How To Stir a Pot
One summer in the beginning of the Aughts, I spent an amazing week in Somerset with Donald Engstrom and Sharon Jackson. That is to say, the weather was amazing, the countryside amazing too, the company was fabulous, and the spot we were staying in was perfectly lovely. Our job, on the other hand, was thankless, arduous, and at times grueling.
We were teaching at Avalon Witchcamp, the first year that the camp did not have any of its regular teachers there. It was an experiment in “introducing new talent” and “altering the camp dynamics,” which surely would benefit the entire community in the long run. We were, in effect, substitute teachers while the camp was in its adolescent rebellion stage.
Having spent years working as a substitute teacher I had a premonition that it would be a tough gig, but didn’t want to believe it beforehand. After a day and a half, though, I instinctively moved into damage control mode with Donald and Sharon: Stick together. Be sympathetic to everyone, but don’t promise anything. Project confidence, and do what you do best.
We each had our strengths, but Donald had one technique that seemed to always—at least momentarily—quiet the discontented and bring the camp into some kind of altered state together. I watched him, transfixed, until I figured out what he was doing. Anyone who has seen Donald in ritual will know exactly what I mean when I call it “Stirring the Pot.” Here’s how it’s done:
First, be stocky, Swedish, and Lutheran. Have a low, gravelly voice and enjoy humming. When it is your turn to guide the energy, step into the circle and keep your gaze on the fire.
Before taking another step, extend your arm toward the center of the circle, fingers pointed slightly down to the flames like dowsing rods. Start a little hum, as low as possible, and as you do this begin to slowly swirl your fingers in a circular motion, still pointing down toward the center of the fire.
Let the hum build into something barely audible, then into a song containing actual syllables. It doesn’t matter what the syllables are exactly, but they should sound like a cross between a Native American raven chant, a Saami joik, and a middle-aged guy puttering in his garden.
Continue this stirring and singing until you have the crowd in the palm of your hand, so to speak. You’ll eventually want to say something, if only to snap people out of their trance. Take your time, and enjoy being able to talk without challenge. Cap off the ritual with warm beverages indoors, and stories told in a salacious tone. Rest easy, get up in the morning, and do it again.
