Joseph Campbell’s Bliss Dance

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In the beautiful words of Joseph Campbell

“Ask an artist what his picture “means,” and you will not soon ask such a question again. Significant images render insights beyond speech, beyond the kinds of meaning speech defines. And if they do not speak to you, that is because you are not ready for them, and words will only serve to make you think you have understood, thus cutting you off altogether. You don’t ask what a dance means, you enjoy it. You don’t ask what the world means, you enjoy it. You don’t ask what you mean, you enjoy yourself; or at least, so you do when you are up to snuff.

But to enjoy the world requires something more than mere good health and good spirits; for this world, as we all now surely know, is horrendous. “All life,” said the Buddha, “is sorrowful”; and so, indeed, it is. Life consuming life: that is the essence of its being, which is forever a becoming. “The world,” said the Buddha, “is an ever-burning fire.” And so it is. And that is what one has to affirm, with a yea! a dance! a knowing, solemn, stately dance of the mystic bliss beyond pain that is at the heart of every mythic rite.”

I have nothing to add, except that I can’t dance in front of the computer. I have blog itis: cramps from sitting too long, and a blank mind.

Radical Faerie Definition

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First a little post script to yesterdays July 4th post- Add to the list of glowing experiences of that day: eating a quarter watermelon, dribbling juice down my chin, slurping loudly, and: a stunning firefly display in the fields and trees while walking home from the fireworks. I’ve never seen fireflies so prolific. And they were richly concentrated in a few trees and fields, as if attending huge all night dance parties. What a magical day!
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What and who are the Radical Faeries?

I found a succinct explanation of Radical Faeries while browsing some Faerie web pages. This description is by Cyrwyn, who has written quite a bit on the subject.

Faeries are strange creatures of magical powers and wisdom. Radical Faeries are a loose subset of primarily gay men whose origins were in the 1960’s counter-culture. The archaic spelling refers to the Land of Faerie where the mythical Faeries lived. It was a taking back of a derogatory name that gay men had been called and turning it into a name of identity and power. An almost anarchic sense of freedom and earth-centered spiritualities characterize their beliefs and behaviors. Faeries see themselves as gentle, loving men, nature lovers, healers, shamans, pagans, feminists, fun-lovers, seekers of a wholistic way of life. They believe that our society is unbalanced, too masculine oriented, thus authoritarian, bigoted, violent and warlike. So they work to balance the masculine and feminine within themselves toward an androgynous state of being. They often worship the Goddess, the Earth Mother, instead of the patriarchal God, to restore that balance.

Faeries come from all walks of life. They often have gatherings at sanctuaries, primitive campgrounds in rural areas. Consensus rules at these gatherings. There is no structured political organization or movement. For the most part, individual freedom takes precedence.

This is a little more succinct than my post a few days ago. But it says many of the same things. I believe there is a subtle quality, a spiritual and natural reason for gays in our society. They are not just accidents, detours, dead ends. If respected as a culture, by themselves and others, they can fill gaps in the masculine/feminine dichotomy.

As Good As It Gets

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OK, I can say I felt a little patriotic today, July 4th. No, really, I’m not just saying that. Well, maybe it was just festive, but I appreciated the freedom to do what ever I wanted with today. I filled my freedom and blew it up all over the day. It was a cherry pie day from tree to table.

While sipping coffee at the crack of noon, perusing the internet, since the NYTimes can’t seem to find my house to deliver the damn paper, a friend called and said, “The cherry trees are ready to be picked, I took off the net, and the birds will get to it soon.” So I and my neighbors drove down south of town to his house, and picked juicy, sour cherries for a couple of hours, till we had gallons of cherries. This is all from one tree.

They told me I had to pit all the cherries by tonight or they would turn to mush, and then would be hard to pit. And freezing them before pitting would do the same thing. Well, I didn’t have time to pit them right away, because I was supposed to help another friend with cleaning her garden a bit.

So I drove to her house, with the two gallons of cherries in the back seat, and announced we were going to make a cherry pie, and that I needed help pitting. I made a competition with her son as to who could pit the fastest. I won, but we got 5 cups pitted, enough for a pie. The son and I went to the store together and got all the supplies for pie. There’s something pleasantly rebellious, absurd, ironic about making a pie on a hot day. But the wheels were in motion.

I assembled the pies (1.5 pies) and stuck them in the oven. While it baked, I gardened a bit. She and her son helped, but also tended to a sick puppy they have. During this time, some of her neighbors came over and gave free advice on the puppy. Finally the pies were done.

But I was late for a visit with other friends, so I left the small one with my friend, and took the larger one to dinner with other friends. The four of us sat on his deck and had grilled salmon, a nice wilted salad (appropriate for the hot day) and when it came to dessert, I invited them over for, guess what, PIE!

Off we hopped to my house, not far away. Again, we sat outside in my garden, and had sour cherry pie and French vanilla ice cream. Yum. As you may remember, only a quarter of the cherries had been pitted so far, so I bargained with one of those friends to pit some for a pie. He was speedy Gonzales, I think he likes my pie.

