Friday, September 14, 2007

you should be drinking "4 things soup"- look it up

The Order of Bards, Ovates & Druids has an excellent talk on the history of the neo-pagan horned God. I got a lot out of it, so I mention that you may find it nestled in the middle of this 45 minute podcast. There's also happy Celtic pagan music and poetry in there.

Yours truly is happy, and would like to thank Hermes for the many occurrences of late that have contributed to my harmonious state of being. The garden is looking splendiferous, and as I learn more I appreciate it more. Did you know you can grow your own shamanic tobacco, Nicotiana rustica, and your own "southern ginseng", Gynostemma pentaphyllum, and they'll come back and love you year after year? Then there's the realization that happiness is free, and already just sitting there, somewhere deep in your thorax, and it takes about 20 seconds to fish a helping out if you concentrate. Also, some of this continent's much coveted rain has just fallen on us here, and a MIA friend and comrade has returned to MG. Bombs and Shields is blooming with tales of righteous resistance to Leviathan. On top of all that, I just found some excellent bike paniers for touring- check 'em out! Priced right, durable, water proof, easily removable, the right shape and size, and made of rescued plastic. Cheers to you, dear Tao.


Tuesday, September 04, 2007

The Werebrock Institute for Spiritual Research, Bulletin No. 103/zzz

Author's Note:

This lunar month is the 50th year anniversary of Jack Kerouac's "On the Road". In honor of this grand wizard of hep cats, I give you the third and final chapter of the Water Saga in stream-of-consciousness form, as it was written in my berry-stained book of shadows. The trio of stories has been an experience to write home about, so I did. No idea who actually reads Noble Savagery, besides my family and a few friends; even so, it feels great putting them out there for everyone in the world who's paying attention.

I talk about my body as if it's not mine in this piece. What I'm trying to say, with this affectation, is that I feel like I've got this sensuous vessle on loan from the Big Whathaveyou.

"The River is flowing,
rolling and moaning.
The River
is go-o-ing
down to the sea.

Ooo Mother, carry me,
Your child I will always be;
Ooo Mother carry me,
down to the Sea."

It has started to rain, Hallelujah! After securing my laundry, & sacrosanctly pooping, it dawned on me. After this long drought, during the fall of rain from the heavens, Now is the perfect time, period; and "ahem", this instant I should go down to the crick.

My pants came off and a towel wrapped itself around as the words to the Sarah/Kroka water song came flooding, no, welling, no, upsurging into my frontal cortex. I chanted them to the ground of the Gardens as I wended my way through the Phylostemnas & Colt's foot, down the driveway and across the lane.

Our tune changed as I honored the sky, the Father. Here were the words ushering from these lips:

"Humble myself 'fore
the Light of the Rain God. (bows head)
I gotta bend-a down low and
(Bend down low &
humble my self afore stuck left hand
the Light of the Rain God. out behind me)
I gotta know what you know and
weeeee (Made Pirate tube, with left hand,
will lift each other up. over 3rd Eye)
Higher and higher and weeeee (Thrust hand, palm up, high
Will lift each other up." as could be)

Had a happening, looking over the Garden of Roger. The sky is clearly visible because it's a clearing, and I could see rain streaking Earthwords, against the backdrop of towering oaks, whose tops waved with the wind. I waved in the wind, but not in imitation of them, but with them, for they are my progenitors & ancient elders.

There was an apple tree, in the middle of the Garden of Roger. It did not wave with the wind. It did not feel it. The Tree of Good and Evil does not know Change. "Huh," I think to my self, "those fruits would make a worthy gift, offtered to the Mountains on their highest peaks."

I stilled & walked towards the stream. You have to empty yourself to fill with the holy spirit. But is emptiness the same as stillness necessarily? Stepping past beds of glistening Gaylax & splashing through raindrops. Ducking under laurel branches, on and over the pile of smooth river stones. Finally, I catch site of her.

NTS: Restart, go through
and finish the Corpus

Fox-walked over stones of lustring gladness, for the rain was here. Now who is to say they were not?! Animism may be the reason I decide to keep the bulk of WISR bulletins secretted. Say you're an Animist, like the Brethren of the Free Spirit or the Kogis, & Mother Culture will surely try to dicksmack you.

Looked for a spot to lie. A bed of a boulder was beneath these feet. Here's an important part, dear non-determined readers. Snap your spine straight, take a deep breath that you exhale slowly, & focus your eyes on bestilled inner eyelids, cuz this is my first teaching.

Give yourself Over, to the Divine,
As the Free Spirit moves through,
the Path of Right Action will
unfold before you & you may stride down it without any
spiritual friction.

As that applies to the task at hand, I found that the towel layed down on the rock to form a perfect Mesa, which I loaded myself onto, naked of clothes as the day Badge Man was born. & I shut my eyes.

Then opened them. It was the rained-on stream & I, a trinity, that were to commune today; why should this not include casting ma gaze on the air-encircled water globs? It's them that make this time extra attractive, as they keep down most (I slap one) mosquitoes. Earlier in the Garden of Raja Roger, I had noticed that when I focused on one segment of the downpouring, it seemed at odds with other, self-cordoned-off segments. When i had relaxed & unwound these eyeballs, I saw all of the downpouring as one chaos harmony. Transcendentally, it was magnanimous to infinity. And now, laying on the mesa & looking up, I noticed another pro-fun ditty.

The water spaceships were coming towards my elevation RHYTHMICALLY. It was like the scene in Baraka, at a wide traffic intersection. You know, the scene in which camera speed is increasedly accelerated, and surges of pedestrians and motorcoaches wait their turn before crossing & absorbing into the plastic/metal border of your pixeled screen, followed by another surge, and another? Like that. These aerial rivulettes were taking turns, I swear it. Their rhythm gave me an idea for more.

I did a throated drum beat, a Pachamama cardio-pulse. This lasted a couple minutes, as my eyes & mind darted around to take their share of filler in.

Next, I realized that it was time to get personal with the stream. I did this by closing my eyes, mind & body relaxed by now. Waited but a hair, a hairlette of a hair, from the beard of Father Time, before she came. The Nyad of Moonshadow Valley.

I am laying naked, like this, on my back, & I feel the warmth of a kiss, below & to the right of these lips I have been entrusted with.

She came up out of the pool, in direction you'd see if you looked from this head, past the feet and a little to your right. She hugged me, & stroked this chest. Then I felt her, around my pubic area. I felt her as the drops which hit my consciousness in a more accutely noticed way, there. Then, she moved up to my grail, my tantien. Same feelings, these sensations she gave me. No erection. What she was giving me may be pondered more in depth later. Not to be cliche, though of course I can after saying that, but let's put down that she gave me liquid courage & charisma. (I'd asked an ex-girlfriend for these in dealing with another propsectful lady friend.) Moonshadow was my cosmic postwoman who delivered the package. I thanked her, and wondered what to give her. "A lock of your hair," she seemed to answer. "Get up and do it Now." She also suggested, at this time, that I offer apple(s) up on da Mountains.

I felt the back of my borrowed head, and there was a knot of hair under these finger tips that seemed the choice. Then it was the rock finding juncture- I need a tool to saw off my gift, right? The stone I found also happens to be part of the necklace that the Red Dragon gave to me, & therefor should expect & look for on this plane, some 8 or 11 months earlier. I kept the stone, & tossed the knot into a trickle-skeined rock face. The knot made its way into the lower pool, and then it was done & I came up here to write about it. That was a hundred and one minutes ago. Or maybe a hundred and three? But who's counting?