Malidoma Patrice Some'

[Mark M]

So in my post in Non-Seth Topics/Discussions that I got the Racine, Wisconsin Writer in Residence gig, I mentioned that I plan for Week 5's post to be about Seth.

At one point, I plan to quote Seth:

"There have indeed been civilizations upon your planet that understood as well as you, and without your kind of technology, the workings of the planets, the positioning of stars — people who even foresaw 'later' global changes. They used a mental physics. There were men before you who journeyed to the moon, and who brought back data quite as 'scientific' and pertinent. There were those who understood the 'origin' of your solar system far better than you. Some of these civilizations did not need spaceships. Instead, highly trained men combining the abilities of dream-art scientists and mental physicists cooperated in journeys not only through time but through space."

—Seth/Jane Roberts, The "Unknown" Reality, Vol. 1, Session 702 June 10, 1974

And I plan to add:

If you can believe the late Malidoma Patrice Some' of Burkina Faso in Africa, as I do, there are people now on the planet who can do these things such as the elders of his village. I learned of him several years ago through a friend who met him. I am planning in a future post to discuss his remarkable recountings.

In the future post, I will share:

Reaction of Malidoma Patrice Some's tribal elders to Star Trek

p.8ff, INTRODUCTION to OF WATER AND THE SPIRIT (1994) by Malidoma Patrice Some

...between countries narrowing, we have much wisdom to gain by learning to understand other people's cultures and permitting ourselves to accept that there is more than one version of "reality." To exist in the first place, each culture has to have its own version of what is real. What I am attempting to share with you in this book is only one of the endless versions of reality.

In the culture of my people, the Dagara, we have no word for the supernatural. The closest we come to this concept is Yielbongura, "the thing that knowledge can't eat." This word suggests that the life and power of certain things depend upon their resistance to the kind of categorizing knowledge that human beings apply to everything. In Western reality, there is a clear split between the spiritual and the material, between religious life and secular life. This concept is alien to the Dagara. For us, as for many indigenous cultures, the supernatural is part of our everyday lives. To a Dagara man or woman, the material is just the spiritual taking on form. The secular is religion in a lower key—a rest area from the ten�sion of religious and spiritual practice. Dwelling in the realm of the sacred is both exciting and terrifying. A little time out once in a while is in order.

The world of the Dagara also does not distinguish between reality and imagination. To us, there is a close connection between thought and reality. To imagine something, to closely focus one's thoughts upon it, has the potential to bring that something into being. Thus, people who take a tragic view of life and are always expecting the worst usually manifest that reality. Those who expect that things will work together for the good usually experience just that. In the realm of the sacred, this concept is taken even further, for what is magic but the ability to focus thought and energy to get results on the human plane? The Dagara view of reality is large. If one can imagine something, then it has at least the potential to exist.

I decided to do a little experiment of my own with "reality" versus "imagination" when I was home visiting my village in 1986. I brought with me a little electronic generator, a television monitor, a VCR, and a "Star Trek" tape titled The Voyage Home. I wanted to know if the Dagara elders could tell the difference between fiction and reality. The events unfolding in a science fiction film, considered futuristic or fantastic in the West, were perceived by my elders as the current affairs in the day-to-day lives of some other group of people living in the world. The elders did not understand what a starship is. They did not understand what the fussy uniforms of its crew members had to do with making magic. They recognized in Spock a Kontomble of the seventh planet, the very one that I describe later in this story, and their only objection to him was that he was too tall. They had never seen a Kontomble that big. They had no problems understanding light speed and teleportation except that they could have done it more discreetly. I could not make them understand that all this was not real. Even though stories abound in my culture, we have no word for fiction. The only way I could get across to them the Western concept of fiction was to associate fiction with telling lies.

My elders were comfortable with "Star Trek," the West's vision of its own future. Because they believe in things like magical beings (Spock), traveling at the speed of light, and teleportation, the wonders that Westerners imagine being part of their future are very much a part of my elders' present. The irony is that the West sees the indigenous world as primitive or archaic. Wouldn't it be wonderful if the West could learn to be as "archaic" as my elders are?

