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Occasionally I wandered in where I was not wanted and gave truthful answers.
Sometimes I even did it deliberately. A little disruption now can prevent disaster later.

This is the world

Thinking by bloggingPeople accuse me of being a libertine.

I’m not really. I am a sensualist. I’m telling you this because all too often pagans forget we’re supposed to bridge worlds.

Senses are my bridge to the wonders around us. Granted, I may be a little more focused than most. It’s part of the cross wiring in my brain. It’s not unusual for people with autism to get overstimulated by their own senses. As I’ve gotten older, it’s become more pronounced with some things. My eyes are more sensitive to direct bright light. There are certain odors that can hit me hard. The soap aisle in the grocery store is a major ordeal. But I can smell a woman’s arousal from across the room. Some fabrics on my skin are just too amazing.

The thing is, this is the world where we live. We’re born here and we die here. And if we can touch a few people along the way, good.

That’s why I write about my fireplace and the candlelight. That’s why I tell you about the ravens as they caw for attention in my yard. That’s why I tell you sometimes about the food I eat. That’s why I talk about the sex I have with my companions.

It’s even why I tell you about the Robot. A strong sensory shock can put you back in the driver’s seat.

That’s why I tell you about my lemon-orange tea sweetened with honey.

Things aren’t what they were. My feet and I disagree these days, so sometimes just walking is difficult. I can’t manage the bare feet outside. But I still remember the feel of cold mud as it squeezes through my toes. Black Arkansas river mud smells a little sweet, Louisianna field mud just smells like dirt. Wet beach sand feels completely different, and hot desert sand can burn your feet.

Feeling dirt and fertilizer under your nails when your holding a sweat soaked shovel handle, that’s something that every gardener and farmer should know.

Watching a wild rabbit move through the greenbelt in a desert, that’s a treat. Hearing a coyote howl while your watching the rabbit, that’s a gift.

See, it’s not about what we own. It’s about what we feel. That’s what we must learn to share.

When I start a ritual, I sometimes focus on one sensory impression. I let it flow though me. I let it carry my ego away. I lose myself in the feeling. It’s a quick and concrete way to start.

It takes us out of the ordinary and into the beyond.

The beyond was already there.

We just weren’t paying attention.

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A narrow slice of life, but now and again pondering American neopaganism, modern adult pagans & the World.

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