Note: The song I chose for this particular entry is in my head and on my playlist frequently. It has little to do with the person in question as I consider this song belonging to my son and I. But, I felt the lyrics were really appropriate.
I woke up this morning with the telltale fatigue I’ve come to associate with working in the astral. I get this feeling about two to three times a week right now. I don’t question whatever it is my soul aspects are about in the astral, although I occasionally do wonder what it must be like over there as well as what kind of work I am doing. I will admit that I would prefer to remember things, but I’m not about to mess up the status quo. It seems to be working out well for me without the memory of the adventures therein, except for what it is granted into my memory (such as the night Papa Legba and I went dancing). It doesn’t matter what is going on; I know whatever it is happens to be working.
All our times have come
Here, but now there, gone
Seasons don’t fear the reaper
Nor do the wind, the sun or the rain
We can be like they are
When my eyes flickered open, I began remembering a dream I had last night. I was sitting at a completely unremarkable kitchen table. It was the standard rectangular table and it was by a window. It was a light-colored wood and the sunlight was dancing patterns in it. The sunlight was the slowly weakening hue of an autumnal sun. There were red leaves waving at us from outside. All I had to do was turn my head and I could see the ornate gardens that lay beyond wherever I happened to be. Those gardens had a hint of my mother-in-law’s garden, but were infinitely wilder. This is a background that I tend to associate with the astral. There’s always a kind of wildness to what we would try to put into orderly rows. The astral, however, works under its own laws and limitations; not ours.
The room was filled with a sweet scent. There were aspects of this moment that reminded me of days I spent in a yellow kitchen, still bedecked with the gods-awful flower border across the top of that kitchen. The walls were spattered with dust and grease in that long-ago kitchen. The difference here was that my mental construct with a hint of astral was more in tune with the kitchen I associate with my mother-in-law. While the color scheme was similar, there were differences. I believe this was done to make me feel safe and able to break the connection at any time.
I think it was done on purpose, but not by me…
Across from me at this nondescript table was the very countenance of my ex-husband. He was as always remember him. He had his hair buzzed short and his fangs were surreptitiously peeking out from his pink lips as he spoke carefully to me. We were staring at each other earnestly as we spoke. We knew that one second, one wrong inflection, could cause an ending to whatever peace talks were being held. And neither one of us was interested in the long, dark road that would surround a break down in our peace talks. His eyes were wide, limpid pools of earnestness. He was as he always is, to me. Charismatic and full of commentary.
For once, I listened with alacrity.
Come on baby… don’t fear the reaper
Baby take my hand… don’t fear the reaper
We’ll be able to fly… don’t fear the reaper
Baby I’m your man…
You see, by the time I woke up, we were on to more mundane things than discussing what had happened in our relationship. We had come through that phase and were working on other parts. Y’see, I was asking him for advice about current life situations. It wasn’t religious oriented, but mundane really. And I woke up remembering how he used to be when we were just friends or casual lovers. I could go to him with a problem and he would have very intent, very good advice about any given subject. As long as you didn’t inflame any of his passions, he could be a good friend. And it was that outside, honest perspective I was seeking. He paid me back in kind by asking me what I thought about his mundane problems at the moment. Really, it just went to show that we were both just very much better off as friends once.
I know I confided in him.
I remember telling him that I felt as though I were a failure. Often now, I sit back and think to a time when things weren’t a struggle as they are now. I was more financially stable with the ex-husband, obviously. I often wonder how things could have gotten so bad, so quickly. And how things would have been if I had tried to stick around and fix things back then. I doubt anything would have come of it, but I know that I told that man that I have my days where I look back and think about how much I seem to be struggling and how I often blame the ending of our relationship. I remember, in that dream, he laughed. Anyone who knows him knows what his honest laughter is; this was honest laughter. Maybe he was laughing because he agreed with me or because he found my pinpointing for “when it all went wrong” amusing.
I don’t know.
I don’t remember.
Love of two is one
Here but now they’re gone
Came the last night of sadness
And it was clear she couldn’t go on
I wish I had more fertile remembrance of what our peace talks began as. The reality of what they began as doesn’t matter, though. They happened.
As I was driving to work today, I was thinking back on the dream and the utter peace it instilled within me. I felt like a part of me that had been working backwards, perhaps a bad cog or fear, was no longer working against all the infinitesimal parts of myself. Frowning, I looked down to my heart and did an inner search. I found that I wasn’t really all that far off with those thoughts. I went looking for my rage, then, and I didn’t find it. The entire bundle of ex-husband rage that I have been carrying alive within me for more than five years now seemed to have completely dissipated. I am completely unsure if this is something that only occurred today or if it was only today that I was allowed to realize it. It doesn’t matter. I began probing and probing and the bits of me that were rage were filled in, patched over, or just working the way they should be.
I recall now a moment when I was still in that coven of three. And I remember when the EM told me that I had so much rage that I could destroy so much and that was why there was so much fear of me working with Sekhmet. (How young and foolish we all were then.) I remember her telling me that I had to get the heat and the rage out. I had to work on the things that were fueling it and of course, we all knew that it was my ex-husband that was feeding that rage the most. The pain, the hate, and the anger that he instilled within me, I felt, was something that I would always carry around within my breast. But, as I searched for the telltale burn to the right of my heart, it was missing.
It was gone.
Then the door was open and the wind appeared
The candles blew then disappeared
The curtains flew then he appeared… saying don’t be afraid
Come on baby… and she had no fear
And she ran to him… then they started to fly
After realizing that my rage was gone, I felt pretty upset with myself for not realizing that this was happening. I’ve had signs and dreams of it. The thing is that I was really just sad that the rage was gone. I think that maybe confused or weird to some people. I’ll try to explain it.
The thing is that the rage has been with me for the better part of five years now. In the removal of that rage, I’ve actually opened a lot of scars up to being hit and touched. I let the rage I felt towards my ex-husband mold itself and hold fast to rages that I’ve been carrying around for a very long time. Parts of my rages against the ex-boyfriend from high school (who will be getting a post all his own) as well as parts of my rages against my father for abandoning me. There are other, smaller, rages that were a part of the rage ball I had built for myself around the angst with my ex-husband. In the removal of the large ball of rage I had towards him, I’ve opened myself to smoothing out other rages. Some of them have already been worked out, I just haven’t gotten around to posting about them. But some of them are still there.
I can feel them sliding around in my chest, trying to take a hold. I hope they don’t.
I don’t want to have to work as diligently as I have with the ex-husband thing with other parts of my life. The only one who could even remotely get anything from me now, I think, would be my dad. He deserves that rage and I have to realize that it is a just rage before I can work further with it. It doesn’t matter. Even though I had this ball of rage that filled me up and had taken over large aspects of who I was, I hope that I don’t let something new or something old fester in that now open spot.
They looked backward and said goodby… she had become like they are
She had taken his hand… she had become like they are
Come on baby… don’t fear the reaper
I find myself very tired now, as though I had been exercising for too much time and overdid it. In a way, I think that’s a fitting analogy. When you start to work on aspects of yourself, retrieving bits of yourself and your soul from others’ hands, you don’t realize how much work you will be putting into the project to hand. You think a few moments of light meditation and you will complete the project. This is far from the truth. The astral, the soul, and everything in between are all portions that require hard, hard work and a strong, stubborn countenance more often than not.
And a lot, a lot of tears.