Mini-Update: Downtown Shaman
And the beginnings of the The Map.
I had hoped to do a proper recording this week, but some stuff came up that had to be processed, so I wasn’t in the proper Weirdsday frame of mind.
However—two things of note.
First, you will see the beginnings of The Map in the images above. It’s pretty bare-bones at the moment. No streets; no built environment. The ovoid blob at the top is the lake, with “Tiohero” being the closest thing I could find to its Haudenosaunee name1. There are markers for some of the prominent landmarks I’m already familiar with. Need to do some preliminary (daytime) surveying of some of other spots to make sure they’ve got the right juice.
For picking starting locations, in terms of methodology, I had considered the following:
Assigning a card from the Major Arcana to each spot on the map. This seems too deterministic. Might as well assign each one a random number and throw some dice to decide.
Coming up with an avatar for each spot on the map: animal, plant, mythical figure, etc. This would allow for more intuitive readings with either Tarot or I Ching to divine the starting point.
Taking the second option to its logical conclusion and creating a mini-deck of oracle cards, one for each location. With this, I could develop the symbolic density for each card/location over time, and record additional details as things progress.
I’m leaning toward the third option at the moment. Good news: more arts and crafts. Bad news: higher start-up cost in terms of time and effort. Will report back.
Finally, while I didn’t manage a full-on Weirdsday excursion, I did have one interesting encounter while out walking on Wednesday night.
While crossing the Commons (our downtown pedestrian mall) I was hailed by a man named Bumblebee. Backpack; craggy face; indeterminate age, somewhere between 40 and 70; already-opened tallboy2 of something affordable, reverently held. “It’s not the years, it’s the mileage” kind of guy. A new face for me; not one of the regular cast of street people, as far as I can remember.
We talked for about twenty minutes—which is to say, he spun a free-association tapestry of fact and fabulism while I listened politely and nodded.
Biographical details gleaned from Bumblebee: ex-military, briefly stationed in Alaska before blowing away the above-average score on his proficiency tests for officer school; deployed in [REDACTED] following 9/11. Had people die in his arms; shot; stabbed. (Unclear if this happened in military combat or at a later date.) Speaks fourteen languages. (Tried unsuccessfully to speak Japanese to a passerby who was, in all likelihood, not Japanese.) Spent four years walking the country “with nothing but a bowl3” as a kind of acid-mendicant. Currently working on getting local junkies into rehab and “counseling counselors” for at-risk youth. Needed a slice of pizza.
He was also a Wurlitzer of pan-global spirituality: quoted some excellent Shakespeare, and possibly Wordsworth, along with Bible verses, reggae songs, Buddhist prayers. Laid down a great OM intonation. Tapped my third eye to open it up. Gave me the New Age “a ho” upon parting company, which is the local ayahuasca circle’s favorite call sign. Unclear if he’s physically affiliated or just broadcasting on the same frequency.
All in all, Bumblebee is one of those cultural orphans who is probably tapped into something genuine, but doesn’t have the metaphysical vocabulary or social structure to deploy it effectively. He could have been a wandering monk, in another time and place, and enjoyed a more dignified position. Unfortunately for him, modernity has no use for him; he’s left to sleep rough and ask for handouts. Nevertheless, he’s out there, trying to work out his dharma with a patchwork of poetry, pop culture, and secondhand religious relics. Scarred up from battles in one realm or another, and still on the march. Minding the gates on behalf of the rest of us.
Seemed like a good omen, overall.
For all I know, it means “idiot whitey,” like those horrifically-translated kanji tattoos everybody got when I was a kid in high school.
For international readers: a pint can of beer (or caffeinated grain alcohol, depending on taste).
Unclear whether the “bowl” in question was meant for food or cannabis. (I made this same mistake in college when one of my dormmates knocked on my door and asked to borrow mine. I came back with my wooden pipe. Turned out he just wanted to eat some Fruit Loops and didn’t have anything to put them in. Oops.)
Excellent!!!