The Hymn
A song of lineage and transformation — a remembrance of the teachers, trials, and thresholds that shaped my vow to serve the Earth. Every hymn begins as a heartbeat before it becomes a song. This is the story of how I came to walk the shamanic path — not as a doctrine to follow, but as a lived melody of surrender, courage, and awakening. It is the song I have been learning to sing with life itself, one verse at a time.
FROM CATERPILLAR TO BUTTERFLY: LESSONS IN LEADERSHIP, PROJECTION, AND LETTING GO
Many moons ago, I embarked upon something of a baptism of fire onto my shamanic pathway. It was April 2013, and for reasons I still can’t fully explain, I found myself committing to two deeply transformative experiences back-to-back: Northern Drum's Shaman's Doorway in Cornwall, immediately followed by Embercombe's Journey Programme in Devon. I literally drove the 120 miles between Sancreed and Higher Ashton on the same afternoon — as though spirit itself had designed this convergence to quicken my evolution.
Five years earlier, I had met Embercombe’s founder, Mac Macartney, when I approached him about a new leadership model I’d just encountered through Neil Crofts — Authentic Leadership. I was brimming with enthusiasm, imagining that I might step seamlessly into life at Embercombe, working alongside Mac as a kindred visionary. I remember walking into his living room, full of fire and expectation, believing we were destined for immediate collaboration.
To his credit, Mac received me warmly but grounded me gently. Authentic Leadership, he explained, had already been practiced at Embercombe for many years, and the community had all the team it needed. If I truly wished to contribute, he suggested, I might begin by volunteering on a Friends’ Weekend and see where the path led.
That simple redirection — from lofty vision to humble service — was my first lesson in leadership. Gathering my scattered illusions, I followed his advice, joining the Embercombe community in its hands-on, earthy work. I met many beautiful souls there, people who, like me, were seeking to live a life in right relationship with the land, with each other, and with the greater mystery that animates it all.
Through Neil Crofts I had already been introduced to a nature-based practice that First Nations people call the Medicine Walk — a way of entering nature with a heartfelt question and allowing the landscape to respond through symbol and synchronicity. It resonated so deeply that I began to weave it into everything I did.
When I later asked Mac about deepening my connection to this kind of work, he recommended I study with Chris Luttichau of Northern Drum, whose teachings arose from similar indigenous roots. And so, with both Mac and Chris as guiding influences, my journey into shamanic practice began in earnest.
That double immersion in 2013 — the Shaman’s Doorway followed by The Journey Programme — was alchemical. The first cracked me open; the second showed me what lay inside. It was at Embercombe, during that week-long crucible, that I came face-to-face with an uncomfortable truth: how much I projected onto Mac my own unclaimed light, my “golden shadow.” I had unconsciously placed him on a pedestal — a living embodiment of the purpose, clarity, and authority I longed to express in myself.
Being shown that mirror was both painful and illuminating. I realised how easily admiration can become projection, how reverence can disguise avoidance of our own greatness. I left Embercombe that year carrying both gratitude and sorrow — grateful for the revelation, but sorrowful that I had lost ease in Mac’s company. I could no longer meet him man-to-man, brother-to-brother. It became clear I needed to step away, not out of rejection, but as an act of reclamation.
What followed was an eight-year pilgrimage into myself. I undertook a Vision Quest Guardianship and a Three-Year Shamanic Training through Northern Drum. Slowly, the man I was meant to be began to emerge. My work deepened into flower and vibrational essences — an unexpected but beautiful unfolding that brought me closer to both the feminine and masculine within, helping me rediscover a sense of wholeness and purpose.
And then, almost imperceptibly, Embercombe began to call again. A whisper on the wind. A dream. A name appearing in my inbox. Until, one day, the opportunity arose to “back-row” on The Journey Programme — to hold space for others moving through the very initiation that had once undone me. I couldn’t ignore the pull. It had been eight years since my first Journey, and somehow this return felt ordained — a chance to complete a sacred circle.
Re-entering the land felt both strange and familiar, as though the valley had been waiting patiently for my return. There was reconciliation — subtle but real — between Mac and me, and a deeper peace in my own heart. It was during that time that I also received a spark of vision for what would later become The Orion Reborn Men’s Programme.
One night, stepping out of the yurt village at 4 a.m., I looked up and saw Orion blazing in the sky. As I watched, a shooting star flared across his belt. In that instant, I felt a transmission — a calling to reimagine men’s work through a mythic lens. Orion, I learned, had once been the great hunter who pursued the Seven Sisters — a symbol of toxic masculinity, conquest, and the misuse of power. Yet there was another, lesser-known story in Aboriginal tradition: that of Orion’s redemption, his rebirth as protector of the feminine, as guardian of the Earth.
