It was a dream. There was a coffeeshop. Late in the day with only a scattering of politely disinterested people. College student crowd but not college student ages. There was a comfy chair. I had snagged it and was relaxing in comfort with working headphones and an intriguing book. Not far away was a small round table. Three guys were clustered around it sitting on small uncomfortable stools. On the table was a small cushion.
On the cushion was a small quartz ball. Continue reading Dream Journal: 2017-02-23.01
No more excuses. I need to start tying up loose ends before I get caught and strangled by them. I reached out to [Merciful Mother] Mary and asked permission to enter Binah for a proper run across the Path of Daleth that she described as ascending the holy mountain to meet her husband. (She is, and she is not Mary, and there’s a lot that I understand that I am not willing to talk about in public.) I had made a half-hearted attempt the other day, and I deserved the standstill I was brought to.
But because reasons, I understand this is much more important than I understood at first, and if I am going to proceed with other important goals in my life, I needed to complete this one along the way.
I entered her sphere and admitted my intentions. She pointed out the things that were keeping me from taking advantage of my gifts and asked what allowed me the grace to continue. Continue reading Another Knot in the Path
The “new” rock sings when I hold it. It makes the nerves in my hand and arm vibrate gently. Continue reading Spirit Journal: 2017-02-18.01
My hubris caught up with me and I took a nap this afternoon. I dreamt of an oil well rig being set up in the middle of Fuck You County (some back-ass part of Texas) in an area that the First Nations peoples had warned was No Good™.
The first week of drilling was one broken thing after another. If it was a hose, is burst or got clogged. If it was a pipe or a shaft, it broke. If it was electrical, it fried. Every day some poor soul passed out from heat stroke despite all the legitimately best efforts by the foreman to keep his men safe. The second week was double the first week’s costs.
The Suit (read: upper management) didn’t care about the increasing costs of drilling. He bragged that not only was the rig replaceable, but so were the men, and he didn’t care if it cost them their souls to get the well dug, that well better be dug on time because the projected profits would greatly overcompensate for the financial cost of digging it.
“You willing to bet your soul on that, Sir?” Continue reading Dream Journal: 2017-02-18.01
A resident just brought me a rock from where he went on vacation. I had asked him and had explained why it was a thing for me. He understood, promised discretion, and that he would take only what ever rock or pebble reminded him of me.
I only had one restriction for him. No lava rock. Because I haven’t pissed off Pele, and I’m not about to start now.
He brought me a water rolled black rock that fit perfectly in my hand.
It was several hours before I realized just what kind of black rock he brought me. I called him and challenged him.
“Yes, it’s a lava rock but not a fresh lava rock. There’s a stream that cuts a channel through an old lava flow and spills into a secluded pond. I got that rock from that pond. [My family and I] were swimming there and I put my hand down under the falls and you came to mind so strongly I thought you were there with me. That rock was under my hand when I thought of you and every time I pick it up I get the feeling it was yours the moment you asked me [for a rock].”
He doesn’t do woo. He read between the lines and asked if I was a “back country woman”, to which I had answered “of a type”. He said he would have risked a greater anger from “whatever was watching” if he didn’t take the rock than the bad luck of taking a lava rock.
Maybe it’s the warm fuzzies of being considered. Maybe it’s the rush of getting what I wanted. But for the past couple of hours I’ve been buzzed to the point of distraction and I realize it started the moment I was handed the rock.
I closed my eyes for five hot seconds and found myself in a conversation with something I could only describe as a shadow. The slip into the audio only vision was so smooth, I did not realize it was happening until it was over.
“Every Catholic family has saints.”
“There’s a generational gap. My parents and my sister were, but then not, and I never was unless you count infant baptism.”
“You have familial saints.”
“I don’t know them. Don’t know their names. Don’t know their history or their relevance.”
“They will teach you new names, and show you personal relevance, and embrace you as you embrace them.”
“You have faith.”
In a long standing tradition of doing one onerous task to distract myself from another onerous task, I actually attempted to climb that damn holy mountain (Path of Daleth).
So a funny thing happened on the way to enlightenment…
All I remember is being curled up in a fetal position on the flooded “ground” of Binah, my head in Mary’s lap, as I cried for ages unable to recover any semblance of “level headed maturity”.
It was a good cry.
I think I needed that. Because reasons.
I see the rosary first. The loop is entwined between fingers and over hands clasped together in a solid grip as if for prayer. The pendant of the crucifix hangs over the knuckles in a way that strikes me at first as an apotropaic amulet, then as a visual censer, and lastly as a key to a lock that disturbs me with its implication.
So I look at the person holding it instead. Continue reading Dream Journal: 2017-02-15.01
“That’s stupid! You’re stupid! This is all STUPID AS HECK!” The boy wrenched himself away from the man dragging him towards the brightly colored camp. He left his brightly hued head cloth in the furious man’s grip as he stuck his tongue out in disrespect and turned to run away. Continue reading Dream Journal: 2017-02-12.01
There is [wine]
in the cup.
The foamy surface clings
and the cup
and the flesh
that tested its
strength. Continue reading Earth[in] Blood