Things I Must Remember

Tags

Baron, biography, pagan, paganism, remember, spirituality, strange

In case anybody is wondering at the posts with the same name, I’m starting up a sort of catch-all for random stuff that happens throughout the day, writing a bit about it as it happens in chronological order. I’ll probably post these about once a week, unless something better happens.

5-19-2012 ~Today I was wonked in the nose with a seed potato that did not rot. My blood dripped on the threshold of the garden, in between the onion patches and on the hose. (It was dripping very fast, from both nostrils [the left more than the right]) It also dripped on the golden tree necklace’s roots (some blood is still there)(yes yes I see, I understand, quit doubting you already. Message received loud and clear.) Bleeding stopped strangely fast, especially considering how I normally bleed from the nose. Some residual pain but no broken nose. Tightness in between eyes.

~Picked rosebuds from rose behind house, lavender leaves and buds, pomegranate petals (from fruiting tree, not the flowering one), rose petals from red bush near road, petals from red viola (both the main plant and the one that regrew from broken stem; please remember that this is post attempted-murder-of-main-pot), and miniature white rosebud from large mini rosebush. Drying on silver tray to be added to the pot [Stirred it and still smelled a bit too strongly of alcohol. Petals losing color {reminds me of wet toilet paper}, decide soon if you're using ALL or just some of the Petal Stash. Remember, those won't pulverize so shred 'em if you use 'em.]

~Tried to nap. Felt skeletal hands on my hips and read instead. (Nice to feel wanted, but nicer to lose let’s-try-to-bust-her-nose-with-root-vegetable-headache first.)

~While trimming recalcitrant mule, asked Baron to make it go easier and quicker so Dad could sit down. Mule only bucked once in the ropes (because foot was moved improperly) with the only casualties being Baron’s hematite ring (the replacement for the one broken and written about here) and an achy thumb (without the ring the rope could have broken it when mule jerked.) Found one piece (nearly a whole half- hopefully the mules don’t eat any other bits >.> ) and put it in Baron’s treasure box. Will look for more later. Remember to pour Baron a big glass full of rum spiked with his pepper stuff. {Note- ran out of rum, added about half a glass of vodka. Spiked liberally with the pepper stuff.} {Image of Jack Sparrow- But why is the rum gone?}

5-20-2012 ~saw $5 scratcher at gas station called “BLACK GOLD”. Made Baron grabby hands but did not have spare cash. Either get him one at Fet Ghede or as a random present during the year? (Afraid to promise that any winnings go to getting him stuff, for fear of hitting the jackpot and having to buy him a house to put his stuff in.) (Never make promises you can’t keep.) (You still have to decide how you’re naming your first kid after him, remember?)

~During the eclipse the light turned to Underground. I put out the dream so it could soak up the light and I watched the goblin grin while listening to the music. (Remember the snail shells, remember the dog’s tails, remember Manannan, remember Baron. Links on a chain you can’t see only feel.) Guidance (remember the black chickens!) is strange- for want of the egg smashing, I wouldn’t have taken a shower and wouldn’t have been ready for the eclipse. (Wanna go Underground….) Little floaty things floated, and a toad started croaking during the eclipse-proper. [Looked through the old helmet with cracks in the side- "The cracked shall let in the light."]

~STILL. PICKING. POTATO. DIRT. OUT. OF. MY. HAIR. AFTER. A. DAY. AND. A. SHOWER. WHATTHEHELL.

5-21-2012 ~Bought Baron spiced rum with a skull pattern on the bottle. Thanks to a series of fortunate events, the price was well within my means. Saw Lucky Hand beer. Must return for it. (Had a thought- if I give Baron dollars and change and such, and occasionally consolidate that into a scratcher [definitely bought for fun, not for winning], would he like that? {Need a suitable jar for such shenanigans.}) (Still worried about promising him the proceeds and hitting the jackpot.) (Why do I worry about this shit, anyway?)

~Staring at a Lady of Grace cheapie statue I bought and trying to decide who to repaint it for- Maman or The Lady of the Stars? (Say it with me now- nail polish is our friend!)

5-22-2012 ~Stirred the Rose Goop. Added the drying stuff from the 19th (lavender was only stuff not crispy-dry). Stared at it. Added pinches of shredded rose petals from Petal Stash (tall jars only)- petals smelled like aged tobacco, heavysweet. Decide soon if you’re adding the last red rose from from new bush or drying the petals before adding it to the Goop. [I like the living symbolism, but worried about the water in the petals throwing off my Goop and starting mold.]

