They say that death releases energy. And certainly, that has been the case with me. Already, only two weeks later, I feel swirling galaxies of energy, with no obvious direction. Not sure I will continue with this blog as before, with me commenting on current events as I see them. I’m more drawn to chronicling my own journey through the mutating ramifications of grief.
On the one hand there are lots of people who are seeing things in sharp new ways, pulling from the internet stories that meet with their intuitive and/or experienced approval as vital and important for us to either know (and avoid, or let go of, or rejoice in) or move towards. Not many of them comment as extensively as I do, which is, to me, the value of this blog. I, for one, very much appreciate knowing something about the person who is directing me to look in certain directions for the news that’s vital for regeneration of the collective human species. So a part of me doesn’t want to give that function up, as I know it serves.
But what I’m drawn to, right now, is my own grief work. There’s no denying that. I’ve always been drawn to this kind of work, since it moves more deeply into the emotional and spiritual bodies than does the usual commentary on external events. And ultimately, I have felt for many years now that what prevents transformation, both collectively and individually, is our fear of death, dying, loss of any kind.
The very idea of going deeply within ourselves to unearth the old gunky stuff that sits there, like a smelly load of shit, fermenting, inspires not just distaste, but horror. The smell of our fear is acrid. We don’t like to smell it, so we build a container for it, a black box, so to speak, and stuff it inside. But it continues to reek, and to ferment further, to the point where, unless we fortify the box, it will explode.
So, of course, we fortify the box, use our precious energy to push what wants to come up down, down, back into the unconscious. It’s just so damn ugly, so yucky! Who wants it? Who likes it? Besides, everybody else is also trying to keep a smiley face and avoid depression, with pharmaceuticals or liquor or sex or entertainment or money or toys or other drugs — just to stay “sane” (i.e. socially adjusted to the madness) enough to “cope.”
I’d like to do the opposite. I’d like to turn around and plumb those depths in myself. For I know that only by facing and embracing the the hidden parts of myself will I regenerate like the lotus, growing serenely out of the muck.
This, to me, is the beating heart of exopermaculture work, probing hidden dimensions beyond the physical, beyond the five senses, beyond even the soil and stars, to commune with the life force itself, its occult primal energy that powers the cosmos and spawns form after form after form.
I may be guided to do both, keep this blog the way it is, focused mostly on fast-paced external news during this historic time of massive change with my commentary, plus give”The Grieving Time” stories their own slot on a special page, eventually to turn into an e-book — or not!
I don’t know. Any feedback would be greatly appreciated. Thanks.