Drums are among the earliest musical instruments made our ancestors, who likely discovered that hollow logs and stretched and dried animal skins produced resonant sound when struck. Drumming has the ability to entrain our heartbeat and breath and to alter our state of consciousness, as evident through the frequent use of the drum to drive rock and roll and as a foundation for many spiritual practices. Perhaps no tool is as synonymous with the practice of shamanism as the shaman’s drum.
In my own practice, which has roots in both Norse and Siberian traditions, the drum is viewed as the shaman’s horse, both enspirited tool and means of travel. I have three drums, two of which I acquired and one of which I made. Each one has a unique spirit and assists me in specific ways. I use a drum to break up and disperse negative energy in clients or spaces, and to assist healing by removing energetic blocks. The drum I made for journeying (that uniquely shamanic process of entering an altered state in order to access wisdom, guidance and instruction by spirit allies) is of horsehide stretched over a cedar frame and although small, has a bright, bell-like sound that quickly propels me out of my everyday consciousness.
The very act of making a drum for sacred use calls one to center, to intentionality, and begins with a question: What is the purpose of this drum and how will it be used? This central starting point informs the choice of materials for the drum’s frame and head, perhaps even dictating how these must be acquired. Traditional frame drums are made with heads of untanned animal skin or ‘rawhide’, chosen for how it shrinks and tightens with drying. As the skins of freshly killed animals must first be prepared by soaking and removing all hair and fat and connective fiber, this is an arduous and smelly process. Fortunately, one can purchase prepared rawhide ready to work with, made from the skins of deer, elk, moose, cow, buffalo, goat and reindeer. Traditionally drum frames were made of thin strips of green wood boiled and bent around a form such as another tree of appropriate size, with the ends tapered and overlapped, then sewn together with sinew or rawhide. Today, good quality pre-made drum frames are available on Etsy and Ebay in a variety of woods. The voice of a drum is a product of many factors: its size and the depth of its frame, the choice of skin, the method of attachment, the beater used, humidity and the spirit that ultimately inhabits the drum.
When I make a shamanic drum for someone, they may approach me with a clear idea of what they need. Just as often, they ask me to journey on their behalf and seek guidance on the best choice of hide and wood for their purpose. Most recently, I made a journey drum for one of my apprentices who requested horsehide and ash wood for reasons that were meaningful to him.
I ordered the supplies and, as I always do, did divination using my runes to get a sense of when it might be best to make the drum. When that day arrived, I recaned myself and made offerings to the Holy Powers. ‘Recan’ is the Northern Tradition term for smudging or cleansing with sacred smoke. Then, not knowing the circumstances of how the horse died or his skin was handled, nor of how the ash wood for the rim had been harvested or manipulated, I recaned these items with Juniper and Rosemary smoke. Checking their energy as it changed, I sensed the need for additional ‘fiery’ energy, and so also added a bit of Dragon’s Blood resin to the smoldering charcoal. While Dragon’s Blood is not a sacred herb of my tradition, I’m nothing if not pragmatic. “Use the tool that will work”, we say.
I began by preparing the rim – skeleton and foundation of the drum. Ash is a tree long honored in the Northern Tradition, strong and straight grained. Some believe that Yggdrasil, the mighty tree upon which Lord Odin hung himself in the pursuit of knowledge, is an Ash. Sadly, the non-native Emerald Ash Borer is quickly killing off ash trees on the East coast, and so their wood may soon be unavailable. I said a prayer for the spirit of Ash and sang as I sanded the rim, 14” in diameter and a bit over two inched wide, with finer and finer grits of sandpaper, finally hand rubbing three layers of wax into the golden-brown wood. I dislike the use of shellac or polyurethane as a coating on drum rims – the wood needs to breathe.
Next another prayer, this time to the spirit of Horse. My song changed to something with a loping rhythm, bespeaking freedom of movement. I trimmed the drum head to size and marked the places where I would later make holes for the lacing. With sharp, heavy shears I cut a long 3/8” strip from one piece of rawhide, spiraling in from the edge of the hide. This strip would become the lacing to draw tight the drum’s head. I think of it as the fascia that binds together the human body. Rawhide needs to be soaked overnight to become supple enough to work with, so I submerged the bundle of lacing in a bowl of cold water and placed the drum head in my bath tub. “Drink deep, Brother Horse,” I prayed.
The following day I again recaned and divined. “Is this the right day to make this drum?” I asked the runes. Raido-Gebo-Dagaz, they told me. An important journey undertaken in partnership will yield insight. Good. The hide that arrived stiff and brown was now supple and cream colored. Hailing again the spirit of Horse, I laid out the drumhead inside up and began punching the holes for the lacing, working sunwise around the edge. I often hum or sing as I make sacred tools and long have done so. I find it puts me in a mildly altered state, more open and able to engage with the spirits in my tools and materials.
I held the drum rim between my hands, and hailed the spirit of Ash, considering as I did so how its circular form defines space and possibility. Centering it on the drumhead, I began the process of lacing from side to side across the back of the drum, moving around the circle again sunwise, considering how the taming of Horse transformed Human culture. Somewhere on the vast grassy steppes of Asia, some Ancestor chose to befriend Horse, viewing him as Partner rather than Food. Once I’d taken the bundle of soggy lacing all the way around, I said a prayer of gratitude for the opportunity to hear and understand the different perspectives of others and began to gather and wrap groups of laces. Ultimately, this process helps to draw the laces taut and yields a cross shaped handle suspended at the center back of the drum. With a song honoring the Old Ones, I wrapped the center with overlapping layers and tied the tail off.
At this point, I needed to smooth the bulk of the drumhead’s edge and worked it toward the back with my thumbs, molding and pushing the excess. I first used carpet tacks to anchor the excess hide to the rim, then continued to smooth and stretch the excess, clipping it in place with clothes pins until it dried sufficiently to hold its form. When stuck, the sleeping drum sounded like a cardboard box. Satisfied, I sang my gratitude and went to bed.
The next morning found the rawhide drumhead once again translucent and golden-brown and the laces and handle stiffer. “Boom!” the drum sang in a soft low voice. “I am waking up.”
None of us begin as who we will ultimately be, stretched thin and tried by life. We are shaped by events that pierce us, that stretch us to our limits, that define who we are and help us to find our voice. I removed the clothes pins and pulled out the tacks – the edge of the drumhead was crisp and dry, fitted snugly against the rim. Horses eat grass and grain and thrive in sunlight. I placed the drum in a pool of autumn sunshine pouring through the skylight onto my kitchen island. “Keep waking up, Little Horse,” I told it and smiled.
By the third morning, the horse drum rang out in a resonant, golden baritone. I smiled. “Welcome, Horse. You’ve found your voice.” A drum was born.
