Stillness and Thoughts.

Some days, I go outside to simper in the sunlight, streaming down over my head. I sit down on the back stoop with book or phone in hand, originally intending on getting something going. Instead, I sit back on the stoop and close my eyes against the bright rays that pierce my eyes with deepened shadowing than they are used to and feel the very fingertips of Re upon my face. On days like that, the thoughts roll around my head like a wayward rubber ball, rolling around the circle for a game of jacks. On those days, I’ll pick up that wayward ball and bounce it down, picking up one of the jacks and flipping it over my hand, end to end, in an effort to puzzle out where it is my mind has gone.

Lately, this particular game of Re-touches-and-I-puzzle has been heading to the same place. It feels, now, less like a game and more like a terrorizing moment of heart-rending capabilities. I’ve been thinking too much about this now to leave it alone and it’s where I’m meant to head with these thoughts; I know that. That doesn’t mean I have to fucking like it.

It started with a dream.

I’m beginning to suspect that I’m so stubborn, the only way I can get through to what I need to pick at is through dreams. I think every major undertaking I’ve done, either religious or healing, has come about because I had a dream. This dream started off okay. It was about my ex. It started off like all the other ones I’ve had since I severed our bonds. But the end of that dream was not okay. He wore me down and down and down some more until I was crying and he was over me, grunting, and I was thinking, TH is going to be so mad at me that I didn’t fight him.

Just re-writing that leaves tingles of anxiety and panic in my arms and my heart races.

I didn’t understand the dream, not at first. It felt like I had missed something and I was worried. I turned to a bunch of friends and said, “Here is the dream and I don’t understand.” I thought that maybe there was still some shadow work to do there – perhaps the ball of anger at returned. But when I looked for it, it wasn’t there. I thought that maybe I hadn’t severed all the bonds between us – perhaps there was something that had found its way beyond the magic and the hard work I had completed last year. But when I looked at all the other bonds I have, I didn’t see that snaky ribbon of his bond and realized that wasn’t it.

I didn’t understand it.

Then I saw something else, something about consent, which has been a very, very, very weird and strange thing that has popped up everywhere for me two weeks before hand. My mind went, “Oh, well that’s it.” And I understood. This wasn’t really shadow work, per se, but this was about me and about how I’ve always behaved when it’s come to things. I realized, honestly, that I wasn’t very good with consent at least as it is discussed by modern day people. “Consent is giving permission,” more or less, and as I thought back to that, I realized that, well, I was never really good with giving anyone consent. Before now, before TH and our relationship, I didn’t really understand what consent was. And I still have issues with it.

I stopped thinking about this. There was no point in moving forward because the thoughts that would come would, of course, hurt. I didn’t want hurt, so I ignored it. I’ve been ignoring this for weeks now. Sekhmet has been incredibly patient, of course, but I knew it was only a matter of time. Either she sent me another dream or my subconscious had enough of my frail attempts at poking at the internal bees’ nest, only to hunch back and run away from it at the first sign of pain to come. Whatever the case may be, I had another dream, which left me less confused and more willing to move forward with the overall process.

I was at TH’s parents’ house and there was something in my hair. I could feel it on the right side of my head, plucking and pulling at the snarled strands. TH was there, beside me, and very gently removed whatever it was. The thing in his hand was a 10 pound black widow spider. I stared at its carapace as it glinted off the streaming sunlight. TH, thoughtfully, put the thing on a bit of spider webbing above the pool. The spider went shuttling back and forth across the strands, not with its oversized legs but like one of those little rabbits on the side of a dog race. It maneuvered back and forth as I watched it stop above a child’s body, swimming in the pool and taunting it to come for it. The child ducked beneath the water as the spider came down and that’s about when my mind had enough because I woke the fuck up.

I’m not a fan of spiders.

I lay there, heart pounding, trying to make sense of what it was I had just dreamed. My head still hurt where the spider had been tangled in my hair. I reached up and touched it, frightened that I would actually find a fucking spider in my hair. There was nothing there. I think, in my consternation, my hand got caught in my hair and, I think, pulled some strands loose. At four in the morning, I sat up and watched television for a while. When I felt calm enough, I checked out my favorite dream interpretation site since I was running blank on interpretations, “To see a black widow in your dream suggests fear or uncertainty regarding a relationship. You may feel confined, trapped, or suffocated in this relationship. You may even have some hostility toward your mate. Because the female black widow has the reputation of devouring its mate, it thus also symbolizes feminine power and domination over men.”

Well, whether it meant I was uncertain in my relationship or not, it certainly seemed to go hand-in-hand, in a fashion, with all the thoughts I had been having and running away from. I supposed that I should get to it and so, I began writing this entry then. I began thinking of what it is was that I had been hoping to ignore. I felt pain and sorrow. Sometimes, as I sat up in the morning, waking up long before the sun rose, to contemplate what it was going on in my life and what it was that had happened, I would feel my heart palpitate, my palms sweat, and my breathing become irregular. All that mattered was that I had to get through this in some form or another, but I realized that I couldn’t run through the gamut in too quick a time. I had to take my time.

I decided to start off with Sekhmet, turning over the reason she wanted this in my face now, right now, over and over again. Of course, this all started with Sekhmet.

It’s because of her, and her uncomfortable ability to make me face the things I don’t want to face, that I have to face this. I’ve been looking back and back down the halls of memory, trying so hard to see where I consented to anything in my relationships with the men I’ve been with. And I don’t see a single instance where I said, specifically, “Yes, I want to do this,” except maybe once or twice. I can only see that I gave in. It wasn’t, “Yes, I want to be here with this person,” but always, “I don’t want this person to leave me so I’m going to do whatever it is they ask of me, from the small things to the large things, and they will be happy and take care of me and everything will be okay.”

The problem with living in relationships that way is that, well, there is a bit of a stubborn streak inside of me. For some reason, I grew up to become a sort of rag doll that people could do with what they wanted, but there was a hint of strength underneath that façade. And that hint would come out now and again, causing major arguments because the people I was in those relationships with didn’t expect me to stand up for myself about anything. And something would set off that hidden steel and I would argue and stubborn my way through something, and they would leave.

This only reinforced the, “I have to give in because otherwise they’ll leave me.”

I was thinking the other day about the first boy who kissed me. He was a boy in my neighborhood and I think we were nine. We were supposed to be playing hide-and-seek with his little brother. And instead of hiding on his own, the boy found me hiding in the spare bedroom. And I remember him coming over to me, hiding in a darkened corner and trying to kiss me. I can remember turning my head away – a clear indication of no, I supposed – but he went on with it anyway. And I can remember thinking, “No, I don’t want this,” but I never said anything.

I stopped hanging out with them after that. It bothered me that he would continue to attempt to kiss me. Even though I hadn’t said, “No, we shouldn’t do this,” or “No, I don’t think I’m ready for this stuff,” or “No, I don’t want to do this,” I just turned away and hoped for the best. This seems to have been my basic philosophy with just about everything, though, from that time forward. It wasn’t ever a “No, please stop,” or “No, let’s not,” it was always just hints and signals, some obvious and some not, and hoping someone could read my fucking mind.

I moved forward in time and looked at other relationships, too. I can remember in middle school and the first real boyfriend I had. He was okay. He was nice and he didn’t make me do anything I didn’t want to do. If I wanted to hold his hand, then we held hands. If I wanted to kiss, then we kissed. He was nice to me. He treated me very well, though I didn’t return the favor. I treated him very badly and ended up not even really breaking up, but just stopped returning his calls. (I was in a deep depression by that point, so it’s really I was a jerk but also I was unable to speak to people by that point.) He was good and nice and I stopped speaking to him.

But other boys were not so nice and not so good and I continued to talk to them. I let them do many things that I wasn’t comfortable with. I let them say things about me, to me, or about others that I was uncomfortable with and just let it go. I can’t remember a single person ever stopping to say, “Do you want to do this?” Or asking me, “Is it okay if I said this thing?” I don’t remember anyone every making sure I was comfortable with anything because I was too busy hoping someone would just magically see that I was not and make a decision for me.

