GETTING FINGERBANGED IN THE COREWOUND / FALLING OFF THE PATH / MORE SELF-INVOLVED RAMBLINGS.

I googled ‘Fingerbanging corewound’ and this nice picture came up.

It’s a mistaken notion that the healing path is a smooth upward trajectory towards the apogee of spiritual wholeness. In reality it seems to be more like two steps forward, one step back, three steps forward, four steps back, five steps back, eight steps forwards, pause to violently throw up all over the bathroom floor while crying uncontrollably, five steps forward, two steps back, five steps forward, pause to writhe on the floor while groaning like a miscreant and flashing two fingers up at the moon, three steps forward, two steps etc…
 Recently I had an incident where I ended up sliding all the way back to a place I thought I could never go back to. I ended up back in the black hole of depression that typified my life prior to getting on this crazy path of healing. The fact that I had been previously embodying higher energetic states of being only made it even more depressing. 
 ‘How did it happen you self-absorbed fuck?’ I don’t hear you ask me.
 Well it all began with getting fingerbanged in the core wound. 
 What is a core wound? Well it’s that little broken thing in the middle of your soul that when someone starts to non-consensually fingerbang it, it makes you go ‘Owie owie owie!’ and then you regress back to the emotional state of a 3 year old bawling child. Then once the storm has passed you suddenly realise that you are standing around a room full of broken furniture with blood all over your face and sirens waiting in the distance and it becomes clear to you that something had taken over you that you had very little control over.
 That’s your core wound. 
 It’s your weak spot. It’s been there since you were a child. It’s the source of many coping strategies that you now use to navigate the world with, coping strategies that you might have mistaken as your actual personality. In fact who you think you are, might just be a massive, elaborate scaffold protecting or defending this core wound.
 For me it’s this rejection/abandonment thing. I’m 36 yrs old, but when my core wound gets triggered, I regress back to someone who is about 5 years old. It’s totally fucked. On the one hand I really crave an intimate connection with other people, but on the other hand it scares the shit out of me, so I have these self-defeating strategies that get in the way. 
 I was recently researching about how there are 4 main attachment styles: Secure, avoidant, anxious and anxious-avoidant: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-47gAh9S-Fw
 I apparently qualify as anxious-avoidant. The worst, most difficult kind. This even came out in my relationship with the audience back when I was a comedian, an approach to performing that I defined as the ‘Please love me/Fuck you’ approach, where I would get them to like me and then I would get them to hate me, ad infinitum. It was exhausting and kind of abusive. This push/pull dynamic has also been the model of my sporadic and dysfunctional lovelife that began at the tender age of 24 and has been the bane of my life ever since. 
 Recently it came up when I became romantically entwined with a lady I’d met while I was on a plant medicine healing retreat. 
 A word of warning to all of you reading this out there:
 DO NOT FALL IN ‘LOVE’ WITH ANYONE WHILE YOU ARE ON PSYCHEDELICS. 
 I have come to the conclusion that this is not ‘love’ per se but more a form of delusional psychosis, a derangement of the senses caused by having a hot air balloon brain full of seratonin. One is unable to judge correctly and more often than not, the affair ends in way much like waking up at the wheel of a car just as you plow into a wall, screaming, ‘OH SHIT I CAN’T BELIEVE I FELL FOR IT AGAIN AAARRGGHHH!’ 
 Chances are that special someone you spot at 4am while candyflipping your tits off is not Lady Godiva riding bareback through a sea of partygoers, but probably just some gurner in a horse onesie having ketamine seizures. 
 Chances are that special someone that you spy across the other side of the medicine circle is not the Angel of Redemption archetype that has descended from the heavens to make you whole, but actually just a very real human being whom you’ve unfairly projected that piece inside of you that is missing… YET AGAIN YOU SCHMUCK. 
 Anyways we spent a night in an Air B and B on shrooms. I thought I was in for a night of cosmic, flesh-melting-into-flesh sensual love play, but instead I ended up in a cupboard for several hours getting fingerbanged in my corewound, trying to work through my rejection/abandonment issues. I left soon after that and sat in a park for about two hours getting a secondary corewound fingerfuck right in the heart chakra. 
 Having been educated to just ‘Feel into it maaan.’ and not run away from the feeling, I sat on a park bench in the night, feeling into this horrible feeling.
 There seemed to be an unspoken standard, at least in mainstream western culture, where men are taught not to be in touch with their feelings, at the threat of being labelled by the majority, a homosexual or in the street parlance of the term, a ‘fag’, ‘homo’, or ‘bumjacker’ — As if there is any positive correlation between naturally experiencing emotional feelings as a male and wanting to insert one’s penis inside of the anus of another male, or to have the penis of another male inserted into your anus. This is blatantly ridiculous, unless the emotional feelings you are naturally experiencing have to do with wanting to engage in aforementioned bumjacking with another male. The current definition of masculinity seems to involve holding it all in, drinking lots of alcohol and then prematurely dying of heart disease. 
 But that was not going to be me, oh no. 
 So sucking on my thumb and gripping my security blanket like a big boy, I plunged into the world of feeling shitty. 
 I went back into the pain. The rejection. The abandonment. The loneliness. 
 All sorts of unhealthy thoughts about not being worthy of a relationship, being too intrinsically fucked up and too broken to ever be with anyone, kept cycling in my head. I suddenly noticed that I was in an intoxicating self-pity spiral, while some part of my emotional reward system was going, 
 ‘Oooh fuck yeah… Keep telling yourself that… Feels good.’
 ‘Is this an entity attack?’ I wondered, picturing this horrible astral tick with a gutbag covered in outward facing nerve endings designed to feel nothing but pain, chomping down on my head and injecting these venomous thoughts into my mind while it sucked all the power out of me with it’s abdominal proboscis.
 Or perhaps it wasn’t. I’d read somewhere that apparently experiencing negative patterns like this was addictive because even though they are negative emotions, they are predictable, and it was this predictability that was the reward in itself.
 Either way, after about two weeks of feeling into this crap, I realised there wasn’t really any end to these fucking feelings and I began to wonder whether I was feeding this thing rather than feeling it. 
 I left the urine and faeces stained park bench and made my way back to my friend’s house where I was staying. This was the second mistake I made. Choose your company well when you are in a psychically vulnerable position. My friend who is a wonderful human, but he happens to be a serious pothead with many demons and sleeping on his couch every night, I found myself being attacked and infiltrated by many unsavoury energies. 
 I hadn’t lived anywhere stable for 5 years now and without adequate grounding or foundations, I suddenly I found myself vulnerable to further psychic attack that seemed to follow me around constantly in the following weeks. It was like all it took was one core wound opening for the bad things to all come rushing in to get me. I won’t bother going into the details, but a series of negative events happened to me that re-solidified a philosophy in me that was basically ‘Fuck humans.’ I have since reworded this philosophy as, ‘Fuck the dark spirits/entities that control certain humans to act in unpleasant ways specifically directed at me.’ For even if you don’t follow entity paradigms, I find this to be more constructive than a generalised hatred of mankind, that is unless you are in a Norwegian black metal band.
 Before I knew it I was in the low vibration badlands. 
 I could no longer hear the voices in my head that had been guiding me the previous months. The sudden loss of my positive schizophrenia compounded the severe depression in me. 
 ‘Come back to me Guiding Angel Celestial Lightbeings!’ I screamed at the sky, but it was no use. Either they were gone or Ijust couldn’t tap into that frequency anymore.

