I joke to my flist on http://www.livejournal.comabout dreams that I have, in which we gather for reunions infused with long-weekend slumber parties and lots of gluten-free snack foods. The thing is, I really have had that dream recurrently, for years, and half or more of the people on my flist I’ve never met in-person. These are people I’ve met through various venues, interests, and life stages, who for whatever reason have become a solid presence in my life for the last nine years. Yet in some odd ethereal way those dreams are gatherings of this unique clan of writers, soul friends, spirited minds, and our time together is very much not out first meeting. It is a reunion. We are not starting from a beginning. We are in progress.
Other online groups I meet in dreams for rituals, the creative goddesses who craft the cosmos through their art, the global priestesses who genuinely do tend All Things in their daily spiritual practices. We assemble and bless the event, evoke the spirit, chart it into our footsteps then clear out, leaving not a careless crumb behind, cos we are ladies, after all. These are my dream communities, not just in my dreams but my ideals.
In the west we come to animism from the rough, or “wampyjawed,” as my southern ancestors would say. Modern shamans largely are solo spirits pulling together various threads to weave ‘tribe,’ or they forego the effort and attempt to wing it purely solo. There’s no correct or incorrect way, though I’ve learned in twenty-four years on a shamanic path, without conscientiously tended ties to a mentoring elder, and in the absence of a tribe of individuals who, despite not having chosen a shamanic path, at least understand ecstatic challenges, we’re doing it the hard way.
Having pioneered along my own broken path I’ve worked with others as clients for fourteen years. Time and again I’ve watched others and myself peak with euphoric healing and enlightenment, only to wither in a couple of weeks under the drudge, the toil, the work of being human. We swing from extreme to extreme—clear, well, balanced to confused, frustrated, disenchanted. We make every effort to carry our transformations alone, because our cultural identity is singular. It has taught us we are of no value if we can’t stand on our own. Somewhere along the way, even in the most earth-based modern life paths, we’ve lost our sense of community and of the needs that it fills.
I’ve asked myself, “Is this just the way the animistic spiritual path of the west is?” Maybe. I don’t know. I do know that it doesn’t have to be that way. We don’t have to isolate and assume that no one else will understand our spiritual experiences. In fact, no one has to understand them at all. As long as we have careful others who can witness them, give life to them as midwife and loving friend, we can sustain wisdom.
Along with that insight I’ve had to reckon with the fact that I just don’t have the availability for spiritual social gatherings that I had pre-parenthood, though I’ve no less need for them. I have to find that support where I can, even if it comes to me in dreams, bits, and bytes.
Throughout the day you’re likely to catch me having conversations with some unseen colleague—walking down the corridor at my day job, stopped at intersections, ambling around in my garden. It probably looks a little odd to passersby. For me, though, it’s not only normal, it’s desirable.
Talking to myself with my community in mind helps me step out of the cultural expectation to keep things to myself, to do everything for myself. If I can risk looking like a nut talking to the air I can cut to the core of exactly what I need to give and receive when finally I am able to post that journal entry, respond to that forum thread.
And so what if a good part of my community is online, people I’ve never met in-person? They can deal it to me straight, they can empathize, or speak whatever we both need most in any transaction, because compassion is the fore. I am their community as much as they are mine. As an animist it’s all connected—life, life forms, thoughts, cars, social media, emotions… It’s all real. It’s here, and There.
Community is where it is. The more we settle into that wider awareness of how we find each other and share heart-centered experiences, the euphoria from healing or fantastic awakening won’t wither. It will thrive and enliven some next wonder, for all involved.
And don’t be surprised if we only know each other online and in some common space I refer to you as my coworker.
And thanks Mandy for starting it all with that first paid subscription to Live journal!
www.kelleyharrell.com has a complete list of publications.
“Remembering the Tradition: Timeless Heritage, Curious Fate,” Engaging the Spirit World: Shamanism, Totemism, and Other Animistic Practices by Lupa. Immanion Press, 2012.
“Telling the Bees,” The Spirit of a Woman: Intimate Stories to Empower and Inspire. Edited by Terry László-Gopadze, LMFT. Santa Monica Press, June 2010.
“diligent suns,” The Journey of Healing: Wisdom from Survivors of Sexual Abuse. Edited by Marjorie Ryerson. Safer Society Press, May 2010.
“Spiritual Gardening: Creating Sacred Space in Nature,” Nature’s Gifts: An Anthology Celebrating Nature and Our Natural World. Edited by Smoky Trudeau. Vanilla Heart Publishing, March 2010.
DIY Totemism: Your Personal Guide to Animal Totems by Lupa. Forward by S. Kelley Harrell. Immanion Press, August 2008.
Gift of the Dreamtime: Awakening to the Divinity of Trauma, Spilled Candy Books, September 2004. Read praisefor Gift of the Dreamtime and an excerpt.
Before the Pritchard and Decker, Adara had a contract on an explorer class ship. The ship was supposed to be her home, the crew her family. With a rigid by the books captain, Adara found herself written up, reprimanded and in danger of losing her contract. Still she forms bonds with people on the crew. Carving out a niche, she finds a balance until fate intervenes with a deadly asteroid shower. 