Forty days of Wilderness

Fireworks clusterWell, that was a bit of a party. A month and half gone in the blink of an eye. As these things go, subsequent events kind of make sense of the enforced cloistering. Kind of.

Whether it is possible to write of these events sensibly, without sounding completely in need of some additional forced rest is another matter entirely. Perhaps that is the lesson. To share honestly, without fear of the reaction of friends, family, society.

The masks we wear, no longer serviceable. The life we lead, no longer fulfilling. The “calling”, whatever that really means, insistent, loud, completely unclear, scary and rearing in the near distance. Close. Way too close.

Are we ever really prepared?

On my eventual return to the world of work, a discussion with one of the company owners, made me realise, probably for the first time, how unprepared we really are. For the big things.

Death. Fear not, I’m well away from grasping that cold, hoary hand again. Yet, I’ve known, for as long as I can remember, the guise in which he will come. The recent bout of illness was but a tasting.

So: I mentioned to my boss, in passing, how the forthcoming “round of tests” were but a frustration, if not a complete waste of time and money, as, irrespective of the outcome they were unlikely to affect the manner of my eventual passing. If the results were to dictate some course of devastating treatment, the outcome would be the same.

The look of horror was worth an entire encyclopedia. The thought of dying is so anathema to his everyday persona, that such “flippancy” just seemed to make it all the more horrifying. He seemed genuinely disturbed by the idea that medical intervention could only hope to extend life, never maintain it indefinitely.

Have we really become so removed from nature that the very processes central to its effective operation, those which we cannot hope to avoid, are taboo?

We hear it, here in the UK at least, all the time. “The new treatment announced today will eliminate 10,000 deaths.” Erm, no, it won’t. They may be deferred, but Death holds the receipts and He fully expects the goods to arrive… eventually.

So, after forty days of wilderness, what is there to be said?

Life is short. Never take your health for granted. Embrace life, with all its challenges, and live it!

(Whatever it may bring).

About Running Elk

My given native name, Running Elk, was bestowed in 2008 as I took my first steps as a fully fledged Medicine Man of the Zuni tradition. A most unlikely candidate for the role, my journey as a healer began some four years prior. The detour onto the shamanic way was most unexpected, yet has been one of the most rewarding challenges to date.
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7 Responses to Forty days of Wilderness

  1. A particularly brilliant and trouble some post You and one other of my dearest bloggers on death ‘s door. I cry tears and definitely will pray. Can I put you on my Friday morning Reiki distant healing list? You must have learned so much. I am just so happy you are back and have nothing but supreme respect for you. ♡.♡ ellen

  2. Sue Vincent says:

    It really saddens me that the simple beauty of the cycle is drowned in so much fear. The headline, “Running just a few minutes a day reduces risk of dying” set me off on a similar train of thought a while back.

  3. alienorajt says:

    I agree. We are lulled into a sense of false security by the constant barrage of ‘This will prolong your life’ isms, be they to do with diet, exercise, abstaining from virtually everything or obscure methods of healing. The assumption, never stated, behind all of this is that we, in some way, deserve immortality if we are good little girls and boys, and that the Grim Reaper awaits those who disobey the latest rules.
    Death is inevitable. It is a taboo because people do not wish to face, and conquer, the fear aspect. We ignore the lessons nature teaches us. You do not see a tree giving in to the latest health fad, or a flower eating Muesli, or an animal going for a jog clad in pink lycra.
    We are all going to die. We are all going to wither on the Tree of Life and fall as leaves in our own autumnal period.
    The medical profession has become so concerned with prolonging life at all costs that such an endeavour has become almost a religion (and a sinister one, in my opinion) in its own right.
    I often suspect that it is not death we fear, but life itself.
    There is nothing wrong, per se, with any of the things I have mentioned – if we do them in a life-enhancing way and because we enjoy them. If, however, we are running in order to avoid the skeleton with the scythe, or cutting butter from our diet because we believe we will live for an indefinite period, we need to – er – GET A LIFE, and acknowledge the finite nature of it!
    Obviously, Elk, I hope that you will be with us for a long time yet – but life is short, as you say, and no treatment is a cure because no treatment confers immortality (which is what so many secretly hope it will do!). Every tablet we take, or inhaler we puff upon, or whatever it might be, is but a delaying tactic.
    xxx

    • Running Elk says:

      It is most strange. And we seem to have allowed them to take away all our death rites, “because it is easier” having our nearest and dearest hospitalised than to assure them the comfort of a home death. That’s only been in the last 30 years, too, come to think of it… :/
      The profession appear to have lost the meaning of the oath, entirely, in the ever more desperate search for immortality. One day they might learn that dignity should probably take precedence over their misinformed notion of what Hippocrates meant…
      Meanwhile… Butter all the way!! 😀 xxx

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