I was thinking (dangerous stuff, that) about totems last night after waking up (this morning?) to use the toilet and after laying back down and trying to find a comfortable position to grab another ninety minutes of shuteye before dealing with the day.
“Totem” is such a loaded word anymore and it hardly means what it used to mean. If it ever meant what it was supposed to mean, that is. But it is the word people use when they talk about “spirit animals”/”power animal”, whatever that’s supposed to mean. Sounds mighty new age when you get down to it.
Which is why I rarely use any of those terms, myself. These terms are all kind of sullied and icky anymore. So there get put into the box with “shaman” and I close the lid and try to forget they exist.
On occasion, however, I’ll pull them out because I find them convenient when I try to talk to people. And then I promptly wipe them down with vinegar and put them back away in the box filled with sea salt for safekeeping.
Dry, desiccated jests aside — I was thinking about what too many people call totems as I was not getting that shuteye that I had hoped for and I suddenly realized that I am probably the only person I know who hangs with Stone spirits.
Everyone wants to hang with wolf or jaguar. But stone? Nah. I’d be willing to bet there are more “rat” people out there than those who rub elbows with stones.
Ravens (another one that used to be avoided as much as rats “back in the day”, but are now strangely acceptable) and Stones. Next thing you know I’ll be blathering on about having a spider named Ymmi following me around. That’s when you know that I’ve truly lost it.
I chuckled as I drifted off. Oh, Michael, I said, meaning myself. Please don’t write anything about these silly thoughts you have. It never ends up well.
In all fairness, I was half asleep when I replied with a “Oh heck no”.
And here we are.
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