Feel the Pain

The best quote I heard last week, “this Vodou stuff isn’t for pussies.” Thanks Mambo, I needed that. My solace, the song that’s gotten me through this period is Dinosaur Jr’s Feel The Pain. (Best video ever.)

Dinosaur Jr.–Feel the Pain

On New Year’s Eve I had dinner with friends, and then we went to Heart of the Beast for an amazing New Year’s celebration. Everyone was having a great time, but something in me was off – amiss. I just couldn’t get into the festive mood. A feeling was there, something was going to happen and it wasn’t going to be good. A few days later the trouble began.

I haven’t been writing; there’s a reason. Crisis upon crisis has landed upon our home. At least we’ve been fortunate they happened serially and not simultaneously. I’m not going to go into the details of what has happened or when. It’s just kept me from writing or feeling like writing.

A few weeks ago, we lost a horse to colic. Styx has been a part of our family as long as we’ve lived in the country. She’s the reason we moved out. I have a hard time remembering my life before her. I’ve spent the last two years doing most of my training upon her back. She will be missed until my dying days.

I’ve written a bit about our horses, but it’s hard to explain what they become. There is a strong spiritual connection between horse and rider. Horses are herd animals. They have a sense that ranges far beyond them. It’s the field of energy you feel when someone hovers their hand over you without touching. You’re aware that it’s there. With horses that field extends a great distance. It’s their danger detection warning. If they spook, you feel it like a shock just standing nearby.

When you ride you’re in it, a part of it. When your riding gets good the communication is part of that subtle field. When I say you become close, what I’m really saying is you become intimate. If you don’t, you senses are pretty closed off.

Losing Styx is like losing a part of yourself. It hurts. You don’t get used to the loss. She’s been Saum’s close companion for years.

Writing is in my blood. I type faster than I write. I compose with thoughts to hands to keyboard. I miss it. Readers, you have my apology for not keeping up with the writing. I’ll be back soon. With plenty of surprises and many pent up ideas waiting to hit the page.

This year started with a feeling. I knew it would be difficult; it’s turning out to be. This year is full of change. Change is hard, but it also can be very good. It’s difficult to get through, but I signed up for this. This Vodou stuff isn’t for pussies. I’m not going to act like one, but hang with Ogou. I’m marching through this getting stronger day by day.

Styx, rest in peace my friend.

A path that Really Isn’t

by Mauricio Quintana, 昆游龍, a.k.a. cintain

Today’s guest post is by Mauricio Quintana. Mauricio works as a practitioner of various alternative medicine techniques, but considers himself above all an explorer and student of life and the human condition. He goes by the name Cintain on various online and offline social networks, and likes to travel almost a bit too much. He can be found by following the trail of endless rant on twitter, baited with single-malt scotch or the smile of a pretty woman, and persuaded to sing with nary an enticement. His blog can be found at thewanderingdragon.net.

I. Amongst the Host of the Pretenders

Photo courtesy of Mauricio Quintana

The hardest part about doing the kind of work I do is keeping it real. There is literally a horde of people out there who claim to see energy, work with subtler aspects, and be in contact with a host of incorporeal entities. It is annoying. Moreover, it is pretentious. The thing that used to really drive me up the wall is the fact that, if you're into this sort of thing, there really isn't anything that you can say to refute them. After all, subtle perceptions are what they are, right? If you can't hear what the spirits are saying to me, surely you can't hear them at all, and then you're the poser, the liar, and the quack.

Effectiveness is another one of those "objective" measurements that become tenuous with these people. There are so many "levels", that maybe your healing has already happened and you're just too dumb to notice, too "out of touch" for it to work on you. I am continuously amazed at the followers of some of the more charismatic healers out there. It isn't so much that they're getting "better" as that they are becoming more capable of aligning themselves with the vision and speech of their leader.

Photo courtesy of Mauricio Quintana

The trappings of this work are so alluring, too. Sometimes it seems that the more feathers, bones, medallions, wristbands, and stridently-coloured dress on a person, the more powerful and effective their mojo. The styles vary with lineage, teacher, and tradition, but "badges" are more important with some of these clowns than with the military.

Full-contact Religion

We mill about the peristyle (our temple) waiting for the ceremony. Some of us catch up on the past week, or the past weeks, since we’ve last seen each other.

At no time in particular, the ceremony begins. Assons are rattled, the sound of bells fill the air. The drummers take up their sticks and pound out a rhythm. The singing begins. I struggle to find the song.

At this point the Lwa (the spirits) have not come. The songs are sung the best we can. The ceremony begins like so many have begun before. We reach out.

In me, I feel their absence. My song is not its best. It feels dry, but I carry on, responding to the call of the verses. People are slowly starting to move, but even my movements feel dry.

We move to the rhythms.

My Muse Has Left the Building

Meditation in the North Woods From the ebook Encounters In Nature © 2011 B.T. Newberg

Last week I sat down to write and was struck by a horrible feeling. I didn’t like where my writing was going. Nothing seemed to work. My wife and best friend Saumya suggested I go back and re-read some of my earlier pieces (for completely different reasons) – I did. I began to feel that was the cause of my funk. I like to blame things on her, but really the blockage was all me. After writing The River is In Me, I longed to write more like it reaching for my departed muse; all my attempts failed.

There are some old pieces that moved me. I revisited: Crisis of Faith, There Is No Hell and My Other Family. Nothing seemed to work. I listened to Encounters In Nature, mainly because my friend Mauricio shared his feelings on it. Did it hold some kind of mojo I could tap into?

Replay complete: I’ve decided it’s time to take stock of how my life has changed over the past year.

The River Is In Me

Standing on the banks of the Mississippi River on the New Orleans shoreline, I stick my hand into the water to greet her. She is the Mississippi, and I know her well. After all, she’s my lover.

The scent of her fills my nostrils. I take her into myself, filling my lungs. It’s not a fresh smell, but one of mildew, decay and memory. Her warm humid breath comforts me. She welcomes me to her, my oldest friend.

There is a picture my mother has of me, at the age of months, less than one year old. I’m reaching for the throttle of our family boat, the Mimi III, named after my aunt. It was third in a tradition of five spanning three generations of our family. Not even old enough to speak, she was a part of my life. I grew up on boats, on her water, on the shores of Dubuque, IA. My weekdays might hold school or summer play, but she consumed my weekends. I spent countless hours riding her, swimming in her, swallowing her and eventually skiing upon her. On countless weekend nights, she would gently rock me to sleep and gently crash upon the sides of my bed.

Second Class Citizen: Thank You

My last post Second Class Citizen was a plea to vote no on the Minnesota constitutional amendments being proposed: a limiting of the definition of marriage and Voter ID. I’d like to say “Thank You” that both measures were defeated in Minnesota.

I truly believe both proposed amendments would be a limit on individual freedoms that I hold dear. Last Tuesday made me proud to be a citizen of this great state and our great nation. Minnesota, you made me proud.

Second Class Citizen

Our freedom and liberty are at risk. During this election, the biggest threat to America is not coming from outside the US in the guise of foreign terrorists or an invading army; it comes from within America itself. In Minnesota two amendments are proposed to change my state’s constitution, but this threat is also on the ballot in many other states across the US this year.

Both threats are an attempt to get an electoral majority to limit the rights and freedoms of a smaller group of Americans. In our brief history as a nation, through countless struggles by courageous people our democracy has learned how to protect the rights of certain minorities. Those struggles have led me to believe that an experienced democracy learns how to protect and value minority rights; a less mature democracy threatens and controls the rights of minority groups.