Thursday, December 28, 2023

An Unexpected World Previously Suspect, Definitely Infected, Then Definitively-Enough Inspected Via Prose, Psychology aka A Former Christian Consciously Reclaiming the Primal



A World Unsuspected: Portraits of Southern Childhood edited by Alex Jones, 1987.

The gift that keeps on giving - one of my most favorite Christmas presents ever - besides the ultimate which was the utterly unexpected and dreamed of telescope my father got me for Christmas 1966, I believe. There's a photo of it and me near Cape Canaveral with Ellen Collins from my journalism class. Dad drove me and some journalism class students (about 7 in all along with my younger brother Richard) to Florida to watch the launch of either Apollo 7 or 8. The launch was seen from where we were for only 8 seconds or so because there was pouring rain and low clouds. But NASA in its weather wisdom was go for a launch. Suffice it to say, 8 seconds of fire and smoke and a mocking distant and distancing rumble was sloppy seconds. So it goes, or went.

I didn't realize it then but Ellen was "sweet on me" but my head then was in the stars (obsessed with astronomy) and Jesus mud (pervades the air down South) and up mine own frightened arse so much so that infatuation of hers, Ellen's, with addled me "went over like a pregnant pole vaulter."

Anyhow, the telescope rules for childhood/teen gift, and in adult-enough Christmas this book A World Unexpected: Portraits of Southern Childhood, an anthology, was given to me by an older brother in 1987. He and I, exiles from the South, and childhood in specifics too numerous to recount here, were voracious readers and aspiring (well, I was aspirating) writers and, with physical distance out of the South, post Nam where he was a chaplain's assistant, he had Philadelphia and a radical Jesus (Nam woke him up out of the Calvinista haze/craze), and I had my own self-exile from the "Christhaunted Landscape of the South" (Flannery O'Connor's very accurate summation of the infernal sump "sodden toward corn pone" (sorry Mr. Eliot), and tons of books, poetry, and some long enough employment at psychiatric places, institutes, mental health centers, half-way houses, juvenile detention centers, etc. to know, rather, to have repeated confirmation that I was "a lost fart in a catastrophic whirlwind" (a dream of my father as a massive hurricane covering the entire Gulf Ocean almost hitting the USA Gulf coast where he was born); all the psychiatric jobs were therapeutic for me, I felt that I was a patient or resident the entire time only I had the keys to the wards and could come and go. Thank you sweet Jeebus. 

Telescope and Moi at Cape Canaveral, FL for Apollo Launch. 1967

So, I fled the expected catastrophe of the South (but not of myself) to the unexpected world of New York City, arriving NOT without projections, all positive, the first being that there were months of piled and piling snow! Within two months I began Jungian analysis which was one of the primary goals of getting to NYC. I had discovered Jung while in high school, senior year, only two paragraphs in a high school psychology textbook, laughably paltry offering that book was in retrospect, surprised that there was a class called psychology back then, but I got what I needed from the class and the book - two paragraphs about Carl Gustav Jung, complexes (he coined the term) and archetypes (he renewed and expanded the word's meaning and usage). BINGO.

Time passed. Then there was a woman (still best friends), I'll call her Evangeline, who strayed into the Christian college I then attended in Tennessee early 1970's; she arrived from NYC for only a year then fled! I am convinced, no, I know, that she wound up there, predestined!, only to meet me as my "Anima-as-Fate" (sorry Ellen Collins) and gave me, ushered me (chastely) into, the projected and hopefully to be gained or at least cozied up to "world of art, literature, jazz, culture, et. al. and international culture" available out one's door in NYC. A one woman missionary who by just being herself with me was graduate school level (for me, probably kindergarten) education. Gertrude Stein? WHOOO? John Coltrane? WHOOO? Henry Cowell? WHOOO? and on and on. Virginia Wolfe? (I did know Edward Albee's play from high school but had no idea that who Virginia Wolfe was a real person).

Moi. Freshman in college. Green, how I want you green. Fall 1970.

One day Evangeline mentioned Carl Gustav Jung after I had mentioned a dream that the night before, a big dream, apocalyptic, shook me to the core, a tidal waves washing over the tall mountain that the college was located on; in the dream I could only watch that massive wave coming closer and closer, then feel the college trembling, hear the oncoming roar, screams. I rushed to a refrigerator in the college kitchen in hopes to somehow survive the wave. I opened the fridge door only to see one of the then "most spiritual" women students of the college hunkered over frozen raw meat stuffing her face like a starving animal, a wild look in her bulging eyes. [NOTE: as a Christian one is told not to feed the appetites, not to desire "the flesh"....in retrospect my Anima was ravenous to feed! my instinctual self was deprived (I was terrified of those instincts), for godssakes and zooks, I was 20 years old!].

