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A Shaman Daughter

First Thought

Sunday, December 30, 2007

Having watched the DVD that came with the genographic text kit today I wonder about the genetic ability so few humans had to have within them to propagate a planet.  Being able to see well, walk far, run fast, hunt and track, talk, give easy birth, have lots of milk.  These things, yes, but what about the Shaman’s genes?

In taking the strength finder test, and in seeing my profile, that’s what it looks like tome, that I have the profile of a Shaman.  Not chosen, not wanted, but what does that matter?  And where do we fit into the world today?  Where do we fit into this culture?

This is not about a searching thing, not about a spiritual or religious search per se.  If one has to search for this one does not have it.  It is a given, a blessing, a curse.

So today I might think that my mother had the shaman’s gene, and that it went very very badly.  Neither she nor I had the mentoring of the old days that would have assured for us a proper training in order to use our gifts well and wisely.  We were the babies thrown out with the bathwater.

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It seems to me that in today’s world it would be highly likely that a Shaman’s gifts could go terribly awry.  We have no true place for them.  Are we “carriers” and that is all?

Once the gift has “turned,” it’s like milk that has soured.  It cannot be “put back” the way it was again.  It cannot be made sweet.

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Do we always have too many feelings?  Feel them too intensely?  Not able to change them, moderate them, make them go away?  So we always have to suffer?  Be so sad and lonely?

Like how I constantly miss this man?

Do we live too close to the black hole?  Is it too easy for us to slide in?

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What about the “lost Shaman?”  Is this what has happened to us?  Perhaps someone like ER would have been a powerful contrary shaman, but he has found other ways to excel and be in power.  I don’t think my gifts were ever meant to be about power.  My mother’s – her power over me was absolute and of terrible darkness.

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I would not feel lost if this man wanted to be with me, or wanted me to be with him.  I wish I had never had to know how good it felt to be with him.  Then this contrast of having not only to be alone, but to be without him, would not be this devastating.  I wish I did not know this ache.  It comes from missing being with him, missing him.  And he goes blithely on.  I absolutely detest that.  I hate it.  I can find nothing useful to do with this.  Nothing at all.  It just gnaws on me, feeling like the longing eats me alive.  I do not know how to make the feeling go away.  It is a burden and a terrible sadness.

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But we cannot really fake it.  We cannot fake anything.  Unless we are broken, like my mother was, and then everything is a lie and there is no choice.  Maybe either way there is no choice for us.

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How to stop wanting what I cannot have?  How to learn that not having what I want is the best thing for me?  (How can that be?  How can I love being with ER so much and have it be bad for me?  I do not understand.)

It would be better to be more like the wind, more like the notes of a song carried upon it.  Anything but this.

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Saturday, January 05, 2008

Shame is probably the oldest legitimate self-reflective state of mind.  We should never have had to feel it in the beginning before our first year.  It is meant to be tied directly to our sense of our self-learning to navigate and negotiate in the physical world away from the safety of our mother’s side.

When does the state of shame become the feeling of BEING ashamed – which is a state of being in and of itself?

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Maybe it is more normal for people to only partly love – as it would have been more normal for my mother to have partly and not entirely hated me.  I learned to accept 100% hatred, and then to project out 100% love.  So I love ER more than he can accept.  What is the good of this?  An angel love, a love not of this world, and he no doubt knows it and turns away.  Maybe it is more normal, ordinary, and less foreign, and therefore more comfortable and comforting to bargain with our conditional love.  The kind of love I do not have for ER.  But he can live without my kind of love.  The other kind he cannot.

So why is my love so selective and focused on him?  Why can I not have it for every living being?  That should be my shame.

So is this love a medicine love?  A shaman’s love?  One not about being physically with him, that causes me all this agony and sorrow?  Is this a love about power as much as it is a powerful love – a power full love?  How do I let the love help and not hurt me?  How do I transform and transmute it?  How do I live with it rather than die from it?

If this love is not about this material and physical world, then how do I let it become not about time and space?  How do I let it be free of these limitations, and therefore limit how it operates between ER and I?

And how can I remember that if he wee to love me, he loves me with an entirely different brain than mine, a man’s and not a woman’s brain?  So that he can compartmentalize differently than I, and not call me today, a Saturday, with no clue of how much his call would have meant to me?  That he is not intentionally depriving me to make me suffer?  How do I both know these things and hold them closely within my heart?

Can I learn about this different love, and teach him, and somehow it will make it easier for us to transition to the next world with it?

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Sunday, January 06, 2008

Today is my oldest daughter’s 37^th birthday.  She was conceived at Ocean Beach (San Diego) and birthed at Balboa Naval Hospital.  I have compression wrappings on for the lymphedema in my left arm and cannot type very well today.  Shits.  I wish I could see her today.

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Artists transform things, and along the way often make messes of the stuff the cut and carve away. I am making a template today for the punched tin candle holders I want to make to recycle the tobacco cans.  I am trying to wrap myself around making something.  I need to.  I have to.  I feel too alone.  There is company in the creative process.  A place where the angels seem to hang out.  I need to hang onto that like I am trying to hang onto my life.

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We each have to move through our own shadow, our own dark side, our own darkness to complete ourselves.  Moving around the moon, to the dark side where the fears are and the mysteries lie so great, so much greater than we are.  The hidden things.  Our blind spots.

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Maybe he is my soul whore – my soul needs him, maybe because I cannot reach on through the limitations of this material plane to that other more perfect, satisfying world.

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Sunday, January 13, 2008

What about those of us who are Sensitives?  Who values what we are, and how do we then overcome the devaluing of our abilities and therefore of ourselves?  Ours is not a culture that values this very old ability.  It makes me wonder if all those getting cancer right now are Sensitives (though all Sensitives may not get cancer).

Sis Cindy mentioned the Nova Scotia movie we got from the library.  Good.  That’s the one that has this term Sensitives in it.

How do we establish within ourselves a base of power which is itself based upon our powers of sensitivity?  We have a different way of gaining a different body of in-formation.  Different ways of perceiving this information.  Like the nonverbal images Damasio (?) refers to in the brain – these images in-form for me.  The form of them is inside of me, and information reaches me (when I let it) through these amorphous images.  They grab me, take me, from within, not from without (as with perceptions from the ao-called material world).

We are being forced by devaluing to keep who and what we truly are in the shadows – and it may be that this in part is what makes us sick.

We are receivers (and senders) like a cell phone or computer modem.  We extend out past our bodies.  We are tethered to our body in a different fashion.

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I can feel ER around me here in the house.  I believe he is a Sensitive, but is not consciously aware of this.  (I don’t think many Sensitives are.)  I like it that he is here, that he wants to be here even when his physical body is somewhere else.  With someone else.

What happens to us when our spiritual self is not grounded in our material life?  When our spiritual self is not present in our relationships with others, trivial ones or not?

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Saturday, January 19, 2008

What about self hatred?  I have a serious case of it.

Did I ever think I loved my parents or siblings, or was it never an issue because that tender was unknown?

I love ER, does he love me?  Is it possible that I don/t know what love is?

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*Age 57 – Dec. 2007 – July 2008 – (A Shaman Daughter Pages)

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