RESONATE


FROM SLAVIC MYSTERIES TO CONTEMPORARY PSI RESEARCH AND BACK, Part 1

by Larissa Vilenskaya
Menlo Park, California

The Light of Knowledge: Healing and Divination in Slavic Wisdom Teachings and Practices Upon the shores of a far sea
A mighty green oak grows,
And day and night a learned cat
Walks round it on a golden chain.
When he goes right--he sings a song,
Left--tells a wonder tale...

... There I have been,
There drank the golden wine.
I saw that sea, I saw that oak,
I saw the learned cat.
He sang to me,
He told me wonder tales

And these I tell to you...

Alexander Pushkin, Ruslan and Ludmila

Introduction

I would like to share some of my observations, findings, and insights into Russian (Slavic) spiritual traditions. In this paper, I focus primarily not on Siberian shamanism1 but on ancient world views, wisdom teachings, and healing rituals of the Slavs. I prefer to use the word "Slavic" instead of "Russian" because my research includes an exploration of myths, legends and traditions whose roots originate in the distant past, before the emergence of what is now called the Russian (or Great Russian) nation. Traditional Slavic spirituality seems to be close to what are called Earth religions or Goddess religions in this country (e.g., Gimbutas, 1995). I will discuss some elements of the tradition I learned during my trips to Russia in November/December 1993, September/December 1994, and May/July 1995.

Return to the Roots

Last year, when preparing to travel to Russia, I had two lines of research in mind, one being a more formal scholarly study, and another representing a continuation of my personal search for the knowledge and wisdom in shamanic and folk healing traditions.

The idea of the first project is easy to describe. In the course of my research into the state of experimental parapsychology in the former Soviet Union in 1992-1994 (May and Vilenskaya, 1994; Vilenskaya, 1993, 1995; Vilenskaya and May, 1995), I found that Russian researchers primarily focus on studies of "distant mental effect" or "distant influence," in other words, psycho-kinesis (PK) and bio-PK phenomena, or the possible effects of human consciousness on the surrounding world, including physical and biological systems. These studies are carried out in such prestigious institutions as Moscow State University, St. Petersburg State University, and several research institutes of the Russian Academy of Sciences and the Russian Academy of Medical Sciences. During my research in Russia, I also came across preliminary data suggesting that the roots for this broad and genuine scientific and popular interest in "distant influence" and alternative healing approaches in the former Soviet Union can be found in traditional Slavic spirituality and world views. Thus, I decided to undertake a more formal study to elucidate this relationship.2

The second part of my search is more intangible and not easily defined. In the Fall of last year, I started feeling a need (a calling, if I may put it this way) to return to my roots. For many years I was deeply interested in various spiritual traditions, including Native American beliefs, rituals, sacred songs, dances, and healing practices (Vilenskaya, 1992). Now I felt it was time for me to tap into the wisdom teachings, the light of knowledge of my homeland.

The Light of Knowledge

In my early childhood in Riga, the capital of Latvia, my mother once read me a beautiful old legend translated into Russian from the Latvian language. I loved it dearly and asked my mother to reread it several times, although I had not grasped its full significance. I did grasp its meaning very recently, when I had a chance to read it again during my trip to Russia. It went like this:

In a small village in Latvia, near the capital city of Riga [which is incidentally my birthplace], there was once a father who had three sons. Two were thought to be clever fellows, but the third was so simple everyone said the lad was a fool.

One day, the father decided to build a hut at the edge of his pasture. When the small house was finished, he called his sons together and said, "I will give this hut to the one who can fill it completely. Not even a corner is to be left empty."

Without a moment's hesitation, the oldest son said, "I know the very thing that will do it." And off he went to buy a horse. When he brought the animal into the new hut, the horse filled only one corner of the place.

At once, the second son hurried off, saying: "I know the very thing that will fill this hut." He returned with a load of hay, which he hauled into the new hut. The hay filled only half of the little house.

The youngest son scratched the top of his head.... "I suppose it's my turn to try my luck," he said slowly and trudged off to the village. There he wandered about for the rest of the day. Toward evening, as the lights began to shine from the cottage windows, the young lad suddenly slapped his thigh and laughed out loud. "Now I know the very thing that will do it!" he exclaimed.