Evangeline asked me if I had read Jung's autobiography, Memories, Dreams, Reflections [almost wrote "Desire"]. No. I hadn't, wrote it down in my journal then and there and later headed to the college library to see if it was there. NOT. So hitch-hiked down the mountain into the city to a shopping mall that did have the book. I purchased 2 others that had a big impact then and there and ongoingly, Fritz Perl's 2 books on Gestalt Therapy, his autobiography, "In and Out of the Garbage Pail" (that "pail" being the Freudian unconscious - place of repressed gunk and stank and DESIRE - and his "Gestalt Therapy Verbatim" which, upon reading, was immediately useable in that I could dialogue with dream figures, complexes, etc. and actually gain some real ground, at least a sand bar (after the tidal wave dream) to wiggle my wolf claws in).

So. Time progresses back to me newly in NYC, out of the South and I

With the anamnesis that is psychoanalysis, memory is supreme, with dreams giving narratives beneath ego memories and narratives of life experiences, and so the South and I were slouching (no Bethlehem in sight) "on the Jungian couch" (Zurich WAS in sight, sorta) - my analyst sat at one end and I at the other - not a Freudian couch situation though there was plenty talk of early childhood, parents, clan, community. Sex, sure cuz John Calvin ruled and still rules the South (and makes existentialists out of those who have fled, Calvin and Camus, nanook nanook, abandon all hope for an ongoing lifetime of theological rope-a-dope having grown "an arm to box with God, the odd odd assortment of them, variations on a theme evolving/devolving, distorting perfectly marvelous words like "grace" "renewal" et. al. into weaponized (a word used too much these days) self-hatred as the flavour du-jour Western Deity tormented and teased.

My analyst, Bertine (not her real name), was patient enough with me. I now feel badly for her since I couldn't figure out shit from peanut butter then - am a bit more nuanced now - jar of jam nearby for frequent assistance. It didn't register to me when with her that she had studied and trained with both Gordon Allport AND Carl Rogers. After some years of clinical practice she trained to become a Jungian analyst (9 years of training!).

Poor Bertine. Had to put up with me, my acting out but not knowing such as not showing up for sessions (and not paying for missed sessions). Last minute cancellations. Again, not paying for the missed sessions. I think she knew I'd probably bolt in rebellion, etc. Blah blah. God bless her. I was hard work and didn't know it. Had no idea, really, what therapy sessions were about, the rules, expectations, etc.

So, not quite yet fired by Evangeline, 1987 and Christmas, and A World Unsuspected happened which confirmed that I was not the only basket case out of the South and "so-called" Christianity which is as predictable as the violence it does to countless hordes, "soul murder", what a very helpful to me book calls pathological Christianity - which presumes there is it's better alter - but I'm not interested though my psyche has this obstinate, obdurate Christian part that I've had to learn to live with, make room for, along with many other parts that "don't hold with that Fundamentalist stuff", in other words, I've had to expand a sense of self, have had to allow for its inevitable pushing the perimeters beyond the "official ones" sanctified by sect and society. All this from my learning that the Psyche indeed contains worlds" and, like Whitman, I, me, Warkles of the Wasteland, contain worlds...the trick is not to get inflated over the largeness that ego is but a part of (vitally since ego = consciousness). Dreams are part of that largeness as well as personal narratives which offer new thread lines from previous narratives which are not forgotten or rejected but included as the narrative life continues on.

Time presently presents NOW ellipses....

....So, every Christmas I make sure to reread parts of Alex Jones offerings of various Southern writers mostly from the second half, some from last third, of the 20th Century.

First page of Padget Powll's "Hitting Back"

Two screen grabs (grabbed from the book online) are 1) ofo William Carlos Williams from whence the book title derives, and then the opening two paragraphs of Padgett Powell's autobiographical accounts of Southern childhood. And a photo of me near Canaveral, my bro on the right. I have a photo of me and Ellen with the telescope, me grimacing but now sure why. I'll search for that. But that gift from my father - "fear was my father, father fear"— Theodore Roethke - was, looms still, massively, conveys that he actually did "see" or "get" and support a vital part of who I was then and now. And this was a man of his generation without a psychological bone in his body. I'll call it, intuition. And picked up enough that there was love after all. But the Hurricane was too big.

And if Perls and others are correct, that one is everything in the dream then, gulp, I too am that Hurricane. I too am that Tidal Wave. I too am that violent Deity of the West. I am that young "spiritual woman" (who later committed suicide). Makes me sit up straight, alert. Check with her in fridge and see if I've at least consciously fed her, satisfied her, quelled her terror, made her confident enough that I can manage catastrophe, develop capacities to do so, not perfectly...and not hide out in the fridge or Christianity or alternative bastions.

