Dream Journal: 2017-01-16.01

Dreamt I was dealing with the dream version of “everyday bullshit” when I looked up into the rotated night sky. The compass points no longer had any meaning, and the only way to tell which way I was headed was to compare my heading with constellations.

As I was trying to do just that, the sky rotated once more and I felt an unvoice tell me to look to my right. The constellation Scorpius hung unusually low. I knew it was also rotated relative to my vantage point, but I could not tell how at the time. (I did understand how once I woke up.)

The constellation was very bright, and I saw it as the ancients did, which made me very happy. Three stars in the bend of its tail were connected by a vividly red line, with the middle star becoming unusually large and bright by the attention.

The unvoice prepared to speak in my ear.

The alarm went off.

I have homework.

During lunch, I was driving back to work when I looked up just in time to see a low cloud formation against a clear blue sky. It looked like a large scorpion, complete with body scales and proper claws, oriented to face “up” like I saw in my dream, but with one exception.

The cloud scorpion’s tail ended without a bend and stinger.

Curiouser and curiouser.

And now, the plot twist. In the dream the sky had rotated so that the southerly constellation was now northerly, with Antares taking the place where Polaris would usually sit. So from my point of view, the “tail” of the “scorpion” was now grazing the northern horizon.

The cloud formation was oriented properly south for the constellation, as if the clouds were showing where the stars are “supposed” to sit at night.

After looking up the constellation, and comparing what I saw in the dream with what actually is in the sky, I’m convinced that the highlighted star is Theta Scorpii. The common name for that star is “Sargas”, but I can’t find any thing more about it than the name is of Sumerian origin.

Maybe it is something, maybe it isn’t. But it makes a nice tale for the day.

Dream Journal: 2017-01-13.01

The dream was weird from the start. Scenes joined together in the way oil and water homogenizes. Abrupt changes and jumps through devouring plot holes confused me and kept me from finding my intellectual footing. At a scene where my father does the impossible and acts in ways he would never do, I give up trying to secure lucidity and just go with the flow.

Aleister Crowley appears then to escort me away from my father, shocking me into full lucidity and prompting me to laugh deep incapacitating peals of laughter at the absurdity of this new scene. Continue reading Dream Journal: 2017-01-13.01

Dream Journal: 2017-01-11.01

Dreamt I was outside a building where rituals were being held. Just passing through, and happen to be there. As I passed the outer wall, I heard the sound of [a particular musical instrument that’s not a drum] and I stop. The noise makes me feel at ease.

I crouch by the outer wall and listen. Minutes stretch into hours and I close my eyes to focus on the sound and relax. Continue reading Dream Journal: 2017-01-11.01

Dream Journal: 2017-01-08.01

“It’s not enough.”

«It’s enough.»

“The store didn’t have [spice originally used], so I had to go with [alternative], and it’s not enough. [Lists all the ways the alternative is not sufficient.]”

«¡Cállate! Piensas demasiado. Es bastante. Serás mejor en él con el tiempo y la práctica. Como las otras cosas.»

“… Did y’all just life lesson my ass?”

«[satisfied meddling grand-aunties feels go here]»

I’m being tag-teamed. Send help. And more coffee.

Dream Journal: 2017-01-07.01

So of course, after a long day of having a very important deadline overruled because other people haven’t gotten their deadline material ready resulting in three hours of (maybe paid) overtime plus another hour driving home disassociating like fuck because this week has been a dumpster fire of dealing with private spiritual issues while not shanking self-proclaimed adult Homo sapiens who throw tantrums because I neither express disgust at their emulation of Pan troglodytes shit-flinging, or approval at the few times they manage to keep it in their pants, I go immediately to bed and dream.

Of my deepest fear.




In nearly every scenario I have already lived through, have witnessed, or can expect to come about if The Thing does come to pass, plus a few that surprised me but dovetailed neatly into other matters I am still afraid of (and actually, explains why that trauma hits me so damn hard when it comes up).

I’m tired.

I go to make coffee. I find myself reaching for a spice bottle we have not had for years. I mostly wake up. «If you would make [Special Coffee] for us, that would be great, because it’s been a long night and we all could use the comfort.»


I want to argue. I want to throw shit out the window. I want to forget at least half of what happened last night. And I want to tie a certain resident to a certain tree in his Superfund yard and set his property on fire because dealing with him and his threat of a lawsuit has been the Key Reason why I was working after hours in the first place.

“No. Because I require [Certain Spice] to make that coffee, and I’m not going to interface with any meatsuits other than my own until I get some god damn coffee for myself.”

«¡Aí, chica! No seas una vieja perra esta mañana. Usa [la otra especia] que tienes. Será suficiente para hoy.»

Wait. That’s Spanish. And a different “voice” as well. And did that voice just call me a bitch? I am not awake enough to be respectful to anyone.

“Look. I don’t know if I’m still dreaming, if I’m awake, if I’m hallucinating, or if I’m dead. All I know is it has been a god damned burning sphincter of a week and if I don’t get some peace and quiet long enough to get some coffee and resume basic functions, I’m going to be punching shit in the taint, be that shit gods, ancestors, local spirits, my shadow, and/or the grave. Not necessarily in that order. ¿Entiende usted?”

I heard no response and figured I was surely damned as hell, so might as well finish making my coffee since it’s going to be the last drink I have in this lifetime.

I opened the coffee tin and noted to my dismay that I had even less coffee than I had calculated. Only enough for one cup. Ah well, it’s enough. I marked off a potential shopping list in my head both to remember it and to check if I was still in the land of the living. “Pads. Q-tips. Milk. Coffee…”

«[La especia especial.] ;) »

… -.-

“Fine. [La especia especial.] … And fuck you, too.”

«[happy bubbly familial feels go here]»

I think this is what “loving family interactions” feels like. I’m not sure. I can work with it though. Feels nice.

Journal: 2017-01-05.02

I usually avoid listening/watching recordings of rituals, because historically, such recordings make me feel… uncomfortable. Maybe I pick up on spiritual echoes that ring me like a tuning fork. Maybe the years of shit I have survived and intentionally forgotten resonate in the mental caverns where my fear lairs. Maybe my lack of self-esteem made me feel dirty for watching undoubtedly genuine experiences that I did not have a right to observe, even though they were released explicitly to be observed.

I took a risk, and listened to an audio recording of a specific ritual that was published explicitly to be listened to at minimum, and to participate along with as standard. (What the fuck is time to spirits, amirite?)

Spoiler: I came out okay. Invigorated, even. Continue reading Journal: 2017-01-05.02