He bought a candle and hurried to the new hut. Once inside, the lad lit the candle--and the whole hut was filled with light, every corner, nook, and cranny. And so the simple son, whom everyone thought was a fool, won the new little house for himself (Niedre, 1958).
While riding a train from Moscow to the heart of the Ural Mountains in my search for the wisdom of the Russian past, I remembered: no amount of material possessions can fill our lives completely, can totally satisfy us. To feel whole and to enjoy happiness, we also need the light of spiritual knowledge.

Multiple Realities
Notes on Shamanic Views in Russian Art

In his provocative book, Dreaming with Open Eyes: The Shamanic Spirit in Twentieth Century Art and Culture, British scholar Michael Tucker (1992) reminded us of "a shamanic sense of music as transformative myth" (p. 208) in the works of the Russian composer Alexander Skriabin (1872-1915). Through his music, Skriabin, who gave the world the Poem of Ecstasy (1908) and the Prometheus (1910), was able to experience his version of shamanic flight--"light ... rapture ... soaring flight ... suffocation from Joy" (Machlis, 1963:99). He designed his music to be seen as well as heard, for it was for him "an orgy of visions ... an astral world of emotions" (Bowers, 1973:127). He intended Prometheus to be performed in synesthetic conjunction with a "light keyboard" or "color organ":

     I have lights in Prometheus.... I will play it for you. 
     Lights. It's a poem of fire.  Here the hall has changing colors. 
     Now they glow; now they turn into tongues of flame.  
     Listen how all this music is really fire.... 
     What dreams I sometimes dream.  
     But they are not dreams but visions, 
     illusions which become tangible, sounds in pictures.... 
     (Bowers, 1973:191).
Scriabin planned a final meta-composition, Mysterium, which would embrace all the arts. At the projected climax of what was to be a seven-day festival in the Himalayas, music would dissolve the world in an abyss of flame, returning all being to its spiritual essence within "the plane of unity" (Bowers, 1973:125). The language of music also acquires shamanic overtones in Igor Stravinsky's (1882-1971) ballet The Rite of Spring (1913) about the spring rituals of prehistoric Russia.

Similar vision of ecstatic flight is found in Osip Mandelstam's poetry:

		...There in the unbiased ether
		our essences balance
		against star weights hurled
		at the just now trembling scales. 

		The ecstasy of life
		lives at this edge--
		the body's memory
		of its immutable homeland 
                       (Mandelstam, 1967:124)



One can also remember the Russian Futurist poet and dramatist Velemir Khlebnikov (1885-1922) who became fascinated by the possibilities of a new "transrational" language in poetry. In the language of zaum ("nonsense") new meanings would be created simply out of the sound of each element of the word. Thus in Khlebnikov's famous "Invocation to Laughter" the whole composition is a series of variations on the Russian word smekh (laughter). In contrast to the sheer "materiality" of this poem's pursuit of magic, Khlebnikov's "Numbers" reveals a curious and profound blend of Platonic philosophy and shamanic consciousness (Khlebnikov, 1968:98):

		I look into you, o numbers,
		See you dressed in animals, in their skins,
		Leaning against uprooted oaks.
		You--oneness between the snakelike
		movement of the universe's spine and the
		folkdance of the	Great Bear.


Khlebnikov's poetry reminds us of secret and sacred language of spirit communication in various shamanic traditions.

"Secret Language" and Unity with Nature

As several researchers pointed out (e.g., Eliade, 1972), in the course of his initiation the future shaman has to learn the secret language that he will use during his seances (flights) to communicate with ancestor spirits and animal spirits. He learns this secret language either from a teacher or directly from the spirits. At times, such a language is given to the shaman during his initiation. Each shaman also has his particular song, which he intones to invoke the spirits. The existence of a specific secret and sacred language has been verified among the Lapps, the Ostyak, the Chukchee, the Yakut, and the Tungus in Siberia. During his trance the Tungus shaman is believed to understand the language of all nature. (Eliade, 1972:96).



Often this secret language is actually the "animal language" or originates in animal cries. During shamanic seances among the Yakut, the Yukagir, the Chukchee, and others, wild animal cries and bird calls are heard (Eliade, 1972:97). Unity with the elements of nature and nature spirits is also the key aspect in Slavic mythology and world view.

