In the aftermath of all that was lost in 2018 there is grief, but there is also so much space. Buzzing with potential. We vacillate between the void and the possibility and learn that they are one and the same. Many are feeling lost and let down. Alone and small in the face of so much injustice. It’s difficult to come up with a viable game-plan to overcome the opposing forces. It’s difficult not to succumb to a feeling of helplessness. I am wondering how true that feeling of helplessness is, and what might be necessary to override it.
Something important is happening. It is gross. It is unpleasant. But it is important. We are being given a great opportunity. The lancing of a planetary boil. The purging of a planetary poison. In the moment leading up to the expulsion, in the dry heave on the cold bathroom tiles, the night sweat before the fever breaks, it seems excruciatingly endless. Too sick to stay awake, too sick to sleep, writhing, gut churning pain. It’s like Earth ate poori aloo on a Delhi side street and now has to wait for the dysentery to work its way through the bowels.
Life is God, life is Guru, life is mother. Life does not abandon, does not relent, does not accept your resignation. I don’t know about God, or Guru or mother, but I know about life, because there is nowhere she isn’t. She bangs on my chest to be let out, breathes me, occupies me, accompanies me, ever present. There is but one presence here – hers. She lives you and she lives me, equally and radically differently.
Mars just went retrograde.
Retrograde. Just the word makes us nervous. Back up your files. Enunciate. Don’t use abbreviations. Make sure there is no possible way to be misunderstood. Oh, wait. That’s Mercury. Different dude.
Mars, tho. Mars is that primal Masculine. That impolite MoFo who’s all grunts and shoves and going places. Feel what you like about his couth, or lack thereof, you still get out of his way. You still, despite your opinions about his means and ways, are quite happy about his ability to get places.
Your moment of Zen.
Leave No Traces
I hate the idea of writing things for you to do. It repels me. Hairs stand on end. Yet, here I am. I don’t pretend that humans are one size fits all. I don’t think that anything can serve everyone, and I often find myself rolling my eyes a bit when someone starts to shriek from the rooftops about how they have found THE way – the right way of eating, the right kind of exercise, the right spiritual path, the right thing to believe in. I do believe that there are certain lines of inquiry that can serve many people well. The answers that will arise will be varied, but they will be equally valid. This is one such line. The inquiry of what kind of traces are holding me to the past?
The Power of Working in a Group
I attended ‘workshops’ aplenty throughout my late 20’s and early 30’s, things focused on being bendy in yoga, things focused on becoming a Reiki practitioner, things focused on dissecting a certain spiritual text or methodology, but group only became a transformational force in my life later on. The early stages of my curiosity in spirituality always revolved around acquisition. I wanted to be more of something. More bendy, more well-versed, more possessed of magical healing powers.
One of the most insidious usurpers of both consciousness and destiny is the victim. The victim is a main component of the seemingly intangible shadow, and it lives in all of us; it talks with our mouths and walks on our legs. On the surface it does a fair job of getting us what we want and of keeping us protected, fed, and on top. In truth it is a destroyer of intimacy, de-railer of dreams and a general fuckwad.