To The Assholes In My Life

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To all the assholes in my life. To the ones who carped and pinched and told me that I COULD NOT. To the ones that laughed at me for finding God and tried to justify why it COULD NOT BE. To the ones who will never see me as grown. To the ones who never listen beyond what they want to hear. To the ones who called for help but refused to use it.

To every single gaped-open, yawning chasm of fetid fart-laced buttfuckery, this is for you.

Thanks.

Thank you for proving that I am stronger than your crap. Thank you for driving me to prove you wrong. Thank you for making what I used to be so unbearably shitty that I had to change or drown in diarrhea. Thank you for being a vaguely brownyellowgreen tinted example of what I should never be. Thank you for providing the fertilizer for me to grow into a person worth being.

Thank you. Now go wipe.

Non-circularity of Time

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As I was puttering through unread posts in a forum I lurk in, I stumbled upon some interesting ideas that coalesced in a strange way. So, bear with me on this while I try to make some sense out of my brain goo.

It all started with a thread on past lives, where everybody aired their perspectives. What caught my attention was the “recycle” theory- that what we think of as souls are just a particular cupful of soul goop that got shoved into a body. (This gives a plausible reason why so many people think they’re Cleopatra or someone else famous- they got part of Cleo’s old ectoplasm.) I’ve heard of it before, but it jelled with another thread in my head, about humans on a path to divinity.

So, here’s my theory- over time, a strong personality can hold on to their soulbits upon death, thereby retaining a greater percentage of “their” memories. Over time, this aggregates into a personality that is unchanged by physical death- a Spirit. An Ilk. Maybe a divine one, even.

Not too radical, right? But here comes the part that got my head spinnin’: if one assumes that Time in not only non-linear, but non-circular (meaning that you are not limited to one level, one cycle, at a time but all of them at once), not only could you possibly meet your reincarnation while still alive, you could worship “yourself” while still a human.

Take it a step further- a god “dies” and it’s godstuff enriches the universe. We are made of that godstuff (we are divine), but at the same time the god is still “alive” as a god, as a person, and as the Universe. We are alive and dead and dying and birthing in a dance too complex to see as-we-are, too simple to explain as-we-will-be.

Bring in soul retrieval and you have a whole new layer- finding the bits best suited to making your personality whole, even if it changes who you seem to be. Want to know the future? Climb the ladder of ancestry and ask yourself. (We use that anyway, bloodwalking down to see the past. Why don’t people just climb to see what’s up ahead?) Ascension into godhead? Some part of you has already done it, even if it wasn’t you-that-is.

This has been your Dafuq Did I Just Read? for the day. Please continue your regular “Net surfing.

(This isn’t even the result of drugs or sleep deprivation- this is on pure water and an early bedtime.)

The Key That Cuts

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There is a Key that is a Knife that is an Invitation. It gleams in the moonlight, silversharp and waiting. You forged this Key, with straightforward paradox and enigmatic simplicity, with scraps of legend and the heat of your heart’s blood and a whispered sigh of longing. Your wishes, your hopes, your desires shimmer across it’s edge. It is time to begin.

You pick it up, breathing slow and deep. So many choices- to Do, to Feel, to Fly, to Run, to See, to Know. It is a Key fit for many Locks, one that will open many Doors. For some it will only ever be used once; for others, it will be used again and again. The Price varies with the person. No telling what it is until it is used.

The Choice is not yours to make, though you may plead and beg and cajole and sweet-talk to your heart’s content. You can only trust in the Keymaster, and hope. The Keymaster chooses the Door and the Price. No one knows what, if anything, influences the decision. It may be your pleading, or the phase of the moon, or the state of the tides on this day in the year 3049. No one knows, for the Keymaster doesn’t speak of reasons why. One may as well try to bend a tsunami to their will as force the Keymaster into explanation.

You offer it to the Keymaster, this razor-edged Key, who picks it up, inspecting it minutely. With a slow nod, it is deemed worthy. (A good thing, for some must reforge it again and again, a lifetime’s worth of work. Some are never accepted at all.)