That myth became the seed of a vision — to create a men’s programme witnessed by women, bridging the masculine and feminine, and honouring the sacred law that everything is first born of woman. It felt potent, alive, and needed. And yet, as with many initiatory dreams, the reality proved harder than the vision. I gathered eight collaborators — men and women alike — but soon realised I lacked the inner containment to hold such a charged constellation of leadership. The project, like Icarus, rose with enthusiasm and crashed under its own bright wings.
It was a humbling, necessary fall. I saw how my desire to serve could still be entangled with my need to prove myself. I witnessed how even sacred ambition can carry traces of old shadow. And yet, from the ashes of that failed flight, something precious emerged — humility, patience, and a deeper understanding of what it truly means to serve life, not my idea of life.
In hindsight, the two Journey experiences — one as participant, one as guardian — bookended a full metamorphosis. The first plunged me into the chrysalis; the second allowed me to begin to emerge. The caterpillar that once sought validation has dissolved, and in its place has become, a butterfly — wings still soft, still learning how to hold the air — trembles at the edge of first flight.
And yet, if I’m honest, I don’t feel I have arrived. There are days when old traumas still whisper, when self-doubt still creeps through the cracks of faith. The journey toward embodying that golden shadow — that radiant, unapologetic power — continues. Perhaps it always will. Transformation, I am learning, is not a single moment of emergence but a lifelong unfolding into wholeness.
Still, I remain grateful for what Embercombe gave me. It was not a career; it was initiation. It taught me reflection, humility, and the sacred art of beginning again. It showed me that sometimes the greatest service we can offer a teacher or a place is not to stay within its walls, but to carry its essence into the world — to live its teachings, however imperfectly, in our own way.
I still feel the call of that valley. I still hold a vision of Embercombe flourishing — as a haven for artists, artisans, and those who walk the green path of awakening. But whether or not I am part of that rebirth is not mine to decide. The invitation now is simply to live the vow I made upon the Journey:
“To live a sacred life and so help to create a sacred body for the Earth — giving a voice to all the inhabitants of the Earth that as yet cannot speak for themselves. And this is my joyful vow.”
And so I continue — neither arrived nor complete — just a man with wings still drying, doing his best to live the vow, to love the Earth, and to let life itself reveal what flight truly means.
And so this hymn continues — not as a finished song, but as one still being written through each act of service, each breath of devotion.
If The Congregation speaks of those I am here to serve, and The Collection of how that service is offered, then The Hymn is the heart that beats between them — the bridge of becoming, where human story meets sacred vow. May its echo remind us all: the path is never about perfection, but about presence. And when we dare to listen closely, we discover that the song we are seeking… is already singing us.
Five years earlier, I had met Embercombe’s founder, Mac Macartney, when I approached him about a new leadership model I’d just encountered through Neil Crofts — Authentic Leadership. I was brimming with enthusiasm, imagining that I might step seamlessly into life at Embercombe, working alongside Mac as a kindred visionary. I remember walking into his living room, full of fire and expectation, believing we were destined for immediate collaboration.
To his credit, Mac received me warmly but grounded me gently. Authentic Leadership, he explained, had already been practiced at Embercombe for many years, and the community had all the team it needed. If I truly wished to contribute, he suggested, I might begin by volunteering on a Friends’ Weekend and see where the path led.
That simple redirection — from lofty vision to humble service — was my first lesson in leadership. Gathering my scattered illusions, I followed his advice, joining the Embercombe community in its hands-on, earthy work. I met many beautiful souls there, people who, like me, were seeking to live a life in right relationship with the land, with each other, and with the greater mystery that animates it all.
Through Neil Crofts I had already been introduced to a nature-based practice that First Nations people call the Medicine Walk — a way of entering nature with a heartfelt question and allowing the landscape to respond through symbol and synchronicity. It resonated so deeply that I began to weave it into everything I did.
When I later asked Mac about deepening my connection to this kind of work, he recommended I study with Chris Luttichau of Northern Drum, whose teachings arose from similar indigenous roots. And so, with both Mac and Chris as guiding influences, my journey into shamanic practice began in earnest.
That double immersion in 2013 — the Shaman’s Doorway followed by The Journey Programme — was alchemical. The first cracked me open; the second showed me what lay inside. It was at Embercombe, during that week-long crucible, that I came face-to-face with an uncomfortable truth: how much I projected onto Mac my own unclaimed light, my “golden shadow.” I had unconsciously placed him on a pedestal — a living embodiment of the purpose, clarity, and authority I longed to express in myself.