~realized that while gods’n'goddesses can go solo, anything else has a slight tendency to get paired up around me (Damn the Libra scales!), even if it/they do not have a relationship outside of me. [Read your damn cards, woman, and start confirming shit since you ain't at the intuitive-spiritual-connection-level yet. Progress is good but you still need to install that spirit phone.}

5-23-2012 ~you dreamed about your friend during the night, and they made contact today.

~picked the single red rose from the front of the trailer and several rose/buds from bush behind house; set up to dry. Strained the Goop (saved solids to dry, powder, and make incense with), poured back into jar, and set up into cabinet to wait for final batch of petals [hoping it settles out into clearer {but still gorgeously colored} liquid; final straining will be through coffee papers]. Scent needs more roses but I am resisting “cheating” and pouring essential oil in it. {Bloom faster ye thorny devils!} Also, repeated deep inhalations of vodka based liquids may not have been the most intelligent thing I’ve done this week.

5-24-2012 ~read cards. Read lots of cards. Frowned at cards. Made faces at cards. Think I have a handle on the cards. Maybe. [Not Her, but me? Boy, is giving control up gonna be fun...]

Its Not The End Of The World…

Tags

pagan, paganism, rant, strange

…so everyone take a deep breath, okay?

I don’t mean to be the party pooper of the bunch, but the recent spat of pagan “Darkness walks among us! The Gods are recruiting! Everyone prepare for Ragnarok/the Zombie Apocalypse!” is going beyond the realm of “Ok, I’ll buy that” and into the dark waters of WTFuckery Bay.

I don’t buy the whole “Darkness is growing” for a very simple reason- the “Light” is growing too. Think about it. Gods are reaching more people. People that don’t have a foot in the occult pond are starting to go wading. Nothing “evil” is growing. Its always been there. We’re just getting closer and closer to Things Woo-woo. Its like we (as a species) have been wandering in the dark. Those with better night vision (i.e., the mystical, the magic-minded, the diggers of roots and diviners of the way) have seen things both good and bad. Now we as a whole can start to see things because the sun is rising. We can see the monsters and the miracles. The light isn’t bad, its just showing what has always been there. We were just too blind to see.

Put it another way- everything has a cycle, yeah? So, every such and such amount of time, our world and the World of Woo swing wide from each other. Its hard to cross that gap. Some people are born able to cross the divide, others build temporary bridges out of ethnogens, meditation, hard fucking work, etc. etc. Now they’re swinging back towards each other. Crossing is easier- folks who’ve never been able to sense gods, even, are starting to get a feel (look at me. Spirit blind for what, 22 years almost? and now I have to watch what I say because I tend to get it, good or bad.) (Honest, I never even “saw” childhood invisible friends.)

But crossing works both ways. Minor annoyances (think classic faerie shenanigans- spoilt milk, broken crockery, the darting shadows at the corner of your eye and the I’M STARING AT YOU vibes) are coming more often and going for the “shiny” people who, maybe due to not needing it before or just plain forgetting, haven’t kept up house wards or protections. (Or maybe just don’t have a ward against such stuff.) You get bigger annoyances (for lack of a better term) whispering in ears, inciting stupidity, seeing just how far they can push something before it breaks (and what is bigger and more fun to break than a country? And considering most of our politicians probably have little in the way of protections against such stuff, it’d be child’s play. This is all my own private conspiracy theory, by the by. Feel free to call it crap.) You also get good things, like the lwa and orishas spreading to non-traditional folk, “faerie” teachers, and (you guessed it) gods strolling out and tapping people on the shoulders (or upside the head. Or around the knees so they can’t escape. Or tickling the ear canal until you want to take a metaphysical Q-tip to it.)

My point is, don’t let yourself get swallowed up by conspiracy group-think. I’ve been there. I’ve seen what a bad dose of “Darkness is coming! To arms, to arms!” can do. (Cliff notes version- My bestest childhood friend started to withdraw into an almost cultish group of “aethric freedom fighters” who would meet up in astral to save various things/places. They also predicted an earthquake/firestorm in 2008 that never happened. While she eventually left them, she kept drifting off into fantasy-land and eventually cut all ties with everyone she used to be friends with. This has soured me greatly on such conspiracy theories [while that was my first exposure to dangerous group-think, it wasn't the last. It wasn't even the most spectacular of woo-woo flavored group-think I've found, either, just the one that hurt the most.]) Shit is changing, yes, but not necessarily for the worse. Humans tend to focus on the bad and overlook the good. Breaking plates? Bad. Conversations with gods and the knowledge that you aren’t crazy, they’re really there and they *like* you? Kinda blows crack crockery out of the water for me.

