Inner Journeys: Surfing the Imaginal Realm as a Struggling Shamama

By Theresa Curtis-Diggs

Whatever the inward darkness may have been to which the shamans of those caves descended in their trances, the same must lie within ourselves…. The beat of the shaman's drum may still be heard, transporting spirits in flight to regions known to our visionaries and to men and women gone mad.

(Joseph Campbell)

You know the day destroys the night
Night divides the day…

The gate is straight
Deep and wide

Break on through to the other side
Break on through to the other side
Break on through to the other side, yeah

(Jim Morrison) Continue reading "Inner Journeys: Surfing the Imaginal Realm as a Struggling Shamama"

Trusting the Language of Goddess

by Theresa Curtis-Diggs 

Attention or conscious concentration on almost any part of the body produces some deep physical effect on it. - Charles Darwin

In my studies of ancestral wisdom concerning the primordial symbolism defining the Divine Vulva (but it could be any ancient image) I have often wondered about, and asked other women, how they connect with the goddesses of old.

These friends provide me with a variety of ideas which are probably controversial and mostly personal, and I appreciate them opening up to share. It is a difficult subject to broach, not one to bring up at the bus stop (at least not yet!) and I have decided I would like to investigate different ways of knowing in order to provide a general roadmap for those of us involved in doing divine research. I welcome any criticisms or alternative ideas on this topic, as it is the truth we are all trying to get at, and no one of us owns all the truth as all of us own some of the truth.

Continue reading "Trusting the Language of Goddess"

Wild Lessons from Herstory

by Theresa Curtis-Diggs

There is a small house that sits on a plot of land in which I live. It is a chunk of earth and I think I own it. There is a patch of Garden in which nothing grows; in fact this Garden can be defined by the paradox of her absence of green, resistant and rebellious within an ocean of life.

She does not respond to my gardening demands; it seems she has another agenda. This is certainly curious. So, plopping down on her soft skin I begin to wonder and while sitting there in reverie I ponder her and her Earth language. Can we translate the song with which she calls us …is this possible or am I nuts? I request a conversation with her about her stubborn barrenness, and somehow believe she has something she wants to say. In which tongue-less language might she dialogue? I realize that we cannot endlessly identify her with measurements and reductionism any longer if she is to agree to befriend us. I wish us to settle into accepting more primitive and receptive ways of recognizing life and thereby come to honor all Otherness more intimately. Who is she, this gardenless garden; what does she need or want? I will lie here on her gentle belly, and listen. Listen.

Continue reading "Wild Lessons from Herstory"