The moonlight grips you in bands stronger than steel and softer than cloud. You are immobile, at the mercy of the Keymaster and the Knife The Opens. Struggle is futile, though a token wiggle is almost as traditional as the Key Itself. The tip ghosts over skin as bare as the day you were born, leaving goosebumps in its wake. To Do, to Feel, to Fly, to Run, to See, to Know……. and to Choose.

The Keymaster’s grin is sudden, frightening, and the Choice blooms your mind, filling it with dread. You know what it means.

To Know.

With shocking swiftness, the Keymaster stabs the Knife that is a Key that is a Way into your skull, directly between your eyes. The KnifeKey feels like white-hot flame, like a dagger of ice, like pure pain carved into the shape of a Key. You cry out like an animal in the throes of death. You pray for death’s release from this torture.

Why, why, why did you ever want this?

Through the pain that blinds you, you see the grin change into something almost warm, almost kind.

With infinite care, the Keymaster turns the Key in it’s Lock, and Opens the Door.

Musing musing musing….

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(crossposted from my Tumblr, but what the hell I need blog-fodder 😉 )

Needed a place to stash this while I think on it. (NOTE- My, did this get all Matrix-y when I wasn’t looking O.o)

~~~~Please note that this is all mental masturbation and figuring out of shit. This does not constitute a complete breakdown of my nor any other path or worldview. I’m just trying it on, so to speak.~~~~

So, there’s the universe. Whether it is the omnipotent and omnipresent “force” or there is another(s?) that “runs” it is immaterial, moot, and possibly unknowable. It/They run the universe. That’s it. It/They know everything that was and is and could be because It/They are running the joint. All the millions upon trillions upon ~infinite unknowable number~illions of causal relationships that we can’t see is the “executing code” of It/They running the joint.

(Which also begs the question of whether or not this ominpresent and omniscient force is sentient in any way shape or form that we recognize. Does It/They care? Does It/They know us? Or are we just bits of code in a datastream? I tend to favor [and find comforting, really] the “It/They don’t care, don’t give a shit, are too busy being/running the joint to cause me to have cancer/win the lottery”. But that’s just me.)

SO. We have the great It/They (The OMNIIT, for short/shits’n’giggles), that is busy creating and maintaining and probably organizing the destruction of the universe. OMNIIT has its metaphorical hands full and/or doesn’t really give a tin shit about what’s IN said universe so long as gravity still works, the Otherworld does not mesh irreparably with this one, and life and death are carried out according to standard operating procedure. So either OMNIIT creates some chaos in the system, or that chaos is a natural byproduct of the universe grindin’ on. This chaos manifests as Gods, gods, spirits, and assorted Other Ilks.

Now, said Ilks would probably sort themselves according to relative strength or influence (why the hell does Hephaestus care if he ranks first or last in a bevy of Spirits’n’Gods of freshwater springs? Not his shit, not interested.) (Might even be part of the reason why there are so many pantheons- this bunch of Ilks decided they liked eachother and set up camp together.) Of course, since I am not privy to the machinations of deities and OMNIIT, nor can my poor widdle meatbrain comprehend most of the crap involved, I cannot comment on who or what came out on “top”. Nor do I care to ponder why things are ordered the way they are. All I know is that there is some sort of operating system beyond my poor head’s capacity to understand. (And really, I ain’t too sure of that, either. I’m hoping REALLY EFFING HARD here.)

