Uncomfortably Weird

photo: Des Colhoun

I have been very interested lately in the power of voice. I have been having dreams about talking to the elementals, kami, devas, whatever you want to call them, in a singing way, and I did some experiments in trying to make the sound of my voice "sound" like what I was singing, so for instance if I said "clouds", I would try to make a sort of rolling, round sound. Also relating to what I said in a previous post about Wilhelm Reich's opinions on how we sort of stutter or cripple our outflow of energy and how we could "unstutter" it, I noticed the stuttering and halting in my voice as I sang. Of course, I didn't sing with my full voice, there were people about.

None of which directly relates to what I am going to talk about, except that today when I was outside, I wanted to experiment with some more of the same, except full-voiced, unimpeded, full volume. And I realized that being in a suburban neighborhood, people would find that rather weird, especially since what I was probably going to be doing wasn't going to resemble singing very much. Maybe more like the cries of an extraterrestrial buffalo giving birth. If they, annoyed at the disruption of their suburban reality, were to ask me what exactly I was doing, what would I answer? Whatever I would answer, I think it is certain they would think I was doing some unholy heathenish shit. Which from their point of view, I certainly would be doing. ;)

The thought of it is slightly amusing though, some wild-eyed atavism from the lost world suddenly appearing in suburban America, like something from a Lovecraft novel. Some eldritch mixed-breed voodoo devotee from the Louisiana swamps uttering "Cthulhu F'tagn!" dancing glaze-eyed and half naked in front of a bonfire. ;) I might want to look into how I can make it look like I have a bone through my nose. ;) Nevertheless, seriously, the thought of it makes me hesitant.

And I thought about the walkers in my neighborhood, every one seemingly urgent to get somewhere else in an expeditious fashion. Part of that is social pressure, people eye others near their property with suspicion and being brisk and businesslike in your motion says, "just passing through, nothing to see here." The present real moment is not real, in other words, has no value. Only the imagined future has value, only that which is not now and may never be, and in fact almost certainly won't be as you imagine. Which means that the walkers are busy not being present and not being real (and busy unconsciously deflecting suspicious looks).

I on the other hand can't resist stopping and stooping over and gazing at the pebbles on the ground and the types of plants or "weeds" (many of which Europeans brought over precisely because they were useful.) To me, a handful of random pebbles is far more interesting than most of the television programs on cable, and I think about how they were formed, how they got here, perhaps very very far from the place they once were. What streams once smoothed their shapes. The plants all have their stories and mysteries too, and I sometimes discover that a plant I always thought of as just a random weedling has a history and uses.

This behavior marks me as strange in some way, like I haven't yet learned how to behave in this society, or as if I am a little touched in the head. I am reminded of Daodejing #20

The people are merry as if at a magnificent party
Or playing in the park at springtime,
But I am tranquil and wandering,
Like a newborn before it learns to smile,
Alone, with no true home.

The people have enough and to spare,
Where I have nothing,
And my heart is foolish,
Muddled and cloudy.

The people are bright and certain,
Where I am dim and confused;
The people are clever and wise,
Where I am dull and ignorant;
Aimless as a wave drifting over the sea,
Attached to nothing.

The people are busy with purpose,
Where I am impractical and rough;
I do not share the peoples' cares
But I am fed at nature's breast.


I cannot leave the city right now, I have to take care of my elderly mom, but I dream of one day moving somewhere adjacent to a forest where I could sing to the spirits all I want, at the top of my voice, and there will be no suburban ears to be scandalized.

But honestly, shouldn't I be doing that now? I mean, if the current state of things is so messed up, shouldn't I be intruding on that reality? Shouldn't I even have a sort of obligation to? Partly it is that I don't honestly believe that things will change, and partly because I am standing alone where I am. I don't want to feel the entire weight of the last 300 years of Western culture come falling down on me alone.

Freak. Witch. Insane. Commie. Devil-worshiper. Subversive. Dangerous.

Needs therapy, needs Jesus (already had him thank you!), needs a kick in the ass, needs a real job, needs to get laid, needs Tide, needs a Coca-Cola, needs Visine to get the Red out, needs a prison cell, needs a reverse mortgage, needs some meds, needs a burning at the stake, ect. No, what I actually need you ain't got bubba. ;)

If I had comrades in this, it would be easier. Shared weirdness is good. :D