What They Said. (About Flying, Risk & Beginnings.)

Flight. It's time.

"There is an art, it says, or rather, a knack to flying. The knack lies in learning how to throw yourself at the ground and miss." 

~ Douglas Adams

"But it is a thousand times better to make every kind of mistake than to slide into the habit of hesitation, of uncertainty, of indecision." 

~ Aleister Crowley

Stop the words now.
Open the window
in the center of your chest,
and let the spirits fly
in and out! 

~ Jalāl al-Dīn Rūmī 

The cumulative effect of 10 minutes of even mediocre effort each day is greater than all the epic imaginations of perfection & awesomeness which never leave the machinations of the creative mind. Forty five years into the deal I am seeing how that actually works. 

When I look at it from a mystical standpoint -- that is, if things are more deeply interlaced than they might superficially seem (a mindset to which I subscribe) -- I must recognize the disservice I am committing to the Muses, the Magick, the Work (let alone mySelf). Thoughtforms, beasts of creativity forever imprisoned... by me.

Art imprisoned... by me. What?!?

"Khallas!" she would say to me, or to anyone who spends their time bursting at the seams with ideas, dreams, visions & held back by an obsessive desire not to make any errors. 

Khallas!
Open the window.

"When I am an (not so) old woman I shall wear (a) purple (Faerie costume... in a public park)." Or, don't wait to surrender your ego.

“The key to truly relishing a moment is not to concern one’s Ego with how you may appear to the casual observer…” 

Skeptical Faerie, or something.

Especially if you are dressed like a Sugar Plum Fairy. 

One of my cherished like-mindeds had reminded me that I said that once. Today I would like to add a clarification. 

And don't wait until a new, more comfortable or convenient moment arrives. Do it now.

Dance seems to be my Great Teacher in this.

Dance. Don't Think. Especially about other folks -- human or otherwise -- who may be watching (or not, because it IS a bit narcissistic to assume folks are watching you all the time). 

"A chaotic mind in a body that has been forced into some extreme arrangement is pointless. So though I know I'm never going to be very physically adept at shaping my body into beautiful and graceful asana, I enjoy the mind-body work and seeing its benefits manifesting elsewhere in my life." --AB

When we are preoccupied with trying to be something impressive to the external eye, we are chaotic. When we are busy berating ourselves for our imperfections, obsessing over shortcomings that others may or may not perceive or doubting our likability we are chaotic. When we are fraught with shyness & self-conscious thoughts, we are chaotic. 

There is no doorway to ecstasy, no tapping the spirit world, no Tarab to be found in this ego-driven, self-limiting chaos of the mind. This is not the road to "seeing (your practice's) benefits manifesting elsewhere in (your) life." The key to growth, to freedom lies elsewhere.

I am a chaos-rider. I admit it. But I must emphasize: choose your chaos wisely & make sure you're the rider, not the horse. 

The maenads were expert chaos riders. Do you think that in their ecstasis, even for a single moment, they considered what other folks thought about how they looked?

Dance, my teacher. Maenad as well, perhaps.
A moment of Tarab courtesy Joana Saahirah Facebook page. 

The Trouble with Dreamwork (or, My Broken Magick… & Ego)

This post has been decidedly uncomfortable for me to write & has taken several weeks, but if you have ever wondered what happened to the "Spiritual Warfare" cleanup campaign…

Sometimes we get stuck.

Last Autumn I was participating in a series of pathworking meditations which had a profound impact on my ability to effectively use the dream incubation technique in my "Hatred Remediation" project. At the time, however, I did not realize this. When I look back on my posts in October & November of last year, I can see that I was on fire. Or something. 

When I migrated South, I found my dreamwork abilities waning, waning, waning... I thought at that time that this had something to do with the season -- it was winter after all & the mycelia, like many other life forms are at rest, in stasis, sleeping. So I gave myself a little bit of slack & figured I would pick it up again when the weather was more accommodating...

When I found the fungi popping up early Spring, high-desert-style, I thought this heralded a change on the horizon… no.

When I returned to Alaska & found fungi the very first time we hit he trails I thought, "Let the dreamwork begin!" … no.

Utterly broken Coprinus(?)

Somewhere around Summer Solstice I came to terms with my broken magick. Broken, broken, utterly. Intuitively, I reached into my bag of tricks & pulled out the sympathetic magic. I declared to Hubby, "This is how I am going to do it from now on. I can't do the dreamwork anymore. Besides, it's more creative & fun this way, right?" Right?

I went ahead & completed two more of my remediation projects using some original sympathetic techniques. I even received assistance from a few other people. But somewhere in the back of my mind I was mulling over & lamenting the loss of what I shall call my "subscription" to that "channel" that felt lost to me. I liken it to having rabbit ears on a television. You swivel that contraption round & round, antennae akimbo until you finally capture that special signal. Ah! Then you will do everything in your power to keep that position locked into place; duct tape, stacks of books, strategically placed houseplants. But inevitably, the cat decides a new perch is in order & poof! Bye bye special signal, auf wiedersehen sacred programming, ciao my precious channel.

I can't really blame it on the cats this time. The children, maybe.

I still have yet to write about those two workings -- now nearly three months completed -- despite the fact that they really were quite clever. This is probably because I have been feeling deflated. Or not on fire anymore. Just kind of soggy. (Which one might think would be good for a mycophile…) 

I have not bothered to pursue any further mushroomy-workings. 

Instead, I performed a 180 & appealed (much to my ego's chagrin) to the Wiccan High Priest who had been sharing his late High Priestess's meditations with the community. The short story is that I have now attended a group class, some private meetings & a circle thus far. I also have a daily 'anointing ritual' which is specifically intended to liberate my intuition. It is all somewhat humbling & awkward & the decision has surprised more than a few people who know me. It is also remarkably comfortable. Like putting on an old pair of jeans. I know that system -- I have lived it. Even if I cannot abide by the label any longer, Wicca is as familiar as my native tongue. It only makes sense to return to it, even feral & changed as I am, to recalibrate my antenna, to remember how to listen.

Miniature poppy in the greenhouse.

I also decided to appeal to Morpheus. I generally keep my relationship with deity very private -- I believe such relationships should not be discussed casually, publicly, idly. My reason for mentioning this here is because the results have been important to my dreamwork recovery. I had to initiate this connection from scratch because there is no information regarding how Morpheus was formally worshipped (though of course the assumption is that he was because of the presence of dream temples). So, I determined that I would just begin with visions of Him -- the way I would incubate a dream, at night just before falling asleep, entreating his help, offering to return His favour with favour, etc... 

Poppies on the porch.

I have some things I must do now involving shrines & poppy gardening & while my rational self balks, I cannot deny that I have begun to remember my dreams again.

So I continue to lick my wounded self-image & nurture the flame that resides within. I don't like asking for help, but sometimes, it becomes an imperative. We'll fix it together. The whole motley lot of us; my gaggle of fungi, a very generous High Priest, beloved Morpheus & me. Now that's the stuff of dreams. Or something.

  

Getting un-stuck: Gathering poppy pods throughout Alaska.