This is not a glorification

But an exploration

A

Questioning

.

What lies beneath

The veneer of psychiatric diagnosis

The attempt to box in

The wideness, the vastness, the depth

Of what a soul is truly living

In this lifetime

Across centuries

In their own bodies

And perhaps

The traumas and wisdoms inherited

How can this be lassoed into a code

.

This is not a glorification

But an exploration

A

Questioning

For instance,

Of the roots

To the incredible and terrifying

Pull towards starving the self,

Of what urges move a person

To come so close to the brink of death

Beyond the need for prideful appreciation

Of external appearances

Of what lies beneath

This seemingly macabre practice

.

Although such actions appear crazy

And pills are at the ready to

Bring the sufferer back to “normal”

Why are no efforts made

Why no attention paid

To the history of fasting

As ritual, as rite of passage

Why not

At the same time as necessary treating, feeding

An exploring of the need to honor, and update the ancestral lineage

Not just shame and re-cover

This precious pulling

.

Why no contemplation

On the possibilities

Of the drastic behaviors leading to institutions

As being an unconscious need for dismemberment, separation

From enmeshed family systems, from unwell tribe?

Why no efforts made

At looking to the archetypes

The Ascetic

The Monk

The Nun

The self-immolating

Witch

Who has taken the external inquisition of yore

Upon herself to display?

.

Why no questioning

Of possible cellular memories, unearthing

Waking up in a lifetime, reeling

With no tools, no guide

And certainly no place

In a high school?

.

Yes, science, I know

Yes, double blind studies, I know

Yes, things we can see and touch and monitor

I know

.

But

What may they be trying to teach

These ones, struggling with unreasonable urges of death

Isolation, and unshakeable need

To practice cruel, strict regimen

That strips them to core

.

Why no attention paid to

The fact they may be

Canaries in the coal mine

Harbingers reflecting the morass

Of twisted expectations we face daily

Screaming at us with bones jutting

Mirroring what we are doing to ourselves

Just how starved the soul of our species might be?

.

I wish there were

Past life explorations

And contemplations

Of political protesters

Of Gandhi and Cesar Chavez

Of Siddhas alchemizing world pain

Of Ramadan

Of the Seventeenth of Tamuz

Of Vrata

Of Sallekhana

Of Nigredo, Albedo

Of Lent and all the age-old practices

That may be arising in their bones

.

I wish there were

Talks of an empath nature

Simply explaining that for some

Things feel like too much

And of course

Reducing, measuring, clearing feel good

They are the only tools at hand

In this cultural waste land

Why no validation of this possible fact

While also finding ways to give new methods

Finding ways to match mentors, elders

Finding ways

To guide

.

Are these the holy roots?

The holy roots of what is deemed disorder?

These diagnostic delineations cloaking

What is really

Sacred?

What lies beneath

The veneer of psychiatric diagnosis

The attempt to box in

The wideness, the vastness, the depth

Of what a soul is truly living?

.

Holy Roots?

Are there

Holy Roots?

This is not a glorification

But an exploration

A call for treatment and

An honoring of the possibility

Of the pull towards the ancient sacred

Within

.

*Thank you for reading! This is a very complex idea I am trying to bring into form clearly, it is a work in progress. Comments welcome :}}