NOTE: I once did a gestalt and became that tidal wave and was AWED by "my" POWER, the physical sense, and learned that I had to ground and let that power flow....great stuff, psychology. Saved my life. Does so still. Not pushing it though. 2 paragraphs, anima-as-fate and exile, new territory of "the couch" and reframing the fridge, the meat, and on and on.

Did I mention Moby Dick? Melville? how that White Whale and I had, and have, ongoing business. My inner Ismael and Ahab, that real "god-man figure", Queequeg? NO? Just did. All that for another account.

Here's a link to the book online...not sure it's still in print :

https://archive.org/details/worldunsuspected00harr/page/14/mode/1up


Waiting out covid treks. Dirt road edged in green. 
And me, myself and hobblegangers.
Early spring 2020.  Keene, NY


"Warren-tining" summer 2020.  Keene, New York.

Life, dear Barcelona, is sweet..

One endures long enough to break through thunder, 
a taut belly, a smooth place for lips to land.
One may reach a Pure Land which has no logic, 
the tedious seasons of a long life endured.
Still, one gathers names of each joven prince
passed beneath loving, yes, arduous hands.

Again, upon Kingfisher's wings I blow these kisses, 
this music, your patient ear awaiting the purist pearl, 
for you were once the bequeathed, escaped girl
without fear of oceans, this one between us which
now must be overflown to reach you.

Tuesday, December 12, 2023

First Prolegomena To All Future Resistance - More from "Pissoirs Du Mal —Journal Des Les Moineaux (Urinals of Evil — Journal of the Sparrows)" by Pere Bleubols

Media noche de Distrito Federales, Mexico City, Mexico, December 2008


"It is night and now do all sleeping fountains wake." -- Zarathustra, in Nietzsche's Thus Spake Zarathustra

A Rule to break: Let sleeping dogs lie. -- Folk saying

A Rule to Follow: "Now, gods, stand up for bastards." -- Edmond, in King Lear by William Shakespeare


Now enter Diogenes Teufelsdrochk (taken from Thomas Carlyle's nom de plume for his satire, Sartor Resartus (The Tailor Retailored).  Diogenes in Greek means god begotten.  Teufelsdrockh translates from the German as donkey dung".

(God Begotten Donkey Dung blinking awake from sleep) "Damn those fountains! Can't a man sleep for godsakes? Burbling away all night while silent by day!! What was the dream?...ah...yes...










here














in












this













dream
















I have fallen out of heaven. 

Yea, verily, I have been thrown out by the very deities I tried to play footsies with who acted like they wanted it and then offended angels perceiving me a human rival tossed my fleece socks down upon me as an afterthought. Not a kindness, mind, but an insult to socks and sockitude and what they do. Still, the hurt is and was immense here now hanging on at the familiar perimeter, the Fenetre Fence, recompense for my offending hubris. And all I did was suggest! In the concrete world of Heaven suggestions are creations, coagulate accretions taken for fundamentals. There there is no poetry. No art. A fart becomes instantly too, too solid. Becomes reality creation. Becomes manifest and a curse upon Heaven and Earth for we are tempted to think that whatever is thought is a hard thing. This is a temptation. One of the worst and is an idolatry most foul.

It is the human imagination which is most truly, profoundly creative, with subtleties upon subtleties unfolding, infolding. Resonances unending. Effulgent, ever indulgent in proliferation of World and worlds and gradations never fading except into pastel shades hinting in visual whispers, "There is more..."

Whereas Heaven, Nirvana, icey and cold, is mute. Dumb as a box of hair. Hard as a brainpan.

Overtones and resonance. I tried to bring these to Heaven, along with my socks. Besides, my feet are warm, and Theirs? The Deities'? Cold as purity. Unyielding and smooth as plaster, all shape and shine yet no heat. No warmth at all. There is no place for feet in Heaven. Thus the angels, those feathery toadstools forever floating, all flame and flicker with not even a flint of spark in them, they are symbols perhaps for something Other-than-Matter supposed to convey something of Beyondness to us down here, solid substantial makers of something out of existence in the abjection and the abstraction, imaginations on real fire heating real flesh reaching into and warming many dimensions but let's not do that thing which Heaven does, reify and therefore deify and turn everything stone cold in a second and then call it religion, spirituality.

So much for Heaven's Spiraled Gate where all my life entire I all-too-humanly, always overwrought, have waited looking through the bars, a dumb ox in human form stubbornly staring in, yet again not having learned that once inside the Gate and amongst the Heavenly Company it is not at all as it appears to be from the outside despite the aroma of saffron and sage, myrr and milk.