For a long time, I assumed that my lack of consent in these relationships, or well maybe not lack of consent but lack of actually make any fucking decision whatsoever about anything, was because I thought of sex and the stuff related as dirty. It was wrong. It didn’t get done. It was something gross and icky, but other people didn’t see it that way, so I went along with it, knowing that my viewpoints on the matter were rather unorthodox. Oh, sure, having an orgasm is pretty nice and all, but the unbearable guilt and disgust that happens after said orgasm? Well, that was a bit much and I think, partially at least, that’s where the whole, “please read my mind,” thing comes from. I knew my viewpoints would be seen as incorrect and kept them to myself.

But where the fuck did that even come from? I can’t think of it, honestly. And with certain boys, when things would happen, it wasn’t always some form of guilt complex that happened after the fact. Some of the guilt and dirtiness, I know where it stems. But the stuff from before I was raped and before I was molested? Where on earth did that come from anyway?

In an effort to keep people beside me, I kept my trap fucking shut. I never said word one to anyone about how I felt about things. And that’s the gist of all of this, isn’t it? I was so busy keeping my mouth shut because people would be upset with whatever that came out of it that I kept my mouth shut when I probably should have fucking said something. And ended up opening it up and being the stubborn little fuck that I actually am over the most asinine and ridiculous things you can imagine.

This morning, I sat outside and ruminated over the nightmare I had last night. This one was more painful, in some ways, than the one that started all of this. While I contemplated the dream, I watched as a blue jay swallowed some tasty morsel it had picked up from the yard. I watched that blue jay hop up the tree, trying to keep my emotions in check before I lost it in full view of my neighbors, who were getting up and greeting the new day. I thought about that dream and wondered how much things may have actually changed.

It started with a beautiful girl. She was small and lithe with curly brown hair and hazel eyes. And she was looking for TH. TH found her with me by his side and she held her hand to her womb and smiled at him. And then it came out: he had cheated on me with this girl and evidently, on the first try, he had knocked her up. As the dream progressed, the girl’s belly swelled with new life and more came out: it was three separate times within as many weeks; he had enjoyed himself immensely; he was going to leave our son and me to be with her and have a “real” relationship; and he thought I wasn’t really asexual but jumping on the Tumblr bandwagon of such things.

And I lay there, in the dream, crying until I could barely breathe, clawing at his legs and saying, “What do I have to do? Please don’t leave me; please don’t leave me. What do I have to do in order to keep you here with me? I forgive you; I forgive you. Please stay.”

I woke up crying.

And I wondered, as I lay there swiping the tears from my cheeks, how much change I’ve actually gone through. Do I truly stand my ground with TH? Am I truly willing to do many things in order to keep him with me, as it has always been with the men before? I lay there, my heart pounding in tune with the anxiety gnawing away at my insides, trying to decide if maybe I hadn’t changed as much as I thought I had. Maybe I am still really bad with consent and maybe I am still really bad about making my viewpoint heard and maybe I am still really bad with not doing everything in my power to bend to the unforeseen will of others, changing everything I can about myself, just so that they will love me and stay by my side.

According to the website I use, having your significant other cheat on you in a dream means that “your fears of being abandoned. You may feel a lack of attention in the relationship. Alternatively, you may feel that you are not measuring up to the expectations of others. This notion may stem from issues of trust or self-esteem. The dream could also indicate that you are subconsciously picking up hints and cues that your significant other is not being completely truthful or is not fully committed in the relationship.” I don’t know if any of that matters, honestly, but the dream hurt and I have to wonder how much change I ever did…

Later, I cuddled beside TH, letting his gentle touches calm my overwrought mind from the dream. He said nothing as I cried, letting his tender fingertips tell my mind and body the reassurances they needed.

Maybe I have changed. Maybe not. But this journey is far from over.

What Is the Wealth of my Akhu?

Recently, I started receiving the othala rune on my daily pull. I have an app on my phone that I use for a daily Tarot and a daily rune. I find it interesting how the two separate types of divination can correlate with one another. Of course, I could also just be putting too much thought into this every morning. But, lately, no matter what Tarot card I receive (and they are all different), I just keep pulling the othala rune. Normally, I can zoom in on the meaning behind it easily with a quick run down of my internal components. Almost always, it tends to remind me that I need to pay closer attention to hearth and home. While I am trying, desperately, to get better at that whole thing, I still fail. So, it usually comes up periodically to remind me that I have a hearth, I have a home, I have a family, and I should probably pay more attention to them.

Thing is, this time around, I’m not feeling that.

Since I am a diviner via Tarot and oracle decks, I will admit to knowing next to nothing about runes. I added the app to my Tablet, on a whim, because I was interested in branching out my divination techniques. In all this time, I haven’t really learned much from them. However, if I get stumped on what the rune is trying to signify, I go to a host of websites to get others’ interpretations of the rune in question. I will do Google search after Google search, troll the appropriate tag on Tumblr, and integrate what I read with what I’m seeing on my app. In every instance regarding the othala rune, I’ve found a key term that keeps popping up and resonating within my subconscious/soul/something-or-other: the wealth of the ancestors, ancestral connections. In other words, it seems to be signifying something to do with my akhu, but what specific is it trying to tell me?

What’s bothering me even more is that I’m noticing a serious coincidence regarding the pulling of this rune. Whenever it shows up, I almost always have dreamt about Sweet Pea, which means that it has been coming up a lot for me recently. After my 70 days of mourning with the loss of my Sweet Pea, I began to dream heavily about her. Sometimes, I knew that I was actually going to the astral to see her, as well. But on a regular basis, I keep going either to dreams to see her and spend time with her, or I end up going to the astral and traveling with her as my stalwart companion. This is, partially, why I’m pretty sure the rune pull has to do with akhu, as Sweet Pea is a part of my akhu. However, I honestly can’t figure out what one has to do with the other. What does Sweet Pea being a part of my akhu and the dreams/shenans I have of her have to do with this rune? What particular ancestral wealth am I supposed to look to?

Without pulling my Sweet Pea into this, I’ve attempted to look for what type of wealth I could expect from my [genetic] ancestors. I’ve combed back through my memory to attempt to figure out what aspects of them that I have within myself. And I have to admit that I have a lot of aspects from my maternal akhu that have made up who I am today. I have Leo’s legs; I have a passion for history; I am named for a branch of the family; I misquote French sayings; I have the same nose that’s gone back generations. I have a lot of bits and pieces of myself that are aspects taken from the genetic inheritance of my akhu. But honestly, as much as I can see all the items I say, do, and have that bring honor to my akhu, I don’t think this is quite what the rune or my shenanigans with Sweet Pea are about.

So what is it?

What key piece to this damned puzzle am I missing?

And where the hell is my manual when I fucking need it?

Dreams/Visions 01/01/2012.

This morning, I didn’t go to bed until after midnight. Both TH and I stayed up watching Ted and then, we ended up falling asleep shortly after doing the midnight kiss thing. I was telling him, before falling asleep, about the swathe of dreams I had been having about my ex-husband in the last few days. I told him how when our son fell asleep on me, I didn’t dream about the ex at all, but when he had gone back to his room and I was all alone, all of my dreams were ex-husband related. As I told TH, it was kind of like those stupid chase scenes in the Scooby Doo television series. We went from room to room, with the ex-husband chasing after me. Only instead of the rooms changing, the dream scape would change with each movement into a new room. It was very strange. I told TH how I was hoping that, with him at home after a week at his mother’s, the dreams would stop.

They did.

I was living in some woods, out in the middle of nowhere. The cottage I was in was very similar to the Sanderson sisters’ cottage from Hocus Pocus. It was overcrowded with instruments and necessary items for both witchcraft as well as things necessary to eke out a living. And I was working some witchcraft to keep the ex-husband away from me. I was interrupted in it and I don’t know if I ever finish it. I’m unsure what interrupted the magic making in that dream. All I know is that it went from me being a witch, doing some serious mojo on the ex, to me in my apartment bathroom. It was like I went from re-living an experience that I didn’t finish or couldn’t finish on a trip with Hekate to dreaming. Or maybe, the whole damn thing was a dream and that’s why the switch from past life experience to my apartment bathroom was as swift and smooth as it was.

