trance: the eventual aim

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The eventual aim of writing in your journal is that your thought will become clearer. Your life-focus will become more apparent. Your drive will become sharper in shape and you will go out into the world and change it for the better.

Ideally.

Your writing might not advance, nor may your consciousness. That’s why we have ritual, wisdom, study and reflection.

The specifics of the path you choose do not matter. I’ve chosen a Northern Path. I have friends who’ve chosen a Christian path. I have friends who’ve chosen a syncretic path. I have friends who simply love reading. In my opinion, there is nothing wrong with any of these choices, until any of these choices rot into bigotry.

I’m not on a mission. But I do believe that if you commit to journaling, you will be able to deal with your subconscious. Hopefully then you will be able to access support and resources that aid your process of self-discovery. That means you need a good group. I think I found one.

Healing is a long, slow, steady process. So is Magick. Maybe if you read Harry Potter or watch the Magicians, you think that you can just utter a phrase and work your will on the world with a flash of light shooting out of magic wand. That’d be cool. But for most people, the magic wand is a TV remote, the flash of light is an invisible laser that changes channels, and the magick is opening your minds to whatever crap splashes across your TV screen.

I don’t hate TV. I just think there’s more to life. I think it really is a magical device, because in truth, it utilizes all of the elements that magick does: trance, guided meditation, timing, persuasion. The difference is that someone else is doing it to you, rather than you being able to take control of your own mind’s screen.

What’s on my mind’s screen has become better and better. I started the morning with this dream:

So I’m sitting in this parliamentary building somewhere near Maryland and a politician in a fairly modest and muted suit is telling me about the pressures of his job and how antagonized he is by his peers about the strange hours he keeps. I listen intently and offer sympathy although my mind is somewhere else. It’s time for me to return home. We walk to the basement parking of the building and he motions for me to get into a city bus, which he drives. On our bus trip home, he continues to talk. I think of it now and I’m aware of an odd thing: it’s all talking. Where is the wonder of being alive, of being in reality, of enjoying the breath and scent of fragrant trees on a forest walk, or the needing embrace of a loved one who needs support? In essence, in all this talk, where is the joy of life? We arrive at my home, which feels like my home in the dream, but in retrospect, looks nothing like it. In this dream, I’m married, or I have a girlfriend or something, and the woman waiting for me wears a gently confused smile. She sees the politician, who she immediately recognizes from television. I talk about what we talked about and she talks about that with her opinions. Again, we miss the warmth of love, the smell of delicious food cooking, and only focus on our petty miseries about talking to people who were talking about what someone else was talking about.

My dreams are beginning to turn into prophesies, as will happen on The Path. My file is called “moardrims” to accentuate the fluidity of language, and how it can be manipulated over time, how words themselves are not as static as we believe. Moardrims=More Dreams. Getting it? No? That’s okay.

So, what proceeded was the following thought in a conversation online (I’ve edited out the other participant in the convo, but he was saying some pretty awesome things):

It (hate and bigotry) becomes a war of attrition, and we lose sight of the important things. That’s one thing I really really really love about the Northern Path. It reconnects us to the gifts of Gods: the vast beauty of nature, the smell of pine trees on the mountain side, the warmth of the fire in the pit, the power of galdric chants, the vast wisdom of the ages in runic inscriptions, the love of friends who keep each other warm. (You can tell I’m Canadian because I talk about staying warm a lot ) I want to help anyone who is deprived of life’s powerful and amazing experiences, because I really think that the worst violence against the oppressed is forced withdrawal from the important stuff in life, shoving them in the worst neighborhoods, giving them the worst food, and depriving them of the best activities.

Believe or not, combating that ugly side of privilege part of my job. I live beside the largest First Nations reservations in Canada. There’s a lot of spirituality here, but there’s also a lot of discrimination. The judgements people make are astounding. [The general populace has] no idea what inter-generational conflict and addiction has done to the people who have lived in this region for millennia. I combat it by providing outings for people to learn and explore the natural wilderness of Southern Alberta. We climb, bike, hike, raft, write, play music and have cookouts. Bigots simply don’t benefit from these gifts, for they’ve woven a spell around themselves that prevents them from seeing the brightest parts of life. In my opinion, bigotry is its own punishment.

I’m not sure what causes people to choose drugs over life. I work with individuals who have taken that path, I’ve taken numerous trainings, workshops, read books and books and books about the subject and I still have absolutely no idea. I think the truth is, the world has no idea. We can speculate, but in the end, we can only claim to know. No one really knows. There’s a Canadian author who quit his profession in working in pre-natal in the nice part of Vancouver to work with the addicted and mentally-ill in Vancouver’s infamous Downtown Eastside. He wrote a book called “In the Realm of the Hungry Ghosts” based on the Buddhist notion that one fate of those condemned to the underworld is to have stomachs too big and mouths too small to ever feel nourished. That’s a powerful metaphor for addiction. It becomes your obsession, and all other things become unimportant in your life.

I’m sure what led to my life-path is that my entire family suffered from the same things that the author I mentioned wrote about. These are stories that will break your heart. It’s easy to say that people have a choice to use or not, but the truth is, people don’t really “have a choice” but rather, they “have a responsibility” to at least start on the road to conquering their addictions. No one really has a choice. I feel like I didn’t have the choice to be so judgmental about addiction based on the trauma I experienced when I was young. But I did have the responsibility to reduce my hate and try to see addiction for what it was. Now I try to help people who have been missing out on life for whatever reason. It’s great. Since I’ve been studying Northern Path, and journaling a lot, I’ve been able to better articulate my direction in life. I got a promotion. Now I’ll be initiating a music program for street youth.

These, I feel, are the gifts of clear thought, of clear intent, and of checking in with your emotions. Remember,

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