Wednesday, August 5, 2009


Walking down the darkened paths of my neighborhood last night, I came upon a place where earth met sky, and wind met water. As I stood there at the crossroads of my everyday life, and the mystical blend of all things REAL, the moon materialized from behind a thick bank of whirling purple and grey clouds. It hung, massive and orange and round, reflected in the summer-dark water of the lake. The silence of the world was complete, and nearly raucous in it's intensity. Not a bird cawed, not a leaf moved. I threw my arms up in wonder, and gave praise to the Moon spirit, shining grace down upon me as I stumbled through the dark.

This is what it is to be a shaman, and to walk a lonely road between awareness, and madness. There is the practice of Craft, and there is the Mysteries made manifest. This was the latter. Satori never happens when you're trying. This is the place where man meets spirit. I have walked, and stumbled, along my path for thirteen years now. Only a handful of times have I been blessed with absolute clarity. And every time it's completely bloody worth it! This is the point of it all... We learn to walk between the worlds, and take congress with the spirits; wander the twisted lands where nothing is as it seems, especially yourself; summon beings impossibly old, and bend them to a will of iron. All of it, all of it as nothing before this.

We must learn to loose ourselves in awareness. To be so deeply in the moment, in our own skins, that even time gets the fuck out of the way. Things happen just for your own convenience, when you do this work. You learn to live on the right side of your eyelids, and then to see, or See. When you ARE the spirits, you've fucking got it!

It's Grainspell in a couple of days, the first Harvest. Things happen, in the tween times. The world gets out of it's own way to reveal itself. To revel in itself. It's harvest time, and we are revealed in the revealing, and reveling in the revels. Time to let our hair down and be wild.


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