Friday, June 23, 2017
Sunday, November 27, 2016
There is a terrible tendency in our community to give people weak platitudes in the face of real adversity. When you tell someone that changing their mind will change their life, that might be perfectly true but, as with everything, "results vary". Most of you are privileged white people, such as myself. When you go on about how you can attract abundance with the power of your mind, you know what you're forgetting? EVERYONE has that power and is constantly doing so, whether or not they realize it. So when you say that to someone suffering under systemic oppression, they're going to spit in your eye and brush it off as bullshit because they have the power of millions of minds and people with material power working against their own mind and minimal material power. The primary failing of contemporary New Age thought is its basis in white privilege. You people need to get on the streets and connect with people who aren't as lucky as you are. Because frankly, it's a disgrace to the ROOTS of the New Age movement to engage in your cheap aphorisms when the New Age movement was rooted in social justice and radicalism. The idea was to CREATE A NEW WORLD and what I see now is people living in their own little worlds, with very little awareness of what's going on around them. ENGAGE with people who don't live or think like you, LEARN from them. And for God's sake, stop shaming people for their mindsets and conditions by telling them they've created their illness, or poverty, or depression, or whatever their struggle is. This is the number one thing preventing the New Age, the New Agers themselves and their nasty attitudes about people they believe just think wrong. It's disgusting. This is why everyone hates you, and why I have largely abandoned the community for chaotes and black magic practitioners, because these people live on the ground level, understand realities, and don't go around judging people from their high horse of privilege.
This is related to the self-indulgence I've seen promoted in the New Age community in the last five years. You know what the path of light is supposed to be about? Sacrifice. So when you post memes that talk about not wasting your energy on people who do nothing in return for you because you have to "cut negative attachments" and "help yourself so you can help others", that's self-serving, it isn't the path of light. Don't call yourself a lightworker if you're only willing to shine in the presence of equal or greater radiance.
Furthermore, if you were all that powerful and able to "attract abundance" with your mind alone, you wouldn't need to charge and arm and a fucking leg for your services, pricing out the people who REALLY need your services and workshops. ARE, I'm looking at you. You've abandoned the people who really need you and claim you've done it so you can continue the mission you've basically abandoned. Cayce offered free readings to the people who needed them, you charge obscene prices for conferences that aren't even that great. And don't get me started on the outright abuse of your employees. It's a disgrace. This is why I've almost totally disengaged from the ARE. You people are unrepentant and actively discourage young people from involvement because you know we'll CONVICT you.
Wednesday, November 16, 2016
My friend just last night shared her experience invoking Hecate and "shedding her skin". Today I was transferring some files and came across a trance-writing from an experience I had invoking dark mothers, Kali Ma, Inanna, and Baba Yaga. I've kept this private for almost a year now (12/26/15) but the synchronicity has encouraged me to share. What she shared was even more intimate.
Thinking of skin against skin I cant breathe again is there even a me or am I just a mirror with delusions of individuality the dark mother calls me and I can't even answer because I am empty fill me ma fill me na fill me ya I have no one else to be manaya will be my name and I will build myself from pain. I am a shadow a shadow a shadow empty insubstantial and nonselfforming help me darkness embrace me so I can be a self ma na ya ma na ya ma na ya dark ladies let me share your death bleach my bones and make me ma na ya even this prayer an echo of the face that shattered the mirror I am an emanation of an emanation and there is no truth in me bleach these bones kill the lie everything I never was must die only in nothing did I ever find me but nothings just another shadow. Can I be anything but a shadow? I want to be I want to exude from within I want to be free from the emanation from the reflection I want to be more than a reaction. Ma na ya kill me so I can exist its the only way I know to truly be.
Thursday, October 13, 2016
She was still, just… too still.
Hers was slowly cooling. Slowly. Still. Even her blood was going still.
“What?” she laughs, “I know you were only gone a week but it shouldn’t be that surprising. I lervs you.”
His system is in shut down. “You’re dead,” he states without feeling, like he’s reporting the effect of gravity, a thing too plain to note, let alone state, but stated it had to be. For the record. Records are important. Records are data. And Data is the Tree of Knowledge. He concerns himself with things like this while he watches a cartoon crew and their pirate ship slip down a cloudfall into a bottomless sea of stars. His neurological structures are trying desperately to make him forget she is there. Ah, but look behind the curtain they say we’ve never shown you this trick before. She persistently refuses to forget she is there. So she is. She is there because it is as granted to her as the effect of gravity. She thinks she should be here. So here she is. And all of a sudden her conviction becomes contagious in its innocuous normalcy. And his brain found an easier strategy. Accept. This is normal. It is Wednesday. You are with her. It’s Wednesday. Where else would you be? He forgot she was dead and fell asleep.
