Angelo

In the astrological chart, Scorpio represents the process of material transformation. Manifestations that are subject to constant change. It stands between the divide of Leo (summer) and Aquarius (winter) on the cold and dark side of the year, Scorpio represents physical cycles of creation and decay, the land of the dead and the underworld.

In contrast, Taurus represents the land of eternal bliss and joy, unencumbered, painless, and inwardly fulfilled. It is nature and life in its unfallen state, like in the Garden of Eden, a place of abundance, eternal youth, where every desire to the hearts content is within reach.

Scorpio is the opposite, someone who has seen the existential abyss or faced deep suffering and loss, weary to life, alienated, resilient, a "survivor" or focused on survival needs. They can be skeptical, jealous, or even disdaining of those who seem naively optimistic.

If you try something you're afraid of, you're putting yourself into a state of shock. Fear will persist, and it may even grow.

Fear cannot necessarily be conquered by acts of bravery. It's a force that arises from inside and speaks to you.

Though fear may claim to understand the unknown—it is not the only interpreter, nor the most reliable or consistent.

Every negative emotion is the surface of a contradiction. Fear simultaneously pushes you to engage with the unknown and to run from it. Consequently, any response ends where it begins.

Fear is a wall to the unknown, one that denies access to the other side. It’s self-contained and ultimately self-defeating.

To truly experience the unknown—and to be transformed by it—you must relate to it in a way that resonates and overcomes you.

The unknown is to be pursued as a stranger, remembered in fragments, and revealed through experience. It speaks in unfamiliar tones that grow clearer as you listen.

Gradually, with each new encounter, the unknown becomes less foreign, shaping you as much as you seek to understand it.

Love is a call to your heart, a return home, an opening of the soul.

It’s the mystery that draws you closer, the untamed wilderness that keeps you seeking, the space between that allows for a relationship.

Somewhere deep within, far beyond yourself, there is a light that warms and softens your skin.

In the distance, you come alive, fully known and free.

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Every idea which does not become your ideal slays a force in your soul; Every idea which becomes your ideal creates within you life-forces.

Our familiar human world is no more than a narrow segment of the cosmos which now confronts us. Beyond it lies a further realm, altogether ‘other’, peopled by beings non-human, endowed with powers non-human, whose whole order of existence is ambivalent, mysterious, and strange. Between these two worlds, there is no ordinary continuity. Each is contained, like a walled garden, by its own order of being, and separated by a barrier which represents a rupture of level, a break in ontological plane. This barrier the ordinary man or woman is powerless to cross. They cannot at will make the passage to this other perilous plane, nor can they see, hear, or in any way influence the beings who dwell there.

The spiritual beings on the other side are not so confined. To them, access from one world to another is virtually free and unrestricted. Not only can they visit our world without let or hindrance, but they hold within their control a large sphere of our lives. This sphere was believed to be roughly that over which we ourselves have no control. The fertility of the rice crop, the due onset of the rains, the occurrence of storms, sickness, fire, and accident, all these lay in the gift of the inhabitants of the other world beyond the barrier. Even today, although in intellectual circles in Japan an aggressive secularism tends to be the rule, the belief still persists among many sections of the community that the causes of all calamity in human life lie in the spiritual realm. Sickness, accident, drought, or fire are the work either of angry ghosts or of offended numina. To discover the causes of these misfortunes, we must therefore look into the other dimension where these beings live and enquire what spirit is responsible and the reason for his anger.

On the goodwill of these non-human beings, therefore, depends the prosperity of the community. Treat them correctly with the right rituals and offerings, summon them correctly with the right spells, and they will leave their own world to visit ours and will exercise their superior power for the benefit of man. But once offend or neglect them and they will irrupt uninvited and furious into our world, to blast the offending community with curses.

Ordinary men and women are powerless to deal with these perilous and ambivalent forces. Certain special human beings, however, may acquire a power which enables them to transcend the barrier between the two worlds. This power bears no relation to the physical strength or mental agility with which we are ordinarily endowed. It is of a different order altogether, acquired by means which often weaken a man’s bodily health and strength, and which appears from time to time in boys who are virtual halfwits. It is a special power to effect a rupture of plane, to reach over the bridge and influence the beings on the other side.