Being shown that mirror was both painful and illuminating. I realised how easily admiration can become projection, how reverence can disguise avoidance of our own greatness. I left Embercombe that year carrying both gratitude and sorrow — grateful for the revelation, but sorrowful that I had lost ease in Mac’s company. I could no longer meet him man-to-man, brother-to-brother. It became clear I needed to step away, not out of rejection, but as an act of reclamation.
What followed was an eight-year pilgrimage into myself. I undertook a Vision Quest Guardianship and a Three-Year Shamanic Training through Northern Drum. Slowly, the man I was meant to be began to emerge. My work deepened into flower and vibrational essences — an unexpected but beautiful unfolding that brought me closer to both the feminine and masculine within, helping me rediscover a sense of wholeness and purpose.
And then, almost imperceptibly, Embercombe began to call again. A whisper on the wind. A dream. A name appearing in my inbox. Until, one day, the opportunity arose to “back-row” on The Journey Programme — to hold space for others moving through the very initiation that had once undone me. I couldn’t ignore the pull. It had been eight years since my first Journey, and somehow this return felt ordained — a chance to complete a sacred circle.
Re-entering the land felt both strange and familiar, as though the valley had been waiting patiently for my return. There was reconciliation — subtle but real — between Mac and me, and a deeper peace in my own heart. It was during that time that I also received a spark of vision for what would later become The Orion Reborn Men’s Programme.
One night, stepping out of the yurt village at 4 a.m., I looked up and saw Orion blazing in the sky. As I watched, a shooting star flared across his belt. In that instant, I felt a transmission — a calling to reimagine men’s work through a mythic lens. Orion, I learned, had once been the great hunter who pursued the Seven Sisters — a symbol of toxic masculinity, conquest, and the misuse of power. Yet there was another, lesser-known story in Aboriginal tradition: that of Orion’s redemption, his rebirth as protector of the feminine, as guardian of the Earth.
That myth became the seed of a vision — to create a men’s programme witnessed by women, bridging the masculine and feminine, and honouring the sacred law that everything is first born of woman. It felt potent, alive, and needed. And yet, as with many initiatory dreams, the reality proved harder than the vision. I gathered eight collaborators — men and women alike — but soon realised I lacked the inner containment to hold such a charged constellation of leadership. The project, like Icarus, rose with enthusiasm and crashed under its own bright wings.
It was a humbling, necessary fall. I saw how my desire to serve could still be entangled with my need to prove myself. I witnessed how even sacred ambition can carry traces of old shadow. And yet, from the ashes of that failed flight, something precious emerged — humility, patience, and a deeper understanding of what it truly means to serve life, not my idea of life.
In hindsight, the two Journey experiences — one as participant, one as guardian — bookended a full metamorphosis. The first plunged me into the chrysalis; the second allowed me to begin to emerge. The caterpillar that once sought validation has dissolved, and in its place has become, a butterfly — wings still soft, still learning how to hold the air — trembles at the edge of first flight.
And yet, if I’m honest, I don’t feel I have arrived. There are days when old traumas still whisper, when self-doubt still creeps through the cracks of faith. The journey toward embodying that golden shadow — that radiant, unapologetic power — continues. Perhaps it always will. Transformation, I am learning, is not a single moment of emergence but a lifelong unfolding into wholeness.
Still, I remain grateful for what Embercombe gave me. It was not a career; it was initiation. It taught me reflection, humility, and the sacred art of beginning again. It showed me that sometimes the greatest service we can offer a teacher or a place is not to stay within its walls, but to carry its essence into the world — to live its teachings, however imperfectly, in our own way.
I still feel the call of that valley. I still hold a vision of Embercombe flourishing — as a haven for artists, artisans, and those who walk the green path of awakening. But whether or not I am part of that rebirth is not mine to decide. The invitation now is simply to live the vow I made upon the Journey:
“To live a sacred life and so help to create a sacred body for the Earth — giving a voice to all the inhabitants of the Earth that as yet cannot speak for themselves. And this is my joyful vow.”
And so I continue — neither arrived nor complete — just a man with wings still drying, doing his best to live the vow, to love the Earth, and to let life itself reveal what flight truly means.
And so this hymn continues — not as a finished song, but as one still being written through each act of service, each breath of devotion.
If The Congregation speaks of those I am here to serve, and The Collection of how that service is offered, then The Hymn is the heart that beats between them — the bridge of becoming, where human story meets sacred vow. May its echo remind us all: the path is never about perfection, but about presence. And when we dare to listen closely, we discover that the song we are seeking… is already singing us.
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© Simon Blackler 2021
© Simon Blackler 2021