As in the case of "Star Trek," Westerners look to the future as a place of hope, a better world where every person has dignity and value, where wealth is not unequally distributed, where the wonders of technology make miracles possible. If people, in the West could embrace some of the more positive values of the indigenous world, perhaps that might even provide them with a "shortcut" to their own future. Many people, in the West seem to be trying to find this shortcut through their commitment to learning about indigenous cultures, non-Western forms of spirituality or, most recently, through the Men's Movement. If these seekers fail, and if the modern world lets the indigenous world die, it will probably mean a long, hard trip into the future in search of the values of the "past."

Westerners forget that it is not only indigenous cultures that have a deep commitment to non-Western ideas about reality. Even in a highly industrialized culture like Japan, a connection with the ancestors is taken very seriously. When the new emperor of Japan Was installed, many leaders in the West were disturbed by the fact that, as part of his inauguration, he went into the temple and spoke to his ancestors.'Why is it that the modern world can't deal with its ancestors and endure its past?

It is my belief that the present state of restlessness that traps the modern individual has its roots in a dysfunctional relationship with the ancestors. In many non-Western cultures, the ancestors have an intimate and absolutely vital connection with the world of the living. They are always available to guide, to teach, and to nurture. They represent one of the pathways between the knowledge of this world and the next. Most importantly—and paradoxically—they embody the guidelines for successful living—all that is most valuable about life. Unless the relationship between the living and the dead is in balance, chaos results. When a person from my culture looks at the descendants of the Westerners who invaded their culture, they see a people who are ashamed of their ancestors because they were killers and marauders masquerading as artisans of progress. The fact that these people have a sick culture comes as no surprise to them....

He again recounted, briefly, this account in his subsequent book, The Healing Wisdom of Africa (1998):

"During one of the scenes where people were being dematerialized and moved around by the transporter machine, I asked the elders if they understood what was going on. They were rather taken aback, replying that of course they knew what was happening, but could I please explain what all the machines were for."

And

HOW MALIDOMA PATRICE SOME TOOK EXAMS

p.5ff, INTRODUCTION: OF WATER AND THE SPIRIT by Malidoma Patrice Some'

I spent four years in that center for higher education, which later became the national university. I walked away from it with a bachelor's degree in sociology, literature, and linguistics, and a master's thesis in world literature. I still did not know why I had been there. The system did not care whether, you really learned anything or not. It was based upon the regurgitation of memorized material fed to one by professors who read from their notes in bored, sleepy, and sometimes even drunken voices. Most of what they said was incomprehensible. Our only reason for being there was our need to transcend the alarming social and economic situation in which most of us were caught. We did not need to be told that a proper Western education was the key to good Western jobs and a decent life.

For most people, top performance in that school meant hard work. As an initiated man, I did not have to work hard to get my degrees. I skipped a great deal of the classes, made sure that I was present at the exams, and walked away with my diplomas. The answers to the exam questions were mostly visible in the auras of the teachers who constantly patrolled the aisles of the testing rooms. I just had to write these answers down quickly before any one of them noticed how strangely I was looking at him/her.

During my second year in college, the teachers began to notice me. It was harder and harder for me to cut classes. When I was picked by the professor to reply to a question, I continued to instinctively seek the answer in his aura, as I did during exams. To me it was like being asked to read out of an open book. This method worked so well that one day one of my teachers looked at me suspiciously and asked, "Have you been reading my mind?" Of course, I said no. We were in the modern world, where such things are impossible.

Seth:

"(To Warren:) Now, when you learn to communicate with the gracious ease with which those primitive people communicated, then you can call yourself civilized. You [as a member of the human species] do indeed see yourself as the supreme flower of history so far, yet when you can know what is going on clearly and concisely on the other side of Elmira, and can communicate it also, then you will be as primitive and as civilized as some of those primitive people."

—Seth, UR2, Appendix 23: (For Session 724)

Also:

Malidoma from The Healing Wisdom of Africa, Tarcher/Putman (1999):

"At the colonial school I had been told that the rituals my people performed to heal were devilish and inspired by Satan. But I discovered that there were countless illnesses that could not be healed at the local infirmary which were perfectly curable at the hands of Dagara healers. I wondered whether saving lives was indeed devilish or Satanic."