I had my hair done up in pigtail braids, along either side of my face. It was me, which is odd because I don’t normally see myself in my dreams. But, I was staring at myself in the mirror. My hair was wet in these pigtail braids. And I remember very purposely, with real intent, pulling the braids out of my hair. I combed out each section with my fingers, moving from plait to plait one either side of my face. My face was stony and dark with its intent. And honestly, I’m not sure what the intent actually was. I have an idea that it was probably me moving past something. An old way of life? An old aspect of myself? A youthful disposition? I’m not sure, but I’m pretty sure it was my way of moving from one aspect of myself to another. I’m just not sure what aspects I was leaving behind to move forward into.

At this point, I woke up which is when I had my vision.

I had to use the bathroom really badly at this point so, I got up and did my business. When I came back to the couch to lay down (we still don’t have a bed), there was a child standing at the foot of the couch. It was standing in the table with the printer at the end of that part of the couch. It was staring at me while I slept.

The child had very dark brown hair. He was Caucasian with olive tones to his skin. His dark brown hair was a little too long, in need of a cut desperately as it was falling into his eyes. He was wearing a dark blue, long-sleeved shirt. His face was round and still full of baby fat. In fact, as I saw the child, I immediately thought I was seeing my son astrally project himself out to me. I thought about going into his room to check on him. Maybe he had need of me? But that feeling went away immediately after I had it because it just wasn’t the case. This child stared at me with very sad, dark eyes and then he faded away.

The kid was dead.

I don’t have any doubt of that one.

The thing is that I don’t know who the child was. I was pretty sure it was a forgotten Deadz as I went to sleep last night. I mean, I’ve been leaving out a calling card to all of the cemeteries I visit for months and months now. I kind of thought that my “powers” were just growing. Instead of just sensing them when I’m in the cemetery, I could finally begin to sense them when they came to visit me. But, now, I’m not so sure. Both Devo and I were talking about it this morning and she posited the possibility that this was a child from a past life that had somehow found me while I was in the astral, viewing all of my past lives.

Oh, well, now. That’s an interesting theory.

Most of the lives I’ve been traveling to view with Hekate have been without any children. I think she was prepping me for some very difficult work ahead and wanted me to just see all the lives I’ve been with the ex-husband sans children. As Devo pointed out to me, there’s some serious heart break into past life shenanigans when you start bringing children into the mix. Considering the one life I know of – the one where Hekate saved both myself and my son in return for three lives’ worth of servitude to her – yeah, I can only imagine just exactly how bad the lives we had together where children fell into the mix. I don’t think heart-breaking really can begin to cover it. More like epic tragedy in every sense of the word and such a tragedy that William Shakespeare would quake at writing that play/sonnet…

If that is the case and this child is a harbinger of what I can expect over the next few months… I think the whole “drained” thing I’ve been going through will double or treble in its strength. I have to wonder where this will end up. And when I can finally admit to everyone, gleefully, that it’s truly and finally over.

Dream 12/29/2012.

I had a very long-winded dream last night. At one point, I woke up in the middle of the dream to go to the bathroom and after falling back to sleep, I went right back into the dream. It was obviously an important dream. I rarely have moments like that unless I’m having nightmares. Now, it’s possible I can say that this dream was a nightmare because it ended rather suddenly and because my mind said, NOPE MOTHERFUCKER; GET THE FUCK OUTTA HERE. But, over all, it really wasn’t much of a nightmare. It just was what it was.

I was driving down to visit my mother in Texas. I was alone in the dream, and yet I wasn’t. I took both of my dogs with me to visit my mom as well as my son. We were going to visit. I had a vague feeling that something was wrong with my mother and she needed me. I found her in a park that doesn’t exist where she lives. We started walking around. At some points, my dogs were there and at other points, they weren’t. My son was nowhere to be found while I talked with my mom about things. She was being evasive, which isn’t my mom at all. There was obviously something she didn’t want to tell me. She was nervous. We walked into the paramedic station attached to the police department down there and there was my ex-husband sitting in the middle of a desk, looking a little too comfortable.

My mom had been trying to keep me away from my ex-husband.

I went insane. My mom disappeared from the dream at this point. She was only a vague background note. I went insane at my ex-husband, demanding to know what the hell he was doing there. He was sullying and destroying everything by being back down there. I kept rounding on him, reminding him how much he hated Texas and how the entire time we were down there, he would go on about wanting to move back up north. He just kept laughing me off, like what I was saying wasn’t valid at all. I was getting so angry with him and it really got the better of me when, walking somewhere random, he told me he was actually living with my mother. He had conned her into it somehow and he was living in her house.

I flipped the mother fuck out and started attacking him. I started beating at him with closed fits, which was completely ineffectual. This was borne out in the fact that he just kept laughing at me with each ineffectual hit in his direction. He wasn’t even trying to block the hits, either. They would make contact and my fists would bounce off of him, like he was wearing a protective carapace or something. I finally got so tired and winded that I had to stop attacking him. It wasn’t like it was doing anything. It wasn’t like I was proving a point except that everyone would think I was the crazy one, attacking a pillar of the community* and just generally acting like an escapee from an insane asylum. We started walking and he began telling me about his life in Texas.

* This is actually a very real fear of mine, both current and past. There’s something inhuman and disturbing about how easily he has had things. I mean, I know his life hasn’t been all sunshine and roses; I know. But he always comes off as the wounded soldier, the one who was wronged even if he was the one doing the wrongs. When he would tell stories about the fucked up shit he used to do to Demon Boy as a child, we would all end up laughing about how Demon Boy was in the wrong when really, it was my ex-husband. This is part of the reason I never, ever considered telling anyone what an emotionally and mentally abusive asshole he had become in the final few months we were together. I had proof in the Sister, but she was “crazy” and he could spin whatever yarns he wanted… people would believe him over us any day.

We walked back to my mother’s house, which isn’t the house she actually lives in. It was a bigger, white edifice. There were stories, which is ridiculous. If you live on an island in Texas, you really shouldn’t have a home larger than two stories. In reality, there are plenty of storied homes on the island where my mother lives. But, I’ve always thought the salt box, single floor homes were made to survive any hurricane the Gulf can throw at them and the storied edifices of the rich assholes from Dallas, San Antonio, and Austin would fall apart at the first sign of a good storm.

We walked into his home – it had become as though my mother was living off of his largesse – and he warned me that his family was home. I had to be a good girl. I had to behave myself. The house had become my childhood home. I went upstairs and I met his blonde-haired wife. (I don’t actually know what she looks like but I’ve always assumed she’s the Nordic perfect beauty that men drool over.) She was sitting in the room, on the bed, owning everything. She was condescending and bitchy. I flew at her in a rage and I began slapping her. I began to beat the shit out of her and the ex-husband was nowhere. She kept screaming at me that she was a lady and she would beat me if she wasn’t so much of a lady. I laughed at her. I made sure to slap her open handed, like the ex-husband would have done to me if I had stayed, because we don’t want to leave marks.

I ruined her pretty hair. I ruined her perfect make up. I destroyed her bedroom. I made it a mess.

I walked away, breathing heavily. I wanted to take a few minutes to gather myself because I was behaving childishly. I turned to the ex-husband, who was down in my childhood kitchen. He was looking amused. “Were you fucking her when we were together?” I asked him coolly. He smirked at me and replied, “Of course, I was. You already knew that.” I went into another white hot rage and ran at after her. I started hitting her until the ex-husband interrupted our girl fight. He said, “I want to introduce you to my son.” And there was MY SON, in his arms.

My beautiful baby boy was staring at me as though he didn’t know me. There was no outstretched arms for hugs. There was no snuggling under the blankets and watching TV together. This child was my son; it was his face, his body, his clothes, his demeanor, his personality. But he didn’t know who I was. And I began to cry. I moved away from the ex-husband’s wife. They had stolen my son and I told them that they had done this to me. I would make them pay. And the ex-husband just smiled at me as though I were insane. And his wife said, “That’s my son.”