I use the word ‘shaman’ to indicate those people who have acquired this power; who in a state of dissociated trance are capable of communicating directly with spiritual beings. These people in Japan appear in two complementary forms. The first, whom I shall call the medium or the miko, is exemplified by the sibyl Teruhi. She can enter a state of trance in which the spiritual apparition may possess her, penetrate inside her body, and use her voice to name itself and to make its utterance. She is therefore primarily a transmitter, a vessel through whom the spiritual beings, having left their world to enter ours, can make their communications to us in a comprehensible way.

The second and complementary source of power, whom I call the ascetic, is exemplified by the Saint of Yokawa. He is primarily a healer, one who is capable of banishing the malevolent spirits responsible for sickness and madness and transforming them into powers for good. To acquire the powers necessary for this feat, he must accomplish a severe regime of ascetic practice, which should properly include, besides fasting, standing under a waterfall and reciting sacred texts, a journey to the other world. Whereas with the medium, therefore, it is the spiritual beings who leave their world and come to ours, with the ascetic the passage is in the opposite direction. It is he who must leave our world and make his way through the barrier to visit theirs. This journey he may accomplish in ecstatic, visionary form; his soul alone travels, his body left behind meanwhile in a state of suspended animation. Or he may accomplish the journey by means of symbolic mimesis; the other world projected by means of powerful symbolism onto the geography of our own, he can make the journey through the barrier in body as well as soul.

Corresponding with each of these figures is a particular kind of trance. With the medium, infused or possessed by a spiritual being, a number of physical symptoms are commonly found. These include a violent shaking of the clasped hands, stertorous breathing or roaring, and a peculiar levitation of the body from a seated, cross-legged posture. I have seen both men and women propel themselves some six inches into the air from this position, again and again for several minutes on end. A violent medium is always considered more convincing than a docile one, the non-human character of the voice and behavior indicating more vividly the displacement of the medium’s own personality by the entry of the divinity. This kind of trance can either be self-induced, or can be stimulated by a second person, usually the ascetic.

The second type of trance is entirely different. It is a deep, comatose state of suspended animation. This is the condition into which the ascetic’s body must fall if his soul is to leave it in order to travel to other realms of the cosmos. His body remains behind, an empty husk, while his soul traverses barriers through which it cannot follow. We shall find that today this trance occurs only rarely. The capacity for this kind of dissociation, and for the visionary journey which goes with it, seems to have diminished in recent centuries, and today the magic journey is most commonly accomplished by symbolic action in full waking consciousness.

I have said that both the medium and the ascetic are shamans because each in their particular manner of trance acts as a bridge between one world and another.

The shaman is, first, a person who receives a supernatural gift from the spirit world. The gift is bestowed usually by a single spiritual being, who afterwards becomes his guardian and guide, sometimes even his spiritual wife. Before this critical moment in his life, the future shaman suffers for months or even years from a peculiar sickness, sometimes loosely called arctic hysteria. The symptoms range from physical pains—racking headaches, vomiting, aches in the joints and back—to more hysterical or neurasthenic behavior of wandering off into the forest, falling asleep or fainting for long periods, or hiding from the light.

These symptoms usually disappear, however, at the critical moment of initiation. This violent interior experience often takes the form of a vision, in which a single supernatural being appears to him and commands him to abandon his former life and become a shaman. Thereafter his soul is snatched out of his body and carried off to another realm of the cosmos, either above or below the human world. There he undergoes the fearful experience of being killed and revived. He sees his own body dismembered, the flesh scraped or boiled off the bones to the point when he can contemplate his own skeleton. He then sees new flesh and new organs clothed over his bones, so that in effect he is remade, resuscitated as a new person.

From this terrifying but characteristically initiatory experience, he emerges a changed character. His former oddity and sickliness give way to a new dignity and assurance of personality, strengthened by special powers conferred by the guardian spirit who calls him to his new life and which thereafter enable him to render special services to his community.