First he remembered the pain.
Second he remembered her. Why had she been there? He’d left two weeks ago and left her a week ago.
Third he remembered she was dead.
Fourth he remembered that dead people don’t make corporeal house calls so it must have been a dream.
He rolls over to grab his water bottle and finds he can’t move. He’s trapped under a mess of pink skin and brown hair. He realizes the mess is person-shaped. He knows that shape. This is one fucked up dream. And now his mom calls. She asks how he is, you know, considering the accident and-
“I’m having the weirdest dream,” he cuts her off, to her relief. “I can’t tell which parts are dream and which are memory. Are you here to help me remember?” Mom says she’s calling his aunt. The phone goes dead. He expects to wake up. He looks at the messy person. He considers the utterly absurd, ineffable nature of reality. His aunt comes in.
“You’re going to be late for work if you don’t get up.” She says it like a question. She says it like a test.
“I know. I’m trying but I can’t wake up,” he responds, wondering if this is his brain’s interpretation of the alarm clock going off. She leaves, misunderstanding completely and, consequently, satisfied. The messy person moves. She smiles. “Mornin. Did I get you in trouble with your aunt?”
He kisses her forehead. “No”. It occurs to him that’s strange. His late recently-ex girlfriend in his bed, he could believe. But he could not believe his aunt would let a naked woman in his bed go by without commenting upon it in no uncertain terms. This must be a dream. He goes back to sleep.
“Huhng?” he manages. “I should have woken up already.”
“Damn right you should have! It’s like two o’clock!”
“No. I mean. What are you still doing here?”
“Well damn! I didn’t think it was like that! You sleep at my house until two all the time. I thought I’d repay the favor. Since your aunt is being so uncharacteristically hospitable. Especially because honestly, I’m kind of scared to leave.”
And it clicked. “You are scared to leave aren’t you?”
“Well yeah. I feel super awkward around your family when I know how they feel about me sleeping here. I don’t even know them really.”
“No. I mean. You’re dead. We broke up and then you died. I left town two weeks ago and never saw you again. Your sister called me screaming. You died before I got to the hospital.”
She cocks her head to the side, “Well, I can understand not remembering dying. That’s pretty common, innit? Well, not to say common really but, y’know, not uncommon. Common for ghosts anyway. But I think I’d remember you breaking up with me. That’s bound to be traumatic, kinda leave an impression on a person, like.”
“Yeah. I think that’s the point. I think it was so traumatic that you forgot it. I think that’s why you’re here. You can’t accept what happened.”
“Maybe I’m here because you can’t accept what happened. I mean, if I had a falling out with you and then you died, I’d probably be conjuring you from the other side too. Consciously or otherwise. Wait. Are you saying I’m dead and you didn’t even conjure me here? Didn’t you miss me? Oh yeah, you’re supposed to have dumped me. So I guess you didn’t want me here alive, let alone dead. Der. Forget me own head next. Little dead girl joke for ya there. Oh gods, I didn’t get decapitated did I? That shit gives me the wiggins.”
“No. You didn’t get decapitated.” He couldn’t imagine why that mattered. Dead is dead. He floundered in the cloud of words, “Wait. No. Yes. I missed you. I didn’t conjure you though.”
“Are you suuuuuure?”
“Can anyone be sure of anything?”
“Of course not. Let’s go get waffles.”
“Okay. I’m gonna take a shower.”
He pushes himself out of bed, rubs his face, looks back at her, makes a face, looks like he just heard there’s aliens landing in the backyard, which is the way he looks when socialists lose elections, which is the way he looks when another invaded nation fills with dead children, which is the way he looks when he stares into the abyss, which is the way he looks when he quotes Nihilist Memes, which is the way he looks when he laughs so he doesn’t cry. He takes a deep breath, "Hail Satan" he exhales, and takes a shower, mind-numb.
She raises a single eyebrow. “Okay, no one in the service industry can get away with being that blatantly misogynistic. I really am dead, aren’t I?”