I took my/our/their son downstairs to show him something. And the wife started hurling threats about what they would do to me if I tried to steal “their” child from them. And I was crying. And I took this child who didn’t know me down into the kitchen and pulled out a piece of meat. And I said, “Look, it’s an angel. It’s really an angel in there.” And he said that was very cool. And the cold, dead meat really did look like an angel. And I was so angry because my mom knew this had happened and hadn’t told me. And I was so angry at the ex and his wife, knowing no one would believe me about this being my child and their stealing him from me.

And then I forced myself awake because that’s some fucked up shit for a mother to go through.

Now, upon waking, I thought that the stealing of my son had to do with some bullshit regarding my son’s birth certificate. You see, his father isn’t on it. In Texas, where my son was born, there’s this silly, backwards law that states that if you’ve been married within the last 300 days of having a child, the man you were married to would be placed on the birth certificate. I refused to have my ex-husband’s name near it because the child was not his; R is TH’s child. I had stopped having relations with my ex-husband after February 1st** and my son was conceived in either March or April. (April, I think.) But, Texas people wouldn’t listen to me about this. The ex-husband either had to go on the birth certificate, the ‘father’ portion was left blank, or the ex-husband showed up to deny paternity but he had to be at the hospital even though he was living in Massachusetts. They refused to fax the paperwork or anything, not that I wanted anything to do with that asshole during the days following the birth of my son.

After moving back up to MA, I started the proceedings to get TH put on our child’s birth certificate, but never went anywhere with it. We didn’t have the money to file everything with the Attorney General’s office. I decided it would be easier to do a blood test, but it stopped being so important. The ex-husband had signed all the paper work denying custody, so it didn’t matter anymore if the father portion was blank on the certificate. I didn’t have to push the matter and I was grateful for that.

I woke up thinking we should have a blood test done, but we don’t have insurance, so how do I go about doing that?

But, I don’t think my fears that my ex-husband would steal my child are valid. In reality, he would not do that. Besides, he has a child of his own now if I hear the reports correctly. So, what the hell?

As of right now, this is the going theory, supplied by L. Your son is the only person you really actually care about at this point. he is your life. your ex still has control over many aspects of yourself and your life. you’re not totally resolved with that issue yet. he drains you in many ways, and takes from you what is rightfully yours. you also mentioned before he always wanted a kid and that was part of your core issues with him back int he day. its showing you these things are still issues within you…that you are not free from him within yourself–he still influences you and steals your happiness Yeah. That sounds about right.

Dream 12/09/2012

Last night, before bed, I asked for clarity.

I was just lying there, not really paying attention to the Supernatural episode I had on and was staring at the ceiling. There was absolutely nothing illuminating there, so I switched my gaze to the wall. And I said, to no one in particular and everyone in particular, “I need some clarity. I think I deserve some. I’ve been asked to do this warrior thing, but I think I deserve to know what the hell the point in all of this is. I’m not asking to know the future; I’m not asking for you to tell me what the hell kind of path I appear to be treading. I think I just deserve a little fucking lucid thoughts here on what the fuck this whole thing is about.” This resulted in a sort of sucking, spinning feel that reminded me of bed spin after a night of drinking. I wasn’t drinking and I can tell you, I didn’t like the fucking spinning. I ended up falling asleep and this was the dream that came after this little interlude between me and whoever was willing to help me.

I was in an old folk’s home. I don’t think I was actually visiting anyone, in particular, but I was there when my ex-husband showed up with his entire family. I was in a crowd headed out of the door as he was in a crowd headed inside. I turned my head as we passed each other, my hair slapping me in the face and covering my profile as we walked by one another. He didn’t see me and I can remember the smirk on my face that I managed to get out before he saw me. I went to a van – a big, old, maroon van – climbed inside and began driving. I had to leave; I had to move; I had to get the fuck out of dodge. I ended up driving up a mountain road.

The dream rewound itself so that I was back at the old folk’s home. The situation wasn’t really different except that I didn’t bother turning my face. I didn’t hide who I was. I looked forward and proudly as I walked by him and his family. I think his eyes found me and I think he may have recognized me, but I’m not sure. Instead of a big, maroon van in the parking lot, I ended up in a very old and decrepit pickup truck. And I drove off in the exact same direction as last time. I went up a very long, dark, rutted, old mountain road. I don’t think I was going home this time. In fact, I’m not sure if there was a particular destination in mind. All I know is that I had to go up this creepiest, fucking scariest damn road so that I could get to wherever I was going.

However, the truck disappeared at some point. I don’t know if I had to stop and get out. I don’t know if it literally just disappeared out from beneath me. All I know is that, one moment, I was bouncing around in a truck that probably hadn’t had its shocks tended to in years. The next moment, I’m scared out of my fucking mind of every possible movie creature you can think of because I had to walk up a long, dark, rutted, old mountain road. In my mind, there were zombies and vampires and monsters and aliens and wraiths and demons and the whole fucking nine yards of the most evil, vile, scary fucking creatures imaginable. And even ones that had no faces because they’re not imaginable. There was no way I could turn around – I had to go forward.

So forward, I went.

I ended up finding the maroon van I had driven in the earlier interlude buried under a deep mountain of dirt and plants. Mostly, the greenery was grass and weeds. I brushed at the van and found the passenger side door and its window. I peered inside at a mountain of dust. The windshield wipers were casually folded against the dirt-shrouded windshield, looking like serene bugs sleeping it off. I was scared of this mountainous hill surrounding this van. I remembered driving this van but I didn’t remember what happened to it. I was scared. I began booking it up the long, dark, rutted, old mountain road.

I took to walking into people’s yards, walking through their thick and verdant green grasses. I didn’t count the steps or the minutes or the hours that passed by, I just kept going and going. And when the sun began rising off to my right, I saw that I was in a yard surrounded by puppies. They were happy, cute, and fuzzy little puppies with a happy, cute, old momma dog corralling them everywhere. And from that spot on, I began doing back flips up the mountain.

And that’s when I woke up.

Since I was specifically asking about the Christian friend situation, I was not happy with this response.

So, I began to try and figure out what the hell this dream meant. Obviously, it had to do with the ex-husband, so I had to work from there. What the hell was the point? Where was this going? I mean, hadn’t I already been doing all that work? Hadn’t I already come to the point where I’m just at the point of “who the fuck cares” when it comes to the ex-husband? So why the hell was he popping up now? Why in the world was this whole thing about the ex-husband and whatever the hell we had together? It didn’t make sense. It doesn’t make sense. But, you know, now that I’ve talked it over with TH and a post I have saved to drafts… eh… it makes sense.

You see, TH and I were talking about my dream while we were eating breakfast. I told him that I had asked for clarity with the whole Christian friend situation and that was the response I received. He laughed at me. “Isn’t it obvious? You’ve left the ex-husband in the past; you’re well and truly passed all of that. Maybe that’s exactly what you need to do in this case?” I gave him a look like he was pulling my leg. He shook his head and said, “The van is your biggest fucking indicator. There it is, all helping you to get away. And then later, you find it covered over in years and years worth of dirt, decay, and plant matter. That’s the only symbol you need to focus on here. You’ve left the ex behind.”

And isn’t that the absolute truth of the matter? I walked by him a second time with my shoulders squared, my head held high. I didn’t care if he saw me or not. I would have preferred him to not, just in case I said something out of hand or snarky in a public place that would have left us both embarrassed. However, I didn’t really care one way or another, if he saw me or not. And the van being buried for as long as it was… that was clearly my mind trying to show me that time had passed and I’ve long since been done of the scared rabbit I used to be. The person who wanted to hide behind everything and everyone just so that I wouldn’t have to see or speak with him ever again.

But what does this have to do with the whole Christian friend?