The roses there have no pricks. But let me tell you, pricks will out!!

The rose petal, the gossamer wide skirt of the appointed (usually self-appointed) pope, or popette, at first billows invitingly as container and sustainer, the very breadth and breath of wisdom, o the power and the glory (dost thou know that glory, gloria etymologically means, reputation? There is much shadow in this but tis disguised by millenia of angels, bloody footless featherdusters, descanting "gloria, gloria in excelsis deo". There's Ego in Heaven after all with such need for singing, nay, insistent repetitive shouting, of Divine Reputation. Boasting, it is. And very unbecoming of Deity...) but, soon, soon, all too soon, the Shadow slithers forth from beneath the Skirt revealing that even Paradise in its heights cannot escape the Law of Compensation and thus that which is in the depths, the repressed and scapegoated Shadow, veritable Lucifer, o'retakes the wings and belfries, even the shade beneath the Throne, O Rorschach, and some one or two or a group become It's emissary and thus the ancient drama of the conflict within God, spread out and played out amongst humans, continues unabated and, until Carl Jung, remains mostly unconscious or, if explained, is rejected as false because the belief is that God, the god-image, is perfect, whole, unblemished and complete. The All Good UH-OH.

Exuent Diogenes Teufelsdrochk.


[An interjection here from Harvey Cox regarding New Age capitalism's desacralization of the authentically sacred; he is addressing the commodification of Asian religions - but his critique most certainly resonates with Christianitys and the hourly, countless "flavours du jour" unleashed upon the world (of course, "for its own Good") — OY! OY! - by profligate Protestan-tisms which have adulterated and reduced Martin Luther's "the priesthood of all believers" (which attempted, still does, to readdress Catholic doctrine that only an ordained male priest can mediate between God and humans) to what very truly a monstrous "beasthood of all believers" each armed with a Bible proclaiming their interpretation of said Holy Book to be the "one and only true and absolute" "revealed personally to each and every (no matter the Babel/Babble shouted and battled)" so REPENT! yada yada, yada yada ya DA!:







"If there is any fault to be allocated, it lies not with the victims [of commercialization of spiritualities] but with the buyer-seller nexus within which the new Oriental religious wave is marketed. Despite what may be good intentions all around, the consumer mentality can rot the fragile fruits of Eastern spirituality as soon as they are unpacked. The process is both ironic and pathetic. What begins in Benares as a protest against possessiveness ends up in Boston as still another possession. Dark Kali, the great and terrible destroyer, whose very glance can melt the flesh of the strongest warrior, whose slightest breath can stop the pulse and paralyze the soul, finds herself dangling from bracelets with all the other charms. 


No deity however terrible, no devotion however deep, no ritual however splendid is exempt from the voracious process of trivialization. The smiling Buddha himself and the worldly-wise Krishna can be transformed by the new gluttony into collectors' trinkets. It was bad enough for King Midas that everything he touched turned to gold; the acquisition-accumulation pattern of the new gluttony does even more. Reversing the alchemist's course, it transforms rubies and emeralds into plastic, the sacred into the silly, the holy into the hokey...(a) changing of the gods into consumer software..." —pg. 134, Turning East, The Promise and Peril of the New Orientalism, Harvey Cox, Simon and Schuster, 1975.]

Mountain weather near the Hermitage 
 Le Cav de L'Autodactyl somewhere in
 remote Adirondacks


All photos by Warren Falcon

Reprise of "From Kansas-to-Other-and-Altar-wise, Personal Experiences and Observations in a Mexican Curanderismo Clinic - Part One"

NOTE:  I am republishing my first blogspot essay published February 1, 2008.  What follows does not include my lengthy introductory remarks in the original written and published fifteen years ago.  

Sad to say that curandera/healing woman Bety Ramos of Oaxaca, Mexico died in the winter of 2013 after a diagnosis 3 years earlier of brain cancer  She had surgery which removed a tennis ball size tumor from the right lower quadrant at the back of the brain.  I met her only a few times after her surgery which greatly changed her vibrant and wild personality into a sweet, radiant gentle presence.  

In my years of work with her she would often ask me to "see" if there was any cancer in her body, she was extremely intuitive from her curandismo work with dreams, cartas, "seer" abilities and so, in retrospect, must have intuited the cancer some years ahead of her actual diagnosis.  I never "saw" cancer in the abdomen area which she was always pointing to when asking me if I could detect cancer.  The cancer occurred in her brain, alas.  When I work as a curandero I will often enough "hear" pre-cancer Bety participating in my work with the person I am with.  She was loud, direct, blunt, took no prisoners and her bedside manner was "not for sissies"...her humor and compassion were evident and abundant.  Her adoration of the divine deep and authentic.