“If you’re dead, how can you eat? Shouldn’t the fork just fall through your whispy little finger-shaped energetic projection?” The fork clatters to the table. Everyone turns to look at the noise. She glares at him. She laughs. He laughs. Everyone continues to stare.
She raises her index finger, “Belief is a tool,” she says in her best socially-awkward- yet-blissfully-unaware-of-it professor voice, then pushes up imaginary glasses. “I posit that if I am an energetic projection and in some way a sort of thought-fold in the space-time continuum, that I’m able to polarize magnetic fields in such a way that either the spoon is attracted through some atomic process or that I’m manipulating my own energetic imprint to be dense enough to affect the organized-energy-that-is-matter around me. Alex would probably say that’s a bunch of bullshit and harsh at me for using Science Words but I don’t give a damn as long as I can believe it long enough to shove this waffle down my imaginary face hole.” It takes a couple tries, but she eventually picks up the fork again. She eats the whole waffle without caring how it’s substance disappears into her insubstantial body. Breakfast for the breakfast gods, she thinks silently, and giggles aloud. When they leave, the server busses the table, notices the guy ate all that food but he never saw him touch the waffle. He never thinks about it again. Ghosts don’t exist, so they certainly don’t eat waffles, so he certainly didn’t see a ghost eating a waffle. That would be absurd.
“We just went and got some breakfast,” motioning behind himself to indicate his late recently-ex girlfriend. His aunt looks despairingly at the empty space. Then, like a hive of inter-phase bees forming a swarm, a familiar young woman flickers into sight.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” his aunt gasps, crossing herself, “God and all his angels preserve us!”
“Um. Hi! You can see me now?” She jumps up and down, “I believed enough for all of us!”
“In the name of Christ Jesus, be gone from the earth, unholy spirit!”
She starts dissolving like a forgotten piece of paper in the wash. She reaches out to the love that had kept her here and screams his name- and she’s gone.
She hasn’t come back. She doesn’t respond to conjuration. He doesn’t wake up to a late-recently-ex-dead-girlfriend-shaped mess of pink flesh and brown bird nest. But once, when he slipped between, he heard her still screaming his name. He doesn’t know the Moirai made her a promise. He doesn’t know they have a rescue planned. He looks for another way. He doesn’t even know the people with the expertise he needs are the very same. They don’t know they need his plan. It would be funny, if it weren’t so tragic. So they say.
“Who thought we three would meet again?”
“Well I’ll be thunder. Who wants to be lightning?”
“Well my face is raining, so that settles that.”
“Wait, this is a thing…”
“What’s a thing?”
“It should be four.”
“When shall we four meet again?”
“No, no, that’s not right… hold on….”
“Again shall meet we four when we open the correct door.”
“Doooood! It’s like from your story. And… and the cups…”
“The cups were in our readings! The three of cups! Okay we’re cups…. Or….”
“Okay, okay. The readings. We all have a piece. We have to put the pieces together.”
“But there’s four cups. But then there’s three cups. But, wait, I’m confused.”
“WE are three cups. Remember what she called us? We’re the Fates, time to… fate… or something.”
“She’s the fourth cup. She has all the pieces.”
“Well, she can’t exactly reach up and hand them to us, can she?”
“No but we can put them back together, umm, together!”
“But she has pieces we don’t know about. You know what they say about occultists…”
“WAIT! She might not be able to reach UP, but part of her can reach DOWN! You know, to the extent direction has any meaning in this situation.”
“What? Y’all STILL haven’t sorted that shit out?!”
“Hey, hey, calm your tits. It’s a work in progress. Oh! It’s a work in progress! That means there’s still… like… an open outlet on her end for… Her to plug into!”
“Okay, well, you know how enigmatic She is. She takes whatever name and shape suits Her at the time and She didn’t even bother to explain what was going on.”
“Yeah, well, you said it yourself, sometimes these things have to unravel naturally.”
“Can you guiz please stop keking and cawing at each other for a minute?”
“Ummm… okay now I don’t know what to say.”
“What sound do stags make?”
“OMG guiz. Focus.”
“Don’t they make some weird mooing noise like mooses?”
“We agreed not to apologize.”
“Yeah well that was before. Maybe SOME apologies are in order.”
“YEAH! Maybe they ARE!”
There is relative silence as images of pouting foxes in crowns and angry crows with shining eyes materialize in the chat window. “You are filled with determination” pops up in a black square, underlined in rainbow hearts.