TH thinks that this is everyone and everything telling me that I have to leave that part of me behind, too. The fact that I’m torn up about it should be an indication that I don’t really want to kiss that part of my life good-bye. In same vein with the ex-husband, however, I will if the need arises. But I’ve left things mostly alone. I haven’t commented again on anything she’s left for me; I haven’t even read it. I’ve decided to just leave it alone. What was it that I had said to Devo? That it wasn’t worth it because it would just happen over and over again until we were both blue in the face? This is something I’m having an issue integrating into myself because, you know, friends. Loved ones. But I know we’ll meet again, so why cause myself pain now when nothing will be resolved?

I’m not really sure if TH’s interpretation is correct here, honestly. It seems okay. It seems valid. And I know he’s telling me this because he hates to see me hurt. I’m pretty good about crying by myself so that I can get it out of my system without having to try to speak my hurt through sobs and snot. But I know he heard me crying yesterday. Ostensibly, it was because Dumbledore was dead. But, in reality, it wasn’t. I know that. Just because I said it was because Dumbledore was dead doesn’t necessarily make it true… and that’s why I asked for the fucking clarity here. That’s what I wanted to know a thing or three.

I think the symbolism behind the sun is that, soon, it will rise over what the hell I’m doing and I’ll know. The back flips and the puppies… I think it will be a joyful moment when that epiphany shows up. (CAN’T WAIT.) In the mean time, I’m just left guessing.

Thanksgiving, Polytheist Style.

Before we get to the meat and potatoes here, I should inform people who I had a regular, American thanksgiving. It was good. We spent the day at TH’s aunt’s house. We got to Skype with her son who is living in Japan as a teacher. (I think he’s teaching English, but he may be teaching Japanese? I’m not sure. His major was Japanese something-or-other.) However, I don’t really see the point of the holiday aside from getting together with your family and eating a turkey. I don’t find it very spiritual and I don’t find it much use aside from eating turkey. It’s the only time of year that I eat turkey.

Also, this thanksgiving polytheist… thing fell in my lap… today.

This morning, I awoke from a very odd dream. I don’t normally dream about my OTHERS™. Or, if I do this on a regular basis, I never recall them. When I do wake up with them in my memory banks, there tends to be a large reason behind it, usually a warning of some kind. What was even more fascinating was that I dreamed of Hekate for the first time.

I was at her altar in my home, but it was outside. Or maybe, there was no roof above the alcove I have her table in. (And that makes sense since I want to try and find a scarf with stars on it, as pictured in this image of Nut to tack to my ceiling.) Anyway, I was kneeling in front of it and I was being incredibly formal as I made offerings. I couldn’t see the offerings, but it was definitely me, kneeling, and formally giving her offerings of some kind or another. I was also speaking formal words, possibly some of the ones I’ve been reading about in Hekate: Liminal Rites by Sorita D’Este. Again, I don’t remember what words I was speaking or what I was offering, but the dream was important.

I’m pretty sure Hekate was trying to tell me something. I figured I would do something big and bad ass for her on the new moon.

Today, however, is the first of the month of Sf-Bdt according to my Kemetic calendar. This is also the first of the new season of Peret, or winter. I knew I was going to do something in commemoration of this. Since I’m not huge on festivals and big-huge things, I try to at least bake something at the start of the new month and I’ll go a little more extra on things when it’s the start of a new season. But over all, I’m really not a huge ritual, celebration person. I like being the low-key, lay person I’m pretending to be. Of course, it’s funny how you assume or figure things will end up in one way but they really end up in another. Today was about giving thanks for the things that I do have.

You see, things haven’t been very well over here. On Friday, I go back to being unemployed and I’m pretty sure I can’t file for unemployment benefits because I’m only a temporary employee. After this, I don’t know where money is going to be coming from. We receive TH’s miniscule weekly allotment from his unemployment, but even with me trimming the fat on certain bills, it’s not enough to pay for everything. I figure that if I could get cash assistance from the state in the tune of, say, three hundred dollars, we should be able to survive… as long as we also get food assistance. So, suffice it to say that I’ve been wicked depressed and moody. It’s at the point where I’m cleaning like a fiend, taking non-cleaning out on my family members (even though it’s not their fault that they didn’t do something, but I feel like it is because I’m angry at the world), and rearranging my entire house to boot. Well, parts of my house. I’m sobbing internally at the thought that I won’t be able to buy anyone anything for Christmas, again.

Since my daily rune pull today was othala, I decided to take this as a sign that I should be thankful for what I do have.

Sure, I don’t have a job or won’t in the near future, but I have to have faith that I will be provided for by the universe. As easy as it is for me to slip into a deep, black depression over all of this, I really can’t. I have a four-year-old and a twenty-four year old who relies on me. I have cleaning and laundry to do. I have the ability to ask for help from numerous people and I will receive something. I still have some money in savings so maybe Christmas and bills won’t go completely to shit. My car is still functioning even if she’s not at tip-top shape. So, while I’m liable to be miserable and depressed again in the upcoming week or two, TODAY, there’s no fucking room.

And I’m thankful for that, too.

To get the party started, I went to my local Goodwill and purchased some items.

I bought a wooden bowl, two small tumblers, and a pretty picture with flowers on it.

I had actually gone in there with the intention of finding a small, but wider bowl for Hekate. She was going to get pomegranates when I did the thing for her, but I was hoping to have a bowl that had a wider lip than the one I have. No dice on that, obviously. The wooden bowl was purchased for Papa Legba. At a future point, I’m hoping to paint it red and get a black paint-pen to inscribe his veve into the middle. Since I can’t afford a real calabash bowl, like they do in Haiti, but I can afford the fifty cents this bowl cost me… Yeah. He was all for it. The two glass tumblers are for Hetharu and Sekhmet. They’ve recently requested oils for offerings. Right now, they’ve got regular old extra virgin olive oil, but I think they really want scented ones. The picture was for Hekate. She likes plants, right?

Before I went home, I decided to stop at the grocery store. I had AN ITCH and I couldn’t go home. So, in a half-daze, I wandered around the grocery store and picked up cheap items for tonight’s dinner and for any of my OTHERS™. The only one who didn’t cost me anything, oddly enough, was Papa Legba. (Although, he almost talked me into another red candle in a glass holder. ALMOST.) Hekate sent me to the fruit section for a pomegranate and then I went zooming down to flowers. They had a pretty little bouquet on special for five dollars. I was shocked by her choice, though; oranges? I think it’s a last lingering feels regarding the end of the autumn, but who knows what’s going through a person’s head when they– OH. You know. I read something about her getting lilies from someone as an offering and guess what kind of flower is in the bouquet? I get it.

The next step was to notice that I was being trolled by the land spirit.

That tree is the tree I focus on when I’m working with the land spirit, so it IS the land spirit in a sense. The leaves from that tree are all leading up to just below my living room window.

It’s the full moon tonight and that was when I decided I would leave my monthly offerings for the land spirit. I didn’t take a picture because I didn’t leave them until it was cold and dark outside. But, later, I went out and did leave a diced apple and some kumquats for the land spirit. Tomorrow before work, I’m going to leave a slice of bread and the big fucking rock I plucked up from one of my local cemeteries. I also talked, briefly, with the land spirit today about how things are going really badly in my life (again). I got the overwhelming feeling from it that I needed to stop worrying so damn much. I guess I’m getting it from all over: the gods, the lwa, and the universe will provide, so knock it off. It was nice to talk with it, though, since I always think that winter = land spirit communication being remote. INCORRECT, SIR.

So, after a lot of cleaning and generally annoying labor, I went around and began baking. If nothing else, when I celebrate a new month, I will bake something for Hetharu. However, I got the feeling that my baking was more in line with a Certain Other Feminine Deity than the one living with Sekhmet. I’m just getting trolled by all the female deities… Of course, I have to admit to everyone here that I’m not surprised. I know that Aset’s statue was in that dream I had about Mut a while back, so I was kind of expecting it. I’m just… I hope she likes small offerings in my kitchen. I’ve been putting her off for a while and she’s been patiently waiting. Apparently, patience has run out. And I’m pretty sure that she’s here in the FOREVER WAY, like Sekhmet. So, this should be weird and interesting. And it explains so much shit…

But that’s a post for a different day.