[This brings up tantalizing questions- Are the God of Earth more or less powerful in the relative scale of Ilks? Are there “bigger” deities out there that we have no contact with since we are constantly saturated in the Gods of Earth? {UPG Time- I think the Lady of the Stars I came in contact with a year or so ago was… not really an outsider (since we’re all in the same universe here), but definitely “bigger” in scope. And, I think that one of the reasons why She didn’t “stay” is because I am a homebody. She did inspire me to widen my view, but I like being on Earth. Barring total ecosystem change to the point that this planet no longer accepts human life, I would much rather I stay here. That explains some of what I was feeling- that She wasn’t “just” Brighid in a bigger form. And why Manannan felt…. not shallower, or poorer…. but not as BIIIIIIG, I guess.} If we leave this planet, will we court the land spirits of Mars? Will you still hedgewalk to the same places on Venus or is the Otherworld there not the same as the Otherworld here? Will Artemis hear your call on Titan, or will Someone Else answer you there? [Which doesn’t really take into consideration gods and spirits that go with peoples instead of regions, I know, but it’s still very interesting to ponder.] How do you court a spirit that has never “seen” a human before?{pleasedon’tbeshoggothspleasedon’tbeshoggothspleasedon’tbeshoggoths…..}]

The Ilks are “bigger” than humans, more able to see and manipulate the “causal code”. What they get out of relationships with us beyond booze and company I’m not yet sure. Whether they created us or whether we were a semi-inevitable kink in the code I do not know. What this train of thought means (are we predestined code running to it’s conclusion, or dynamically shifting cogs that change and enrich the code? Does it really fucking matter?) I REALLY don’t know. We get the benefit of their clearer “vision” and fuckery with the “code” on our behalf, but since I am not a god I have not a friggin’ clue what (or even if) they’d get something in return. That’s the problem with writing stuff such as this- you’re trying to force a meatbrain to understand Ilk-level stuff. Not everything translates well (or at all, honestly). So, I beg pardon if my rambling sounds a hell of a lot weirder than normal.

Things I Must Remember

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7-7-2012 ~Well, that explains the nettle fascination. And possibly the yellow jackets. Also the sudden realization of what the bindweed was, the morning glory vines, and the sudden spike of interest in the Man Underground root. Don’t forget the sudden desire to put mini roses in the eyesockets. [How, I ask you, does a Celtic sea god, a Haitian/New Orleans baron of the dead, a lovely lady from Brazil, a semi-fictional personage, and assorted dead folks {not to mention the animating presence of the Lady of the Stars, though She seems to have been more of a drive-thru, maybekindasorta} blend together? Pretty damn well, it seems.][Y’know, that explains a lot about why me and Maman never quite clicked….]

7-9-2012 ~If the bad luck today kept my uncle from deadly burns, I’ll take it.

7-15-2012 ~A chance. That’s all I want, is a chance. Just a decent chance.

7-16-2012 ~Oh, pretties ❤ I need more room or better storage to show you off properly (Which reminds me- altar and divination, need to get on that pronto.)

7-18-2012 ~Mind blown and heart creaking like a ship in a storm.

Note to self- all further bits of this nature to be redirected to Tumblr, with occasional crosspost roundups.

Things I Must Remember

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6-25-2012 ~took Baron his offering. Took two spoonfuls of dirt from his Chateau to be a base for his dirt. Realized why he invited the colony of bees to live in the Chateau (home security system!)

~moving pots to refresh dirt and replant and found a fist-sized toad in his burrow. He ran off for some rotten wood before I could snap a picture.

6-26-2012 ~Today I have coveted a toad’s burrow. I have an overwhelming desire to burrow naked down into soft dirt and mud. Buuuuurrrrrrrooooooowww.

6-27-2012 ~I dreamed, but it was a dream of a book. As I read, it came to life. Strange.

~Ah, what a fine line to tread. And a reminder that he really doesn’t need any of the pretties.

6-28-2012 ~Coincidences line up. The feelers are out there, I just need to learn how to use them deliberately.

6-29-2012 ~Strong, strong desire to buy a high-quality flat-top solid wood coffin and use it as an altar. Or a coffee table. Or a spare bed. (Haven’t decided yet.)

7-1-2012 ~Claira Jean. This is important. Please remember.

7-4-2012 ~Huh. Reading Scarlet Imprint’s Pomba Gira book and …. thinking.

7-5-2012 ~It occurs to me that the mysterious chicken killer may be a teething chupacabra.

