Is it me?

So last night, the first Thursday in the month, it was another gathering of the shamanistas. We all have fibres coming from our tummies that whip around like tree branches in a tornado untroubled by the time and physical encumbrance of the rest of us. My best guess is they’re the direction of our unconscious attention, and that being down there underneath our conscious radar are a conduit for our chi. We can lose and gain, give and take energy, heal and spoil in this underworld economy. But though it’s occurring 24/7 whether we like it or not and we couldn’t function without it, it’s as susceptible as snow on a hot tin roof to melting away under scrutiny. Davemouse suggests we try a French handshake. As with kissing and all things French it’s more intimate than our English hand wrestle. He takes my hand in demonstration and we attempt to glean some inner appreciation of each other. I as usual fail to glean anything more than an aching shoulder but Davemouse being more expert at this sort of thing gleans I deserve a beaming smile. My ensuing confusion is whether my innermost presence is absolutely lovely or whether it’s so poverty stricken it needs an exceptionally large dose of encouragement. As Davemouse conducts these meeting on the basis of plumbing the depths and boundaries of our ignorance rather than fast tracking us towards nirvana and beyond I venture a personal conundrum. I begin, “I’ve been wondering about you know if you sort of squeeze around your second shacra you get a sort of burst of sexual emotional energy up through your body, what’s that about?” Davemouse looks at me blankly. I look around the room. More blank faces. “Like this”, I demonstrate. Of course nothing is apparent apart from a burst of sexual emotional energy up through my body. Nope, nothing. We gloss over the fact I am a sexually and emotionally repressed pervert and move on.