A little boy was crying. He was frustrated and alone. "Why don't you see me?" "What's wrong with me?", he used to say.

It's a story of abandonment. It's a story of one boy who grew up feeling so alienated. Split from his mother, split from his father, split from his friends, and split from himself. I was that boy.

It's a story of music: A journey into my emotions and into my wild body. Singing through storms and up mountains. Coming home again to my voice, to my people, and to my place on Earth.

My parents are my greatest teachers-- Both in their strengths and in their weaknesses. They saw my wide toddler eyes when they took me to see a flamenco dance. When I was five, they enrolled me in piano lessons. I really took to playing spontaneously on the piano. I would start with Mozart and end with my own improvisation. I studied for 12 years. But as I grew older, my feelings shut down, and I let my practice slide.

Coming out of adolescence, I was so numb. I chose to study engineering at a well known university. I did well. It was dry. And my numbness grew. But music has always been my ally. I rented a soundproof hall, and would go there late at night to play. One night, I lit candles and allowed myself to enter the pain. I didn't think of how "good" I sounded, or whether this song would make my album. I simply let my feelings speak. All this powerful angst, all this dammed up emotion, began to emerge. It was a journey to the underworld. I sung and played and wailed on my keyboards, and dove deep into something primal. Something happened there, something changed.

One night soon after, I was returning home from working on a differential equations assignment. It was 3 a.m, and it had been a long and frustrating night. A river ran between my house and the school. As I was crossing the river bridge, I stopped. Some surge of emotions came to me. I chose to honor them. My arm flew up, and my calculus books went flying into the river. I left engineering school, and began a new journey.

Two years later, I found myself trekking through the Himalayas. I had been walking for a week, climbing higher and higher into the mountains. Jungles gave way to arid highlands. The land was peppered with small villages, but mostly, I was alone. Music came to me again. Hard breathing became song. Giant peaks sung to me. I sang with them. Something changed.

I returned after 30 days in those mountains. I was back in the West, but it felt strange. I found a small community in North Carolina. Spring came, and seedlings rose up. In a dream, my Teacher came to me. We were singing and dancing on the Earth. He was spinning, and then our eyes met, and everything became motionless, still. I awoke to the eerie image of my teacher's gaze. I can still see it.

I carried my dream to a Beltane gathering in Tennessee. A palm reader named Pinky blew my mind. He said that I am a teacher. Much of my childhood pain is the shadow of my gift. Then the name Mercury came to me. It was 2001.

Each time I've been wanting to grow, a time has come for me to use music to make a change. By engaging with a deep feeling place, often intuitively, I've used music to ignite the spark for change. I am truly blessed to be able to walk this path, to listen for the music, and to inspire others to reconnect.

I made a practice of singing in Nature. I've sung on cliff tops and in deep valleys, by rivers, in forests, and on open plains. When I allow myself to sing what I feel, I find a renewed sense of connection with the natural world. Nature speaks to me in the songs I hear out there. This deeply informs my life.

I started inviting friends to sing with me. I learnt some tools for facilitating circles from great teachers. I want to take a moment to honor Rhiannon for her crazy, wise passion, her insight into improvisation, and her commitment to community. I'd also like to honor David Walden for helping me deepen into my voice, and for his wisdom and guidance on the piano.

I've been to India twice, and studied with some fantastic teachers there. Dharmavirsingh in Pune taught me therapeutic yoga for the spine. Then, at Bihar Yoga Bharati, I learned a broad range of yogic techniques, philosophy, and science. Their method is so gentle and powerful, and deeply spiritual. While there, I had the privilege of attending the Sat Chandi Maha Yajna. It's an ancient Tantric ritual, where the Mother Goddess is invoked. Thousands of villagers are gifted with life-giving grains and farming tools. I witnessed the power of group chanting, and such generosity of spirit.

Ancient life-affirming rituals have a lot in common. At the Shoshone Two-Spirit Naraya, we sung and danced around the Tree of Life. Our visions, in the form of arrows, hung collectively from the tree. The same generative power I experienced in India was present here also. I believe these rituals can be re-created in the context of the modern world. This is not to say we will all become yogis or follow Native American teachings-- but that within each of us lies the intuition to connect with life. We don't need to believe in any tradition or dogma. We need only explore and experience. That's what I teach! The rest... is a mystery.

When I moved to the Cowichan Valley, I met an amazing group of men. I was initiated into the Mankind Project. These guys challenged me to reclaim what is Wild within me, and to live my deepest Truth with integrity. I now know that my vision is meant to be shared. I cannot do this alone. I am deeply grateful to the men of the Mankind Project for supporting me to live the life that burns within me. Thank You!

Seven years after I first felt it, Resonant Earth People is born. This is my lifelong mission to change myself and to change the world, by bringing people into connection through music. You are Resonant Earth People. You who howl when the moon is full. You who sing joyfully on the mountain and raise prayer flags at dawn. You who grieve death with a sad song. You who sit silent among glaciers to hear them shuffle. You who come naked with your voice and ask to be joined. I serve you.

May time stand still for us. May we be rapt in awe of the beautiful places we walk. May we sing and dance until we disappear, and only Music remains.

-Jan "Mercury" Pekau Spring, 2008 ... to be continued! ...