“You know what she would say right now?” A YouTube link pops up. Rainbow Warrior by CocoRosie.
Several moments of silence pass while they all meditate on the anthem.
“Burning embers hearts united. We remember mystical beauty.”
“Yeah. Things were like that once.”
“Well they better be again or we’re not going to keep our promise. We promised we wouldn’t leave her there and you told me you saw her bound in the lilies, just like in your reading.”
“Ok. We’ve been too… panicked about this. We already know what to do. What we were going to do in the first place. We all told her we’d be there for her when she went back. Well, the only thing that’s changed is that it’s all -or most- of her there now, instead of just a piece. So we all just do what we were going to do before.”
“Yeah, except this time instead of coming back with us, we have to cross her over instead. *sobs*”
“…… not…. necessarily…..”
“What, are we going to bring her back as a damn GHOST? Or like back to her rotting body?! WTF are you thinking you crazy fox?!”
“There’s a reason they say ‘crazy like a fox’”
“Well, she’s a fox too. Maybe she’s got her own crazy thing she’s working on.”
“Well we won’t know unless we go find out.”
“Okay, we each have a piece of the puzzle. We’ll go together and figure it out as we go along. That’s… that’s how she did things, on the fly.”
“Yeah well she was fucking reckless and look where it got her.”
“Yeah but… but maybe we have to resonate with that, with her, to find her. And, maybe she was right that risk is part of the price for magic. Remember in my story? The sacrifices in the chalices?”
“Are you saying we’re sacrifices? I don’t think I like the sound of that.”
“*sobs some more*”
“No… no… just… maybe the risk is the sacrifice. In my story, making the sacrifice was a risk. But… sometimes the price is courage. You both told me that, in different ways.” She sent the determination meme again.
“Okay, so we go in blind.”
“No. Not blind. Just maybe a little Foolish.”
“I love you too, ladies! Come on, let’s go!”
“Wait what?” asked one.
“I dunno,” said a second.
“I know. Let’s go!” shouted the third.
That third woman ran off, not slowing as her arms became wings and her legs no longer touched the ground. The crow flew off into the dark horizon. A fleet fox followed behind her, all faith in her flying friend. Next, bounding into the red expanse, was something like the product of an unlikely union between a dragon and a deer. The final woman shook her head and sprouted antlers. She ran after her kin on the legs of a stag, rapidly closing the gap between them. Eventually, the crow alighted on a gleaming gold garden gate and became a jet-clad woman with wild red curls, which she shook out like they suffocated her. Where the fox sat down, a woman lay sprawled on the ground, panting heavily, her face half-hidden in matted brown hair, her cheeks flushed with excitement. The stag nosed the loafer’s head and became an obsidian-haired beauty in black tails and top hat. The fourth woman stomped up from a stand of trees, flinging back her auburn locks with the fierceness of frustration and purpose.
“This is the crossing place,” spake the raven.
“I feel something that way, though,” gestured the vixen. They all looked where she was pointing, looked at each other, and shrugged. “You were right to bring us here, sister, but there’s something here beside the crossing point! It’s like there’s a magnet in my tail. Well, I don’t have a tail anymore. But I can still feel it. I’m following it.” They tripped downhill away from the gate and towards the stand of trees. “We’re getting closer” She felt a trace of lips brush across hers. “It’s him! He’s here!” She took off running. In fact, she ran right into him. It would be nice to think she ran gracefully into his arms, ballerina-like, swan-like. It would be nice but it wouldn’t be true. She ran head-first into his elbow, which she grabbed, pulling him on top of her with such force that they both saw stars when their heads collided into each other, into the ground. When the lights receded, they kissed each other deeply and desperately. About the kiss, at least, we can be satisfied in our fairytale fantasy.
“Boop! I found you!”
“Well I was setting alight the you-shaped beacon.”
“You remembered!” then it hit her “You couldn’t have remembered that. It happened… It didn’t happen… It… Have you been there?” she was having another her’s memories.
“You mean you’ve been there?!”
“Yeah for a minute. Haven’t you? Isn’t that why-“
“I came to take you there, to the other timeline, the one where you don’t die!”
“You came for me! Oh my god you came for me! I love you! Oh, my god, I love you so much!”
A keen listener, at this point, would have heard a whispered, “Damn. All we got was ‘Hi’” and muffled titters.
“A thought just came to me. A memory. A poem. Come on!”
“Where are we going?”
