Image via Wikipedia
Years ago I used to receive and write a shamanic free-verse poem every day - or, rather, words blown and strung together like this. Because I didn't call my shamanizing by any s-word or this sort of composition poetry when it started happening back in childhood. A high-school teacher assured me I was writing free-verse poetry but I called it 'word-juxtapositions' instead.
I don't recommend this as a once-a-day spiritual practice. It is too intense and does not make enough ordinary sense, and the temptation to re-work it into a more comprehensible form can hit hard.
As a shamanic poem I take this (like all the rest that came to me) as a whole, as a way of spirit-delivery of healing and transforming power, a container holding answers to prayer, that I don't need to (and should not try to) decipher or translate.
Shamanize as a kaleidoscope, on the chaotic tension...
between earthy limitation
just humming along
and cosmic springing-free, then
between shaking containment...repetitive recombining of primary and secondary multi-colored building blocks
...and the next black and white, silver and gold, big-bang rainbow catastrophic surprise,
this universal serendipitous system of mercurial methods, always revealing itself
as just ordinary points
yet cosmic egg sets, of zeros and ones, set spinning around this expanding, accelerating circus circle,
though each radiating waving particle point of (visible and invisible) fields of resurrection is already spiraling probable
and outwards...an infinity of infinities...
of infinities of orders of infinities...of parallel, perpendicular, tangential, and oblique yet ordinary, everyday, sharp fuzzy lines...
expressing worlds of thoughts, words, and deeds as complex designs of weaving
yet raveling multi-directions and multi-dimensions, eventually creating...
your Shaman Costume!
Oh let me only touch this flowing, glowing
super-asymmetrical, inexplicable, webby resonating deep space, material-energetic, earthy garment for a moment...
as the shaman passes amid the wild pressing crowds of expectant, jubilant confusion within me,
and wonder forever over the seamless holey wholly hol-y healing feel of it...
shimmering, glimmering, mysteriously holding and releasing so many sparkling arrays of vibrating
cooking vessels simmering uncertain, as yet undetermined, transformations
harmoniously jumping, falling, tumbling, dancing up and down and on and off this cliff,
or edge, or humpty-dumpty wall...singing into this abyss
thereby dream-seeding all of
this earth...the deeps, the seas, the lands, the skies...all commonplace,
known and unknown, sacred places...each stuffed with primary quintessentials,
every one of them hatching and scattering into wand-points
all over again, the same as always...
like never before.
(Patterns rattle, drum, and take steps while fringes fly...!)
Related articles by Zemanta