Peckories (Amazonian pigs) grazin’ on some tasty jungle grass

I could wax poetic for a millennium or more on how our cowardly government is using this tactic. (Fruitless terror alerts, anyone?) Post-9/11 (and I won’t touch how I believe they were in the know about that either. I’ll be good. Promise.), they have frozen us into blindly following their bullshit by creating so much fear, we’re too busy just dealing with our immediate drama to branch out and protest things like preemptive wars. Crafty! And see how much we’re spending on products to numb us, to “protect” us, to pacify the impending doom? America wins! Hot damn!

I wish I could say I wasn’t afraid. I’m just as shaky as the rest of us. But I don’t lose sleep over whether or not terrorists are invading, or whether our government themselves are the real terrorists. I can’t control such things outside of my benevolence and my attempts to source peace. I am really afraid of what is happening to our cultural consciousness – all this mass-killing and hatred spewing is tainting us all in ugly, dramatic hues. Some of us are already feeling the sinking, nauseating affects. Those in denial are getting hit even harder.

But I’ve got a lot more fears, too. Oddly enough, the one thing I fear the most is being ruled by fear. The way this manifests right now involves the Amazon. Now that I’ve been there, most things do. I am returning in December for a solstice celebration – papers are signed, fees are paid, ducks/in/row. When I went for the first time back in April, I can honestly say I wasn’t at all frightened. I trusted my Seeker, and more importantly, I trusted my instincts. Neither lead me astray. But as I filled out the required questionnaire this time around, I felt a panic I didn’t expect. The standard question about fear almost blinded me – “What do you fear?” I wanted to write “myself” and be done with it. But suddenly I was back in that lodge, night two, listening to a seething, primal buzz, and feeling, quite literally, the pain of the world. I panicked at the thought of being in that exact moment again. Which, of course, I won’t be – those lessons are learned, or are being learned. But it’s entirely possible I’ll face other pains and demons, and I suppose that’s what made me quake. These are intense, indescribably fierce moments. Moments that make the meek parts of me tremble and ask, very nicely, if maybe we could just stay home.

Poppycock. I’m going back. I’m riding on the assumption that just the very presence of those fears mean I get to push through something big again – and the rewards are just that much greater. That’s my instinct, now – if the fears develop, I know I’m on to something. I wasn’t frightened for the first journey, and yet, my life changed completely. I don’t have the boyfriend anymore, nor the job, nor the non-serving hang-ups. I’m living my dream life, publishing a novel, busting my ass to be authentic, and gearing up to better myself in so many more ways. So if this next journey finds me afraid of what’s behind door number two, holy shit, it’s gonna be good.