Continuing on.

So, after I did my baking chores, I went around and started making my thanksgiving dinner. Of course, it was small and tiny. I can’t afford big and expansive. And besides, that’s kind of the point, to me, in a thanksgiving meal. It’s my family sitting down and enjoying what I make. It’s the three of us lauding my cooking abilities (of which are good, okay, but I always wait to see how people react when I cook, all nervous like, because what if I kill someone by accident?). It’s the three of us arguing over who gets the last dollop of milk in a cup. It’s the three of us being a family.

And of course, before we all sat down, all of my OTHERS™ were summoned to their respective places.

He wanted rice, but he got orzo in a garlic and butter sauce. We argued for five minutes about why he needed a fork. Obviously, he won.

Water, oil, cookies, and steak for the two of them. They were also given more items on their altar, per requested.

Flowers in the background, pomegranate in the foreground, and Grey Goose and diet Coke. She was also given a rearrange and clean.

So, that, ladies and gentleman, is how a polytheist can get down with the giving of thanks.

Dreams of Charms.

I haven’t had remembered dreams in a while. Part of this is because my body has been left behind while I do unknown astral work without being prompted. The other reason is because I haven’t wanted to remember. I haven’t said anything before falling asleep about remembering what happened the night before. It’s nothing against the dreams I am probably having and don’t remember. It’s just that, figuring them out, can be such a huge pain in the ass. And sometimes, there is no message and I have to come to that conclusion at some points and I hate that. I would like to always believe my dreams are aspects of my subconscious, trying to talk to me. Unfortunately, sometimes, it’s just our minds blowing off steam. But last night… yeah.

So, I had two dreams. I’ll talk about the simple and easy one first.

I dreamed this just before waking up and I understand most of the context behind it. It started off hazy. It was like I was entering a situation that was already mid-deep when I started the dream. I remember lots of action packed sequences prior to actually being in the dream. I had to help NCIS agent, Gibbs, locate a pendant that was dangerous in the wrong hands. You see, if you clasped the pendant in your hand and made a fervent wish that dream would come true. Now, any Supernatural fan knows this necklace because it’s the one that Dean wears all the time. Only, it wasn’t because instead of a head it was two nails wrapped in golden twine together with a third and a fourth coming out in a Christian cross pattern. (I don’t know what the symbolism there is.) Oh yeah, and by the way, I was Xena, Warrior Princess, helping out Gibbs and we were lovers.

So, we end up in a giant Norman Bates kind of house with red carpeting everywhere. It’s a house and an old-time movie theater, too. And we’re roaming around, trying to find this pendant so that no one could unwish the world because someone, somewhere, was bound to want to unmake the world. It was like I was Sekhmet and Gibbs was Sutekh and we both had to destroy the followers of Apep from making uncreation happen. (THE SYMBOLISM HERE.) And I ended up finding the necklace first. I put it on and I grabbed it in my hand and I wished, I wish things would go back to the way they were before… But, I never said what that before time was and then, Supernatural came on the television and I woke up to hear Sam and Dean in the pilot episode.

This dream is easy to figure out. I was Xena because I see her as self-empowerment in woman form. I was with Gibbs because he’s an older, wise man who takes care of his people. I wanted the necklace because I feel like my life should go back to the way it was before… well, and that’s open to interpretation. I could think of it as before my father died or before my sexual assault(s) or any of that. It doesn’t matter. I was hoping for an out-clause to the way things have been and my mind conjured it up in the form of a necklace that granted wishes. The Supernatural thing is due, in large part, because I’ve been watching it daily for the last two weeks while I try to catch up to the current season. So it was like my brain was looking for a way to let off steam with my fandoms. (I love Dean Winchester – his necklace. I love Gibbs – his appearance. And I wish I had Xena qualities all the time.) So, like I said, this dream was pretty easy to figure out.

The one before that… not so much.

You see, I’m pretty sure I had this dream as a way to let off steam. I was not best thrilled upon waking up from the one prior to that. It was morbid and scary. And my mind needed to slip out of that dark thought-stream.

That one started with missing children. I was trying to find them, at first. But, as time went by, I found the guy who was taking the children. He was running experiments on them, but it wasn’t because he was some evil mad scientist. He was trying to save the world. He showed me what he had intended and what he was trying to stop, although I don’t remember what it was he was hoping to prevent with these experiments. All I remember is that he kind of swayed me to his viewpoint and he had me help him.

There were four children, still alive, and they were the key to keeping the world from ending. To stop the end of the world, we had to mesh a charm into the children’s ribcages. It was the lower left portion of the ribcage. There were two boys and two girls and the final child that we needed – the special, hand-selected child that would stop the end of the world – I had to work on that one. I had to make the charm myself. The ingredients of the charm are wishy-washy in my head. I remember having to take a skeletal foot and turning it into a kind of basket or box. Inside the skeletal foot, I had to put various ingredients. I remember, clearly, a kind of thing that looked like a lucky rabbit’s foot and then a very fine but gritty powder that was brown. I had to sprinkle that in there. There were other parts of the charm, but those were the two big, most important points to this charm. And then, we had to use magic to fuse the basket-charm-foot into the child’s ribcage.

And I was in the middle of this process while everyone else was eating dinner in the room that I was working in. It was dusty and ill-lit. There was a large, long dining table as though we were going to be feeding a hundred people, but there were only a handful of people across the table. I was at one end, demanding that this work because I had seen the man do it, my mentor, and I knew I needed to get this right or the world would end. It had to be perfect the first time because then everything was lost. And I remember looking up from the sleeping child with the skeletal foot-basket-charm in my hand and staring down the length of the old, dusty, forgotten dining area and staring around me and then, I woke myself up from that.

But I can clearly remember seeing the children with the charms in their ribcages.

And I don’t know.

I don’t know what this is.

I’ll put it out there to anyone who cares to give it a shot.

Dream 09/13/2012.

This morning, I had a dream that just will not quit me. Usually after I ponder for an hour or so, flipping through my dictionary app or through the website I prefer for this task, I figure it out. The thing is that, today, none of the words I’ve focused on to read in the dream dictionary have felt right to me. It’s as though I am trying to building a puzzle, but the picture itself is completely unresolved and no matter how many times I try to look things up, the picture is still completely out of focus. And I think because I can’t make sense of it as clearly as I normally can… this is why it sticks with me. There’s another reason, too, why I think it haunts me but I’ll get to that after I tell about this dream. So, let’s get started.

We were driving in a motorcade. It was a huge, long, snaky line of cars that were all heading in the same direction. I honestly can’t say where we were going or why I was in this motorcade. And it’s not the first time that I’ve dreamed of one, either; even just in this last week I’ve dreamed of being in one. I have never been able to satisfactorily conclude what the meaning behind a motorcade is for me. It wasn’t like we were in solemn procession, as though attending a funeral. There were stops. There was laughter. They were picnics. There were jokes. We were in the country – cows and manure smells; mountains in the distance and green, green grass in the foreground. There wasn’t any indication of where we were heading except that at some point, we would be there.

The thing is that the “head” the motorcade was TH’s stepfather. His mom was there too but she was periphery. It was definitely in the care of his stepfather. In a way, this makes sense. His stepfather is a man I associate with raw power, magnetism, and able to plan. He was a firefighter for years and years and years; that had to have given him a leg up somehow in the creation of such huge enterprises, such as a very large motorcade traveling through… somewhere. He’s also the one who always claims he “knows how to get there,” which invariably ends up with people getting lost. But in this dream, he really did know where he was going and how to get there. He was periphery for the most part of the dream, but his essence or aura or emotional associations were vaguely present no matter where I was in the motorcade.

We made frequent stops, as I said. There were hundreds of us and we would all go off and do our own things. I’m not sure if we would camp at night or stop at houses – it doesn’t matter. The rest of the people in this large traveling train were mostly unknown to me. They were faceless, for the most part. Later, I would learn the name of one – and I do know the name of this person and this person, as a real, live breathing human being – but they were nothing to me. At one stop, a strong armed young man flirted with me. I was nonplussed. He was towheaded with bright blue eyes. He was tall and imposing and what I tend to assume the general “popular” look and feel to people. He was listened to and admired by others. This is why I was unimpressed with his flirtation. He was not for me and I knew this.