[inavalan]

... If these seekers fail, and if the modern world lets the indigenous world die, it will probably mean a long, hard trip into the future in search of the values of the "past."...

Up to here all sounded good. From this point on, a "lucidity" put the whole thing in a different perspective.

If the indigenous culture is superior, why does it need the modern world not let it die? Why can't it support itself, and prove its superiority?

Although informative, the quotes became (after that point) less meaningful. The passage about cheating at exams (reading the examiner's mind instead of studying), and some pretentious and dismissive formulations made me lose interest. In spite of that, I made the effort to read it all the way, hoping something would change my opinion about the piece. It didn't.

[Mark M]

I don't know as Malidoma is saying his indigenous culture is superior.

He did note elsewhere the difficulty to withstand bullets.

[inavalan]

I don't know as Malidoma is saying his indigenous culture is superior.

He did note elsewhere the difficulty to withstand bullets.

That proves my point. They create their reality as everybody else does, in spite of whatever they believe.

Whenever one thinks that others need to change for his benefit, that means he is like everybody else: doesn't understand that he could consciously create his reality. Surely, understanding that you could doesn't mean that you can do it now, but it is a giant step in the right direction (in my opinion).

I guess you don't get it either, based on your reply.

[Mark M]

Maybe I don't, but I think there's things you are not getting either.

I'm content to leave it at that than wrangle about it.

Have a(n extraordinary) day,
Mark

[Mark M]

Malidoma's wik' entry for those interested:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Malidoma_Patrice_Som%C3%A9

[Mark M]

His initiation was pretty trippy (involved no drugs), fascinating to read.

[inavalan]

Maybe I don't, but I think there's things you are not getting either.

I'm content to leave it at that than wrangle about it.

Have a(n extraordinary) day,
Mark

That's childish.

[Mark M]

Childish? God help me.

[Mark M]

This is an experience of Malidoma's when about 4 years old:

Where I had thought there would be a rabbit [that he was chasing] there was instead a tiny old man as small as the rabbit itself. He sat on an almost invisible chair and held a minuscule can in his right hand. His head was covered with hair so white and so shiny that it seemed unnatural. His beard was long and white too, reaching almost to his chest, and he wore a traditional Dagara mantle, also white.

All around him there was a glow, a shiny rainbow ring, like a round window or portal into another reality. Although his body filled most of that portal, I could still see that there was an immense world inside it.

But what surprised me most was that the laws of nature in that world did not seem to operate like anything I had seen before. The little man's chair was sitting on a steep slope, yet he did not fall over backwards. I noticed that something like a thin wall sustained him. He was not leaning against the chair he was sitting on, but against that thin wall even though he still appeared upright in the window.

As my eyes moved from that wall and the world behind it back to the man, I saw that his thin legs were bare. His toes were so tiny I could barely see them. Petrified by something that was neither fear nor mirth, but felt like a tickling all over my .body, I forgot to scream as the man said, "I have been watching you for a long time, ever since your mother started bringing you here. Why do you want to hurt the rabbit, your little brother? What did he do to you, little one?" His tiny mouth was barely moving as he spoke, and his voice was very thin.

Confused, I tried to reply. "I . . . I . . . don't know."

"Then be friendly to him from now on. He too likes the freshness of this place, he too has a mother who cares for him. What would his mother say if you hurt him? Now go because your own mother is worried."

While the little man was speaking, I spotted the rabbit, which had been hidden behind him in the magic circle all that time. It moved farther into that steep marvelous place, and then disappeared behind a tree. Meanwhile, I heard a cracking sound, as if the earth itself were splitting open. No sooner had I heard this than the old man stood up, slung his chair over his shoulder, and walked into the opening as if he had commanded it. The earth closed up on him, leaving a gust of fresh breeze in his place. At the same moment, I heard my mother's faint voice calling me, "Malidoma, please answer me, where are you?"

Still caught in the intensity of the experience, I opened my mouth to answer, but no sound came out. She called again and again and finally I was able to scream back at her. I could not see her, but I heard her give a yell and run toward me.

