d a n g e r o u s ~

feeling dangerous. quite invigorating, really. at a certain point, the general insanity of it all edges past painful... and transforms into ludicrous. its then, perhaps, one can shockingly glimpse the tiny little boxes we allow ourselves to inhabit, and reach for something far more vital.

i think about this regarding 'spirituality' a lot. i wonder how sanitised our western notions of spirituality have become; and how much life has been crushed out of them by centuries of religious oppression. i sincerely hope the gods are far more interesting than our silly human pea brains can even fathom; and they chortle in glee when we do something truly outrageous. 'oh! there's a live one!' they all laugh in delight. fantastic.

'hurrah!' they cheer in the OtherWorld, 'somebody broke through! somebody got really crazy there! High 5!' and they all nod & guzzle some rainbow Kool Aid or pass around the amanitas.

i worry about this.

it would be more fun, clearly, to simply DO more outrageous things, than worry about the issue... but i'm getting there.

spirituality, to me, is so deeply personal & experiential. and the diatribes by which people chose to rule their lives seem so arbitrary. what is hailed at the ultimate in spiritual devotion in one school... is heresy in another. so, ultimately, you lean into your own core, and search for answers that actually feel right ~ head, heart, gut, body ~ from there.

there's nothing wrong with the missionary position. can be quite wonderful. in a kind of limited horizontal way, depending on the depth of feeling between two people & the mood. but its only one position. and if vanilla is one school; and rough sex is another; and kinky kink or BDSM another yet... what about spirituality? has its equivalents, no doubt.

so it is
i find myself wondering
how much of our own incredible wildness we miss
as we search to fit ourselves into tiny little neat boxes ~
squeeeeeezing into the rigid pews of the little white Presbyterian church in the Nantucket of the mind ~
when ALL THIS OTHER SPIRIT WANTS TO BE LIVED & EXPRESSED TOO.


reading a book on Celtic shamanism last night, which grooved up until a point, and then got sadly proscriptive. apparently, in order to begin, i needed a 'shaman's blanket' ~ the first & most important tool of the shaman's kit. i don't have one. nor do i have a drum; bells; whistles; or face paint. the author had the OtherWorld neatly divided in ranks of Upper, Middle, and Lower, which smacked suspiciously of western hierarchichal thinking. and though i've never identified my elevator floor when i've travelled on my own shamanic journeys... i've journeyed all the same. felt the experience wholly. & seen the results of the journey afterwards.


iconoclastic, through & through.


yet still, it amazes me how i catch myself ~ again ~ tearing down the boxes, ripping aside false curtains, sweeping my arm wildly across the table, equipment crashing to the floor, clearing space.

and in the space, finding the only home worth having.