Purging

Today I am filled with joy and I hardly feel like writing about purging.  However, it is a tendency of us in the west to focus on happy moments, to always show pictures of ourselves as smiling, to mask over the work it took to get to happy moments, to tip the scales in favor of ungrounded ecstasy.  When we do this we spin round in circles which have no outlet, forsaking spirals of creative and transformative energies for the comfort of what is known.  It is in the spirit of truth that I now share with you an (unedited) journal entry which relates several episodes of purging across time.  Uncomfortable, but worthy.

"Purging my fathers legacy.  Black demons.  All washed up on the shores of my consciousness.  Groping cyclops on the beach of my existence.  Blood spills from their minds, their shoulders, runs down their fingers, splashes their toes.  Reaching for me, they long for a way to enter the vast bright sea.  In my younger days a great white bird would save me.  He would fly over my right shoulder and drop a great heavy jewel into my hands.  Sometimes emerald, sometimes ruby or  amethyst, always glowing with white light.  I would catch the jewel, the glow would spread around me with wispiness and flame.  The tortured subjects before me on the beach would vanish.

Later I learned to expand a similar white glow from the center of my heart.  When I found out that I was conceived in rape, and my body cried out yes -you know that this is the cause of your ultimate suspicion, the racking shivers in your bones!- it was this white light which allowed me to confront the demon.  I walked outside and there he was, dripping blood from his mouth, black, enormous, gorging on the indulgence of humans.  He stood to face me, and I said fuck off with the bright white light.  It grew and grew and grew until he was completely blinded and then obliterated by it.  Feminine assertiveness, speaking up and out, setting boundaries - these are supported by the fire of the heart.  The white flame at the center which purifies.  These days I simply set a boundary.  I merge my heart with the molten core of the earth, appreciating the mix of my story with the collective saga. Aho.

And that is just me purging.  Two nights ago I dreamt of large amounts of mucus sliding out of my anus.  It was open and splayed and fleshy.  Disgusting.  I have hung out with that - knowing it is purging my fathers legacy.  I smoked more than a few cigarettes to protect me and give me insight.  Then finally last night I scrubbed myself with salt.  This morning I had black tea, and the combination of these three medicines did the trick.  There is something here about suicide - and the spirits I was dealing with at my last fire ceremony, which I had to set a firm boundary with - relating to the purging of my fathers line in the first night of Ayahuasca (*it was actually the second ceremony I had).  Don't have to know what all the mucus is, all the filth, the dilapidated pink filth I hung out with on that Friday (during Ayahuasca)- the shadow of my flowery and viney Tibetan gardens full of stars and chimes.  Just let it transmute.  Let the earth take it.  Lay on the earth.  Allow her to absorb your cellular drainage.  Then make room for the crystalline structures to emerge."


I'm not going to make an appeal to our higher selves now, or to say its all alright what comes out in the wash, to paste a smile onto the ending.  I am simply going to say, purge.  And purge again, and again.  The blessings follow the purgings.  If its visions you want, take them all.