Talking about Ceremony

First, let me say, I don't know anything. Go ahead and read my know-nothing thoughts, you've been warned.

The thing with ceremony is, it doesn't happen in normal time. You cross a border into another world. It's not benign, it's not easy. You need help.

There's a reason fairy tales are populated with helpers, with wise old guides in guises. You can't go it alone, you can't muddle through safely. You need to walk with someone.

Ceremony is personal. It's happening in the outside world, of course. It's happening in the world of dirt and fire and dust and sweat. But it's really happening inside your own na'au, your own gut, the seat of your spirit. Although an observer can describe or name or categorize or claim ownership of the outer stuff, what happens in your own brain and guts and whatever that bloody breakable organ that houses love is-- that's entirely your own.

When I'm close to ceremony, I can't talk about it because I don't have words for it. I have to get a little dumber about ceremony to be able to talk about ceremony. Luckily I'm pretty dumb so I've got plenty to say. Maybe when I'm smarter I'll learn how to say less.

I've paid a lot of money to therapists. It's worth every penny, everybody should go do it. Go have someone wise and honest and unbiased tell you that you deserve to exist. Go have someone with kind eyes let you tell your story, all the way to the end, without getting scared or overwhelmed or hurt. It's really good. It's slow and steady, and it trickles down from your brain to your words and eventually helps heal your heart. You can remind yourself, from the brain down, that you can choose how to react, you can choose what to believe, and what to think. You can choose your own story. It's good work, but it's lonely and self-centered. You need that sometimes, to look at yourself, to heal your ego. There's too much pain in the world to not stop and tend to your wounds. You can heal that way. "Your experiences matter. Your pain is real. You can make your choices. You can heal your mind."

You can heal your self.

Ceremony heals too. It touches that same wound, but from the ground up. From the feet-in-the-dirt up. It disappears the self. All this, ceremony says, is bigger that you. The universe is a stream, you're a stone. God is a tapestry, you're a thread. Creation is a song, you're a voice. The ego dissolves, in a sigh of relief. I don't have to contain all this pain, realizes the ego. I am a part of something big enough to carry all of the pain, and all of the wonder, and everything.

Oh dear, the words are too silly.

Ululation, celebration, undulation-- that gets closer.

Good thing I'm dumb enough to come up with some words.

I'm in awe of the not-knowing, seeing the bright astonishing edges where the mystery is. Not seeing the mystery, of course. I can't, I'm still too smart. Maybe, like the dumb animals, the mystery will become a familiar land, when I don't try and stamp words all over it.

Animals move in and out of ceremony, out of fairy tale, out of sacredness, with complete comfort and ease. They live in both countries. Their map is easy.

I've got a lot to learn-- or a lot to forget.