The Bone Dance

Experience from the Bone Dance at the temple of Sekhmet. (From Private FB page 10/20/13)

Temple of Sekhmet Indian Springs, NV

As I communed with the fire, a regression began. I had my journal with me and documented it as I could, between the regression and the moment. The sense of "Here one minute, somewhere else the next" is typical of my experience and, needless to say, very disconcerting.

Never knew this place was here until Ani invited us. Ani is the bomb.

Very spiritual place even with the plethora of people spouting platitudes. Got a new Tattoo today Strength/Courage. It looks and feels like it belongs there. Though I’m not really sure if I belong here, I suppose the night will tell. When I walked into the temple proper, I felt that now familiar discomfort in my skull.

I sit in the temple itself and contemplate the fire surrounded by crystal. I seek peace, but the conversation around me keeps it at bay. A discussion of Christmas Shopping and grandchildren and greetings and troubles mundane. This chatter seems to stand between me and the fire. I can see the flames dance through closed eyes and I can almost connect but for those asking directions and staying grounded in the material. As the temple began to fill, I almost felt as if the energy shifted and it would become quieter, but the chatter continues.

The Vortex folks are droning in their “initiation to the bone dance" spiel. Apparently it’s about to start.

These are not my people. I must find my own tribe.

I sit before the flames in the temple again. This now feels a scared space.

… Above the hills we anointed ourselves with salves to shield us from the flames below. The sacrificial fires that have blazed continuously since we had our first glimpse of the valley more than a week ago. Fires of murder and destruction. Fires of desecration.

These fires were not set ablaze to cleanse. These fires were made to destroy and frame the dark places. These fires were not lit to bring light, but to create shadow. Even the smell of the smoke could not mask the smell of death below. The rituals that provided the meat for this massive offering. As we passed silently through the city, we would not enter their homes. The homes were empty. There was no hospitality to be found. We deserved none. We had come too late. We could not save them. We had no right to seek the shelter of their spaces.

The drumming. The incessant drumming bounced from building to deserted building and filled the empty city with echoes.

Who was left to do the drumming? Had they kept some of the soldiers alive as slaves and set them to the task? These drummers had to be strong. They never stopped. Perhaps they drummed until collapse only to be butcheredd like the others.

I tried not to let myself dwell on these thoughts. They did not help. To think of men as meat for the fires was to become the enemy. I wondered when the drums had become the sound of dread. When had the joy and abandon of life in communal symbiosis transformed into the energy of chaos? When did it start? When did the vehicle for chaos begin to plague what had once been our shining and glorious people?

When had it all gone so horrifically wrong? I did not know; could not know.

We anointed ourselves with salves. and communed with our own fires to activate their protection.

… Ani sits across the fire from me, there is a beauty and a radiance to her tonight more profound than usual. I'm not sure what to think about that. I look around, now back in the present. Shawna catches my eye and gestures that they are ready to go. On the one hand I’m reticent. Having made the connection, I am tempted to continue my exploration in this sacred space. I feel safe here, protected. But at the same time I’m afraid of how far it will take me and I'm still self conscious about what others might see. I thank the priestess for creating such a wonderful space and follow Ani and Shawna out.

 As I process my experience from last night, I don’t really know what to think except that It’s going to be a long and terrifying road.

Now that I’ve begun to pull down the walls and sought connection, I’ve begun to remember more. When I close my eyes, I can still see the the pathway down fro the deserted city lined with heads hung from their hair on poles. Faces frozen in silent screams of terror. I can still remember the butchering squares where parts of people were piled and simply left because they were not needed for the summoning.

My modern mind equates them to cast off limbs of children’s dolls because when I remember them for what they truly are, my pulse begins to race and I feel trapped and threatened, even in an open room, even with the medication.

I need to go where there are people.