Activecitizen54's Blog

New Day 6.02.13

Posted in Uncategorized by activecitizen54 on June 2, 2013

New Day 6.02.13

 

It’s a new day.  I’ve buried Ms Bea out in the garden next to Avery at the base of the Tori Gate on the south side.  Private Hell is an accurate description of today as I reflect on the sorrows & joys of life and the natural cycles.  I am now more alone than I have ever been in life for the past 30 years and well past melt-down.

It’s important to understand the reality to live in the now and the reality isn’t real pretty for me.  These absolute living jewels of the South Pacific Rain Forrest Canopy have been a very large part of my identity and have kept me grounded even when they have taken flight and toured the neighborhoods to come back home.  They always came back home and in this home I was helpless, absolutely powerless to prevent their deaths.  If the soul is immortal I will find a flock waiting for me on the other side.

As these experiences have unfolded in the most recent past there can be no doubt about my altered reality & altered perceptions founded within that. 

The paradigm shifted and it’s palpable. 

Gay & Gray is a place of great invisibility and this human is without the normal peer group because of an AIDS epidemic taking the lives of my peers early on in the 80s. 

This experience, normally reserved for humans in their 60s, 70s or 80s, awakened me in my early 30s to the very fragile nature of this thing called “life” we share in this matrix, this dream-state we mostly drift through totally unaware of how mythology dependent we, as a species, have become.  I’ve often marveled at this when listening to the Joseph Campbell lectures of “Transformations Of Myth Through Time.”  The very real human desire to understand this experience and desire to know what is beyond is the Heroic Journey.

This very individualized grasp of The Hero With A Thousand Faces (Campbell’s seminal work) defined for me the primitive foundations of the Berdache path, the shamanic and those that have capitalized upon it in the “organized” religions in whose name the human species has suffered horribly.

The shamanic path arises from the pure observations of the environment as in understanding the spirit of the animal being equal and as worthy as your own as life feeds upon life in hunter-gatherer culture.  As human culture progressed to the agricultural from hunter-gatherer the earth connection became even stronger.  Paganism is completely dependent upon this “natural order” of the seasons and the accompanying actions required. It is from the absolute death of winter that the magical and mysterious re-birth of spring leads to productive summer and fall’s harvests.  The birthing cycles of herd animals anchor this cycle in the day-to-day reality and man’s observations led to superstitions and holiday celebrations led by the Shaman.

Am I, on this shamanic path, able to face the heroic journey?

Today that is a foundational question that drives me to the brink of insanity on a regular basis. How does a modern man encompass the animist, the pagan and whatever else has arisen since this culture has employed superstition and ritual to replace the true lessons of the joy of this moment now?

I am saddened and grieve for the loss of my Imp, Avery and the Bea, my muse, perhaps more so than any other creatures who’ve ever entered my life.  As much as they impressed upon me I too became impressed upon them and I find myself today listening to painful silence instead of the regular chatter of happy eclectus parrots.  Although I cursed the day Bea learned my name I miss hearing her call me. I miss them bounding off the cage onto me to tour the kitchen or the beach out back.  I miss their presence and personalities most of all.

Bea bird got me through being the disposable person that Mikey the Beer Sponge and the Beer Sponge Family in their incessant Catholic guilt provided.  You left me just when I needed you most isn’t the best truism about that.  The reality is that Mikey The Beer Sponge was never there.  He lived to sabotage and destroy with only his addiction ever in his minds or acts.  I am guilty as well of tolerating this.  Lessons learned and moved past without second though.

I can and do.

Avery came into life with Mark & Casey and the creature adopted me, of that there was no doubt.  I have no regrets for ever having these wonderful living jewels in life with me and know I did my best to insure their lives were full and rewarding. 

The grief triggers the response from the deaths of Butch and the troop of loving characters, Earl, Beula, Mike, Nancy and all those hundreds of others for whom I have mourned.  The endorphin cascade begins and the consciousness grabs hold and hauls it back from the downward spiral.

I am, thankfully, appropriately medicated at the moment. The citalopram (this time 20mg) is back and the peaks and valleys are reduced to minor variation from the baseline.  For me, now, this is a very good thing.  As a disposable human I am acutely sensitive, like a raw nerve ending, to any outside stimulus and have retreated completely to the garden and writing.

The theft of my laptop still haunts me as I search for similar experience to help ameliorate the pain of today. 

I have not and do not retreat into alcohol as I’ve seen happen too often to recount here.  I will not retreat into a drug-induced stupor because the lessons are important as are the associated emotions.  This shamanic path requires understanding experience to enable communication to those who have yet to explore this universe. Consciousness is what is in question and what is displayed in this transition from within the experience to what lays beyond.

The Bardo State of Buddhist faith is graphic sampling of this shamanic position and I hope I prepared the way for all who have passed over to whatever lays beyond.

So today is a new day and I’m on a path of the solitary quest out of chance rather than choice.

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