Tribal identification is the shamanic unconscious mind. I will say it again. Tribal identification is the way that the mind thinks in relation to others when it is not thinking consciously.
You and I and everyone is involved in tribal dynamics. I find mine as a certain drum beat. It's melodic and deep and draws me back to those who think in terms of primeval Africa -- its summer rains, its political intrigues, its hardy michief and obscure calamities.
Like birds of a feather gathered in a rain forest, we hear each other's tonal cries. We may occupy separate trees, but we are one.
To see how one is not one but acts in concert with others is to have acquired insight into mechanisms of survival. I'm one. I'm not one. I am many.
Who is your tribe? The primeval mind that is a part of you knows, even if you do not. You have to be able to pick up the primeval call of alarm. Listen for it. It will tell you where to find your safety and with whom you should take sides.
I listen, I listen and I hear. It's all tribal. There are those who assert the danger of going apart and being alone. You can write any sentence and they'll listen and they'll listen and they'll hear. They're waiting for one that resonates with them. All of the others will not do -- but words that come distinctly with the tribal tone of their forefathers and foremothers will call forth a strong reaction.
We think we are rational but we are not. We're listeners and tonal hearers. There are tones that are wrong and not attuned to us. There are others mysterious, and some that are so growly and so deep they threaten.
A person says to me: "I couldn't side with you because I heard a distinct cry of alarm from my forebearers. They stifled every trace of sympathy I could have had for you. I'm not sure what made me hear it, but now I have, I can't get it out of my mind."
Another says: "I heard something indistinct that sounded like me, alone with my reactions to my pain. I'm not sure if you said this thing I heard inside of me, but I am at a loss at to what else it might be, as I do not know your tribe."
I listen and I learn. The forest is a network of reactions. I know the inward echoes of my tribe and I have learned much about yours, but always from the outside, without the voices of your ancestors inside of me to make complete sense of what you are saying.
To detach, to leave the woods and the whole cacophony seems to me a pleasant form of escape.
You and I and everyone is involved in tribal dynamics. I find mine as a certain drum beat. It's melodic and deep and draws me back to those who think in terms of primeval Africa -- its summer rains, its political intrigues, its hardy michief and obscure calamities.
Like birds of a feather gathered in a rain forest, we hear each other's tonal cries. We may occupy separate trees, but we are one.
To see how one is not one but acts in concert with others is to have acquired insight into mechanisms of survival. I'm one. I'm not one. I am many.
Who is your tribe? The primeval mind that is a part of you knows, even if you do not. You have to be able to pick up the primeval call of alarm. Listen for it. It will tell you where to find your safety and with whom you should take sides.
I listen, I listen and I hear. It's all tribal. There are those who assert the danger of going apart and being alone. You can write any sentence and they'll listen and they'll listen and they'll hear. They're waiting for one that resonates with them. All of the others will not do -- but words that come distinctly with the tribal tone of their forefathers and foremothers will call forth a strong reaction.
We think we are rational but we are not. We're listeners and tonal hearers. There are tones that are wrong and not attuned to us. There are others mysterious, and some that are so growly and so deep they threaten.
A person says to me: "I couldn't side with you because I heard a distinct cry of alarm from my forebearers. They stifled every trace of sympathy I could have had for you. I'm not sure what made me hear it, but now I have, I can't get it out of my mind."
Another says: "I heard something indistinct that sounded like me, alone with my reactions to my pain. I'm not sure if you said this thing I heard inside of me, but I am at a loss at to what else it might be, as I do not know your tribe."
I listen and I learn. The forest is a network of reactions. I know the inward echoes of my tribe and I have learned much about yours, but always from the outside, without the voices of your ancestors inside of me to make complete sense of what you are saying.
To detach, to leave the woods and the whole cacophony seems to me a pleasant form of escape.
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