For the last couple of weeks, I’ve been getting a lot of “huh” moments regarding things I’m reading, things I’m hearing, epiphanies, and the like. What’s very strange about all of this is that, if I go back, I can trace the lineage of these moments until I get to the moment when I decided, at Papa Legba’s insistence, to do a lave tet for myself on All Saints’ Day. What really started it all was when I made a petition to Papa Legba during the last days of September. I had asked him to give me a sign or omen or some direction as to which way my life needed to head. When I originally asked for this, I was thinking about mundane job type of things, but I didn’t actually specify that fact when I actually spoke my petition to him. (Note to self, and anyone who is reading, don’t fucking do that shit. Be really fucking specific in future.)
The reason I was asking him for help here was because I always felt like my life has been adrift on some nameless sea, bounced from port to port and never feeling quite comfortable. I’m quasi-comfortable in the particular life I have now. Things aren’t quite as gray hued or particularly humdrum as they have been in my past. But, I still feel a little adrift. There are days where I come home from work, exhausted from being thrown around that metaphorical ocean regarding everything in my life. Other days are far more manageable, which is probably why I’m not classically depressed as I can and normally get this time of year. It’s not awful but it could be better. So, with that thought in mind and thinking about how I really liked my job that I’m working now but it’s not a perfect fit, I needed some help moving forward in the correct direction.
I began waking up from dreams, feeling like I had been told all the secrets to the universe but had forgotten them upon waking. This isn’t really new for me. I’ve had a love-hate relationship with dreaming. Part of the reason I know that I need to pay attention to some dreams and not others is because of how clearly I remember them and who the participants are. Some dreams, I can chalk them up to just some dreaming version of stress release. However, when the gods or the lwa show up, I know I need to pay attention to whatever details I may or may not remember. For pretty much the entirety of the month of October, most of the dreams that I could remember were astral in nature or important to the request I had asked of Papa Legba, but many of them were lost to the fragility of my mind. Or maybe, I just wasn’t ready to really pay attention to what they were saying.
What made all these dreams worse were the little bits that I could remember? I would wake up with specific words in my mind. This usually only happens in relation to certain forms of dreams with the lwa. If a new one shows up, and I’m uncertain of who it is, they will whisper their name to me upon waking so that I know whom to research. (How thoughtful, right? Yeah, unless it’s one of the lesser known or discussed lwa.) But in this particular case, I would wake up with a single word or maybe a small phrase in my mind. It was during one of these odd dreams that I began to get the idea about the mojo bags that I’m hoping to sell. And it was during a drive to work that I began to feel that, logistically and logically, I could work everything out to get things to where I needed them before I opened up a shop on Etsy or something. My only thing is that the startup capital I had been hoping to have has been put off until December, so for now, I’m just kind of stranded in no man’s land while I verify that this is definitely a part of my original petition to Papa Legba… and all signs appear to point to yes.
Other words would appear in my dreams as just, literally, the word flashing in front of me. It was very much like a not-seizure inducing neon sign. Most of the words I’ve forgotten, but one of the one that really stuck in my mind was the word, intermediary. This term was introduced to me via Scylla of Root and Rock fame a while ago. I can’t remember what she was talking about or on what post this phrase came up on. (I just looked and I am at a loss. I don’t even remember when in the last few months this came up.) Suffice to say, this particular work has been rooting around in my mind, taking its sweet fucking time before it was ready to flower. Apparently, the time for flowering was that one time in October when I had a dream and that was the only part of the dream that I can remember: a gray word flashing at me from a white background. Intermediary… intermediary… intermediary. Well, that was pretty interesting, if a little vague. I couldn’t remember what-all Scylla had discussed about it and what, really, all of that would entail. All I can remember from the post in question was that it wasn’t quite the laity and it wasn’t quite a priest, but someone in the middle who does a bit of both.
I hope I’m remembering that right…
So, I looked up the word. I like words, so I thought maybe if I just read the definition I could understand what this all was a little better. Google told me that it was “a person who acts as a link between people in order to try to bring about an agreement or reconciliation; a mediator.” Okey-dokey. But that really didn’t explain the gist of the dream – not that the dream was easily understandable. I may like words and I may understand the meaning behind a lot of words and I may even know where we get some words, like this one comes from French, which comes from Medieval Latin, which comes from regular old Latin. That really doesn’t help me much, either?
Then, I woke up with the word “oracle” in my head. I kind of laughed. “Oh, Papa Legba,” I said with a forced giggle, “that was cute.” I stay away from that word unless I’m talking about the cards that fall under that particular heading – divination decks that aren’t the Tarot norms many practitioners know and use. It’s not that I distrust people who give out oracular services, but that’s just kind of weird, right? I mean, I don’t know how to do that and I don’t know too many people who do it “regularly” so what the hell? I ignored the word and kind of got a little pissed off. I had asked for more direction in my life and for fuck’s sake, what the hell were these dreams with words filling my head space? Hello? Dumb as a doornail – I needed more. So, I did. That was mid-October.
And that’s kind of when things began to get really hard around here. I wrote the entry about not looking to my Tarot cards when I should on the day that I asked for more direction from PL. That was also when I began to feel really weird and a little depressed and like everything was falling apart and the veil was thinning like crazy. That also happened to be the anniversary of my father’s death – the big, ole 23 years there. So, I just kind of chalked up my entry to reminding myself that I needed to look at my divination tool and use those resources and maybe that was why I had dreamed about the word “oracle.” It made sense at the time, but I still needed more. So, I asked for more.
And then things really just got so fucking tough.