~Four Thieves Vinegar made with garlic (Elephant and a mysterious softneck strain, grown in sacred ground [composted offerings and a small amount of my grandmother’s ashes] and pulled yesterday), rosemary (fresh from my grandmother’s rather large tree), bay (dried from a family friend’s tree), and red peppers (dried and hot, but not the tiny Peppers of Mass Destruction that Baron got in his rum). Cleaned the garlic and put it in a jar, whole, with apple cider vinegar (Heinz brand, but half of it was well-aged and sweet smelling). Currently sitting in my fridge gettin’ all yummy and stuff. [This batch is less get rid of enemies and more get rid of infections because, frankly, I think we’re gonna need it since 3 out of 4 people on this property have a compromised immune system at the moment. Here’s hoping it tastes good.]

~Incredible craving for sushi ended up netting Baron some Baron-brand chocolate, a small pretty wooden box, a large footed (insanely cheap) platter with a design that reminds me of a tree, and two red taper candles molded to look like roses. Yep, I definitely know what happened.

~HEXENCOOTER.

7-6-2012 ~Rosa Caviera. [Stepping in the dance, we move ever onward to the tune that sings unseen and the Labyrinth that opens at our feet. I may walk blindfolded but I walk with confidence.]

~Made Baron’s dirt. Started with his half-burned tobacco ground to powder. Next, the leftovers from the long-ago pepper rum, also ground. Then the dirt from the Chateau, powdered. Then the ashes from filter papers and the scratcher [soaked in cologne and the pepper rum] ground as fine as possible. Heavy pinch of pipe tobacco, not ground. Dried roses, crumbled. All mixed together. Then the wet ingredients- pepper rum, the spiced rum, some skull-head tequila, cologne, and BPAL Port-Au-Prince, shaken together then poured over, moistening the rest. Sitting on altar to ripen (it smells so different than it’s parts, but in a wonderful wonderful way).

~Painted the lid of the dirt jar. Waiting for everything to dry before I seal it up.

Things I Must Remember

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6-16-2012 ~Strange dreams. Bears (black and grizzly), a plethora of goats, two pigs (one friendly spotted, one with Predator-like mandibles O.o ), a buffalo, a bobcat, all trying to get in the front gate (bobcat and black bear spotted first- “Holy sheeeeeyit, closethegateclosethegateclosetheGATE!”) which was all accordian-y and floated in the air- managed to get the center shut and locked but the ends were stop-gapped with plyboard. Dad running through with gun yelling to keep ’em pinned so he can shoot (yeah, I’ll keep them pinned with a flimsy sheet of particle board! Great idea dad! Oh shit GRIZZLY!!!!), strange goats flooding the place (ooo, a ram! and some pretty babies! Just let those in! And the pig- er, maybe the one without the crabface? Awesome!). And then the meat eaters realized that they could just go around the board….

~More strange dreams. Living on some sort of space ship, I think, and I’m a male, engineered bio-robot sort of thing specifically designed to eat the small representations of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse that cropped up (I got to fly. Was awesome.) If these mini-evils were allowed to procreate, they’d buff up into a super evil that others saw as a woman but I saw as a dot with bands around it (think old-school atom models). Once everybody found out I wasn’t human they didn’t like me but couldn’t kick me out because then they would die. Oh, and there was an entire wing of the ship-place filled with water.

~Even more strange dreams. Somewhere in between and around those two I was the beloved of the Goblin King (in space, no less) (It wasn’t actually me but I was riding the girl in question), and did something to royally piss him off. I ~think~ he had hurt me somehow first, so I put on a show and sang some sort of song about him that painted him in a less than stellar light. Not certain. But it was fun when he wasn’t unholy pissed at me. (Small figurines were also involved. I had made one of him and a bunch of other people, including two that were walrus-y Molochs. Painted but unfired so they kept chipping.)

~Verdict? No more rum before bed. It does weeeeeird shit.

~You have a tick on your dog and the vaseline trick isn’t working, but you don’t do cigarettes? Go get a piece of stick incense and burn that sucker. Works a treat, though the smell of singed dog hair, burnt tick, and Nag Champa was a wee bit strange XD

6-17-2012 ~Mom had weird dreams too, same night as my Space Voyage Con Animal Planet. Apparently I should avoid slender black and white not quite serpent or eel looking things next time I play in a ditch. Duly noted.

