healing broken bones. “These bear medicine people could heal! We had people who were ninety and one hundred years old and still had all of their teeth!” (Lame Deer and Erdoes 1972, 153).
A bear shaman (Catlin 1844–1845)
Sioux medicine man, Two Shields, tells, “The bear is the only animal which is dreamt of as offering to give herbs for the healing of man. The bear is not afraid of either animals or men and it is considered ill-tempered, and yet it is the only animal which has shown us this kindness; therefore, the medicines received from the bea
r are supposed to be especially effective” (Densmore 1928, 324). A depth psychologist would say someone who can connect with the “bear” in his or her soul, with his or her deeply buried instinct, and also has clear and sharp senses like a bear, will have easy access to comprehending healing plants.
To what degree bears are honored as healers and knowers of wild plants can be seen in the following tale from Algonquians of the eastern forests.
Tale of the Medicine Bear
One day an old man appeared in the village. He came empty-handed and was hungry and sick. His skin was full of abscesses, and he gave off a terrible smell. At the first wigwam, he called out, “Help me! I need a place to stay and some food.”
He was sent away because the family was afraid he had something contagious and the children could get it. He fared no better at the second wigwam and was sent away again. This was repeated again and again throughout the whole village. Finally, at the very last wigwam, he was taken in. A very poor woman who had only a few relatives and lived alone in a tiny wigwam at the edge of the village took pity on him. She invited him in and gave him something to eat and a place to sleep. Because he was even sicker the next morning than the day before, she tried to cure him with her familiar house remedies; however, it was no use and he got even sicker. After a few days, he told the woman that the Great Spirit had visited him in a dream and shown him which plant would heal him. The old man described the plant in exact detail, and the woman went out in search of it in the forest and found it. After the woman used this plant as the patient had been told to use it in his dream, he got well again, and, after a few days, as he was preparing to say goodbye, he suddenly got an attack of fever and fell sick again. Again, the house remedies of the poor woman could not cure him. He was already on the brink of death when he dreamed of another healing plant. Again, the woman found the plant and he became well afterward. As he was preparing to say goodbye once more, he began to shake and suddenly had to vomit. Again, he was sick and again he dreamed of the right healing plant. This went on for one year. Then, finally, he really was healed. He got up from his sleeping place and turned around one more time before going to the door and said, “The Great Spirit had told me that there was someone in this village who should learn how to heal the sick with plants. I was sent to you to teach you and this I have done.”
Bear Page 2
