Posts Tagged ‘soul’

I stood facing west once and watched a mountain dance, watched it change slowly, from the first timid breaking of light to the final remoteness and inevitable return of darkness – absorption and radiation… green slopes upwards to the grey summit, spotted here and there with green. During the long dance of the mountains day, the clouds came and went, changing the intensity of light, the intensity of green or grey or white.

By midday the colors, vibrant in the absorption of light, delighted in their creativity and re-imagined the mountain into being. All too soon though, the intensity of light waned and the mountain and I passed from vibrancy into hushed waiting. The early mountain evening came and when the shadow of the mountain at last overtook me, I found myself still waiting, longing to recede with the green into the dark where there are no colors, only a darker shade of black to remind me of their presence.

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Imagine the Dagda and Lugh and Ogma journeying across Ireland to find the oak of two blossoms. To regain their sovereignty. The harp. The music of the land.

They had no insurance. There was no store. They could not just make a new one. They had to regain their sovereignty. The music of the land.

High stakes. Life or death.

We  are on that same journey.

Journeying through time. Through our souls, we are journeying to recapture the harp, the music of the land from the Fomorians. We are journeying to recapture our sovereignty from ourselves.

High stakes.
Life or death.
Up to you.

Sometimes, in my mind, the gift of voice and word of Ogma are still powerful. Sometimes, he tells me the story:

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So now, let us prepare our boats and let us set out to sea. It is time for us to leave. But what am I saying? It is time for me to leave. It is time for you to leave. This journey must be taken alone. We are our own crew. Our entire Self must accompany us. We must undertake this journey fully as our Self with all parts. No more. No less. Be aware: any part that we take into our crew that is not truly part of our Self, will not return.

This is the journey to the depths. There is no safety.

We must sail the sea of glass. The sea of clarity. The sea of honesty. The journey to the depths demands clarity. Demands honesty. No easy thing. We cannot hide from our Self behind parts not of our Self. The journey to the depths will be one of cleansing.

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Somewhere along the line, somewhere between the advent of agriculture, or by the latest, the Council of Nicaea… somewhere between there and Francis Bacon we lost the plot. Completely and totally lost the plot and got caught up in what might be termed the age of comfort, or the age of industry to produce comfort at the expense of anything.

Lost the plot of our place in nature. Lost the plot of our soul. Lost the plot of species, individual and collective. Lost the plot of cyclical time. Lost the plot of tribe or clan or family. Lost the plot of the wisdom of our race. Lost the plot of our place in the universe.

Lost the plot.

We have been quite good at losing the plot, but then again, we have also had a lot of help from what I am very tempted to call false prophets. Not being a judge however, I will refrain from actually saying it, yet I am very tempted. Make no mistake, the help we received was likely more often than not good intentioned.

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Is there a way to talk about it? Can we talk about it without the language of guilt and shame? Without the language of sin and salvation? Is there a way to talk about it without the language of giddy missionaries?

Can you tell me the story separated from Sunday morning finery and lies? The story that happens every day and every night, every minute and every second; the story that never closes, the story that is not created but creates? Can you tell me that one? Have you heard it?

Can you tell me the story of the earthy Christ? The radical? The wild? Yes, the astonishing.

When I thought about it – this earthy, wild Christianity that isn’t Christianity – when I thought about it, the ambitions of the many through the millennia to live as the Christ became incredibly absurd.

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But for now we are in trouble. We have been raided. We are dead. We find ourselves in the paradoxical moment that is both death and birth.

Do we need a book of the dead?
Do we need a book of the living?
Could the book of the dead also be the book of the living?

This great book could show us the way into life within death, death within life. What wonders await us?

What perils?

Is there such a book? Is there a book of the living and of the dead, or should we leave the dead to the dead and seek a new way of living? A way of living that arises out of the death. Where is the way to move from this terrible moment where we are not dead yet we do not live, where we have perished, and have been birthed? Is there such a book to show us the way out of this terrible moment?

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