The Sacred Chamber of Ruby Falls.

Deep in the bowels of Lookout Mountain, in Tennessee, hides an ancient cave system named, Ruby Falls caverns. The dank, and musty air within its serpentine passages whisper secrets of eons gone by that remind you that you are a guest in this otherworldly realm. You are at the mercy of nature, sitting deep below a mountain such as this one. The low ceilings require you to humbly bow your head, in respect, for the spirit of the cave. Upon showing this submission, the seeker may enter the inner sanctum of the cave; a vaulted chamber carved out of solid rock by the spirit of the cave--the goddess waterfall.

The roaring of the falls humble you with the overwhelming power of her archaic magic, while the delicate and lacy dance of the water rejuvenates you with her sensual femininity. As I stood at her feet, I raised my arms and head into the spray of her aquatic magic, to honor her energy and be cleansed by it. I left that cave deeply grateful to exist on a planet with natural temples such as the one safe-guarded 1,120 feet below, Lookout mountain.

~The Green Man has Spoken~

The Green Man's Curse Part II.

[If you missed part one of this three part series then just click on this sentence to start from page one]That opened my eyes to the world of the occult for the first time but it wouldn't be the last time during my two years in that surreal region of the world. It also began to fill in the picture as to why this place had a palpable energy to it that saturated everything as if it were brought in by the heavy, moisture drunk morning haze. I knew that I had to play by Mother Africa's rules or I might never be the same again but my stubborn teen-age faith in my "God" was too indoctrinated to admit that I was already forever changed. I was aware that Africa was certainly going to be one of the pillars of the temple that is my unfolding life as it continues to be built with each searing disappointment and every drug rush of success. However, unbeknown to me it at the time it was also changing me in ways that stalk the darkest, coldest, corners of my consciousness to this day.

It wasn't long after my encounter with the priest that I began to unravel mentally as I was assaulted with one barely surmountable wave of stress after another but time has a way of pouring away from one's consciousness while one is consumed with missionary zeal. So, within what seemed like days I was informed that I was to be transferred to a new village further north into the interior of the Ivorian jungle. I road upon a bus crammed with people and a small farm of chickens and goats. Our driver did some Indianopolis 500 style driving to avoid killing us all in the chaotic streets of the capital city, Abidjan but finally we were out on a thin concrete vein of a road funneling us deeper and deeper into the green heart of the Ivory Coast. We drove past countless long-haul truckers heading to Burkina Faso or Mali with dangerously overloaded cargo, which often toppled a truck over. Reaching the medium sized village of Yamoussoukro was a bit like going back in time to discover a land frozen in time.

Yamoussoukro is the home village of the first president of the Ivory Coast after their French Colonial masters couldn't steal, enslave, extract or develop anymore resources from the country. Only then did they "graciously grant" the Ivorians independence. At the time when the country was little more than a French outpost, the village of Yamoussoukro was a small, cocoa producing collection of huts and colonial buildings. Once the first president took power though things drastically changed. He spent obscene amounts of money trying to turn it into the new capital city as the recently independent country stretched its long shackled arms. He bulldozed good farm land to make way for 4 and 6 lane highways that he expected the new growing capital would need but like with many African countries the money became scarce. So, despite a few parliament buildings and a very out of place, modern European-style hotel the development came to a stop. Those main traffic arteries built went no further and newly build modern style neighborhoods were cut off from the rest of the village. It was strange to walk a deserted major highway and follow it until it just ends at a wall of jungle.

So, there I was in this odd, part traditional, African village that was also a part semi-modernized city with roads that go nowhere, and parliament buildings that stand unused (except for a few days a year when the leaders convey up there). The rest of the time they keep those fancy buildings pumping out the air conditioning for the "tourists" that show up--all 3 of them a day. All of these buildings are massive in scale; think the Lincoln monument or the Jefferson memorial in America. Yet just behind them lie shacks with dirt floors where average Ivorians scratch out a meager existence. At this time we were living in an old second floor building at the corner where two of these roads to oblivion intersected but no cars ever drove it. In fact, it was so quiet that when we did see or hear a car coming our direction we knew they were coming to our place.

So, one night I'm out late with my companion missionary (we went in twos) and we rise up to the crest of this hill to rest and replenish our lungs. Well, as I'm standing there I can see the local graveyard that has been there probably since man first walked the Earth, and it's partially exposed by an old lamp post. I blink my eyes a bit to focus and here comes this parade of people (four or so) carrying this dead cow upside down by it's four hooves. They are led by a lady dressed all in white with her face and arms painted with white paint. She's ringing bells and singing while clearly in a state of a possessive trance as she jerked her body and head around in a dizzying tornado of limbs and white cloth. I lock eyes with my Congolese friend and then look back at the cemetery where the entourage has now stopped.