The World Populated by Spirits: Elements of Slavic Mythology

The exact origin of the Slavs is not known, but by about 800 BC Slavic tribes were scattered in a region east of the Carpathian Mountains and west of the Don River (Gimbutas, 1987:353). Around the 6th century AD, the Slavs began separating into three groups, the West, South, and East Slavs. The ancestors of today's Russians, Belorussians, and Ukrainians, the East Slavs lived in the area bounded by Lake Ladoga, the upper Volga and Don, and the Dnieper. When Christianity was introduced into Russia in 988, the rural population continued to worship the thunder god Perun and all manifestations of nature, producing dvoyeveriye, a "double faith," in which traditional (I intentionally avoid "Pagan") deities and festivals merged with Christian figures and holidays (Gimbutas, 1987:354; Hubbs, 1988:91-93).

Few written sources remained from these distant times, except for myths, legends, and folk tales which were conveyed orally from one generation to the next. According to one of Slavic creation legends, once upon a time, there was no light, and pitch darkness permeated the world. In this total darkness, there was an immense ocean, and there was Rod, or Bog,3 our ancestor, the Source of the Universe, Father of Gods. Rod was confined in an egg, it was a seed to be sprouted. When the time was right, Rod appeared from the egg and created Lada, Goddess of Love. Together with Love, Light immediately came into being. Then the three worlds, or kingdoms, Nav', Yav', and Prav', were created. Nav' represented the Kingdom of Darkness where the God of Death, Veles, and Baba Yaga, his faithful servant, had their hearth, and where the souls of the dead dwelled; Yav' was the name for our world, Mother Moist Earth, with its plants, animals, and people; and Prav' was the Kingdom of Light, the Skies, or Heaven, where higher Gods abide. The Sun God Yarilo, who was one of the Higher Gods, and his four incarnations--the Spring God Khors, the Summer God Dazhbog, the Autumn God Stribog, and the Winter God Simargl--regularly visited Mat' Syra Zemlya (Mother Moist Earth), for Gods and spirits possess the power to travel freely between the Worlds.4

Simargl, often depicted as a winged dog, occupies a particular place in Slavic mythology: he is an intermediary between the Skies and the Earth, the Sky Messenger dispersing the seeds of abundance. Sometimes he is also portrayed as a seven-headed warrior who guards the entrance to the Upper World. Mother Moist Earth (the Middle World) is guarded and protected by the Earth Goddess Makosh and at times is visited by mighty Perun, the God of Thunder and Lightning. Veles, the God of Death and the underworld, is also believed to be related to music and poetry and at the same time reputed to be a god of cattle, wealth and commerce (Gimbutas, 1987:357; Shuklin, 1995:47-48).

In the Slavic past, Earth, Air, Fire, and Water were all worshipped in various ways. The winds were called the "grandsons of Stribog" and often greatly feared. Earth was considered so holy that solemn oaths were sometimes taken while holding a clod of soil. The custom of visiting holy springs or wells whose waters supposedly have healing powers is still preserved in some villages. Visitors bath their eyes in the water and cast a coin in as payment, or tie ribbons and pieces of clothing associated with their illness in the branches of trees overhanging the water.

Over all elemental deities reigned Svarog, god of the sky. He had two sons, Dazhbog, the sun god and Svarozhich, the god of fire. Svarozhich lived in the oast-houses where a fire was set in a deep pit and sheaves of corn laid on a grating over it to be dried before threshing. Offerings were brought there to the fire god, and even in the last century it was still customary to cast a sheaf into the fire "for luck." Long after Svarozhich had been forgotten, beliefs in the power and holiness of fire remained and no Russian would spit on the fire or speak disrespectfully of it. It was even believed that fire could cure certain illnesses. "Dear father, Tsar-Fire," runs a nineteenth century spell, "be gentle and kind to me, burn away all my aches and pains, fears and worries." During serious outbreaks of cattle disease bonfires were lit with "living fire," a flame obtained secretly by revolving a wooden peg very fast in the round holes of a special block of wood, and the cattle were chased through the flames in the hope that they would be cured. Some healing rituals also evoked the power of lightning.

