In the Whisperers’ Land
When I close my eyes, I can still smell the smoke of burning bees wax. I can still hear the soft crackle of fire as it ate away at what was no longer needed, bringing on change. I can still feel the weight of the egg in my palm, cool and fragile, as I learned how to draw out heaviness from the body, rolling it gently over skin with a prayer. These are not things I read about in a book, or heard in a podcast anymore—I finally lived them, in the quiet, fertile lands of Podlasie, under the guidance of szeptucha Ela Kuc.
Podlasie has its own rhythm. It’s a little sleepy, a little mysterious. The mornings arrive with mist curling over fields, the sound of birds and frogs echoing just outside the window. The air smells of damp earth, woodsmoke, and wildflowers. The villages here carry an intimacy with time—wooden houses leaning a little from age, gardens where hollyhocks and chamomile tangle in a kind of holy chaos. This place is alive in a way that awakens every sense. A rare find in Europe.
It’s no wonder that the szeptuchy—the whisperers—emerged and survived here. Their wisdom grew from this soil, from listening to the rustle of birch leaves, from watching the skies, from paying attention to people the way one pays attention to the weather. They lived close to the edge of the village, but always close to the center of life itself.
With Ela, I learned not just rituals, but a way of seeing. She taught me how to cleanse with fire — sending burning linen up and gone with what no longer belongs. How to pour wax into water, watching the shapes form, listening to what they wanted to tell me. How to swipe with eggs, how to burn herbs and wax cones, how to pray with whispers that carry beyond words.
These practices were tactile, sensual, grounded. They connected me to the earth beneath my feet, the smell of smoke in my hair, the rhythm of my own breath. They were not abstract ideas—they were felt in my body, resonating deep into my bones.
For Ela, the Zaświat (Beyondworld) is always present, and is found in everything. For me, it is the same truth that Reiki has always pointed to: that universal energy, the One, the Light of life that holds everything. It is not somewhere far away. It is in the warmth of sunlight on my skin, in the hush between words, in the softness of moss underfoot.
When I practiced with Ela, I didn’t feel a separation between the old Slavic ways hidden in Christianity and Reiki or Shamanism. I felt a bridge. Different languages pointing to the same truth: that life itself is sacred, that energy flows through all beings, that healing is not fixing but remembering. That everything has it’s own place.
Beyond the rituals, there was community. We met local artists and people who devote their lives to preserving folk traditions—weaving, carving, singing old songs so they do not disappear. There was so much tenderness in these encounters. The sound of voices rising in harmony, the touch of handmade cloth, the sight of patterns stitched with care and pride. These were also whispers—reminders of where we come from, of how culture and spirit live in everyday things.
I came to Podlasie as a seeker, and I left carrying more than I expected. The teachings of Ela Kuc now live in my hands, in my breath, in the way I listen. They enrich my practice, not by changing it, but by reminding me that it has always been about this: presence, simplicity, compassion.
Sometimes healing comes through fire and smoke. Sometimes through an ancient ritual or a prayer whispered so softly you barely hear it. And sometimes it comes through silence, through being fully there, rooted like an old tree, open like the sky.
In Podlasie, I remembered. I remembered my roots, my ancestors, the land that shaped them. I remembered how beautiful it feels to listen. I remembered that the Zaświat, the One, Reiki—whatever name we give it—is not outside us, but within and around us, always.