After dessert, we met some other friends (the same neighbors as before) for a walk to see the local fireworks, which are really the best in the city. (Clintonville is a very community oriented town within Columbus.) I live near the park where the fireworks are set off. A ten minute walk through a wooded park took us there.

The field where everybody sets their blankets is huge. We had at least a 20 foot buffer around us, but there were lots of folks there. A fun crowd, lots of sparklers, little fireworks, glow lights, glow necklaces, live music, fun. The band played Earth, Wind and Fire hits and “Play that funky music, white boy” what ever the song is. I had my sparklers in two hands, swaying to the music, wiggling around like a little kid.

Then the fireworks started. Wow. It was a great show, and at least 25 minutes long. The nice thing about local fireworks is you are closer to them, so they looked huge. I thoroughly enjoyed the show, freely emitting ooooohs and ahhhhhs. I let my mind soften to the fantastic display, drooling color, crackle, sizzle, bang.

On the walk back, everybody was a chatter, happy, fulfilled. I feel pretty proud to be able to live in a country where that much spontaneous fun is possible in one day. That’s my kind of Independence Day.

The cherries never did all get pitted.

Half hour later…I finished pitting the rest of the cherries, 13 hours after getting them. Today was a “pit”ifully perfect day!

Here I was

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I am just here, neither good nor bad, wrong nor right. And I am both for all time. For all my rights ard wrongs were already here. And always will be. All my pain was already here, all my joy. Likewise, all the pain and joy of others is mine, my burden, and yours. All this is OK. I am OK.

My shadows are from the universe burning, blazing, not from me.

Today I indulged time, let go of the rocks, stayed in the flow. I flowed deeper, calming the monkey mind when it reached for a rock. I flowed down to the clear water, my naked body slipping through it, becoming it, becoming more my true self.

Faerie Spirit

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This is the beginning of some ruminations on Faerie Spirit. I don’t feel like composing a finished article, so I’ll just throw out some ideas as they come. These generalizations and perceptions are my personal observations. Ongoing…and perhaps a bit rambling. I’ll also link to other writings on the subject as I find them.

Faerie spirit describes the unique healing attitudes and skills of many gay men. But most of them are unaware of their abilities as healers and seers. They are too caught up in the gay subculture, which mainly tries to fit in, or react to, straight society. Either way, much of gay culture is “dependent” on straight culture to survive. Gay culture struggles with all its energy against straight culture. It often has little of its own tradition or mythology to pass on. And so the spirit is wasted in the paradigm of ageism and sex culture. There’s no room for depth.

Don’t get me wrong. Gay culture has influenced straight culture plenty. The open appreciation of male beauty in every facet of culture is a gift of gay culture. Men are more aware of their beauty, which makes them, well, even more beautiful. Beauty is a feminine quality, and it’s healthy for American men to develop it. Gay culture has influenced most pop culture, and style culture. These are valid but limited contributions. Their real spirit is often repressed.

Most people have some healing abilities. Women (feminine, nurturing, opening) tend to have more healing talent than men. Men (masculine, building, entering) are generally about action, accomplishment, change. Everyone has a balance of Yin and Yang energy. Usually one is favored. Straight men are more masculine, but can have quite a bit of feminine. Straight women may have the opposite balance.

Gay men tend to have a more equal balance of these opposing/balancing energies. This gives them an ability to sense and express energy in ways not available to non gays. I see the two energies as two lenses, the masculine and the feminine, each with it’s own power, and those who have a balance see things in stereo. Or, they could be like two healing stones, which when rubbed together in one person, creates a warm healing energy by the friction.

I’m not saying every gay man is healing and every straight man is not. No, no, no. I’m just saying the ones who have that skill are barely acknowledged, where they should be raised to a position of influence and respect in our community. They are here to heal and should be encouraged.

But that’s not the case. After thirty, most gay men are barely noticed, unless they work their asses off to stay buff. They have to conform to the beauty culture to be respected. The real healers may not compete well in this brutal, judgemental culture. As they mature, they may be ignored, outcast. And their talent goes unused.

I remember one man who I met at a support group. I could see his psychic ability, but he barely functioned in the group, at least around me. I felt he thought I dismissed him, but I was just a bit thick skinned, the way I always am around other gay men, mostly to protect myself from their judgment. I’ll judge you before you judge me, that’s our motto. Not a happy culture. Gay, not happy, sexual, not loving, trendy, not healing. So he and I never connected. Too bad. And part of it was my lack of empathy. My defenses and his defenses.

What are these healing powers I keep referring to? Seers, touch healers, sex healers, mystics, anyone with a valid message to offer the rest of us, whether physical or emotional or political or cultural or spiritual. I’ll try to be more specific as I think of examples. (later)

I sense my un-developed ability. I can see into people, see their weakness, their wounds, and how to nurture them. But I have no training, no mentor, no path, to show me how to focus this crude ability. I know it’s there, but my ego, my fears, my conformity blocks me. Part of the reason for this blog is to explore some of this stuff, in myself and in others.

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