Personally, I welcome the changes. (Even the rat-bastard misogynistic fuckers trying to pass law on what passes through my uterus. Which would you prefer- politicians quietly passing nasty shit, or verbally pissing themselves so the nation is on alert and watching their asses? If we didn’t have gay marriage rights blowing up so big, would the politicians have known that most Americans actually support it? [Mobilize, people, mobilize! We're just as powerful as the Bastards, we just gotta try!]) We can’t continue as we were so change iswasis inevitable. It hurts to birth a new way of being but we must try, at least. Or tell those who come after *why* we let things stay broken.

Things I Must Remember

Tags

Magic, Otherworld, pagan, paganism, recipe, remember, spirituality, strange

Today I mixed up a powder (rose petals [lots of them, but mostly from the bush behind the house, the red one that smells like heaven], mistletoe berries [crushed] and leaves [powdered], dragon’s blood, saffron [you thought it would be her hair, but it wasn't, the wood was], red sandalwood chips [they refused to be powdered because then they wouldn't have turned to fire], rue leaves [she is magic] and roots [from the living bush, she lives Underground too], lime tree spines [uncrushed, from Mom's resurrecting lime tree, because this lady prickles as well]) and put it in the gin bottle. When I added the vodka it smelled divine, and gave me the clue (not a goddess, then, but one perhaps willing to teach? Does she know Himself?). I transferred it to the larger jar so it could soak up more vodka. Once everything soaks in good, I may have to top it off {for the love of little green men, don’t drink this stuff, m’kay?}

Remember to pour the liquid (barely five minutes and its already purplepinkred and delicious) back into the gin bottle when its done, and stir since I cannot shake. Look up the kyphi directions, too, since I’ll have the wet mix half-made already.

*EDIT* (a few hours later) The color has gone from the petals (so early!), and it glows goldenred. If the scent doesn’t intensify again, add the sweet, aged rosepetals from the rosebushes long gone. Goldensweettobaccorose scent is appropriate and a good remembrance for them.

Various bits so I don’t forget

-Use the mini Frangelico monks to make ushabtis

-Empty the Holy Phial for a permanent offering of the liquid to her?

-FOR FUCK’S SAKE, do a reading on this stuff soon.

-2 pounds of beeswax for kyphi and ointmenting

-You already got a bead on what’s going into the Mrs. Butterworth’s Goddess Bottle, now figure out something for the Monk God (also, get to carving her corken crown forthwith)(And paint it with gold nail polish, because everything is better with a little bling.)

Bleeding, Broken, Lost, Afraid

Tags

biography, depression, rant

WARNINGWARNINGWARNING.

Trigger warning. Lots of depressive shit. Read at your own risk, I’m not a medical professional in any twisted, stretched-over, vaguely maybemightbe way. If you have a choice between my advice and an actual medical/psychological professional? Go with the diploma, dears. Also, I do know that some people use the term breaking in a spiritual sense. This ain’t that. This is breaking for the sheer miserable joy of being broken and willing staying in that condition.

All disclaimers disclaimed?

….

On with the show.

 

*******

There is a certain poisonous pleasure in staying broken. In taking the broken arm and twistingtwistingtwisting to ensure it never heals. It is not breaking to heal better, it is breaking to stay hurt, in pain, and…. comfortable. There is familiarity in falling into patterns, even (perhaps especially) into patterns that hurt. There is comfort in picking at an old mental wound. False comfort, but sometimes it feels like that is all you have.

Learning to recognize such activities in others is hard. Like the friend who shows you what she thinks you want her to be. If you take that at face value, you might think she’s just a leech, maybe even feel insulted that that is all she thinks of you. But dig a little deeper, and you see just how much she has been hurt by “being herself”. Showing a mirror to the world, no matter how cracked and clouded, means that no one can ever see her. No one can easily reach out and rip into something that she treasures. It poisons even as it soothes, because then no one can ever get in. She is lonely in a prison of her own making and doesn’t want to leave, because the only one who can free her is herself. And in such a prison to admit to her own power is taboo. Salvation can only come from someone who can see through the mirrormaze and save her, in her eyes. And when people fail, it is a mix of her own “worthlessness” and their “unsuitability”.