The lady in white pulled out a long knife and began to behead this poor animal. They knelt down at this point in what looked like prayer before getting up and walking off with the headless carcass. The lady in white had just stepped into the shadow outside the range of the circle of light poured down by the lamp pole but the cow and two others visible in the pool of light. Suddenly before I could breath they disappeared. As in they vanished from my vision. They where half way through this spot light caring the sacrificed animal and then gone like a dream after waking up. I was paralyzed with fear but somehow I gurgled in French, "Did you see them disappear too?" My friends' eyes were as big as the white eyes of the Easter Island statues and all he could muster was a rapid barrage of nods. That's it, I said and we took off as fast as we could to get back to our upstairs haven, which we assumed was "protected by God." As it turns out, that assumption was more of a delusion (to be continued...)

The Green Man's Curse.

When I was a young man (19-21) I was sent to steamy West Africa on a mission for my then church--The Mormons. I had been raised and groomed from an early age to travel to the far ends of the Earth to fervently and passionately spread the "truth" that The Mormons were the only church ordained by God on High himself. It is said that each missionary is sent to a locale determined upon what The Prophet has been instructed from Elohim (God) during his prayers.

Being the good Mormon boy that I was at the time I dutifully waited for "the letter" at a Mormon run college in nowhere Idaho. I have always been a very spiritual person and I was serious about my commitment to the "Armies of Helamen," which were allegedly an ancient army of young men warrior Mormons in the Americas as written in the Book of Mormon. Today the term is also used to refer the the Mormon churches' army of some 50,000+ missionaries spreading the faith.

Being somewhat psychic I had a feeling that I would be sent of Africa. I set off studying everything I could find on Africa, and before long the continent began calling to me. So it was to my delight that I was "called" to serve in a new mission in Cote D'Ivoire, (Ivory Coast) West Africa. This is a French speaking, developing country on the west coast of Africa just neighboring Ghana. The predominate religion practiced in the tropical country is animism followed by Islam and bringing up the tail-end is Christianity. It is a minority religion, which as an American I had never experienced. Then take into account the history of Christianity in the region and you'll realize how deeply Christians wounded Africans during the colonial slave trade era. Let's just say in conclusion that I wasn't the most popular guy off the boat!! Yet I was too intoxicated with the rhythm, beauty, style, flavor and smell of Mother Africa to be too worried about much--especially at 19 years old!!

In between savoring strange, new foods I set out to "save the Ivorians" from the "evils of witchcraft." I was an eager, model missionary who was quietly being groomed for leadership. Despite my willingness to fully marinate myself in this otherworldly culture I was a vulnerable young boy who, really, was in over his head. Yet nothing seemed amiss as I was too consumed with memorized verses from the Book of Mormon and visions of a tropical paradise assaulted my brain. Then one sweltering day I remember shopping for our daily meals amongst the bright chaos of one of the open air markets in our village.

At one point while looking for the fish lady, I passed this strange stall filled with bones, jars full of nasty, dark liquids, animal skins, trinkets and other "junk." As I passed I noticed an old, short, gray bearded guy wearing rags of what looked like burlap bags held together with twine, trinkets, amulets and shards of metal and glass. Time slowed distinctly as I made eye contact with him and he seemed to be furious by my presence. I could feel his crocodile like narrowed eyes intruding into my eye sockets, and never did he take his eyes off of mine. Then faintly I heard him mutter something in my direction, and it clearly wasn't French. I had to assume it was a tribal language. His body language was confrontational at this point as he flashed his hands in my direction as if he were flinging something at me. After breaking visual contact I felt time continue on it's merry way and I came to my senses to realize that I had probably just been "cursed." My suspicions were confirmed when I was told later by a local that he was an animist priest. I must admit that for all my youthful invincibility I felt fear creep and for the first time I knew that I was pilgrim in a strange land (to be continued....)

Independent Pagan.

I have noticed a trend in American religious thought that many are leaving the cold, rigid religious boundaries of the past as we emerge from the cocoon of a puritanical society. The trend seems to be one of reclaiming one's independence and freedom to tailor one's philosophy/religion/belief system to what feels right for them. It is in that light from which I write out this declaration of what Paganism means to me. It's long but I hope you find it interesting.

It is but one branch, however, to my overall tree of beliefs, which also include Buddhism, Taoism, Hindu Mysticism, a bit of the Occult and Secular Humanism. I am writing this out mostly for my benefit as I explore what I believe as far as my Pagan side expresses. If anyone finds it useful or interesting then I'm happy to have aided you in some way:

I am of Scottish and Norwegian descent. My last name is an old Scottish one, which is also the name of a small fishing village not far off the northern, Scottish, Shetland islands on the far eastern coast of Norway. As my parents are Mormon they are very into family genealogy and figure that my Scottish ancestors were originally Norse Vikings who migrated to northern Scotland. Thus the fiery orange red beard I wear. I say all of this to say that the foundation of my Pagan philosophy is a mix of ancient Celtic, Gaelic and Norse pagan practices/beliefs. I'm also very atheistic so I am not one of those Pagans who believe in spells, praying to gods or worshiping other mythical beings. I enjoy them as aspects within myself represented in a very easy to understand and absorb fashion in visual images. That is why I connect so well to altars and images of gods as visual information is my best way of processing things. They are symbols to me of what I seek to embody, strive for and avoid.

