I have no words for my struggles.
I look to other religions for a sense of familiarity and, while I love the words, I don’t find the connectiveness I long for. I tear up at the words of Rumi, but don’t feel the same sense of adoration and love as professed in the poems. I follow the paths and only get so far. I am not trying to love the sense of Immenseness I sense. I am not trying to dissolve my humanity or to become a God in my own right. But I know there is something more, missing pieces of our history that would help us paint a fuller picture.
“Dig deeper” He whispers in my head, and those words hold a promise, like a prayer on the wind.
We have roots deep in the culture of India, rich with lamas and yogis. We have a common thread of ancestry in our language and our ideas. It makes sense to me that we would have had our own path of mysticism, us of the European ancestry. The shaman morphs into the seeker, turns away from the priests of organized religion and runs into the woods to commune with the wolves.
Now we have witches and priests, laymen and Holy men. We have those who read the books and those who speak and those who lead. But where are our hermits, our isolated weirdos contemplating the stars?
How do I balance the questions in my soul with the ideas of tribe and community in my Heathen faith? I don’t have any answers anymore, I only know that the community multiplies my sense of isolation. I can hang onto whatever vestiges of titles I want to, they slip through my fingers like sand on the beach.
Still, the shadows of the missing pieces haunt me, fill my dreams. I turn to my ancestors and they sing me into being, show me secrets lost in the mists. The lines of countries blur, we become tribes following the reindeer across the miles.
I wish my ramblings made more sense. I am trying to end the silence and put into words the ideas I have been struggling with. But I don’t think I come any closer to breaking throught the barriers.