When I meet Shamaya Hepburn, weaver of dreadlocks and ancestral stories, she is holding a raptor's tail feather in her hand. I have parked my car above the Wookey Hole caves and am looking for her house when she appears around a corner, a compelling figure: tall and dreadlocked, robed in earthy silks.
We enter the house she shares with her partner Time (pron. Tim) and I suggest we sit and talk over a cup of tea but she has other, more interesting plans. In her soft Scottish lilt she persuades me to walk with her and Time to a hidden cave not far from where they live. While I wait for them to find coats and boots I look around the room and spot a human skull, three animal horns, a working sword, hunting ax and a book on witchcraft.
With the Roots & Branches photographer, we walk up a grassy valley, through a thicket, and negotiate a couple of droopy barbed wire fences to find ourselves on a narrow path with a long drop to a gorge below. Shamaya leads the way.
‘We come to the cave to commune with the ancestors,’ she tells me over her shoulder.
The path leads to a ledge that opens onto a breathtaking cave which goes deep into the limestone cliff. A hundred feet below I can see brightly coloured tourists being shepherded into Wookey Hole.
I have never been to Wookey Hole, but have been suspicious of it from a distance for some years. The garish sign on the A303 advertising the place from what must be forty miles away, the huge expanse of tarmac car park in the village itself, and the auditions they held last year for a resident witch, all made the operation seem commercialized and ugly. I can see now, as i look down onto the attraction, that Gerry Cottle, who used to own a circus, has, with the collusion of the planners, pretty well desecrated what was once surely a sacred and beautiful place.
Up here it is different: Shamaya sanctifies the secret spot that she and Time now look after. I watch her burn incense, I’m not sure what, maybe Paula Santo, incant some prayers and pass around a flask of mead and whisky before she puts a match to some kindling on a pile of ash where she and Tim have burnt fires over the years.
We enter the house she shares with her partner Time (pron. Tim) and I suggest we sit and talk over a cup of tea but she has other, more interesting plans. In her soft Scottish lilt she persuades me to walk with her and Time to a hidden cave not far from where they live. While I wait for them to find coats and boots I look around the room and spot a human skull, three animal horns, a working sword, hunting ax and a book on witchcraft.
With the Roots & Branches photographer, we walk up a grassy valley, through a thicket, and negotiate a couple of droopy barbed wire fences to find ourselves on a narrow path with a long drop to a gorge below. Shamaya leads the way.
‘We come to the cave to commune with the ancestors,’ she tells me over her shoulder.
The path leads to a ledge that opens onto a breathtaking cave which goes deep into the limestone cliff. A hundred feet below I can see brightly coloured tourists being shepherded into Wookey Hole.
I have never been to Wookey Hole, but have been suspicious of it from a distance for some years. The garish sign on the A303 advertising the place from what must be forty miles away, the huge expanse of tarmac car park in the village itself, and the auditions they held last year for a resident witch, all made the operation seem commercialized and ugly. I can see now, as i look down onto the attraction, that Gerry Cottle, who used to own a circus, has, with the collusion of the planners, pretty well desecrated what was once surely a sacred and beautiful place.
Up here it is different: Shamaya sanctifies the secret spot that she and Time now look after. I watch her burn incense, I’m not sure what, maybe Paula Santo, incant some prayers and pass around a flask of mead and whisky before she puts a match to some kindling on a pile of ash where she and Tim have burnt fires over the years.
She tells me that the hills above the cave abound with ancient burial mounds. ‘They positioned burial mounds near water,’ she tells me. ‘And Wookey Hole is the biggest natural spring in Britain. They used to float their dead on the main pool. Though you won’t hear that down there on the tourist trail,’ she smiles. ‘When I eat the mushrooms which grow near the mounds, I am ingesting the energy of the dead,’ she says. ‘It intensifies the whole experience. And it gives the dead the opportunity to pass their teachings on through me.’
She leads me deeper into the cave, pointing out features she and Time have discovered in its ancient rooms. In the cool dank air of the interior I take a deep breath, celebrating that in this era of cheap spangle and glamour, of consumerism and tourism, high above Gerry Cottle’s commercial hell, Shamaya is dignifying the ancient place with some genuine understanding. Of real stuff. Not stuff like T-shirts and ice creams. Stuff about the dead, and their teachings.
We walk back down the valley to their home an hour later, refreshed and revitalized. Over a cup of Earl Grey, I asked Shamaya to tell me about her past.
She was born in Dundonald in Dumfriess and Galloway, trained to be a graphic designer and hairdresser, and then left hairdressing do something with her art.
‘I ended up doing a graphic design course which led to a job in a new age centre. It was in Bournemouth, 25 years ago. Finally I had met people who didn’t think I was crazy.’
This pocket of sanity was a crystal shop and healing rooms.
