I’ve said and have been saying that my spirituality isn’t up for public consumption. As much as I enjoy writing, I’m a highly inconsistent person. I don’t blog regularly, and getting a simple essay written takes an inordinate amount of time for me. Truth be told, I’m easily distracted. But there is a reasoning behind all of that. My spirituality is very intimate and personal. I’m a spiritworker, scavenger and bone hoarder. Dirt and blood and bone are the primary mediums with which I work. I talk to dead people. I dig in the dirt. I create art from rotting corpses. I shed blood. It’s not pretty, or clean, or glamorous. It’s not made for display, but it’s not supposed to be. I am Feral. What is Feral isn’t easily categorized, it can’t be boxed or caged or classified. It goes counter to manicured domesticity, its very presence unnerves. It is for this very reason that I find it so hard to write about aspects of my spirituality, even when I have the time and the desire to do so. This concept doesn’t easily filter down into blog posts or books or essays. Putting a thing to words is hard when that very thing defies words or labels.
Harpocrates has me by the balls. Casting light on these things causes them to shimmer and fade, or retreat into the shadows, beyond where I’m able to follow or reach. So I don’t. I prefer to walk in the shadows with them. My altars and shrines and sacred objects are just that. They’re not for public edification, they’re not for display. They aren’t tools to use as a prop for my ego, or a megaphone by which cries for attention may be broadcast. I see and hear stories of people posting their “sacred” objects (I must use scare quotes, if they were that sacred, why display them like that?) on Twitter or FaceBook, or blogging posts. I can’t grasp at why. Luceros, prendas, altars and sacred spaces. No detail left unwritten. Look at me. Look at what I have. Look what I am. Read my blog, read my books. I ask, what time do you have for Spirit, when all you do is snap selfies, holler on social networking sites, write and write and write. What happens off the computer? Where’s your spirituality when no one’s looking? Who are you without the audience?
I love writing, and I love reaching out to others of like-mind. But I need to be free, unshackled by social networking and long hours spent writing. I’m restless and my attention span doesn’t hold very long. My sanity begins to pace like a caged leopard. I need to be free. I need to be Doing. I will write about the hows and the whys, but only so far. The finer, more intimate details are for me alone, and those whom I work with and for. If you need me, you’ll figure out how to find me. If you claim to run with me, then try to catch up. I don’t linger. My spirits won’t allow me to. They keep my soul restless and moving. I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Originally posted on: http://ift.tt/1Ay34st