6-18-2012 ~moved preying mantis to rosebushes (so cute!)

~went to scrub gravestones in early afternoon. Started with great-grandma. Turned it from rust colored ick to granite. Scrubbed her neighbor since she needed it too. Rinsed clean of vinegar, then final-rinsed with specially scented water. Repeated with grandmother and her neighbor (saw little red-eyed jumping spider. Went awwww!). Repeated with child-uncle (some stole his broken urn since the last time. Fuckers.) Shared his sweet-scented water with other children in his row. (I’m guessing they all play together, so why not?) {Not forgotten, my loves, not forgotten. Cleaned and nourished with fresh clean water and cleansing wash and protected under the auspices of Baron and of me.}

~CELEBRATE! WITH BOOZE! BECAUSE I CAN!

6-20-2012 ~toasted Sylv with the last of the spiced rum. [I miss you dearheart. I miss you so much.] Happy fucking solstice, right? (Y’know, for once I would be perfectly happy to not have the symbolism be heartbreakingly accurate, ok?)

6-21-2012 ~Hmm. I dreamed I had sex with a moth (as a moth) last night.

~I tried. For good or ill, I tried. Now to see how the bones will fall…

6-22-2012 ~went for walk. Tried several times to dig for wild morning glory roots. Failed (2 feet down and no signs?! No wonder they’re expensive!). Boyfriend warned about jimsonweed. Still lopped it off. Found what looked like a spined pot plant. Identified as Xanthium spinosum, Spiny Clot-Bur (NOT burdock).

~Tried to light match to light candles with. Refused to light. Finally lit, only to have the head break off mid-strike and fly 5 feet away to inflame my couch. Am really really hoping that it was just a one in a million shot and not a sign that someone/something is highly pissed at me.

6-23-2012 ~Last night I lit 3 sticks of mini-incense. One for a specific purpose, one for “everyone” in general, one for whomever I pissed off. First one burnt like normal. Other two refused. Moved them down to bedroom. Second burned well on His altar (need to get lighters again.) Third refused until boyfriend used his Zippo (that blew out before we could get it to light the first time). Set it up to finish burning. Woke up and it was STILL NOT FINISHED. I lit it with his Zippo and it finally finished.

6-24-2012 ~I think I wanna be a trollwife.

Things I Must Remember

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6-4-2012 ~So many books and good coincidences, and more secrets learned [defanging secrets is a good practice, I’ve found.]

6-5-2012 ~I Ching before appointment was accurate [What will the doctor say today?] [How much you wanna bet you’re gonna lose the tonsils, hmmm?]

~Strained Goop through mesh strainer, set up paper filter to drip overnight [dipped out a ladle-full to go on altar], wore smear of it on forehead to bed

6-6-2012 ~Mmmm, the joys of Venus.

~changed filters on the Goop to get the last little bit to go through. Debating straining the ladle-full from altar into the general batch.

~Left the glass-full on altar. Bottled majority of (crystalclear bloodred) Goop into gin bottle; remainder in white-capped brown glass bottle in fridge [note to self- invest in ritual funnels]. Alcohol-based holy fluid hurts when accidentally spread onto open cut.

~PLEASE NOTE that Venus did her Thang with the sun yesterday, and that all this rosy stuff conglomerated just in time for it.

6-9-2012 ~Purchased chocolate cigar for Baron; put it in his little stone coffinbox. Starting the rum tonight [Thank you for services rendered on behalf of a friend.]

6-11-2012 ~Ok, I bought it for you, now what do I do with it? O.o Do I dare use it, or should I just keep it as a pretty? [Note- scritched it for him, found nothing. Ah well, better luck next time my dear. Since it’s his I think I shall burn it and add the ashes to his dirt that I really should get started making someday soon. {This requires graveyarding!}]

~washed myself clean of impurities; anointed with holy water, pepper rum, blood thickened on the altar for five days [it blooms like scarlet sin], red red water, and a generous splash of Snow’s Florida water [need to find the commercial stuff and compare; if I like homebrew better I’m going to have to hunt down a recipe and start tweaking -.- ] all mixed together and poured all over. My eyes are clearer and my lips tingle.

~rosemary as part of mix for graveyard offering fluid? [You are remembered, long after I am dead and gone. You are remembered.]