Modern Wizard: Some Practices of a Lightning Healer

There is a wide-spread belief in many Russian villages that an individual can heal another through the use of zagovory (magical incantations, spells, charms, or prayers), ritual actions, and/or by combination of thought and will alone (Shapiro, 1992:109; Yeleonskaya, 1994:123-125). Similarly, it is often believed to this day that a person (koldun or ved'ma--sorcerer or witch) can cause harm, including epidemics, cattle plagues, and poor harvests, as well as numerous individual illnesses, through magical practices called "porcha" (spoiling), or by his/her glance alone ("evil eye") (e.g., Maksimov, 1989:71-72, 79-82).

Magical healing and sorcery represent two lines going back to the ancient volkhvy (men and women of wisdom), whose function was both to cure others and to make contact with the spirit world for purposes of insuring a good harvest and predicting the future (Ivanits, 1989:122). Some of these world views and practices are still preserved in Russian villages, and the traditions are usually conveyed from mother to daughter, from grandmother to grand-daughter, and in some cases from an older sister to a younger one (Yeleonskaya, 1994:103). It should be noted that, while the matrilineal transmission of sacred knowledge and healing powers has been encountered more often, the patrilineal link is also not excluded.5

When visiting several villages in the Oryol province this summer, I was introduced to an old znakharka (a village healer or medicine woman, if I may use this term to honor her). The word originates from znat' = to know, and thus means a woman of knowledge, although it was often given a negative connotation during Soviet times. Therefore, the word babushka (grandmother) is preferred instead by the villagers.

Yelizaveta Yefimovna or Baba (Babushka) Liza, as she is called by the villagers, is a stout, energetic 76-year-old woman who looks younger than her age and has quietly continued to practice her art through the turmoil of the Soviet times and the current turbulent time of transition. She is happy to talk, somewhat nostalgically, about the past shrouded in mystery and the no less mysterious present. Sitting at the dinner table in a semi-dark room in her old wooden house, she spun the narrative of fascinating old legends. My friend Natasha and I were sitting in front of her, and I felt that the presence of the past filled that room as palpably as the heady aroma of dried herbs that pervaded the house.

"Not many mortals are endowed with this mighty gift of walking the rainbow6 up to the Skies, or traveling down, to the ancestor world, but my grandmother possessed that power. She was born in Belorussia and, in her teens, was caught by a terrifying thunder-storm in the woods. She was nearly hit by lightning and was frightened out of her wits, but Perun, the god of thunder and lightning, rewarded her with the power to travel to the Skies and to heal in his name."

"My grandmother was also able to summon spirits in the time of need, and they never failed to come to her aid. They gave her power and wisdom, helped her to vorozhit' (predict the person's fate) and to heal. She was friends with rusalki (water spirits) dwelling in lakes and rivers, beregini-zashchitnitsy (spirit protectors) living close to water,7 and lesoviki (forest spirits) who inhabit the woods. They sometimes come to me as well when I call them with juniper smoke. But the real power my grandmother gave me is from thunder and lightning. My two daughters, Maria and Vera, also possess that power and continue learning the medicine ways from me but my son is not interested."8

Yelizaveta Yefimovna is not the first village healer I encountered in my travels throughout the Russian countryside, but I found her stories and rituals the most fascinating. She invited me to spend several days in her house and allowed me to sit in when she received clients. Unexpected to me, she vehemently objected to my tape recorder and camera, not allowing me to take a single picture of her. Picture taking, she believed, may allow evil spirits to capture the soul. I was surprised to find such an attitude in our enlightened times but had to respect it. Babushka Liza's features softened, though, and sometimes a shadow of smile appeared on her face when she looked at me as I was sitting in a corner of the small room with my ever-present notebook and pen. Notebook in hand, I often forgot to take notes, because Babushka Liza fascinated me not so much with the rituals she performed but by the almost tangible aura of presence and confidence emanating from her while she worked with her clients.

