Smoke Got In My Eyes, or Secretly Smudged

I don’t want to be smudged I said.  I don’t want to smell like smoke, I insisted.  And still despite my protests, I have smoke in my eyes.  Which apparently is really an impossibility and what I have is watering eyes.  Because they were exposed to smoke.  Which is also apparently my fault because any reasonable person would not have her eyes open, you know.  Not when someone is sneaking up behind them with the smudge bundle.  Because not wanting something, at least in there, is the same as wanting something.

It all started out innocently enough.  Meeting with a man to do some research on the elemental aspects of healing beliefs in “primitive” people.  What started as an innocent discussion and sharing of notes somehow ended up with me choking , hacking up a lung and eyes that won’t stop watering,  oh and Beloved turning a hose full of cold water on me.

Dan was gracious in sharing his notes and research with me.  How early forms of healing and cleansing involved particular combinations of herbs and plants which were burnt I to an aromatic smoke.  The unwell person or dark space would then have this smoke blow n his body.  Or perhaps he would sit in a way that allowed the smoke to fully envelope his body.  The smoking bundles may have been placed in the dark location and allowed to burn themselves out.  Thus providing the cleansing smoke access to all areas of the tainted place.

Dan has spent over thirty years recording and witnessing the different combinations used for various forms of healing and cleansing.  He is considered an expert in this field and has made some interesting discoveries on how the smoke works.  He was the one who insisted we meet at a local corner Cafe to go over the material.

What he didn’t know was that a “healing fair” had finished up near the cafe and some people were still caught up n the atmosphere.  As in the woman who decided I must be smudged was still in healing mode.  She sensed my need for healing apparently and thus smudged me.  Dan tried to tell me it was an honor, and that I should feel something healing about it.

I guess if I had a sickness that could be coughed up I might be healed.  Or if all my eyes needed were to water and an illness would leave me, you could call me healed.  But I don’t feel that way.  I feel disrespected and drenched.  Oh and cold.  Maybe later I will feel healed.  Right now ve channeled my inner drowned rat and am in that mode.

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