A week later I drank Ayahuasca in a cave and the plant spirit informed me that this wound was ancestral. This predisposition towards rejection and abandonment ran down both sides of my family. It also reminded me that I’d made the same mistake I keep making in romantic choices, where I treat romantic connections like a drug and not as a chance for real human connection. I was addicted to the endorphin rush of new ‘love’ but not the actual reality of love itself. 
 To quote the legendary environmentalist Josef Stalin, ‘Healthy love comes from a place of wholeness and fullness, never from a place of lack.’
 Ayahuasca advised me to carry out a soul retrieval in an effort to locate the missing piece of me that I kept trying to compensate for in all these external addictions.
 Was this just some elaborate narrative I was being told? Another wild goose chase down the never ending rabbit hole of narcissistic self obsession that could easily be confused for the healing process? Should I go back to doing charity work in the third world? Was I truly on the healing path or just some deluded fucking weirdo who had taken too many plants alone in a room by himself? 
 Either way, one thing was clear: I hadn’t held down a regular job for 5 years and there was no going back. I had been free for too long. What would I tell them about the 9 year gap in my CV? 
 ‘Parasitic attachments man… The topic of all topics… You guys heard there’s a fucking astral invasion on the human race going on as we speak? A fucking war on consciousness by the forces of darkness? It ain’t a conspiracy if it’s true!!’ 
 Nay this kind of job interview talk would not net me a position on K-mart’s sales team.
 
