So, yesterday, I met up with one of the angriest human beings I have ever had the displeasure of knowing… in angry Deadz form. (Link to previous post below.) I’ve never liked this person, to be honest. George has always been kind of irritating to me. I watched and listened as he lorded his power over his tiny wife, who was ten years his junior. For example, Gramma went downstairs to relight the pilot on the water heater. The gas had, apparently, been going for a while. She stuck a match in there and WHOOSH! Her hands and her flimsy nightgown caught on fire. She was able to put it out but asked George to take her to the hospital. He didn’t like to drive, but after she “whined” about it for “long enough,” he did so. He bitched her out there, at the hospital, and all the way back. It was like it was her fault that she had caught on fire and he made sure to make her feel like that. She would go down to the basement to escape him often. And when she told the story, she mentioned repeatedly that it “was” her “fault.” When Gramma got up the balls to kick him out, I was her biggest cheerleader.
The thing is that the two of them were both very stubborn people. Gramma is one hundred percent French and George was mostly Italian. So, they were both fairly explosive together. But, the thing is that after time had passed and George was diagnosed with cancer, I urged her to go and forgive him. I knew that he wasn’t going to make this disease last as long as everyone said he would. He was tired and angry. He was kicked out of his home and forced to live with the son that he had long since denied existed. And I didn’t want her to forgive him because he deserved it, but because I had seen what the power of forgiveness (or not giving it) can do to people. My ex-husband forgave his step-father for a VERY large offense after years of refusing to do so (and let me tell you, he had absolutely no reason to do so except that I urged him to it) because it would make him a better person and you know what? It did do just that. And I wanted her to forgive him for the wrongs he had committed so that she would stop being so angry and taking it out improperly. But she never listened and he died without mending that fence on his own.
I’m not sure if it’s that part that makes him part of the angry Deadz or if it’s just in his nature. From the bits I’ve heard about George as a youth, he’s always been abusive in some form or another.
And let me just say that this was the first time I have ever come face-to-face with an angry Deadz before. It had never happened to me. Sure, I had met up with an entire pissed off cemetery, but it didn’t have any baring on me. There was no emotional connection with the people in that cemetery. And really, they were pissed off about being ignored and left abandoned. Whereas with George, he has years’ worth of angst built up. And as I said to someone at some point, he’s only been dead since October of last year. He hasn’t had long enough to realize the damage he’s wrought and that no one is willing to forgive him for it yet. So, really, I was utterly blind-sided by the fact that he was so pissed off… or that he’d take it out on me.
I’m the only person who will, probably, visit him ever. I am the only one who would leave offerings and clean the lichen from his stone. But, he got pissed off and snarky. He slammed that anger into me and I let it get the best of me all the way home and after. While I was feeling upset to my stomach and over-heated, I asked people what to do. I didn’t know how to cleanse and I’m not big on that. Sure, it’s something I should know after years of this stuff, right? But, I’m not so good at any of the basics. I should get better and I should study, but it’s not so much as important for me, at the moment. But, at least know, thanks to Camylleon and Cin, I know what to do the next time I’m spiritually assaulted by some pissed off ghost.
The first suggestion was simple and easy: take a shower. And just let all of that negatively drain right the hell down the drain. I’ve done this before, but usually it hasn’t had much effect on me. It’s not because I suck at it (though maybe that is the reason) but that things always get crowded into my headspace. I was worried about that happening, so we chatted a bit. I suggested Florida water and Cam said that was a good idea. Cin recommended that I rub an egg all over my body and then throw it as far away from me as possible. She said it was old folk magic, or something related. Cam seconded the recommendation. And of course, as if all of this didn’t matter, there was always the salt method. So, with these new weapons added to my repertoire, I went to take a steaming hot shower.
I said to myself, You’re not welcome here. You’re not going to be in here. I don’t want this. This isn’t me anymore. I used to be a very angry person. I would break things because I was in such a rage and I needed to let it out. It’s part of the reason why I was a cutter for so many years, but not entirely. I would rant and rave over the tiniest little aggravations, so I knew what it was like to be so pissed off. But, I calmly willed it all to leave. I didn’t need to feel that way any longer. I didn’t want to feel that way any longer. I continued with my silent pleas, I’m working a more virtuous lifestyle here. This anger and irritation is no good. It’s just no good. And then I closed my eyes and thought the word mawat.
From my readings, this is actually an ancient Egyptian word. It’s supposed to signify “mother” if I recall correctly. I thought that word and I felt a woman beside me. I was leaning against the wall with my head bowed as I began to feel drained, emotionally and otherwise. The woman had a headdress of a vulture atop her head. And I felt so very content to be in her presence. She reached around and gave me a long, deep hug. It didn’t mean anything. It was just an I’m here; I’m listening kind of moment. It was peaceful and thrilling. It was definitely a very important moment and not just because it made me feel better. It was definitely a clarifying of a bit of that dream I had (link below). She’s definitely around and Mut is definitely listening. I feel more relaxed just talking about it. I thought about the salt when I was in her arms and realized that salt probably wouldn’t be good for my skin. But when I thought about the Florida water, she seemed positive about that.
So, I climbed out of the shower and got dressed. I pulled my unopened bottle of Florida water out of its home in the cabinet. I opened it up and my son came over, asking me what I was doing. (The second I open those blue doors, he’s all over me. He wants to know about my stone collection and play with the tree limb I have stashed in there.) I opened up the bottle and let him take a sniff. “That smells awful,” he said. I told him that I thought it smelled delightful. And then, I anointed myself. I placed some in three places across the back of my neck, care of Cam’s experience with something similar that she had written about once. I also placed some on each wrist, my third eye, and over my heart. On top of feeling completely relaxed by this point, I couldn’t help but realize that I fucking love the smell of this stuff and I think I want to keep a bottle in my grave-tending kit. I also want to spray some on my bed and see how that works out. I can imagine the dreams I would have!
After that, I was exhausted. I felt like I had been up and on the go since four o’clock this morning, but I had only gotten up after ten or so. When I mentioned this on Twitter, Cam reminded me that I had been through a lot on lack of sleep and had a major personal gnosis moment. She said it seemed kind of normal. And Cin was pleased that I was feeling so much better. So, right here: THANK YOU, TO THE BOTH OF YOU. <3
I’ve learned a big couple of lessons. I have a very old goddess who is willing to just give me a hug when I need it most. I have a very angry dead person in my family who will not be getting a visit any time soon. I learned that Florida water is fucking phenomenal and I have to find a place, locally, where I can buy it. And I also learned, sadly, that George’s anger is still just as strong within the family lines as it was when he was alive. I’ll let you in on a family secret here: there’s a kind of curse.
Gramma told me this story when I was still pregnant with my son. This was after we had learned he was a boy and were looking to names. The family is pretty stuck on the same names: Anthony and George. Each male in the line (of which there are not many for who knows what reason) has had some form of combination of these names. TH is Anthony George. His father is George Anthony, as his father was before him. (As near as I can figure.) Gramma told me that all men in the line with variations on these names tend to be angry, snappish, brutish men with horrible lives. She told me that there was a curse on the line and specifically, on the name. She said that it just kept going on and begged me to “end it.” So, I named my son Rowan, which was no sweat off my back since I had chosen that name at 20 or some such. That curse is anger. It is a white hot rage, very much like I experienced today. And as I asked TH some questions about his grandfather in trying to write this, I noticed that barely concealed rage. My mellow, loving TH has that rage inside of him. He fights it, but he fights it alone because he doesn’t believe as I do or as Gramma does or as his mother does.
I only hope he’ll let me in when it starts to get too much for him.