~note to self- start pondering how you’re going to make some holy washes for everybody [what goes in where and so on and so forth]

6-14-2012 ~Why hello J.C., fancy meeting you here. I think I’ll put you up there next to Our Lady of Grace until I get some more space and finish your lovely lovely book. [Baron I see your fingerbones all over this one. Thank you for making introductions, m’dear ❤ ;)]

~Hand felt naked for the last time. Caved and bought a new one. Hopefully it lives longer than the last.

6-15-2012 ~Frothing rage down to a low boil. Liar. Liar. FUCKING LIAR. And this the third time, too. [Note- the irony. It buuuuuurns.]

~Note to self- never drink more than a shot with Baron because any rum he gets his hands on burns in a warm wave out every hole on your face (including eyes o.O ) and in a line down your chest, even when it is straight from the bottle and unmixed with the Pepper Death.

Gifts Freely Given, or Bribes In Disguise?

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What’s the difference between an offering in thanks and a preemptive bribe? Between a gift given to a spirit and a conditional offering? It’s something I’ve been turning over in my mind ever since the 5-25 incarnation of Things I Must Remember, more specifically the mini-entries for 5-20 and 5-21. Even more specifically, the quandary of Baron and His Lotto Scratchers.

[Before anyone gives me the stink eye, I do have a perfectly legitimate reason for very occasionally {as in, he’s gotten a grand total of one so far} buying Baron a scratcher- he likes to gamble for actual money and that is the simplest way to do so when I haven’t seriously played poker since I was 7 {my dad taught me and I wiped the floor for chocolate chips and mini cookies}. I plan on definitely getting him one every Fet Ghede as part of his presents. {Yes, I buy him “birthday” presents. Even skeletons like presents.} See? I have a reason!]

Now, any money that was won with one of his “birthday” scratchers would be his, of course. But what about a random one purchased because it was there and my ghede sense made grabby hands at it? An agreement has been made that winnings would go “halvsies”- half for him and half for me. (I’d love to make it all his but I gotta, y’know, eat and pay bills and all that crap.) This has got me thinking- what exactly would Baron use “his” money for? The first thing that popped into my head was rum, since I can only afford the occasional bottle and what I buy is fair game to my boyfriend as well. It would make sense to me that given free reign with money he would ensure his own private, off-limits supply of rum to be poured out every night, instead of for special occasions as is the current state of affairs.

This train of thought got me started pondering the nature of offerings and reciprocal relationships with spirits. Because, anything bought with “his” money wouldn’t… count, I guess. I mean, it would make him happy which is always a good thing, but it wouldn’t “up my credit” with him. That idea of a divine credit line based on how many offerings you give and how much booty-kissing you’re doing? Always struck me as inappropriate/icky/wrongwrongWRONG for long term work. Banking a few favors with a spirit that you have a situational relationship with (such as asking Hera to help you defend your marriage from an interloper) is one thing. Asking the being you interact with on a regular basis (such as the disembodied skeletal black man you share living space with) to do something because, goddammit didn’t you buy him the super spiffy cape and he totally owes you now? BEGGING for an ass kicking. A deserved ass kicking. [Honestly, I’m not certain I’d do such a thing with a “situational” spirit anyway. Even if I never interact with them again its plain politeness to be respectful. They have the power in this interaction buddy and owe you NOTHING, no matter how many correspondences are racked up and sweets laid out for them.]

I freely admit that I have a tendency to try to make others happy. I’m ~almost~ certain that there may be a woo-woo component to it (such as picking up a very specific thing years in advance of meeting the person it’s for, or thinking an item would be perfect for someone before I learned about how much they adore similar things.) This carries over to spirits’n’deities as well. I’ll pick little things up for Manannan, or Baron, or one of the other beings I interact with. I don’t get them stuff because I expect stuff in return. I get them stuff because I think they might like it, same way I’ll pick up a little something for my boyfriend if I think he’ll like it. I don’t expect it to obligate a return gift because that makes it an exchange, not a gift. If any relationship I have relies solely on an exchange of “gifts” it isn’t much of a relationship.