*

Part One

Bety Ramos, curandera, taking a break on the patio 
just outside her 'templo' (temple).


When I step into the curandismo (healing) clinic door a woman looks up from her tarot cards where she sits with a distressed young woman. I ask for Bety. She shouts to Bety who's not in the room that a man is here for her. Bety shouts back, "What?" "A man is here to see you!! a gringo!!" I hear a toilet flush, a door quickly creaks and in runs Bety literally pulling up her pants and trying to fasten them while trying to reach for me as she runs toward me. Laughter, hugs, kisses. She jokes about needing a good man, a good tall gringo (she's about 4 feet tall), and then, suddenly quiet, grabs my hand and pulls me to the enormous altar which has at its center a statue of the angel Metatron, often called Santa Muerte in Mexico and other Latin and South American cultures. Metatron is draped in a red royal cape, wears a crown and holds in one of its hands a small globe of the planet along with pesos, dollars, photos of supplicants/healees and ribbons of various colors with amulets pinned to them and in the other is a sickel for harvest, an implement of the Divine Will.

Bety quietly says, "Salute Metatron who brought you here." I stand before Metatron with Bety who makes the Catholic sign of the Cross as do I (a lapsed and wounded protestant from the American South!). We both pray before the altar which is loaded with smaller statues of Metatron along with other icons and images among burning candles of various colors and sizes. The wall behind the altar (a kind of small bleecher) has many images of the Virgin of Guadalupe, Jesus, Mary and various saints. Above the altar is an image of the Eye of God (see photo of the altar) which is an eye in a clear pyramid with a circular aura of golden flames radiating out from it denoting the omnipotence, omnipresense, and omniscience of the Creator, It's power and the glory over and within all in the flames presumably spread throughout the universe and, most importantly, immanating from this altar and in this space in Southern Mexico. I experience the energy from the altar as a wave as I begin to feel a great calm upon entering the clinic.

I give thanks to Metatron and the Eye for this safe journey to Mexico and to Bety. I ask for healing as my past year has been difficult, a year of living in the harsh piecing penetrating gaze of the Eye in its judgemental aspect, an Eye which demands to reveal what has been concealed, an Eye which easily mugs individuals and groups who sit in harsh and hysterical judgment over self and others in unconscious identity with that Eye of God archetype. I ask for awareness of my own identification with the archetypal Eye.

I ask for opening of heart, mind and body to accept healing and to allow healing energy to move through me. I ask for the growing capacity to hold my contradictions of both instinctual (unconscious) and conscious nature which are by very nature in conflict. I acknowledge that I no longer strive for perfection in any Judeo-Christian sense or New Age or other transcendent systems' sense seeking to annihilate and war with agressive instinctuality and the primal parts of my self. I also acknowledge that I no longer seek to be "spiritual" (interpreted here as "Eye of God" identified and thus inflated and destructively dangerous) which often exacerbates the internal conflict and self hatred via identifying with either one or the other side thus driving a further wedge in the creaturely divide that I/we all are. I seek to expand and embrace all parts of me that can be embraced and "welcome at the table,"especially the parts which will not be rehabilitated, baptised, sanitized or sterilized by some good spiritual agenda, program, process or other.

Jungian analyst, Edward F. Edinger likens the instinctual side of humans as protoplasm. Protoplasm are primary organisms possessed of innate drives to survive and thrive on fundamental life levels. He speaks of this protoplasmic nature within humans as concupicense, lust, and the desire/will for power-over and autonomy. He speaks of the naturalness of this protoplasm we are and of it's conflict with the also natural rational-conscious creature we are. The human challenge is to live with both while growing consciousness onward within and through this conflict of the opposites. Each person partakes of this necessary ongoing evolution of consciousness. My personal journey has most certainly seen this and thus standing before this strange and powerful altar whose central icon is a skeletal angel draped in a red robe holding a sickle overlooked by "the Eye of God" which is way beyond the cultural paradigms of my community and education speaks to the conscious protoplasm of me growing/evolving difficult and necessary transformations of awareness with consequent impacts upon worldview and lifestyle. Aware of such impacts I have arrived at a very different location internally and externally. While in Bety's clinic, to echo Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz, "I'm not in Kansas anymore, Toto." Bety, Metatron and "the Eye" attest to that. And the burning at my third eye. Bety is a seer and thus works with that third eye of her apprentices.