I was fortunate enough to see some of these healing practices firsthand. In the morning after that intriguing night when we had listened to Babushka Liza's stories, a young woman with an infant entered her house. Nadya (the mother) explained that the boy was crying a lot and asked Babushka to see whether something was wrong with him. Later I learned that Nadya had taken her seven-months' old boy to the doctor first, and the doctor apparently did not find anything wrong with the child, but the mother was not satisfied with the outcome of her visit to the doctor's office. Babushka Liza asked Nadya to lay the boy down on a couch covered by a clean sheet and to sit on a nearby chair. The medicine woman lit a wax candle and placed it on the table. With semi-closed eyes and an expression of intense concentration on her face, she stood near the boy for what seemed to be a long time, without touching him or saying anything. I felt as if an invisible connection, a "bridge" or "thread" between the old woman and the young boy was being created.

Then Babushka Liza took a twig in her hands, bent towards the boy, and started moving the twig slowly, in a circular motion, in the air above the child's stomach. In a quick, almost inaudible whisper, with a regular, measured hypnotizing rhythm, she pronounced what sounded like an ancient zagovor. From our previous discussion, I knew that the twig was from a tree which had been hit by lightning. Such twigs were broken off from the tree with a special charm/prayer, as Babushka Liza was taught by her grand-mother. Like the Buryat and Native American "lightning shamans" (Kalweit, 1992:46-51), she draws on the power of lightning in her healing work.

During the whole procedure, the boy was quiet and looked to be soundly asleep. Then Babushka Liza poured off some water from a large jar into a smaller bottle, then sat down and recited another charm or prayer, with the same look of intense concentration. She offered it to Nadya, saying that the water was from a sacred spring and that both she and the boy should drink it, several sips two or three times a day. Then the medicine woman spoke with Nadya for almost an hour about many aspects and details of the family life (largely unknown to me as an outsider), e.g., Nadya's husband, her parents, her brother, and their neighbors. They did not object to me sitting in but did not include me in the conversation, except for several brief questions/answers at the end. I could see that Nadya clearly respected the older woman healer, and there certainly was an implicit shared world view and trust between the two.9 It would be clear to any impartial observer of this scene that if the doctor would spend more time simply talking with the young mother she probably would not be seeking alternative help. Here the healer seems to combine the roles of a therapist, mentor, and priestess, restoring harmony not only in mother/child, mother/ family, mother/villagers, and mother/healer relationships, but also in the whole village, similarly to ancient mothers who "protected the entire community against diseases" (Hubbs, 1988:60).

Babushka Liza also explained that she often uses oberegi, i.e., certain charms and/or amulets or talismans for protection. Even now, before a wedding celebration, table cloths are sometimes put on the tables inside out to ward off the "evil eye" or sorcery. Babushka Liza remembered that in the past, poppy seeds were used as oberegi from witchcraft, because it was believed that it is hard for the "dark forces" to count the seeds; so, when "they" are busy counting, the villagers can attend to their everyday activities without interference from "them." (It was customary not to call "dark," "black," or "evil" forces by name, for the words might attract "them"; thus, "they" and "them" were used instead.) "Orlov kamen" (an eagle's stone, i.e., a dark-red or gray stone found in an eagle's nest) was also used for protection, especially during childbirth. For this purpose, the stone was tied to the left wrist or left ankle of the woman. The best oberegi, however, were embroideries with intricate abstract patterns, believed to protect everyone around them and to have a healing effect as well.

While the Russian Orthodox Church classifies all nature powers and spirits as "unclean" (not necessarily evil but not Christian and therefore forbidden), the village medicine men and women make a clear distinction between helping/healing (white) and harming (black) magic, the major difference apparently being the conscious intent of the practitioner.

To summarize my observations of the healing practices of Babushka Liza and several other village healers,10 in addition to plant medicines, zagovory (charms, verbal formulas) still appear to be used often by folk healers in the European part of Russia. The charms are viewed as being effective not by themselves but in conjunction with a ritual which usually involves a vivid visualization of the words repeated in the verbal formula. In other words, if a znakhar' says in the healing formula that a symptom of illness has disappeared, he/she is taught to see it happening in his/her inner vision.

The healing power of zagovory is believed to be amplified by elements of nature, in particular, by water, fire, and stone. Thus, the rituals are frequently performed in the presence of a candle, a vessel with water, a power stone (sometimes found at a spot indicated in a dream) or crystal. The power of crystals, especially of quartz and carnelian, to provide protection and to facilitate healing is also often acknowledged. Malachite is believed to possess strong "positive power" that can neutralize external negative effects (including those of purported witchcraft and sorcery) while black tourmaline is claimed to be able to deflect and dissipate undesirable influences in a somewhat different but no less effective way.