 Nothing I could do could shake the murk that had now descended upon me. Ayahuasca, Cactus, Acacia, Kambo… I tried them all and they only made temporary, minor shifts. I tried hours of holotropic breathing, qi gong, playing with my brothers babies, focusing on other people with more serious problems, but still my energy was still fucked.
 I tried the Ho’oponopono reconciliation prayer, endlessly chanting to the universe the mantra, ‘I’m sorry. I love you. Please forgive me. Thank you.’ 
 When this didn’t work I tried the Ho’onononono frustration prayer, endlessly chanting to the universe, the mantra, ‘I’m not sorry. I don’t love you. I demand an apology. Fuck you.’ 
 But this seemed to just make things worse.

By the time I got to my scheduled Ajo sacha dieta I was a fairly pathetic mess of helplessness. Scootching across the floor on my butt like a dog with worms, I prostrated myself before the two shamans running the dieta. ‘Please! Heal me! I beg of you!’
 The next nine days I spent trapped in a tent while it rained non stop outside, drinking the master plant that tasted a lot like smoked sausage water and going crazy with cabin fever. 
 Ajo sacha is known as the great illuminator and allows you to see your blindspots and it definitely boosted my levels of observation. It was like turning my inner vision into a negative of itself, so I could see the outlines of all the biases, prejudices and the structures of my mind that were so deep and entrenched that I had forgotten they were there.
 Whole new realms of my own bullshit came to light, like icebergs of shit breaking the surface of a polluted ocean.
 ‘Oh my god! I can’t believe I thought I was aware before! I don’t know jackshit!’ I exclaimed in my tent while I stank the whole joint out with my ajo sacha garlic reeking sweats.
 It also allowed me to watch this thing within me and how it behaved.
 I was still unsure whether to call it an entity or a program, but I decided it was best to just observe without labelling it.

It seemed to feed off comfort and starchy, sugary food. It made me want to lay down all the time and just brood. Because while I lay down, it could take over my brain and fill my thoughts with poisonous doubts, self-pity and negative self judgement. This created negative emotions of helplessness, hopelessness and sadness which then led to me wanting to keep lying down and eating shit food. It was a vicious cycle. 
 I decided I best try and starve it, so I ended up fasting. For several days, all I drank was rain water, ajo sacha tea and ayahuasca. Each ceremony I asked for bigger and bigger cups, begging the plants to cure me and take this depression from me. Each ceremony I was denied salvation and I went back to my tent to wrestle with this godforsaken monkey on my back.
 On my final ceremony I gave up and realised that I would have to climb out of this hole myself. There were no quick fixes, no magic bullets and I was a fool for thinking I could cure this thing just by taking plants. So I surrendered.
 Ironically as soon as I surrendered, I received the healing. But it wasn’t in the way I thought it would occur. Instead I was shown that this obsession I had developed with removing this parasite or program from my being was in a way giving it a lot of energy. Me obsessively trying to get rid of it was actually feeding it.
 The plants showed me a different way of dealing with it, and that was too re-embody the previously higher energetic state of being I had been in prior to my fall. With the help of the plants and using muscle memory and active recall of a previously higher state of consciousness, I was able to recreate the way of being I had been operating in, prior to my slippage and suddenly the entity/program no longer had any power over me and faded away.

When I came back from the journey, I realised I was back on the path again. I had over thrown the program or entity that had taken over me for the past few weeks, but I think it is still in me, just more in the background and under control. The core wound however is still there, underneath it all, like a fissure in the ocean floor. 
 It was an important lesson on the plant path, for it was a reminder that the drop on either side is a steep fall that only gets steeper the further one progresses. You have to be really careful, for on either side of the path was madness, death or irreparable soul loss. It might be a shorter path, but it is therefore a more treacherous one. 
 There was no rush in me to gain power after this. For once you gained power, you better be sure that you could contain it, otherwise it would destroy you or even worse, twist you to the dark side.
 After all, the best way to create a monster is to run a lot of power through an unclean system, and it was time to clean this system and fill in the cracks.

Perhaps these corewounds are beyond healing. Perhaps it is unrealistic to imagine a day when you are all better again like some shiny new robot model of yourself. Perhaps one can only hope for acceptance, positive coping strategies and a certain degree of mindfulness that can prevent you from getting sucked down an emotional hole when your core wounds get triggered by the many challenges of life. These core wounds are so deep, they are you in a way. They have made you who you are, shaping you like boulder in a river. They enable you to feel empathy and compassion through the shared recognition of what it was to feel pain, thus they make you human.

Perhaps the problem aren’t our wounds but our relationships to them. Perhaps we shouldn’t try and heal our wounds so much. Perhaps we should thank our wounds. Love our wounds. Fingerbang our wounds with love and gratitude, by scented candle light after a romantic dinner somewhere in the antipodes of the heart.