I collect objects important to me, which I place upon my altar not because I believe they have any magical power but because they mean something meaningful to me. So to see all these personally sacred objects collected and positioned altogether, with care, is inspirational and visually very pleasing and thus calming to me. My therapist speaks of balancing my scales as I am a very pessimistic and cynical being. It's a weakness of mine I struggle with daily. So basically my scales are totally lopsided with negative stuff weighing the scale down to one side. One reason for my constant low level of depression and feelings of hopelessness come from not having enough positive things that bring my scale into more balance. So since I have realized that seeing all these images, (such as the ones on this blog, in my house and on my altar) bring me happiness, empowerment and peace I am embracing it.

Animism is another important facet to my independent Pagan philosophy as I spent two life changing years in Cote D'Ivoire, West Africa where I came into contact with the belief system. It is one that believes all things have a "life force" or "energy" within it that connects all things together in an interdependent web of existence. Rocks, plants, waterfalls, rivers, mountains, springs, trees, dirt, rain, etc. This blends nicely into my Buddhist, Taoist and general pagan beliefs. Traditional Animism believes these things such as objects or wooden statues represent spirits, which if given the right things will bless or curse you or others. However, again being atheistic I use my objects and locations as symbols of people and places that I cherish deeply.

These memories are more easily and more powerfully activated for me by visual representations, which I place on my Animist altar. The objects also represent my hopes and aspirations, which when contemplated upon bring about a feeling of peace and contentment. Some things I place upon either of my three altars without really knowing why -- just that they catch my attention and fascinate me. My altars are like moving art -- they are alive and a moving, ever evolving sacred space. I change things around based on the seasons, my mood, my intentions or just for a change. I often don't ask why I should put something where I place it but rather follow my intuition that it is meant to be there. If it's pleasing to the eye that is often enough for me to find it meaningful. Sometimes we ask too many questions and seek too much for reasons for doing things. This life is often about letting go and just following the flow of energy and see where it takes us.

The final aspect of my Pagan philosophy right now is that of Shamanism, which involves a Shaman acting as intermediary between the spirit world and the human realm. I don't believe in spirits much but I do believe that all things have an energy that could involve electromagnetic waves, which pulse throughout all objects and beings. Those waves would seem to affect and connect with the electrical behavior of our brain. It isn't the same as traditional electricity but in both cases they involved pules of energy radiating through a network of circuits. Plus, Earth has it's own magnetic field that is pulsing throughout everything that resides upon it. This would all explain why some places and people have a stronger pull to them than others such as the north and south poles, etc. However, I am severely digressing from discussing my interpretation and practice of Shamanism.

One of the other important aspects to Shamanism is connecting with, watching, learning from being guided by the animal kingdom. Animals have always been attracted to me, especially cats. Where ever we move there are always cats that seek us out. We have saved so many strays over the years. At this one place we lived there was this cat that would come and hang out with me on our porch. He would sit on the post of the railing and I would sit on the stairs and we'd just sit and absorbs the sights, sound and smells of nature together. I am very cat like with excellent reflexes, acute senses, strong spirit of independence and a creature of the night. So cat like animals are especially totem guides to me as well as hawks/eagles/owls but I find inspiration in all critters. I see them in part as omens. For example, I was about to head off to a weekend in Las Vegas (we all know what THAT means) but while we were waiting on the airplane they told us the previous flight that this plane had just landed from was being cleaned because it sucked a red-tail hawk into the engine!! I was horrorfied as the red-tail in particular is a favorite animal totem of mine as we both have red spots (it feathers and me my beard). So, well, the rest of that weekend in Vegas turned out of be one of the worst three days of my life. I should have known.

The other part of Shamanism that I have adopted is the role of healer. Since I was a young adult I've always taken an interest in plants and use to chew on mint leaves from my neighbors garden. Then one of my first and longest jobs was working at a vitamin and herb company selling it too people who would call in to place orders. I got to know what vitamins and herbs did what for a person's health. I have committed many of the herb books to heart and am that guy who is always suggesting herbs and natural remedies for common illnesses like colds, stomach ailments and the like. This includes psychoactive substances such as cannabis and magic mushrooms to explore the depths of consciousness. Well, I think that's enough for now.

~Be well~