Is Reality Changeable?
Slavic Views of Divination and Prophecy

In old Russia, before Prince Vladimir converted the Russians to Christianity at the end of the first millennium and for many years afterwards, there were volkhvy (wizard-priests) who new the secrets of the ancient ways. They were believed to have the gift of prophecy and were consulted by all levels of society. Princes asked about the most propitious time to begin a military campaign, merchants sought advice about business deals, and everyone was curious to learn about and everyone was curious to learn about the time and manner of his death.

According to the Russian Chronicles, which later became the basis for a famous poem by Alexander Pushkin, Prince Oleg of Kiev, who died in 912, once asked a wizard if he could tell him how he would die.

	 Before his men he [Oleg] rode in pride,
	 Their hero-prince, and nothing feared;
	 But, ere he reached the forest-side;
	 From out its darkling deeps appeared
	 Dread Perun's prophet, old and wise,
	 Who studied in the secret shrine
	 That he might in each man's own eyes
	 His destiny and doom divine.

	 The brave Prince rode toward him, and cried:
	"O Wizard, favored of the gods,
	 What woe or weal shall me betide?
	 How soon shall I, beneath the sods,
	 Lie buried, while my foes rejoice?
	 Fear naught; nor speak with faltering words...."

	"No wizard dreads an earthly lord!
 	 The old man scornful answer flung:
	"And naught availeth bribe or sword
	 To loose or bind the prophet's tongue.
	 Heaven's secrets are not bought and sold:
	 The future's veiled in mist and gloom:
	 Yet, as a tale already told,
	 On thy bright brows I read thy doom."
	 (Pushkin, 1991:2-4)
Learning that his favorite horse would be the cause of his death Prince Oleg had the animal banished. He ordered his grooms to feed and care for it but never to bring it into his presence again. Some years later Oleg suddenly remembered about the horse and wondered what had become of it. When he heard that it was dead he was greatly relieved and went to see the skeleton where it lay, picked clean by birds of prey, out in the open steppe. Triumphantly placing one foot on the skull, Oleg mocked the dead creature that was to have brought about his death. As he did so, a poisonous snake slithered out from the skull and bit his foot. Oleg sickened and died of the wound and the prophecy was fulfilled.

Some divination rituals are still practiced in Russia, and I was fortunate to observe one of the techniques in my interaction with Babushka Liza. She asked her client (a girl in her late teens or early twenties named Valya) to gaze at a candle flame and at the same time to roll a small ball of thread (a clew the size of a thimble) over a blue table plate, while the healer went on whispering barely audible words in a regular, measured manner. Then she asked Valya to close her eyes, to continue rolling the ball of thread and to see whether the boy's image would appear in her mind's eye. When Valya whispered "yes," Babushka Liza asked (sounding like an experienced therapist) if the image was moving and whether the movement was toward her or in the opposite direction. As I learned later, when the client rolled the clew toward herself, the inner picture was supposed to indicate a scene from the past; if it were rolled forward (away from the client) these were pictures of the future. Babushka Liza mentioned another interesting point: by changing these pictures in her mind's eye, the client could change the events of her life. There were some indications which situations or events could be changed and which were immutable but I did not understand the intricacies of how the healer/diviner could make this distinction. Surprisingly, changing past events was supposed to alter the person's present. It was fascinating to watch Babushka Liza's enchanting and powerful presence as if she truly was in touch with the forces which create a person's fate and alter its course.

This reminded me of a divination technique related to me by another healer, Mikhail Miller, in Moscow several weeks earlier. Mikhail spent some time studying with village "sorceress" Mariya Vladimirovna, and she explained to him how she could "clear the road." When she had to ride a bus on narrow icy roads, she closed her eyes and saw the road in her mental vision. If the road was clear and free of obstacles, it was safe to continue; no trouble was lurking. If the road was covered with black/dark fog or an obstacle in the way was in sight, she had to "clean" (or clear) it in her mental picture--and was convinced that this ritual action opened up for her a safe passage without troubles or accidents.11