“To steal a horse.”
“Why are we going to steal a horse?”
“Because we need a ride. Obviously.”
“I don’t think we’re all going to fit on A horse.”
“Trust me. The horse we’re going to steal could carry the whole world if necessary.”
“Where is it?”
“Erm… between where you are and where you’re looking.”
“Well that doesn’t exactly narrow it down.”
“No. I mean. Fuck. Just watch me.” And she stepped. She disappeared. But if they tilted their heads and looked from the corner of their eyes, they could just see her standing in snow, waving.
“Oh!” they all breathed together and stepped into the snow.
“Ok. So. Welcome to the castle of The Dark Lord Hades. Let’s go steal his steed.” As she scampered away, her feet left little fox prints in the snow. In what seemed like no time at all, they had arrived at the walls of the castle.
“That seemed like no time at all,” stated Rainbow Brite.
The fox became a messy person. “Oh, yeah, I’m slicing time. Or space. Space-time. Yeah. I dunno. It’s a thing a lotus taught me. I think. Speaking of which-“ she shoved her hand into her body just below the ribcage and pulled out a glowing lotus.
“The horse of Hades.”
“I thought we were going to steal the horse.”
“We are, but if there’s an enemy you don’t want to make, it’s Hades. I’ll leave him the lotus and when we’re done with the horse we’ll send it back. A life for a life, he’ll send the lotus back.”
“Wait, a life for a life? Does that mean? Are you going to kill someone?”
“No no no. I had someone in mind, I won’t lie. But that’s something the evil me would do and she’s not calling the shots anymore. And I don’t need to. My amazing man found a loophole. I’m not escaping purgatory, I’m jumping to a timestream in which I never wound up here.”
“And why do we need the horse for this? A carousel always worked just fine for me. We could probably use a tree branch or something…”
“Because you don’t know where you’re going. That is, if you want to come with me. I don’t really know what happens when a probability collapses. But where I’m going, you won’t remember unless you go with me. We can’t jump individually and wind up in the same timestream. I’m the one with the coordinates.”
“Well the damn HORSE doesn’t have the coordinates!”
“It’s a telepathic horse.”
“Well I’m tele-‘
“Yeah but you’re not currently an n-dimensional creature with the carrying capacity of an infinite Budweiser Clydesdale. You’re packed pretty tightly into that human suit for now, sister, despite how flexible it is out here.”
She ran off, following the walls closely. Her family of four followed. “Witches always use the back door,” she whispered and stepped through solid stone. This time, they were all used to the woo woo permeability of the place and walked right through the wall without hesitation.
“I can smell the stable,” was whispered from the shadow beneath a top hat. “This way.” They all crept carefully behind on her coattails. She slowly swung open a door making soft “Shhh” sounds, like something from an album titled “Soothing Sounds of the Sea”. The horses were all restless but they settled as she patted each nose in turn during her procession between the boxes. In the very last stall on the right there stood a horse hands higher than the rest, shining like full moon light. She gently pushed the stall door open and lead the horse out, it’s nose following her open hand. “Okay, guys. Umm. All aboard?”
The messy woman laid the lotus in the horse’s stall and climbed up the short stall walls, onto the horse’s back. Somehow, as each boarded its back, the horse grew to accommodate the additional rider without seeming to actually grow at all.
“Okay, Changeling, I do need your telepath skills. You’re the expert on timeslipping. Telepath me that kind of headspace. The coordinates don’t do me any good without an OS to process them.”
“Okay, I’ve got it. Here.”
“Oh. Wow. Okay. Yeah. Perfect. Wow. Oh this is lovely. Umm okay I think it would probably be easier if you gave that to everyone.” She felt his hot breath in her ear before he whispered, “Take my heart.”
“What? Are you crazy? No! I- I’m not- I don’t do that anymore!”
“I don’t mean rip it out. I mean take it.”
“Only if you take mine.”
Carefully, they reached into each other’s chests and, gentle-handed, clasped each other’s hearts. The space between them exploded in blue and gold. A whirling tunnel, like the sky-end of a tornado, opened up in front of them.
“Are you sure this is going to work?” one of the women shouted over the whirwind, “We might still wind up separated or without memories or worse.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll believe enough for all of us!” With an internal shout of exultation, she shoved the coordinates into the horse’s head and leaned in. And we leap into our “reasonably comfortable and completely capable” ever after to the peal of ringing bells.