He continued his flirtations throughout the trip, though.

At one point, at one stop, we were all staying in a house. Or maybe, I was staying in a house. It was the house of Niantic* from my childhood. I was in the back bedroom, or that was where I was going to be staying. The young man was there with a dark haired female. They were both utterly naked and he was inviting me to join them. I was both intrigued and completely alienated by the experience. On the one hand, I wanted to join them very much. It seemed like a good time and it wasn’t like any danger would come from this moment. It was as though I knew that this was a one-time thing. It was gift to me. He was trying to pursue me, to woo me, in any way manageable. This threesome was a gift, too. But I was turned off because, in reality, I’ve come to see myself as asexual and I have implicitly strict control over my sexual wants and desires. A childish belief that “sex is dirty” kept overshadowing the little bits I joined in on until finally, I left the room. I never said a word – and neither did they – but he must have understood.

The next time he found me to pursue me there were no female delectable gifts in the offing. It was just he and I. We were feeding a cow some long stemmed grass. I have never been near a cow, in reality, or fed it anything, but it was a peaceful moment. Later, that night, he came to me in a room I was staying in. And we had sex. It was gorgeous, beautiful, and exciting. I rode him like he was a horse and he reached down to touch me in that electric place. And I felt like I was filled with wild abandon. It was a nice moment. It wasn’t a forever thing. This pursuit was just something in the here and now. There would be no future relationships or consequences. It was just what I needed to release and to be free.

The motorcade ended and this is the first time that speech actually entered the dream. We were at TH’s parents’ home. The whole long huge summit of cars were gone, but there was a huge crowd. In that moment, TH’s stepfather came out of the garage to announce that one of our number – a boy I went to college with the second time around – had to go down to Connecticut because his girlfriend was giving birth to a baby and we had to all hope that everyone came out of that okay. And that was when I woke up.

Part of the reason, I think, that the dream stays with me to this moment is because of the general feeling of good will and peace that was rife within the dream. The moment with the cow in the pasture is only one of a thousand little moments where I felt content for once. And I think it was that feeling, more than just the fact that I can’t figure out what this all means, that this dream sticks with me. Perhaps it will be a solace of sorts when things get out of balance in my life (as they almost entirely are every second of the day). Maybe it was a gift, the dream itself, to keep me more sane than I’ve been feeling lately. Or maybe it was just a way for my subconscious to remind me that there are days and days where I feel completely out of control when I shouldn’t.

I don’t know.

I will tell you this.

Aside from the desire to understand what this motorcade was about, I have to admit that in writing this dream out to the masses, the popular boy has stayed with me (and not just because of the thrilling dream orgasms). When I first woke, I thought he was a stand in for how I used to view and feel about TH. But that never seemed quite correct, either. He never actively pursued me in any way. We danced a dance around one another until one moment, we broke the imagined distance that separated us. But while I was writing about him and the sexual moments with this unknown boy, I realized that elements of it represent or mirror moments that I had with a certain high school ex-boyfriend who I am friendly with to this day. (He deserves his own shadow work, this boy, although the entirety of our relationship was not awful. In the grand scheme of things, it was completely nonfunctional and parasitic, but it kept me sane in a time where insanity loomed constantly within my reach.) I’m not sure if it was the sexual freedom I felt back then, with him, that I’m to focus on or if it’s more than that.

You see, this sex stuff has made me think more clearly about things than I normally have. It’s the act of being wooed so to speak that gives me a more sexual freedom than I have on a regular basis. I’m not sure what it is about it but there is something in the act of being pursued by another that makes it easier for me to open myself up to sex. This dream could also be my clue that I want to be pursued. I don’t feel like I can be or should be, especially by strong-armed young men. After an intensely miserable time last night where my self-esteem ended up not just in the toilet but irretrievably flushed down said toilet, I curled into a ball and ignored it. My body image has always been bad – even when I was little more than a hundred pounds, all told – but it has only suffered as time went by and the weight I’ve tried to get rid of has either stuck around or come back.

I may be at the giving up point in all of that.

But in thinking about my self image and my self esteem, I’ve come to realize that I don’t really believe that I deserve to be pursued. Not in a sexual sense, but in a general romantic one.

This dream has repercussions all across my mind and throughout my body. On the one hand, it was calming and freeing and like a little vacation from the vagaries of life. On the other hand, it has opened up so many more questions than I could ever hope of answering. All I do know is that I want to know what the hell I keep doing, dreaming about motorcades, and why someone who is strongly beginning to identify as an asexual would require a sex dream.

* Niantic, Connecticut. My great-grandmother owned a house out there for who knows how long. In the summers, if we were lucky, we would be able to rent it for a week or two. I know we didn’t spend a lot of time there because there were a ton of grandkids and great-grandkids who all wanted to spend time there during the summer. As a child, I tended to believe that since my father was dead and there were living grandchildren to let stay in the house, we were given the dregs if anything at all. This is why I spent a week out of my summers in Misquamicut, RI instead of in Connecticut. The thing is that I can still very vividly recall that house – which is still in the family but I’ve only been to once since my childhood – and it was in the back bedroom that I stayed one week in summer as a youth with my childhood best friend, Meg, that I can recall. I believe it was called the “blue bedroom” to distinguish it from the “flower bedroom” next door. It was that room, the blue one, that I was in when the strong-armed boy offered me the dark-haired girl as a gift.

Sometimes, The Act of Suffering Is Too Much… So the Mind Does it Without Your Consent.

I was in the middle of a very interesting dream when I woke up this morning. I think that since I woke up before the dream had a conclusion that is why I remember it this morning. I’m going to relay the dream and then talk about what I believe it signifies.

So, the dream starts off with The Sister and I heading to a party of some sort, either a birthday party or a congratulations party, to someone I used to date in high school. When we stopped dating, our break up was like a resounding bang throughout our group of friends and I lost pretty much all of them after the break up. (I speak to one on FB only and the other is my best friend in Texas.) I was invited by the one friend I still speak to on FB (his name is Wheat for “Buckwheat” from The Little Rascals). I honestly don’t know why I agreed to go since the dream started with the Sister and I arriving at the bar this party was being held out. Now, the bar is straight out of my childhood. I’ve thought about it since waking up and it reminds me of the place where we used to get Penny Candy when I was a kid, Murphy’s. The place had an upstairs and a downstairs. When we first arrived, we were at the upstairs portion of the bar. We were directed to the downstairs where private parties were held, so we went tromping down there.

Upon first entering the giant room, we were standing in front of a stove with a microwave above it, which was sitting beside a washer and dryer. The room we entered was filled with tables. These are the long trestle tables that you lay a buffet out on. There was food coming out of everyone’s ears… there was just so much there. The people who were already gathered around were people who I didn’t know or if I did know them, they were shadowy and hazy members from my past that I no longer cared about. The only person that I consciously recall being there was Wheat, who had invited me. He was also the only person besides the ID-checker at the door who I spoke to. The Sister was off to the side, just waiting around for whatever shoe was to drop. I was doing my best wallflower impression, which wasn’t all that much of an impression. Wheat was doing the host thing, which if you have ever met him… that would shock you. Wheat isn’t all there and could never do the host thing for longer than a few minutes. But Dream-Wheat was on his game.

At one point, I was speaking with the Sister when Wheat came up. Various conversations were flowing around us and the party was picking up, but still no Ex-Boyfriend. The Sister moved away from Wheat and I to talk to someone. She had somehow managed to burn an old coin into her foot, so everyone kept remarking on the “tattoo” there. She kept having to explain the whole story. While she did that a second or third time, I spoke with Wheat. “I feel like I’ve got to warn you,” he says to me. “He’s planning a really cruel joke because of what happened.”

Furious, I sneered. “That was years ago, Wheat! What the hell?” Fuming, I added, “And in the grand scheme of things what happened between us wasn’t so bad.”