‘It was my first spiritual awakening. I’d come from a little village called Dundonald, miles in the country and grew up with my dad working class Irish poor. He used to get animals to feed the family. Maybe that’s why my version of spirituality is so earth based. I believe in shamanic, earth based magic. Well,’ she adds with a laugh, ‘there is so much new age bullshit. If you look at nature and ancestors there is so much knowledge to be carried on. There are ancient teachings that shouldn’t be lost.’
After Enigma – the place in Bournemouth – came the Rainbow scene.
‘I travelled and lived in teepees for the 90s all round Europe. We did street performances of dance, were busking for our next meal. Very free. I did three countries with £2.50. The Czech republic blew my mind. It was a community of people that could live on the land without any money. Old people died and babies were born in teepess. I felt very blessed to see all spiritualties and all colours coming together.’
She leads me deeper into the cave, pointing out features she and Time have discovered in its ancient rooms. In the cool dank air of the interior I take a deep breath, celebrating that in this era of cheap spangle and glamour, of consumerism and tourism, high above Gerry Cottle’s commercial hell, Shamaya is dignifying the ancient place with some genuine understanding. Of real stuff. Not stuff like T-shirts and ice creams. Stuff about the dead, and their teachings.
We walk back down the valley to their home an hour later, refreshed and revitalized. Over a cup of Earl Grey, I asked Shamaya to tell me about her past.
She was born in Dundonald in Dumfriess and Galloway, trained to be a graphic designer and hairdresser, and then left hairdressing do something with her art.
‘I ended up doing a graphic design course which led to a job in a new age centre. It was in Bournemouth, 25 years ago. Finally I had met people who didn’t think I was crazy.’
This pocket of sanity was a crystal shop and healing rooms.
‘It was my first spiritual awakening. I’d come from a little village called Dundonald, miles in the country and grew up with my dad working class Irish poor. He used to get animals to feed the family. Maybe that’s why my version of spirituality is so earth based. I believe in shamanic, earth based magic. Well,’ she adds with a laugh, ‘there is so much new age bullshit. If you look at nature and ancestors there is so much knowledge to be carried on. There are ancient teachings that shouldn’t be lost.’
After Enigma – the place in Bournemouth – came the Rainbow scene.
‘I travelled and lived in teepees for the 90s all round Europe. We did street performances of dance, were busking for our next meal. Very free. I did three countries with £2.50. The Czech republic blew my mind. It was a community of people that could live on the land without any money. Old people died and babies were born in teepess. I felt very blessed to see all spiritualties and all colours coming together.’
'We did street performances of dance, were busking for our next meal. Very free. I did three countries with £2.50. '
I ask if she’d recommend The Rainbow scene to young people now.
‘Definitely yes,’ she replied. ‘There are many different offshoots but the International Rainbow is the best. We had to use the talking stick. It taught me patience and taught me to listen. I actually invited everyone to Scotland for the main summer gathering. Just down the road from where I had grown up….’ She laughs at the memory. ‘I liked the giveaway ceremonies. The one who gave away the most was the most respected. It was blissful naked living in teepees.’
She gave up travelling and settled in the Mendips, becoming by her own admission a bit of a hermit. ‘I find the Mendip Hills very healing. They bring the magic to my work. In a way it’s more challenging to live on grid.’
‘Definitely yes,’ she replied. ‘There are many different offshoots but the International Rainbow is the best. We had to use the talking stick. It taught me patience and taught me to listen. I actually invited everyone to Scotland for the main summer gathering. Just down the road from where I had grown up….’ She laughs at the memory. ‘I liked the giveaway ceremonies. The one who gave away the most was the most respected. It was blissful naked living in teepees.’
She gave up travelling and settled in the Mendips, becoming by her own admission a bit of a hermit. ‘I find the Mendip Hills very healing. They bring the magic to my work. In a way it’s more challenging to live on grid.’
A few years later she took a job at Haruka in Glastonbury, where she very much influenced its direction and vibe.
‘I walked past the shop when it first opened and saw Isamu,’ (Amanda’s then partner), 'the shop was being set up and I caught a glimpse inside and he pointed to Amanda and I said about time someone did it! This town could do with a bit of style.’
After three years at Haruka she left to set up her own business.
‘It’s a shamanic hairdressers. My clients don’t do regular hairdressers, they don’t want to sit in a salon... I try to pass on a little faery magic to them. Transform them. My constant prayer is for the goddess’s grace to guide my hand so their outside matches their inside. I work a lot with dreads – they are your antennae to the gods or you roots that ground you in the earth. I would like my own place to work from soon. A shaman’s cave is needed in town. That’s what I dream of.’
I feel certain that Shamaya will find her shamanic cave to work her magic in. As I bid her goodbye I see she is again holding the raptor feather in her hand. When I ask her about it she says, ‘we wear our long tail feathers as we fly.’
As I drive out of Wookey, past the parked coaches with their bored fat drivers hanging around for their tourists, I thank god, or should that be goddess, that against the Gerry-Cottelisation of our world, there are women like Shamaya, standing tall.
To contact Shamaya for a consultation, call her on +44 7868749059
Photography: Dimitris Koutroumpas +44 7716107077
Writing: Guy Kennaway