This sense of place or change of place, from an inner Kansas to Other and Altarwise is essential to human experience. I read somewhere (and am still seeking the source of the quote) that "more than food, shelter, sex and companionship orientation is the most basic instinctual need of humans." Laurens van der Post in his eloquent biography of Jung says that stone age people, "the people of the First Light," felt at home in and always experienced a feeling of being known by the universe. I quote, "They (the stone age people) gave out [a feeling]of utterly belonging to life and time and nature...I found that even though they themselves may not know much, they had no doubt of being fully known wherever they went." (pg. 102, Jung and the Story of Our Time, Laurens van der Post). I will add here that requisite to becoming and being a person "of power" in the don Juan/Castaneda sense, the magical sorcerer/shaman sense, is this experience and assumption of "being known" and at home in the universe. Thus the archetype of "the Eye" in its dual aspect which sees and knows in its piercing fierce seeing and in its embracing, compassionate, locating gaze. This experience of "being known" is an arrival, an acquisition from deep inner work and, often enough, from harrowing life experiences. I believe that the interest of many contemporary Westerners in shamanism, curandismo and other "ancient techniques" and their worldviews is motivated by and from this primal need for orientation, for being known and to know experientially one's place or home in the universe and to know the universe and it's manifestations as a Thou which is, as Martin Buber says in his book, I and Thou, an experience of all of creation and creatures as persons/Thous, not as objects or Its. A "person of knowledge" is known by the universe and knows a sense of place in it. Thus the exact appropriateness of the Eye of God over Bety's altar. Everything else upon the altar is mediation, each icon, candle, amulet, prayer ribbon or card mediates and manifests this presense and glory of God-as-Eye in material creation.

A few observations on altars in Mexico

I spend alot of time in cathedrals, churches and chapels when in Mexico for the Catholicism there is infused with the old gods and old religion. On this recent trip I began to see that the main altar is a totem pole of power and function. At the bottom, or near to the totem pole altar there is usually some image/statue of Mother Mary, then Jesus, then the Holy Spirit then highest at the top either a masculine image of God the Father or a mandala circle, in its center is "the Eye" like the sun with golden rays radiating out all around presumably over the entire altar below and suffused within all the lower images. The images are not leveled in terms of greater or lesser power and importance so much as depictions of levels of function and states of being in relation to the whole which is crowned by the radiating Eye/Sun of God omnipotent, omnipresent, omniscient over and within all that is. The Virgin of Guadalupe and other Marys one finds throughout Mexico, Central and South America with Her placement at lowest or lower level closest to the material plane reveals Her mediating function for us and "all creatures here below" to the Power and Glory of the Burning Eye of God for "who can stand before It and live?"

Temptations of Power

In my prayer addressing this "Eye" of which Metatron is a function or aspect (and there are various colors assigned to Metatron indicating further differentiation of it's functions in the universe, a red, a black, a white and a yellow so far as I have encountered in my studies and travels in Mexico) I ask for any healing energy which comes through me to be helpful for others and to most of all not make the mistake of what Jung calls "inflation" which is when one becomes identified with an archetype. This is an easy temptation and a powerful one to succumb to. When the ministry of Jesus Christ officially began after his baptism he retreated to the desert to fast and pray and there was confronted by what Carl Jung calls "the power devil," for the three temptations Jesus confronted were temptations of power, or hubris, the greatest sin in Greek religion which is inflation or pride from being identified with the gods.

In regards to the temptation and appeal of shamanic, sorcery, spiritual power Jungian analyst Donald Williams in the first chapter of his excellent book, Border Crossings, A Psychological Perspective on Carlos Castaneda's Path of Knowledge (Inner City Books) speaks directly to what drew "Carlos" toward don Juan and sorcery and concludes that it was among other things the temptation to power. Williams says:

Carlos, like most of us, approaches the path of knowledge with questionable goals, unexamined assumptions and little self-understanding. Carlos's psychology is worth examining because it dramatically colors the atmosphere and progress of his apprenticeship, and because we may find much of ourselves mirrored there: lack of self esteem, preoccupation with power, fear of intimacy, preference of information over knowledge, inability to trust his own experience, extreme dependence upon reason and finally, ignorance of his own best qualities ...initially the focus for Carlos is the acquisition of power, not self-knowledge. The destructive aspects of the power drive or complex are that self-knowledge takes second place to self-aggrandizement...(page 15/16).