Foremost among these powers is the ability to put himself at will into altered states of consciousness in which he can communicate directly with spiritual beings. He can fall into the state of trance, for example, in which his soul separates itself from his body and travels to realms of the cosmos inaccessible to the physical body. By traveling upwards to the multiple layers of heavens, for example, he can acquire from the spiritual inhabitants there useful knowledge of hidden things. By traveling downwards to the underworld, he can rescue the souls of sick people, kidnapped and taken there by spirits. From his knowledge of the topography of these other worlds, moreover, he can act as a guide to the souls of the newly dead, who without his help might well lose their way along the unfamiliar road.

The shaman does not carry out this special work unaided. He is given indispensable help in his task, first by a retinue of assistant spirits and secondly by a panoply of magic clothes. The helping spirits, which often take the form of bears, wolves, eagles, or crows, are given to him by his guardian at the time of his initiation. They appear at once at his behest, ready to act as messengers or guides. The magic clothes and instruments, of which the drum is the most important, embody in their shape, in the materials of which they are made, in the patterns and figures engraved upon them, symbolic links with the other world. Thus his drum, made from the wood of the World Tree, his cap of eagle and owl feathers, his cloak adorned with stuffed snakes and an immense weight of metal plaques and tubes, all resolve into means whereby his passage from one world to another is facilitated.

The shaman’s work also requires a cosmos of a specific shape. For most Siberian peoples, the cosmos appears in three superimposed layers or tiers. In the middle lies the human world. Above it lie seven layers of heavens, a number to which a Babylonian origin is usually assigned. Below it lies a dark underworld, sometimes also disposed in seven levels, in the nethermost of which stands the palace of Erlik Khan, the Lord of the Underworld, and where sometimes nine underground rivers have their mouths. Joining these various cosmic levels at the very center of the universe is a marvelous giant Tree. With its roots in the lowest underworld and its crown of branches in the highest heaven, this Tree in all its splendor is at once the axis of the cosmos and the source of ever-renewing life. Thus the shaman, as he travels either upwards to heaven or downwards to the underworld, to planes sealed off from ordinary ungifted persons, follows the ‘hole’ made through the universe by this Tree. His journey is therefore made at the very center and core of the cosmos.

The trance in which the soul leaves the body is not the only condition of altered consciousness which the shaman can assume at will. He must also be capable of offering his body as a vessel for possession by spirits. Eliade, it is true, considers the faculty of possession to be secondary and derivative from the ‘out of the body’ consciousness. Other authorities, however, such as Dominic Schréder, accord it importance equal and complementary to the ‘out of the body’ trance.

Lastly, we may mention the power which Eliade considers particularly characteristic of the shaman, and closely connected with his ecstatic condition; mastery of fire. The shaman is impervious to heat and cold, to burning coals and arctic ice alike. This power he achieves by rousing within himself the interior heat known to mystics in various parts of the world, and which signifies that the heated person has passed beyond the ordinary human condition. He now participates in the sacred world.

Such is the special complex of powers by which the shaman is usually defined. He is thus a gifted person of a distinctive kind. He is at once a cosmic traveler, a healer, a master of spirits, a psychopomp, an oracular mouthpiece. These various powers, however, are combined and organized around the central faculty of trance; of so altering his consciousness at will that he can communicate directly with the inhabitants of the supernatural world.

— Carmen Blacker, from The Catalpa Bow

There is no death! The dust we tread Shall change beneath the summer showers To golden grain or mellow fruit Or rainbow-tinted flowers.

The granite rocks disorganize To feed the hungry moss they bear; The forest leaves drink daily life From out the viewless air.

There is no death! The leaves may fall, The flowers may fade and pass away— They only wait, through wintry hours, The coming of the May.

There is no death! An angel form Walks o’er the earth with silent tread; He bears our best-loved things away, And then we call them “dead.”

He leaves our hearts all desolate— He plucks our fairest, sweetest flowers; Transplanted into bliss, they now Adorn immortal bowers.

The bird-like voice, whose joyous tones Made glad this scene of sin and strife, Sings now an everlasting song Amid the tree of life.

Where’er He sees a smile too bright, Or soul too pure for taint of vice, He bears it to that world of light, To dwell in Paradise.

Born unto that undying life, They leave us but to come again; With joy we welcome them—the same Except in sin and pain.

And ever near us, though unseen, The dear immortal spirits tread; For all the boundless universe Is Life—there are no dead!