Learning to recognize such activities in yourself is even harder. It isn’t my fault I can’t find a job. It isn’t my fault I stay here and take the abuse of friend, family, lover. It isn’t my fault that I believe that I’m worthless- everyone tells me so, so I should believe it too. The lies you tell yourself to accept the poison are the most vile you will ever speak. Some people drink to drown out the poison, some people cut and let it bleed away (or so they think), but the cause remains. As fast as you think you get rid of it, you’re gulping down more. I’m crap so I drink, I drink so I’m crap. No one will love me, I’m too fat, I’m fat so no one will love me, be skinny and they will love me, I’m not worth loving so why be skinny, I’m still too fat, be dead and skinny and loved instead of alive and alone and fat.

Then come the lies mixed with truth. If I leave him, I can’t support the children all on my own so I better stay but oh, how terrible I feel. I can’t take any more of the constant grindinggrindinggrinding put downs, I should leave, but they need me they’re my parents so I gotta stay but fuck ICAN’TTAKEANYMORE. So easy to say fuck it and go, but at what cost? The pain of the choice becomes another pain to writhe against and mark your skin and martyr yourself with and it becomes another dead corpse hanging around your neck. Except this one don’t dance and this one don’t grin and it does nothing but drag you down.

I can’t give you a way to fix it. I can tell you what half-assed worked for me, but it may not work for everybody. It depends on how fucking fed up you are with the poison. How tired you are of pain you have. Pain from others? Don’t accept it. Pain with truth? Make your peace, make your position, and don’t bemoan afterwards forever and ever. And pain from yourself? Learn where it comes from. Learn why you hold it so dear. AND LET IT GO.

Hedgehog Recipes- #6, The Goblin King’s Cocktail

Tags

cooking, food, pagan, paganism, recipe, strange

Mmmmm, tastes like deliciousness. Of course, we are talking about His Highness’s namesake drink. It would have to be delicious, just by association.

All measurements are approximate. If you don’t like the sound of something, don’t add it. I, personally, added too much syrup but I still like it. Kinda like alcoholic soda.

Honey Liquioir- The mini bottle I got was from Germany, I think. Just a splash, cause it’s strong.

St. Germain’s elderflower Liquioir- First off? AMAZING mini bottle. Looks like the Holy Tippler’s Bottle. Secondly? Tastes like spring. Stronger splash (I, uh, used half the bottle.)

Torani’s Peach and Orgeat (also known as Almond) flavored syrups- Peach is self explanatory, and Orgeat will be too, once you smell it. Go easy with these- a tablespoon of Orgeat, maybe 2 or three of Peach, depending on how much you like it. The Torani peach syrup could also be replaced with syrup from homecanned peaches, if you make such beasts. If you do, a slice of the peach flesh (sans psychoactive insect life) is a nice extra.

Taste your concoction. If the flavor mix pleases you, add some white wine. I used Arbor Mist chardonnay, supposedly flavored with peaches. (They lied. But that’s what started this particular quest for cocktails, so it turned out alright.) My final ratio was about half and half of wine to mixer stuff, but mine is too sweet anyway. Taste as you add the wine and stop when you like it. Drink with straw or spoon. A swirl mixed mine together most satisfactorily. Comes out a pretty peachy-orange color (which is lovely in my warped bloodred coffee mug.

44 Days of Witchery- Day 44

Tags

biography, pagan, paganism

Day 44! Last day! YEEEEEAAAAAAAAAH!

44) Witch’s choice!

Hmmm….. How about the fact that I don’t consider myself a witch?

Really, I don’t think I ever *truly* considered myself a witch (one retrospectively-insanely-embarrassing-”out” nonwithstanding). I’d try to identify with it. And now… it feels like a title that isn’t mine and that I don’t really need. (I barely use “pagan”, either, mostly for the convenience of ID’ing and for networking.) I know witches that OWN that motherfuckin’ title. They revel in it. And I just… don’t.

I mean, I do spells (occasionally). I serve my gods’n'spirits. I tend my land to the best of my ability. I even participate in a few strains of witchcraft, when the mood strikes or I’m asked/invited. I don’t think that being a witch is wrong or bad. It just doesn’t ring in me like it does for others. Nor does any of the variations- hedgewitch, hearth witch, kitchen witch, sea witch, feral witch. I can identify with it as a verb- go witching, be witchy, practice some fuckin’ witchery up in this bisnitch. Turn it into a noun and you lose me.

And no, I don’t have an alternative word that means the same the damn thing as “witch” but lets me be a special snowflake. (You know, for someone who loves words I don’t seem to have a drive to apply them to myself….). I just root around in the night like the prickly little hedgepig I am, disregarding the words that don’t apply to me.

44 Days of Witchery- Day 43

Tags

biography, pagan, paganism, recipe

Day 43! One more day of the challenge ^_^

43) A magical recipe.