What I have found most refreshing in my work with Bety is her lack of self-aggrandizement, her very humanity, her earthiness (her penchant for vulgarity and hilarity and celebration of body life), her relationship to here and now, and though she is a commanding individual who takes no prisoners when doing her healing work and consultations one does not feel an unintegrated unconscious power complex in her or her work. The "power devil," as Jung speaks of it, is most certainly consciously "at her table" though obviously her language and worldview is not that of Jungian psychology nor of any personalistic psychology on the market. And though confident in her work and in her view that she is "battling principalities and powers" of human and non-human origin, and in this she is fierce, there seems to be an implicit humility especially since she makes no attempts to broadcast nor hide her humanity and personal issues. The very word "humility" is derived from the Latin word for earth and dirt, "humus." Bety is certainly dirty. The often wild laughter heard in the clinic attests to some off-color joke told or delighted surprise when Bety gives a client one of her most frequent prescriptions, "Mas, mucho mas chaka chaka (sex)," a prescription most welcome by most of her clients!! Bety is powerful in her work but from my experience of her through the years she is not inflated with the "power devil" which will indeed tempt all on the path of knowledge and power.

The Often Public Nature of Bety's Healing Work

Archangel Metatron also revered as Santa Muerte seen ubiquitously throughout Mexico.  
Bety and me at her altar.


Almost all healing work at the clinic is done publically. Many clients sit in chairs or stand around awaiting their turn and are witness to Bety and her assistant's work from tarot reading to limpias (cleansings) and other techniques offered. There is often a spontaneous group participation of observers and healers interactive and dynamic which also seems to be a feature of shamanism and curandismo--healings take place in "the marketplace" as public events. I have a recording of a Huichol healing woman working on someone and you can hear that there is a crowd gathered around, car horns hooting, laughter and conversations, children crying and calling, dogs and chickens scrambling, all is hustle and bustle as the sacred occurs/awakens/is evoked in the profane space of the crowd. There may even be incense but all takes place without veneer or masks of "spirituality." If a client requests Bety will work with them privately in another room. She also does home and business visits to cleanse and bless. She will work with an individual in their home if requested. I am most partial to private consultations not only out of my own training and education as a counselor and healer but also due to my introverted temperment. Working at Bety's always is a push for me beyond my training and temperment into uneasily open and public practice.

Bety teaches apprentices hands on since much of the healing work at the clinic is done with the hands. Energy passes are used to extract, smooth and cleanse internally and externally. This is always a part of any consultation with Bety no matter what the presenting problem of a client is. The assumption is that bad energy is at work and must be cleansed thus the hands are used in pugalistic mode as part of healing to fight against bad energies and spirits. The hands also have other modes of healing for extracting, soothing, smoothing energies, etc. which I address in more detail in the account of a specific client Bety and I both worked with further on in these notes.

Here is an example of the above from my recent trip. After my somewhat self-conscious prayers at the altar (people watching me, curious at the gringo) I caught Bety up a bit on my year since I had last been with her, her clients laughing at my awkward Spanish and tales of weal and woe with them often commenting in a kind of call and response to details of my account and Bety's comments. When I reported to Bety how much my monthly rent is for my new apartment in Manhattan a collective gasp loudly erupted with attendant head and tongue-wagging about how preposterous and impossible it must be to pay such money just for shelter. Tributary discussions ensued about why so many Mexicans would risk life, limb, loneliness and jail to go to the US to pay such obscene rent. A long discussion with me, Bety and the crowd followed. At some point after I reported more tales from the other side north of the border we both got busy, her assistant already at work, with her clients who were patiently and noisily waiting in the waiting areas. My personal tales and the warmth and familiarity of my relationship with Bety served to warm clients to me, a stranger until my tales, some of which were eager to work with me along with Bety as partner, guide, and teacher.

In apprenticeship one observes what Bety does, listens to her explanations as to what she is doing, and then works with a client while she observes and gives feedback. Since I have studied with other healers I share with Bety what I have found effective most of which she readily incorporates into her own work. This eagerness to learn from others reveals one who is continually researching and growing, one who has not "arrived."

The Use of Everyday Objects for Healings:
"Graceless things grow lovely with good uses."
(from a poem by John Tarrant)

In keeping with the marketplace aspects of curandismo everyday, profane, things are made sacred by conscious "good uses." Eggs, fruit, seeds, herbs and spices, ribbons, candles, cloth, rocks, gems and other everyday ordinary objects become sacred tools for healing (holding the holes and wholes and the stormy dialectic of the two together). Here briefly are some of their good uses in curandismo as I've learned it from Bety:

Eggs or lemons or limes (I've used walnuts in their shells!) will be passed over the body of the healee in order to absorb and extract illness, bad energy, bad spirits, etc.

Ribbons have various uses as prayer ties (you see these in Catholic churches and chapels throughout Mexico) and as focusing devices for universal healing energy to come through when they are laid out in patterns according to colors appropriate for the malady to be cured.

Candles are charged with healing energy and prayers for the intended care and cure of a healee present or not.

Coins of various values are combined with herbs, spices, images, and other substances and sewn into a pouch to be worn or placed on an altar or wherever the curandera instructs to bring about many things, for instance, fertility of self or fields or animals or business as abundance.

