Beatle
Round the fire last week, I expressed my desire to venture into a Vision Quest-type experience. I’ve been waiting over three years for a sign. It was round a men’s circle I co-host twice a month on our property on Bundjalung country, Mullumbimby.
Our men’s circle isn’t about advice or solutions, it’s about deep listening, but sometimes there’s call and response.
My buddy Igor kindly offered that I could practice something before I see“the sign”, no doubt Ace of Base style, and offered to share a short fire ceremony with me before he bounced to Mexico.
I needed it,
and so did he.
So last night we set stage for a vigil, built a few alters, a fire, and tended to it from sunset to sunrise in silence.
‘Wow, Dude!’, he said mid-silent ceremony.
Moments earlier….
The sounds of nightfall and focus flickering around us.
But that was different.
That was heavy.
A weighty presence floating about,unsure of its destination.
‘Thud’, the beatle headbutts an outer circle rock of the fire.
Igor stands up to join me on my side of the circle to inspect this creature from the kamikaze realms.
Shaking himself off. Our guest regathers and zips his way to a snap-locked landing on my lap.
‘Wow, Dude!’
We both gaze at this little big fella, about the size of my hand.
Sitting on my thigh just below the knee, he starts to reverberate and all I hear as I look at this heavy bug specimen of magnificence is…
‘Save the planet, save the people, be flamboyant.’
I try to push the flamboyant message out,
it feels unnecessary.
Can’t we just ‘save the planet, save the people?’ ;)
That’s something simple.
Let’s do that.
And perhaps it is.
Get them yarning and watch what happens.
I’ve tried to overcomplicate the fuck out of solutions before.
Yarning is the best one I reckon.
Simple as.
Flamboyance shooting sparkles into my face amid the looped words.
I let it in.
Earning its place in our dialogue.
I gaze into the flamboyance in front of me.
Flickering.
I acknowledge somewhere in the deepforest of froth resides flamboyance.
It feels like the version of froth that pops and catches your attention in the crowd, but perhaps a little too lairy even for the lairiest of party shirts.
Does it attack my warped sense of masculinity?
The old glorified version I’m painstakingly unpinning from the flesh on my chest.
I sit back.
Sit with it.
I’m the bug guy.
People have dolphins, eagles and bears as their “spirit animals”
Mine are the flies.
And perhaps now the bugs.
Marsh Flies (Sciomyzida) tend to show up when I’m in alignment and give me a little nip when I’m not.
Case in point in case the point is missed.
As we packed up this morning,
a marshy took a ride on the mattress I was carrying on the way back to the van. ‘The Marsh Dude Abides’ I thought.
But the Scarab Beatle,
I don’t think I’d ever seen one.
Except in an Ancient Egypt touring show that my parents took me to when I was a youngster visiting the big smoke of Sydney.
And this was certainly the first live one.
But not for long…
I heard that msg and then I really, heard, that message.
The Beatle climbed atop my alter to try out the candle.
Dipping toe into fire, ill-advised bro.
It scalded him, he winced, bouncing back from the flame.
Like in a craze, skittish, he flew off to the right and into the darkness…
Just as quick!
Re-entry from stage-right and into my visual frame
courtesy of
the ritual flame.
Thud!
He lands square in the fire.
AHISSSSS
A squealing exhale sound.
‘Fuck me!’ I say mid-silent-ceremony.
My mind says ‘save him’ and my body follows! Then stops!!!
Like a shunting train.
I watch on.
The struggle ceases
and that’s all…
His body crisps up and over the next ten minutes hollows out into shell, before disintegrating as the fire jumps ever so slightly and resettles.
The way we all go.
Dissolving into dissolution.
On occasion,
words fall forward
in silent spaces.
Sometimes
in sacred spaces
when bugs come to visit
for ceremonial sacrifice.
….. And a final note.
My words are back!
I knew all I needed was to shut the fuck up for long enough for me to hear them again.
