Returning to the ancient land of Peru, in the sacred valley, where the old prayers are still very much alive.
This time coming with this prayer for the healing of my body. Still deeply struggling with mobility with my body constantly calling me in. To depth I have been so afraid to meet again. Hidden deeply into my first days of life, where despair, anger, immense sorrow and pain made me question the willingness to stay alive.
As my teacher keeps reminding me "the more human you are, the more divine you are". But how to meet the excruciating constant pain while staying anchored in gratitude and the curiosity to see within it the wisdom it carries for me?
In those wild territories of our despair and openness to let go of all, including our own life, we can find the deepest medicine we need. If and only if we have a container to hold it all. A prayer. A tradition. A ritual. A teacher. A lineage. An ancestor. A land.
What is fighting to let go of the pain is also what is calling us for transformation. There are truly no ennemies inside our bodies. Pain, armors, filghters, protectors, are all wise mechanism weaved since ancestral time to give us the will to keep going despite the despair and the absolute unknwingness of this mysterious process we call healing.
As Francis Weller reminded me a few days ago, it is all about holding gratitude in one hand and grief in the other. Flying with those two wings.
I do not want to be a teacher, healer, man, partner, lover, friend who does not embody the whole breath of humanity. I do not want perfection to be defined by how well I navigate those troubles time. I do not want constant wellness to be the stamp of approval of how well I carry my Altar and my prayer. I do not want to be saved, fixed or moulded back into shape by anything that comes from this colonial and broken patriarchy.
I want the deeper vulnerability the world needs to be embodied in my struggles and my joys. I want to true unknowingness of life to be a wild guide into a new chapter. I want each new steps in my life to be guided by something I cannot always hear or follow and yet trust with all my heart.
I want to put my broken heart and body on my ceremonial altar as my greatest offering to all. My true belonging to this broken world.
I want to walk into those edges where God can be found. The edges of the refugees, the excluded, the addicts, the suicidal, the broken souls. Those who have met with infinite humility those places of grace and presence.
I want to return back to the old path. The one that guided us to belonging and love. Not the one we are following as a collective that is bringing us to the edge of the precipice.
I want to walk back to the lost path on my knees. On my four legs. I want to follow the mycelllium and the winds. With my face covered with the muds of our battles and my nose trying to find the lost perfume of a loving humanity.
It is not pretty. It is not clean. It is not centered.
It is decentered. Off Human centered. It is inclusive of all we feel. All that is in relation with us. It is messy. It is smelly. It is alive like a compost pile. It is holy. It is the place of death and rebirth.
I know I will find some of you there. All those who want anything that is not true and loving to die. Who will enjoy this kind of hot decomposing soil where we are putting down all our masks, all our pains, and all our dreams.
This is my prayer.