FEATURES
Hardcore Shamanism
/ Dodie Bellamy
01.19.07
Hello, Frog
Why does one do things that one feels queasy about? Why is there such a charge, for instance, in having sex with the mildly repulsive? Is it some kind of bottomy urge for submission, the intensity of crossing a little-tread boundary of desire? Or some riot grrrl nihilistic flipflop of conventional values? Or a Buddhist nudge to blast away the ego? Is it a visit from the figure Poe called “The Imp of the Perverse”? Why would I dole out $200 to take a weekend shamanism workshop with an organization called Foundation of the Sacred Stream? Why would I then send in another $275 for a higher level workshop, despite misgivings with the first one? As a former cult member, I’ve gorged on and spit up enough “spiritual” hocus pocus for three lifetimes. I’m so skeptical of New Age groups that even though friends swear that meditation would help me, I have yet to visit the local Shambhala Center. Once I made it all the way to their front door. I put my hand on the knob, and as the L-Taraval streetcar rumbled past, I felt a pang of anxiety and fled. So how did I find myself jumping into the Sacred Stream?
Why does one do things that one feels queasy about? Why is there such a charge, for instance, in having sex with the mildly repulsive? Is it some kind of bottomy urge for submission, the intensity of crossing a little-tread boundary of desire? Or some riot grrrl nihilistic flipflop of conventional values? Or a Buddhist nudge to blast away the ego? Is it a visit from the figure Poe called “The Imp of the Perverse”? Why would I dole out $200 to take a weekend shamanism workshop with an organization called Foundation of the Sacred Stream? Why would I then send in another $275 for a higher level workshop, despite misgivings with the first one? As a former cult member, I’ve gorged on and spit up enough “spiritual” hocus pocus for three lifetimes. I’m so skeptical of New Age groups that even though friends swear that meditation would help me, I have yet to visit the local Shambhala Center. Once I made it all the way to their front door. I put my hand on the knob, and as the L-Taraval streetcar rumbled past, I felt a pang of anxiety and fled. So how did I find myself jumping into the Sacred Stream?