When she reached me, she lifted me up in the air and ran out of the bush with me as quickly as she could. "I have been looking for you since noon," she said, gasping for breath. "It's almost dark. What have you been doing all this time?"

p.17ff, OF WATER AND THE SPIRIT by Malidoma Patrice Some

[Mark M]

Part of his initiation experience as reported in the same book:

...I heard erratic breathing, as if an animal were sniffing at something. I hid behind a rock and listened more carefully. Soon I heard noises everywhere, the sounds of hoofs and paws, panting, throats being cleared, yelping. Out of the blackness above me appeared a thin snow-white man holding a stick and walking downhill. He was probably two feet tall. His long hair was thick and stood straight up all over his tiny head as if petrified by some kind of grease. I realized that I was able to see him only because all around him there was a halo of light, bright as day. Behind him came a herd of animals of all kinds. Leading them all was a pack of porcupines, some large, some small, all walking in a loosely ordered manner. They had fierce glowing eyes and thorny bodies.

Following behind the porcupines came the tiny squirrels. They ran all the time, hopping in and out of the line. Most of the other animals in the pack were unknown to me, but I recognized some of the bigger ones by their horns and the shapes of their bodies: antelope, gazelles, buffalo, ostriches, elephants, rhinos, lions, and giraffes. The line was endless. I remembered the stories that circulated in the village about where the animals in the bush had disappeared to since the introduction by the white colonials of guns and wholesale killing and hunting. I thought, So this is where they have run to—they hide inside the cave as long as humans are awake and come into the open air at night to feed undisturbed.

I held my breath and waited for the endless parade to end. I figured they were going to the river below. At the end of the line there was another tiny man. This one carried a cane on his shoulders and was dressed in a beige uniform. For half a foot around him it was day. He never noticed my presence or, if he did, it did not bother him. He walked behind an animal that looked like a horse with a wing in the middle of the back. There was no doubt that these animals had come out of the cave I was going into. I imagined it had to be extremely big to accommodate so many different species.

The sniffing sound I had heard in the beginning came from an animal the size of a raccoon. Attracted by the unusual smell I was emitting, it had quit the line like a recalcitrant schoolboy and sniffed its way over to me. Now it stood on one side of the rock while I hid on the other. It inhaled deeply and, like a skilled hunter, crawled slowly toward me. My mind was moving fast. I had to design a protocol for dealing with my new companion, and I wondered whether a rock pounded heavily on its dumb head would do the job. Then I would not have to worry about food for the next day. After completing my mission, I could pick the animal up on my way back to the camp and roast it while my friends and I shared stories about our respective adventures.

The stupid beast moved closer. I held both my breath and the stone, ready to exhale at the same moment the deadly rock made a hole in the creature's head. I never got to do any of this. Instead my hand froze in the act of bringing down the rock. Petrified, I realized that the creature I had taken for a raccoon was actually a rabbit. To my amazement he began to speak, telling me the secret of my journey to the underworld: "You still do not get it, man. After all these years [approx 16] here you are again, eager to hurt me." The voice was not really coming out of the rabbit's mouth, but from some, unspecifiable source. It came to me as if by an infusion from an unseen needle into the most receptive part of my being. I could neither resist the communication nor respond to it. I wondered what he meant by "after all these years." I had no clue. Our eyes were locked onto one another, his luminous, mine illumined.

The rabbit had something like a hiccup that interrupted his speech every few words. "You are going to visit my home now (hiccup), yet you continue to try to kill me in yours (hiccup). My father sent me to tell you (hiccup) that he is waiting for you (hiccup). He has been chosen to be your guide (hiccup). I hope that when you come back from your visit (hiccup) we will be friends at last (hiccup). See (hiccup), when you were a kid chasing me in the bush, I tricked you into following me to my father (hiccup). I knew that wherever I ran, you would run (hiccup). You thought you found me, but it's me that found you (several hiccups). Do you still remember what my father told you? I see you don't (hiccup). It does not matter (hiccup). Ask your mother when you go home (hiccup). She still remembers that day. Your absence the whole afternoon almost scared her soul out of her body (several hiccups). She thought you had been eaten by one of us (hiccup). Ask her when you go home—and now, welcome to my father's home (hiccup). I must go join my fellows."

In a flash the rabbit was gone....