Now, if I ask for a favor I have no problem offering a bit of an enticement, especially if the favor is not vital and/or not for me personally. By asking for a bit extra I had better be willing to give a little more, as well. Its plain good manners. So, say a friend of mine asks for some assistance in a delicate matter. I may promise Baron extra rum, or a fine cigar, or something equally pleasing for his help, but that doesn’t require him to do it at all. And I don’t “punish” him by shorting his regular offerings or getting angry. You don’t do that to a friend, to someone that you respect and care for. He’s not mine to punish. He’s a friend with his own will and desires and if its important enough that he can’t be seduced into helping there’s probably a good reason why.

That’s something to remember, that these spirits and gods and dead folk are beings in their own right. There is no secret code that will make them do what you want when you want it. The most perfect offering in the world won’t work if they don’t care for you (or are, at least, willing to hear you out). Can you stack the deck in your favor, so to speak, with offerings and services and some really really tasty booze? Sometimes, yes. Sometimes, no. Its part of the reason gods can drive their followers batty by accepting nothing but the finest settings and foods and wine and incense from one person, and “slumming” it with a hotdog and a whispered prayer with another. Neither relationship is superior or inferior. Just different.

I’ve seen far too many new little devotees begging the “masters” for advice on what this god would like, what that spirit prefers, and hey could you design a ritual for me that he/she/it/they would really like? [God forbid they find A book or A website because THAT information becomes sacred writ.] This is where I see the most egregious use of the divine credit line theory. Honey, if all you have to bring to the altar is a pisswarm beer, stale Twinkies, and a incense stick that smells like an Avon graveyard in exchange for phenomenal cosmik powerz, all I can say is good luck and I hope you’re a chaote (or Eris likes you. Or both.) Human ideas of value do not necessarily transmit into spiritual ideas of value. [Please see any number of fairy tales where dinners served on golden plates turn into crapfests, but a single crust of bread shared at the right time saves the princess/kills the ogre/wins the day etc. etc. etc.] Gratitude and kindness are key words here babydoll. They speak across all modes of being.

Things I Must Remember

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Lost several days to a reboot of my computer. Blah.

~At some point I added the rose petals to the Goop. Need to make cushion for Baron’s chair. And other stuff I have forgotten -.-

5-25-2012 ~Dreamed of snow. Woke up to HOLYFUCKINGHELLITSCOLD, with white clouds covering half the sky. [At least the wind is calmer?][Next time I read cards sooner…]

~el duende, the goblin wind. Remember, please.

5-29-2012 ~The offering fortune cookie given to the Little Grren Man? Not only jumped into my hand, but also had no fortune inside [yeah, I think he was finished with it.]

5-30-2012 ~Its the little things that line up together and near-shout “PAY ATTENTION MOFO”.

6-2-2012 ~I owe Baron and assorted spirits for helping find lost graves. Also gotta go back and scrub.

~Confirmed bee-hive in Baron’s Chateau. (I told you! Darn you not-listening graveyard persons!)

~remember where you found the three types of plums, the loquats, and the rowan (EDIT- may be true ash. Still need better identification and search for berries or flowers) in the rural graveyard. Also, willow in the Catholic graveyard.

~Kissed on the right-forehead by a yellow-jacketed wasp. (Same side as the wet kiss on the cheek last spring.) No sting, just a small kiss.

~Use #3892 for silverplate tea service stuff- a covered butter dish holds a Little Debbie fudge cake quite happily. [Hey, it was chocolate, I owed Baron, and anything uncovered gets eaten by ants or mice.] Also need to give Baron his thank-you rum.