Conclusions:
Interconnectedness and Global Unity

Traditional Slavic spirituality implies the sense of "relatedness" (Hoeller, 1994:15), interaction, interconnectedness, and global unity. Similarly, shamanic practices among many non-Russian ethnic groups are based on inherent connection in the world, between the worlds, and with the Earth itself, as is expressed in an ancient grace still repeated in the region of Tuva in Siberia:

     "Mother-Earth, I beg you to grant me some happiness.
      Mother-Earth, I beg you to present me with luck.
      Mother-Earth, I beg you to protect and take care of my children.
      Mother-Earth, I beg you to protect my native aal (home)" 
      (Kenin-Lopsan, 1993:142).
In Slavic rituals and folk healing practices, gifts of the Mineral Kingdom--crystals and stones in general--are viewed not as inanimate objects but rather as living creatures which are an inherent part of living nature. The world of stones, of plants and of animals is believed to represent those intermediary links through which we are attuned to our planet and the Universe. We will discuss this issue in more detail in the next paper of this series.

Acknowledgments

I would like to express my sincere gratitude to Dr. Ruth-Inge Heinze, Dr. Marilyn Schlitz, and Dr. Edwin C. May for their continuing support and caring. I am thankful to all my friends and colleagues in Russia, old and new, for their open sharing, generosity, and kindness. And last (but not least) my thanks go to Charlotte Berney, a volunteer editor, colleague, and dear friend.

Notes


1. Some Russian archeologists and folklore researchers (e.g., Rybakov, 1994:59-71; Larichev, 1972, quoted in Kritov, 1995:223) discuss connections between some ancient Slavic beliefs and practices and shamanic traditions of non-Slavic peoples in the Urals and Western Siberia, along the Ob and Yenisei rivers. These detailed scholarly discussions, although clearly outside the scope of my paper, suggest a possible continuity between the traditions.

2. This study, conducted primarily during my May/July 1995 trip to Russia, was funded, in part, by the Institute of Noetic Sciences, Sausalito, California. A version of this paper was presented at the 12th International Conference on the Study of Shamanism and Alternate Modes of Healing, San Rafael, CA, September 2, 1995.

3. The word rod means kinship, extended family, and is the root of such words as priroda (nature), rodina (motherland), urozhay (harvest), rozhat' (to give birth) and roditeli (parents). Bog is Russian for God.

4. Personal communication from Yelizaveta Yefimovna, the Oryol Province, July 1995. See also Dvornik, 1959:48-50; Famintsyn, 1955:145-157; 205-291; Gimbutas, 1971:162-168, 1987:355-357; Rybakov, 1989:413; 1994:530-531, 547; and Shuklin, 1995:39-47.

5. Personal communication from Nataliya Sugrobova, Moscow, October 1994.

6. The motif of the Tree of Life or World Tree as a means to travel between the worlds is more wide-spread in Slavic mythology than the rainbow (e.g., Hubbs, 1988:10; Platov, 1995:16-23).

7. The word beregini can be derived from bereg = bank or shore, and also from berech' = to take care, to spare, or to protect. Note the same root in the word oberegi = protection talismans.

8. Personal communication from Yelizaveta Yefimovna, the Oryol Province, July 1995.

9. An analysis of Yelizaveta Yefimovna's healing work shows that, without being aware of it, she incorporates the four fundamental principles of healing identified by Torrey (1973) and emphasized by Villoldo and Krippner (1987:192), i.e., (1) a shared worldview between the healer and her client; (2) positive personal qualities of the healer that facilitate the client's recovery; (3) client expectations of recovery that assist the healing process; and (4) specific techniques, materials, and healing procedures that are conducive to recovery.

10. Personal communications from Nadezhda Babayeva, Moscow, July 1995; Maya Bykova, Moscow, Nov. 1994; Alexander Char, Moscow, June 1995; Dunya Kovshova, Oryol Province, July 1995; Mariya Krasno-noska, Oryol Province, July 1995; Valentina Parkulab, Yekaterin-burg, May 1995; Nataliya Sugrobova, Moscow, Oct. 1994, July 1995; Nataliya Sukhodolova, Oryol Province/Moscow, July 1995; Yelizaveta Yefimovna, Oryol Province, July 1995.

11. Personal communication from Mikhail Miller, Moscow, June 1995.

References

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