I’ve noticed a trend in my entries since then. They’ve all been really important, really poking at the core issues, and really just not even remotely related in any way to what I had asked for. But the thing was that they were all related to what I had asked for. Hindsight is twenty-twenty so of course, I can connect the dots all the way back to the day when I petitioned the Old Man for some more direction in my life. I was getting the direction but not in the form I had wanted it to show up and not in the form I had been expecting it to show up. That’s why his laughter, last night after my petition for everyone, was kind of a “oh shit” moment coupled with a “for fuck’s sake, this is the epiphany moment, isn’t it?” Other things have been adding up to all of this, of course. I received a message from someone Sekhmet has always told me to look after and keep an eye on telling me that she wished I was her mentor. Whoa. Wow. Holy fuck. There’s a clue-by-four. And then all this stuff in early October about intermediaries and oracles and whatnot?
So, at the end of October, on All Saints’ Day, Papa Legba directed me on how best to go about creating the lave tet. I realized that, according to the card reading I had done, on All Saints’ Day that I needed to start creating instead of just kind of waiting. It’s a habit and a bad one, but I do it all the time. “Oh, la-di-da, let me wait until the end of the fucking world before I fucking behoove myself to do something for myself or for my life. La-di-fucking-da.” So, Papa Legba and I went about creating how to build a head wash so that I could get to the core of the matter with each and every turn. Of course, the lave tet in my mind, on that day, was about my constant drifting bullshit and about how to finally set that late September petition in motion. Considering the other weird circumstances throughout the month of October, the petition was already in motion but the lave tet to the Old Man was about finally getting my head out of my ass and making it happen.
I came home after my Fet Guédé in the cemetery and decided to do the wash then. I needed a full twenty-four hours after the wash before I could wash my hair again, so Saturday night was the night to do it. I made a huge mess and had herbs in my hair for days upon days later. (I was pulling chamomile out with every stroke through my really long and really thick hair for about 4 days after.) I also realized that my original intention of dumping herbs and cool water on my head may not have been a good idea and ended up straining the water a bit beforehand, which wasn’t really all that successful. (Please see above statements about chamomile in my hair.) From this experience, I learned how not to wash my head. And I also realized that I need to by nekkid in the shower instead of sitting on the edge of the bathtub. Afterwards, I wrapped my hair in a plain white towel and went to bed.
All the next day, my head fucking itched like crazy. I can’t quite tell if that’s normal? I’ve chalked it up to either a minor allergy to something or possibly just the effect of the wash itself. In either case, I felt like the wash was soaking into my scalp and ripping out the bad shit as it did its work. I didn’t wait a full twenty-four hours between Saturday night’s messy-as-fuck head wash and the hair wash that took place the next day. But, in the meantime, I felt very… er, rooted? I stayed at home and did nothing but lounge about in my PJs but when I attempted to communicate with anyone else in my life – the lwa or the netjeru – I felt like a really big “nope, motherfucker; do not pass go and do not collect two hundred dollars.” This intensified the itchy feeling, so I stopped trying until after I had washed my hair. Once the stuff was out of my hair, or as out as a single hair wash would allow, I felt better.
I felt grounded.
I felt powerful.
I felt more in control.
I also felt as though I could leap off a building and fly if I wanted to.
I didn’t try it, though.
I, also, felt like really content with things. And that’s about the last time I felt seriously content with things because shit just got so fucking awful these last two weeks. I figured I had done something wrong or fucked something up. But the message is the important part and sometimes, the message comes up decked out as the Golgothan shit demon as opposed to roses and unicorns. Besides, the point in the last two weeks was always pretty fucking sharp, but it harped on things that I’ve been ignoring lately. And also, it was kind of important to address this stuff now instead of doing it later. Besides, as I mentioned in my post yesterday, while this may not necessarily be the light at the end of the tunnel, it’s still a way station of sorts and I know that the end to the cycle is coming… one day, at some point.
The petition that I created on Saturday was for a lot of people and it wasn’t just about me, but it mostly was about me. If that makes sense? It was about other people because I was reaching out, on behalf of other people, to request assistance from the Lion Lady (as someone else puts it). And that’s kind of when my brain started thinking about that stupid dream I had about the word intermediary. Wasn’t I kind of sort of doing that? And this is new, really? I’ve done heka for other people and I’ve prayed for them, too, but I’ve never really actually acted out on behalf of others for a particular god or being. So, this is kind of new and kind of thrilling and different. And this is the hand that I’ve been dealt, that she’s been building towards for a while, that I’ve been completely ignoring because “la-di-da, I can’t fucking hear you,” that I’ve been screaming about for months upon months and have finally just thrown my hands up and said, “Okay.”
I’ve thought a lot about this in the last week and the whole intermediary title that I’m evidently supposed to use. There have been other kind of weird things that have happened this week that has made me evaluate what I think she wants versus what she may actually want. Papa Legba has been a kind of intermediary for me on this. He’s always been prepping me to get what I needed out of this and to get me to where I need to be. But he’s also taught me that I can and will and should use whatever is thrown at me in a way that is comfortable to me. And he’s also made me completely aware of just what could happen if I refuse. He’s been entirely up front, unlike a certain other in my life. But, it’s okay. I think I’m going about this correctly and I think I’m where I need to be, as much as I may (and will) bitch about it.
I don’t really know where this is supposed to end up or what I’m going to do with it or even how I intend on bending the rules to what I want them to be, but you had better be sure, I’m going to fucking march this shit to the beat of my own fucking drum.
And I’ve got an Old Man who is willing to dress up as a cheerleader when my ass is flagging from overload.