The Shamanic Art of Transmutation

by Judy Winters

When something so-called “unpleasant” happens, I try not to fall into the trap of the “ain't it awful” game. On the other hand, I don't readily buy into the concept that all you have to do is just raise your vibrations and everything will be sweetness and light, either. The “ain't it awful” game gives permission to wallow in negativity while the sweetness and light approach stands in grave danger of being escapist. Instead I cast my vote for the shamanic worldview, which offers a nice balance of realism with the magick (so spelled to distinguish it from the illusion variety) of transformation, or transmutation.

Here's how I see the three views: if someone gives the “ain't it awful” person a lemon, s/he would feel obliged to suck on it and complain how sour it is. Then s/he would get others to sympathize about the sourness of lemons in general. The sweetness and light person, in contrast, would either sugarcoat the lemon or image it away and hope to God it doesn't make a reappearance. The shaman, however, would alchemize the bitter with some sweet to make lemonade. Who of the three has had the richest experience? Who has the most personal power?

In which situation has the lemon become something other than a lemon? Which of the three worldviews is based in courage (literally meaning “heartfulness” or love) rather than fear?

The shaman's way and the hero's journey have much in common. Both paths are fraught with trials and triumphs, tribulations and treasure, the triumph and the treasure depending not only on how the energy is transmuted, but on the innate fertility of the trials and tribulations. It's like the story of the little boy who asked his father for a pony for his birthday. When his mean-spirited parent instead showed the lad a pile of manure in the yard on his special day, the son ran excitedly around the yard exclaiming, “With this much poop, there has to be at least one pony somewhere!”