(Pagan discretion is advised: contains blasphemy, insanity, woo, rock music, appropriation, and a few words. Feel free to skip it if you think you won’t respect me in the morning.)

I have a confession to make, that some of you may have already picked up on. I’m crazy.

It’s just a fact of life. I didn’t really choose to be crazy, but I have chosen to accept it, because not accepting it makes it worse. I am godtouched, sometimes in the unflattering sense of the word. Telling me to be reasonable, logical, or to do my research would be a waste of breath.

I remember having a conversation with Hades, who was a friend of a friend. He asked me why I didn’t accept myself. I told him it was because I didn’t want to be crazy. When he looked at me, he saw a very different person from the one I see in my mirror. Mirrors work differently on that side. I’ve broken a few for not liking what I saw there.

Not accepting myself because that would make me insane would be a cop out, a coward’s path, no excuse at all to my former spirit mentor. He would have fried the heck out of me for that kind of wishy washy behavior. He never asked for offerings, and yet my sacrifices to him were some of the greatest I had known. I told him I wouldn’t run. I tried to keep that promise as much as I could. I failed, and succeeded, many times. With him, insanity is not a threat. It is a promise. If you’re not crazy, then you’re not doing it right.

You’d think that being with Wakinyan, the Lakota Thunder Being, would make me lose my fear of it. It did somewhat. If someone called me crazy, or a fool, I took it as a compliment. I fought and danced and laughed. I let him burn away my rough edges. I valued the low above the high. I treated friends like enemies and enemies like lovers. It was a fabulously painful time.

So why, when the truth that I left buried came burning back to life, did I lose my foolish courage? The sun burned me from the inside, leaving me sober after Waki’s masochistic intoxication. I forgot what he had taught me, once I was on my own and facing the thing I unknowingly ran to Wakinyan to escape. I couldn’t handle the sun. And what did the sun do that was so terrible? He called my name, one of my real ones, one I didn’t even remember was mine. (Naturally this song started playing as I was writing that. Out of hundreds of songs that Pandora could be playing…)

Heru-sa-aset (Horus the Younger) who lives within my heart as more than just my divined father, has his own moments of freak out too. He is literally a Son of a Bitch and a Mother Fucker (sorry mom!). He can slice first and think second, and he needs to remember to beware of uncles bearing drink. He’s also the boy who lived. He watched it all fall down and turn to sand. But if you light a candle and talk to him, that’s probably not the side he will show you. He has the compassion of one who has Been There.

Under that calm exterior, Stuff Has Gone Down. That’s the side of him I see most often. I understand that this is not the side that most others know him by. Scorpion stings and all, he is mine and I am owned more surely than any spouse could be. Sometimes I forget and say “I” instead of “we” or “he.” Am I a horse? I can’t really tell when he wanders in and out. It feels the same, just maybe a little bit “more” than usual. When in doubt, assume that it’s just plain old me talking. If you like the message, take it. If not, whatever.

Being crazy is not such a bad thing. It forces me to learn many lessons. Before I label someone else with it, I have to think carefully about how they are like me, and how they are different. I’ve heard some crazy stuff from people, believe me. But is it worse than my own stuff? If so, how? I can’t just dismiss those whose views are different from my own.

I guess what I’ve come to is that there is good crazy and bad crazy. I’ve done both. Good crazy helps you to face your fears. It allows you to take risks and cut through to the heart of things in a way that the usual rules won’t allow. In the right hands, it can be a tool for healing, discovery and growth.

Bad crazy is when you run away, or even worse, when you persuade others to run away with you, even to the point of holding them hostage. Bad crazy is when you ignore those questions that torment you, until you can no longer hear them. Bad crazy is thinking you are beyond the rules. (Good crazy still knows that the rules exist and is prepared to accept what comes of them.)

Crazy is a given. I at least try to stay on its good side. It’s not an easy path to walk, but it does have its perks.

Now back to your regularly scheduled Pagan Blog Project. I’ll attempt to keep the woo down to a dull roar. Not sure if I’ll succeed. Stay tuned next week for Cleansing.


One thought on “Crazy

  1. Jack says:

    The distinction between good-crazy and bad-crazy is so important and so often overlooked. I’m never going to be not-crazy but I do try to err on the side of good-crazy, too.

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