Hi, I’m Eleanor Shannon. I’m in southern Tuscany at the foot of the Monte Amiata, the extinct volcano that the ancient Etruscans believed to be home of their gods. I’m beside a river in an extraordinarily fertile valley probably held sacred by the Etruscans because it runs between two hill top villages both named for Jove. To the west is Montegiove—the mountain of Jove. And to the east is Seggiano—Seggio di Giove—throne or seat of Jove. Here, peach, pear, plum, cherry, fig, and pomegranate trees grow in abundance alongside olive groves, vineyards, and kitchen gardens full of tomatoes, greens, vegetables, and herbs.
Twenty-five hundred years ago, in this verdant valley, the Etruscans carved winemaking basins out of themassive boulders that the volcano had spewed forth when it last erupted 250 million years ago. I first came her about ten years ago with a local winegrower and her friends, to harvest the last of her grapes and press them in this basin. We sat with our bare feet in the basin, laughing, singing, and pulling grapes from their stems until our hands were stained red with the juice of Sangiovese grapes—Sangiovese—sangue di Giove—blood of Jove. When we had nearly filled the basin with grapes, we instinctively got up and began a kind of primal dance as we stepped on the grapes.
The sensation of the grapes bursting open on my bare skin; the surface of the rough, volcanic stone beneath, the sound of the river rushing alongside; the rustling of old, oak branches above; and the sight of blood, red juice pouring from a stone carved millennia ago…It was a “come to your senses” eureka moment for me when pure, sensual pleasure firmly held in the present. Where I stopped. There was nothing to do but be, listen, feel, breathe, and enjoy…
This was one episode in a long, fifteen-year-long journey here in Italy to come home to myself. Gradually, I learned to live less in the abstract regions of my bossy brain and drop more into the intuitive wisdom of my body. I finally had the courage to listen to gnawing back pain that had been trying to get my attention for more than ten years…and to the fear, sadness, anger, and shame that lay beneath. The tension in my body turned out to be a treasure. It showed me on the path to healing old wounds from the past that were obscuring and distorting my view of the present.
So years after learning the French language at Dartmouth with Prof. John Rassias, and Italian in his summer ALPs program, I learned the language of my body—the vocabulary of sensation—of pain and pleasure. I came to my senses through various ancient embodiment practices—yoga, yoga Nidra, meditation, tantra, dance—all paths to awareness that helped me slow down and connect to the anchor of my breath.
And, then, I trained in Gabor Maté’s Compassionate Inquiry, a psychosomatic approach to healing trauma through the body by awakening the power of the True Self—in effect, the innate wisdom that all of us have at the core of our being—that part of us that is forever whole and can never be damaged or wounded.
This journey has taught and continues to teach me so much…
- To trust not only in my mind, but in my body, heart, and spirit
- To create space to feel within myself all that wants to be felt, especially that which is most uncomfortable and painful
- To surrender more and more to the mysteries of Life
- And, even in times of difficulty and trouble, to connect to the joy, ease, and creativity that is my birthright, all of our birthrights.
I’m deeply grateful to the teachers, colleagues, and communities that have held space for me to grow, learn and evolve in this two decades—or more—long journey. And, my journey will certainly continue, but I’m also embarking on a project to share my story and hold space for others, especially women or those who identify as such, as they make their own journeys home to themselves—into the full freedom, vitality, and authenticity, and tenderness of their own innate knowing.
In closing, I want to note that the Romans wrote disdainfully about the Etruscans, claiming they were too much of a pleasure-loving people. People in glass houses… But maybe the real rub for the Romans was the way the Etruscans honored women. Unlike the patriarchal Roman system, the Etruscans seemed to have passed property and family names through the matriarchal line. And wives, not concubines as in Rome, were invited to attend festivals, feasts, and rituals. And, wives were also enshrined in joint tombs with their husbands, and atop these tombs, statues depicting the couple reclining in loving embrace.
So even though the Romans tried by war, genocide, forced integration, and propaganda, to erase all traces of Etruscan society and language, elements survived. And here, their ancient wisdom feels particularly potent to me in this place where they must have gathered to celebrate the abundance of Life at the time of the harvest and to make wine—which for them was an elixir so magical that it must have come from the gods. And that’s still reflected in our modern language—di vino “of wine”—di vino….Divino … divine.
It has been my pleasure and delight to share this place and these stories with you. Sharing stories is an ancient practice—a way to teach, learn, inspire, and create community around listening, deep acceptance, and compassion. Thank you so much for listening to my story. And, please be in touch. I want to hear your stories, Hey, it’s time to come to your senses! Ciao ed a presto!