Well…. for cooking, a search in the little searchbar over to the side for Hedgehog Recipes will get you some of my favorites. But I suppose I could share a recipe for blessing oil, too, just for good measure.

Yon Hedggehoggen Blessin’ Oil

(I sincerely hope no one’s expecting exact proportions cause I have none for this recipe >.> )

Orange oil- for energy and health

Rosemary oil- to help remember the good bits and some more health

Rose oil- for love, because I adore it, and it smelled right

Saffron bits- power, oomph, and wealth

Mix together and use to anoint and scent (smells very good, by the by). If you let it sit a while, the saffron starts to color it golden (yay added symbolism!).

44 Days of Witchery- Day 42

Tags

biography, graveyard, pagan, paganism

Day 42! The end is nigh!

42) A favourite nature spirit.

Either the spirit that is/lives in the Oak King’s Tree, or his counterpart in my favorite graveyard, the Queen Diving Underground. (I realized as I was secreting a small thingie into a hole in the crotch of her limbs that… well… I just stuck my hand in the Queen’s crotch-hole. Much giggling ensued.) (Also, though I name them King and Queen, they don’t actually interact with each other [beyond both being oak trees]. Associated titles, unassociated kingdoms.)

The King is a kind presence, one that watches over the local bit of land and just generally feels regal. He’s the biggest, the oldest, and probably was an acorn when this land was first settled. (And the day they try to saw him down for no good reason? Is the day I go apeshit crazy on some fucking motherfuckers.)

The Queen is more regal debauchery (she is, after all, diving headfirst, knickers blazing, into the unseen depths). I’m still not sure if she’s a face of Maman, or if she’s the keeper of the Way into that cemetery’s Underground. (Really not sure if it even matters to distinguish between them.)

44 Days of Witchery- Day 41

Tags

biography, pagan, paganism

Day 41 (only 2 retroposts out of over 40 posts? I think I’m doing ok XD)

41) A spell you’ve done.

Blessing done with tall white candle, special oil I mixed up, gemstones circled to suit, and burned every night until it could burn no more. Remnants will be melted together, more oil mixed in, and repoured, to be sent off to the recipient for further burning on her altar. Luckily I have a lot of spare jar candle jars ^_^

Dead Children And Broken Rings

Tags

Baron, dead, graveyard, pagan, paganism, spirituality, story, strange

And thus do souls of children weep
For stories they shall never tell
And secrets they shall never keep.

I debated about sharing this bit, but I felt that sharing it would be better than keeping the idea all to myself. You see, three days ago the above bit of verse crawled into my head and stayed there. Today a broken ring sent me to the graveyard and I realized what it was for (both verse and ring).

The ring shattered into 4 fairly even pieces. It was a hematite ring I wore in honor of Baron that I only ever took off for really nasty jobs. I cracked it on a kiln shelf a few months ago but still wore it. I had been planning on going to the graveyard but I wanted to give Baron and the assorted dead folks something, and my go-to bakery was closed. So, when my ring broke I saw OFFERING in big shiny neon letters. Most of it now resides in the graveyard (if/when I ever move, the last bit will go there as well unless I get told differently)- one to the spirit-door hiding in the crack, one in the Chateau poked through the door, and one in the Queen as She dives Underground.

On my way back, I saw a familiar bunch of graves. If you’re just walking by, you may not realize what you’re looking at… until you start reading dates. The groundskeepers call it Babyland for a reason- far far too many headstones have no separate birth and death dates. Just one single day. Those that have different dates are rarely over 10 years old. Most are 5 or less.

Since I had nothing physical to give them this time (last time I was there I cleaned up palm fronds and dead branches on the graves) I gave them a story. It was my own slightly-cobbled-together version of Beauty and the Beast, featuring a music box I own. Once the story was finished, I promised the next time I came I would bring it, so they could see that it was true and hear the music that Beauty did.

Now, I am very very spirit-blind. I can’t see or hear or sense any sort of spirit very well at all. But once the story (frequent pauses, bad acting, and mild scrambling for the next bit aside) was finished, I felt at peace. So very very at peace. (And the ant nest I was sitting on apparently liked the story too, because they didn’t bite me at all.) So, the next time you’re in a graveyard and you see a child’s grave, stop a bit. Invite all the children to come listen, especially those who never had a chance to have someone tell them a story. Who never got tucked in with a soft voice murmuring a fairy tale to them. Tell them a story and spend a little time with them. I think they’ll appreciate it a lot.