I beckoned to the Sister to talk to her. We were going to go into the bathroom. I walked into the hallway just as TH’s little brother, his girlfriend, and their baby showed up. (I don’t even, although I have an idea or two, which will be discussed later.) I brought the Sister into the bathroom and told her what-all was going on. And I repeated what I said, “And in the grand scheme of things what happened between us wasn’t so bad.” She agreed with me since she knows all of the gritty details. So, I ended up needing to go outside to smoke a cigarette and she came with me. While we went outsides, she told me all of the stories she had been making up to explain the scarification of the coin on her foot. Giggling, I watched as a bunch of people I met via the old store I used to work at show up. They showed up on motorcycles, but as in they had caught a ride with honest motorcyclists and instead of pulling into the parking lot to drop off their passengers, those guys from Wings had to jump off the back of them to run into the bar. I waved hi to all of them.

After my smoke break, I went back inside and the Ex had shown up. He was busy futzing around at the microwave on top of the stove. I waltzed over to him, caught TH’s little brother’s eye, smiled at the Sister. I was rehearsing what I would say in my head – that was years ago, we’re all parents now, there were kids here even now, there’s no need to let it fester this badly – and then I woke up.

Some quick notes before I move onto other things to discuss.

  1. I think that TH’s brother showed up in the dream because I tend to view him as an overprotective figure. Wherever he goes, his girlfriend goes. (I. Am. Not. Joking.) That explains her. But, I think he was in the dream as a means of protection against the ex-boyfriend who has serious military training. And even though TH’s little brother has no training whatsoever, once you size him up, you tend to just not want to fight him anymore. He is huge, he is fearsome, and the second you look at him in a fighting light, you start to see your life flashing before your eyes. So, I think that’s why he showed up in the dream.
  2. The Sister was there as moral support. The thing is that she wasn’t the Sister as she is in real life. I don’t know what face she was wearing. She was skinny as fuck, with long chestnut-brown hair that had a slight curl at the ends. She had a classic Audrey Hepburn dress on, which is how I knew it was the Sister without having to use her name because Audrey Hepburn is the Sister’s thing. In fact, she looked very 50s in the dream. Again, that’s a trademark of the Sister. I constantly tell her she was born in the wrong decade.
  3. You will notice that I italicized a phrase I used twice in the dream. “And in the grand scheme of things what happened between us wasn’t so bad.” The reason I made it so apparent is because that exact phrase was resounding in my head upon waking up. Things had happened since I had said that particular phrase, but it was still going strong in my head (like an echo without the diminishing capacity) when I woke up.

Now, I think this dream is connected, somehow, to the dreams I’ve been having where I cannot hear the conversations between myself and my online friends before having more dreams that I know I cannot and will not recall. I mentioned before that I was thinking that those dreams had to do with some shadow work that I haven’t gotten around to for various reasons. So, I think this dream is a kind of like… middle project that my mind decided to take up without my conscious mind having anything to do with it. Part of the reason I think that’s what been going on is because I haven’t been feeling as negative about some of my shit lately, but there’s just that niggling feeling, too, that what I’m saying is what has been going on.

And the real big reason I think this is because of the comment I made that was resounding in my head upon waking. I’ve said stuff like that before about the entire situation, but I’ve never actually said it to the person who needs to hear it. I’ve also never really believed what it was that I was saying. It’s not because I haven’t gotten over it, but because I always felt extreme guilt at my actions and the ending of the relationship and the subsequent loss of my friends. But, the thing is that while I could have gone about things in a much better way, I didn’t. And there is nothing I can do or say or time machine to fix that. I did what I did and that’s the end of it. The thing, too, is that when I woke up with that in my head, I was feeling extremely emotional. The dream, in and of itself, was an emotional dream but that particular phrase really brought the emotion stuff home. I think I was working through that particular moment in my life and by waking up in the middle of it, I was supposed to acknowledge that is something I should be working on right now or that I don’t need to worry about it so much because my subconscious is doing that for me or that I stopped the process in the middle, accidentally.

I’m not sure if any of those are real possibilities or if I’m just stretching here.

And I definitely feel like A.S. has something to do with this.

Any thoughts or comments would be greatly appreciated.

The Shadow’s Back, Or Magic PT 1.

When it comes to magic and spell craft, I have to be pushed against the wall before I actually start working towards those goals. I have to be at my wit’s end before I’ll even consider working anything. This is a very unfortunate attitude since one of my dreams is being that wise woman people go to. That woman who practices wort-cunning and hearth craft and has all the answers you seek, whether you want them or not. I can’t really get to that stage if I’m so busy being all, “Magic is a no-no, okay?” So, I have to work through that, which is something I recognize. The only other way to get me passed the “magic is a no-no” stupidity is the actions of someone else. In effect, I have to be poked and prodded in that direction. I was poked and prodded in that direction by a darling, dear friend of mine (the Sister). She said, “We need to do something. Magical. Soon. It’s a show of solidarity.” And I just about wanted to curse so much as to make a sailor blush. My reaction?


Some of the back story is listed in the first link at the bottom of the post. The rest of it is this…

The Sister, being connected to Demon Boy, has weird moments where she knows he’s fucking around. She suffers from the KNOWING. (That’s what she calls it. It’s a family trait on her paternal grandmother’s side of the family. And it is both irritating that she always KNOWS and good because then I don’t necessarily have to explain shit.) Since she’s been laid up, her KNOWING has been more pronounced. After all, since she is in fact an invalid at present, what else does she have to do besides watch movies and color in her coloring books? So, she’s spent a lot of time the last few days KNOWING that shit isn’t quite right with me or with her ex-boyfriend and to some extent with another mutual friend of theirs who is just starting out on this pagan path. At first, she just figured her KNOWING about issues with the ex-boyfriend were, you know, leftovers from their relationship but then, she had a dream. And some of her dreams, well you don’t ignore them.

This particular dream detailed conversations between myself, her, her ex-boyfriend, and the new pagan friend of hers. There were others, but they were background figures. The only other person pronounced in the dream was The Shadow. She’s positive that this is Demon Boy and I am not one to deny her. I know how he works. I’ve known him longer than she has for fuck’s sake. I don’t know what the hell the kid dabbled in prior to MEH and I moving back up from Texas and before the Sister moved in with him, but it was some heavy shit. I’ve mentioned the living room’s nexus of sorts that left everyone feeling the need to sleep within five minutes of being in that room, no matter how well rested you were or what you were doing in that room, either. The kid is a dabbler, or was. He’s used this to get his way with who knows how many people. Part of the reason, in all honesty, that Demon Boy and I have issues is that I am one of the few women in his life that wasn’t sucked into his little demonic hell of horrors. This pisses him off, but it also gives me a fair immunity to his shit. If I wouldn’t put up with it in real life, I sure as hell am not going to put up with it in the astral either.

This is one of those cases where he’s fucking around with shit because he wants to do whatever to the Sister. Maybe he needs to feed on her some more. Maybe he just wants to hear her voice. And she’s not listening to the carefully crafted signals he’s been sending to her. So enter the dream. And it wasn’t just the single aspect of this dream that makes the two of us sit up and realize that this shit is real but that every subsequent dream that the Sister has had ends up with having the Demon Boy in shadow form in them. It’s at the point where the two of us are pretty sure that she needs to sit down the new pagan friend and her ex-boyfriend, just as a warning. There’s no telling that the two of them will listen, but it’s better to be prepared than anything else, eh?

So, enters the Sister telling me that we have to do some magic soon. I’m more likely to listen to her intuition on such things over myself. My instinct is to throw down some brick dust at the entrances to her home, as well as mine, and leave it at that. I’d also, possibly, ask Legba to do some guard duty so that Demon Boy doesn’t bother entering my house in any way, either physical or astral. Since I told him I’d hex him to death and shove his dick down his throat if he bothered me again, he’s been quiet. But if he can’t make entrance via the two people who have no idea what the hell is going on, then he’ll come towards me next. I know that. I don’t have to like that, but I know it’s only a matter of time.

It’s time to prepare.

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