Those on a spiritual path work to reach past their horizons and dive to the bottom of their own depths.
They do this in many different ways.
My way, at times, is akin to poking badgers with sticks.
Not random badgers, mind you, and definitely not short sticks, but, by most standards, it’s still a risky proposition.
Most of my self knowledge has been gained in the depths of wild depression and the heights of elation. Those darkest of dark places have yielded a plethora of information about where my limits lie. Those blinding moments of ecstasy have illuminated how far I have come.
Between those extremes is the continuum where the rest of my personal work has been done.
Very often, that work involved sticking my hands blindly into holes with destinations I have only the vaguest inkling of. I do things I recommend no one else do. So far, I’ve been lucky and haven’t gotten myself into anything that I haven’t been able to get out of–either by myself or with the help of friends. Usually, getting out is a team effort.
So is getting in.
A solitary path is an acceptable path, but there is only so far it can take you. Knowing your own low and high limits is useful, but growing to fill the space between those limits–and, eventually, surpassing those limits–is the goal of many a path. That work can only be done when we see ourselves reflected in others. When we see how our actions and theirs blend together.
This is an innate bit of wisdom that most people never fully consciously realize. It is the (metaphysical) root of our need for community. Our need for friends. Our desire for romance.
Because we instinctively know this, we fall together into groups with similar strengths and weaknesses. It is only those who take conscious control of the direction of their lives–be it a spiritual or a mundane direction–that break from that predestination to communal mediocrity. It is those seekers that push the limits of themselves and those around them. Push the very limits of sensibility.
Much of the metaphysical world is vague to our raw and untrained senses. In our modern culture, we are far removed from the natural rhythms of life. We have conquered the limitations of darkness and cold, made our own oases in the dry and hot areas of our world. In a toe to toe fight, nature still wind, but with our cunning and technology, we rarely fight the fair fight.
And that’s where the sticks and badgers come in.
On a spiritual path, we do not need to eschew the modern world. After all, it is as real (or unreal) as everything else. On my personal path, I have chosen to embrace technology and even the more base and mundane parts of the greater culture (or cultural vacuum as the case may be). In my everyday life, I work with these things and use them to my advantage whenever possible.
But in my spiritual life, I work hard to reduce the accoutrement to little more than a stick. In what general practice I do, I tend to use very few tools. For specific tasks or experiments, I will undoubtedly make use of the proper tools. Most of my exploration, though, finds me with nothing more than a stick and myself.
I’ve never gone into any metaphysical exploration completely blind. I have been initiated into no official schools save the one my friends and I created ourselves many years ago. And even that group has very loose laws and looser organization, especially since the handful of members have been scattered to the four winds and, effectively, gone on hiatus. Always, though, I have done research before embarking on an exploration.
That foreknowledge–gleaned from the experiences of others, books and other evidence, both anecdotal and scholarly–is my stick. It is used offensively and defensively. It is used to help me keep my footing when the ground I tread becomes uneven. It is used as a tool to move obstacles or cross rivers. And like any stick, no matter how good it is, there is a chance it will break and leave you completely on your own.
It’s also used to poke the badgers.
There is no doubt that a little knowledge can be a very bad thing. I consider myself quite lucky that I haven’t been seriously bitten by some metaphysical things I’ve poked at. Journeys into the spirit realm–walking between worlds–can be a nasty badger to poke. Things can follow you back and make your mundane life miserable and confusing. Divination, if done improperly (or half-properly) can provide false insight, a formidable badger in and of itself that is often quickly compounded by the foibles of human nature and the desire to be more than we actually are.
My badger-poking stick, no matter how small and flimsy I think it is, has proven again and again to be infinitely more sturdy and useful than the sticks some others use.
We all have known people who go badger-poking with nothing more than a green twig. Any pagan or magician worth their salt has seen it–perhaps even done it in their early years. People get in over their heads. They open doors without knowing how to close them. They gather energies they don’t know how to dissipate. They cause all manner of trouble for themselves and those around them.
They poke badgers with twigs and lose fingers. Then their equally ill-prepared twig-equipped friends jump in to try to “help” and end up bitten, too. If things get bad enough, “animal control” needs to be called in to clean up the mess.
Once or twice, I’ve been on that detail. It’s never fun. Nor is it pleasant.
But it is educational.
I have learned a lot from the mistakes of others. My stick is thickly wrapped with the trappings of others’ journeys and tipped with the sharp wisdom gained from paying attention when learning from those with more experience.
So, yes, to expand my self-knowledge and walk along my metaphysical path, I poke badgers with sticks.
It’s not something I recommend everyone do. With preparation and practice, though, you can get those badgers to dance something fierce
And if you’re patient and don’t poke too hard, you can get them to offer up their knowledge to you.
[…] Basically, I poke badgers with sticks. […]