The Limpia


Oscar in the limpia fire circle.  And after he's left it - it is  purified by the pentagram and more fire.


Probably the most requested form of healing is the 'limpia' or cleansing. Many clients drop in regularly/weekly for a limpia or before a special occassion (a wedding, graduation, new job, etc.) or surgery or a major life passage. Many will come for a cleansing after a negative event. A dramatic event, the limpia almost without fail impresses the body, mind and psyche regarding healing, commitment to healing and the very possibility of healing of even incurable conditions. Grand theater, the limpia space consists of a circle about 4 feet in circumference made of seeds, spices and herbs, cone incense, flowers, combustable minerals (alum), and ribbons of various colors (often of the chakras). It is prepared and opened every morning upon Bety's arrival. After her prayers to Metatron and "the Eye" she cleanses this circle with further prayers and fire incorporating western wicca practices of widdershins, crossed machetes, and a glass of water with white flowers arranged in a pattern near the the water and the machetes. Bety ignites the flower circle by squirting denatured (camp stove) alcohol from a bottle and striking a match. She draws a pentagram with the alcohol in the center of the circle which also serves to cleanse and empower healing energies represented by the pentagram. Tremendous vortices of flame usually erupt from the mixture dramatically roaring and turning reaching up into the space of the room toward the smoke darkened concrete ceiling. The circle is now a special power spot which attracts, focuses and magnifies healing energies. It accumulates more power and energy through consistent use in the same spot. Once the flames are out an assistant prepares the circle for the first client. It is fed through the day with more sacred ordinaries (flowers, seeds, etc. afore mentioned) with each individual limpia.

Prior to entering the circle for a limpia Bety or an assistant has already done an initial cleansing with hand passes over the body and energy field of the client. Bety likens this to applying alcohol to an area before surgery. The fire is the real surgery. The client is then invited into the center of the circle and instructed not to look at the fire as he/she bathes. Alcohol is squirted copiously around and upon the flower mixture, a match is stuck and with a resounding explosion the flames burst hotly up. The client vigorously scrubs the body with hands while Bety or an assistant shouts out areas to be washed as each healer outside the circle is seeing the areas and the energies to be cleansed.

It is very hot in the circle (believe me!!), the flames licking closely to one's body. Quickly and invariably a large and whirling vortex/pillar or more of flame emerges which is interpreted as the area where the bad energies are departing. With more alcohol the curandera draws a pentagram at the vortex to feed it and encourage the departure and transformation of the energies expelled in the cleansing. At some point the flames dampen and the client is instructed to step out, back toward the circle, as another large pentagram of alcohol is drawn in the center of the circle with more high flames and vortices to cleanse the circle of any remaining energies. (See the photograph several posts below of a client in a fire circle).

A new feature added to the limpias since my last visit in 2006 is the use of contemporary technology, the cellphone (Bety has three!!) with which several photos are taken of the circle as the final flames die. Each photo is examined for images of bad energies representing what needed to be healed. These photos serve as an intuitive scanning to determine further treatment if needed and to indicate whether more limpias are needed. (See photos below of a limpia).

Usually a series of three limpias in three consecutive days is prescribed. One is instructed not to bathe after each healing therefore by the end of the third day one's body aroma is quite ripe which may be enough to repel any further bad energies!

Personally every limpia I have had has always been dramatic and effective in that a profound trance state occurs during and afterward which Bety increases with energy passes and other techniques after the flames (I'll describe some of these in more details in the coming account of one of Bety's cases I participated in working with in January 2008). The energy passes served to magnify, fortify and seal the positive healing energies evoked and focused within the client. A profound sense of peace often accompanies this part of the healing. I have witnessed at least 50 limpias since I have worked with Bety and have experienced probably 20 myself. Each client appears to be in an altered and deeply relaxed and peaceful state sometimes during and definitely after a limpia. There is a separate waiting room where one may retire to to rest and regroup before one enters back into the profane world of everyday life.

Part Two will be published here in March.

In Part 2 I give a specific account of the initial day of a three day healing involving a fifteen year old young man active in the infamous ubiqutious violent Latino gang known as "Salvatrucha." Bety actively involved me in the work with this young man without much warning. I assumed he had come to Bety just for a card reading as his concerned older sister had badgered him into accompanying her to Bety's for her help in his dangerous situation. I give account only the first day in order to give a flavor of the seriousness of issues with which Bety works and the real human stories that come into her clinic. In this account I give more details of her card reading technique, hands on healing, and the fire circle. Strategizing with the client, his sister, Bety and myself was also an essential part of what would be called in more Western conventional terms a "treatment team" with a "treatment plan." 

Click here for Part Two: