The Madness of Mister Mark

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“The only difference between me and a madman is that I am not mad…” -Salvador Dalí

My brain is analytic, skeptical, and devoted to assessing and categorizing.

My heart-mind belongs to Buddhism. The truths of those teachings are so self-evident to me, they are beyond question.

My heart beats with British blood. Millennia of pagan magick course through my veins–standing stones and fairie circles, hedge witches and court wizards, the Raven King and Glastonbury Tor.

My body is fearfully and wonderfully made from the dark and bloody earth of Kentucky. I’m a golem of the hills and hollers, made up of haunted mountain songs, of horses and harlots, of coal and bourbon, of tent revivals and slavery.

My soul is shaped by songs of Jesus–‘Softly and Tenderly’, ‘Just as I Am’. It bears the scars of fear and trembling, of judgment and despair. It is etched with a commandment to “love your neighbor as yourself.”

My madness hums with spinning wheels- the zodiac, the music of the spheres, watches, weather, the hero’s journey, halos, Zen’s ensō, Cern’s supercollider, Ezekiel’s chariot wheels, chakra gates–-Samsara itself.

To wake up, I must work with it all.  Transmute poison to medicine.  Transmute lead to gold. Follow the eight-fold, yellow-brick path to freedom.

And my liberation is bound up with yours.  Until we are all awake, no one is awake. Until we are all free, no one is free. 

image by Elzo Durt

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