“I’m sorry, Ma’am. I can’t make a connection. I have nothing to give to you.” As I spoke, I gestured to the divination tools in front of me. Cards, notched sticks, and marked stones lay in lovely patterns that would surely appeal to someone’s sense of aesthetic.
The client, a youthful appearing white woman in her mid-30s, had claimed to have no knowledge of divination tools other than what popular movies had used as props. The way her eyes scanned over the cast items spoke more than what the tools themselves were saying. She was inferring her own meaning in the items. Her lips pressed as her understanding gave her information she did not want to receive. I waited for the argument to start.
“I see.” She shifted slightly on her floor cushion. The layers of black lace and satin snagged on each other. I could taste the play of static. “Have you exhausted all of your methods of communication?” Continue reading “Punch In, Punch Out”
The first occurence of this dream happened several weeks ago. The scene was so quick, it was easy to dismiss it as the echo of a commercial or some scene I read in a mostly forgotten text. But the dream persisted in repeating until I recognized it.
The dream begins to reveal I am standing in my kitchen. Folded bags attest to the great amount of groceries I had just stocked my pantry and refridgerator with. I’m standing, looking at enough food to feed a marching band for an hour, and feeling pretty pleased with myself.
Outside, the bright day suddenly becomes stormy and dark. A fierce wind blows against the windows, shaking them and testing the seals.
There is a knock at the front door. Whoever is knocking is not sure anyone will answer. Continue reading “A Strange Herb”
I had woken often during the night, but had no anxiety about it. It’s just a thing that happens sometimes. I was more annoyed that I was likely to fall into a good sleep only five hot seconds before the alarm sounded.
The pattern of sleeping for five, wake for thirty, ended as I felt my body fully relax into deep and indulgent sleep. My body now warm and comfortable, I recognized my closed eye view of the entire room as a hallmark of hypnagogia. The four wood statues remained motionless and without light, yet my mind’s eye saw a shadow slip away from underneath them.
The fluid shadow flowed forward towards me across the top of the dresser, slipped off the dresser with ease, and moved quietly to the side of my bed where it rose and took on the form of a man who initially towered over my probe and sleeping body.
Continue reading “Ochre and Amber”
Dter1 went back to my parents’ house to pick up any mail still going there. It was her first time setting foot at the property since leaving the week before Christmas. I could tell something was bothering her after she came home, but I did not pry. She remained apart from me for an hour up to her own shenanigans before she declared there was something she had to say or go bust.
“The house. It’s hollow, Mom. It’s not just empty, it’s hollow. I didn’t realize how full the house was with spirits before until I walked in and felt the emptiness reflected back at me. Did [the Regulars2] leave when we did? Where did they go? Because none came with us.”
That’s a good question. All these years, I had assumed that the house was full of spirits because of the hole I had opened in my youth in an attempt to prove that ghosts aren’t real. All the paranormal bullshit that happened after was my fault, I had assumed, and it was my responsibility to mitigate the damage as best as I could and care for those spirits that was now attached to the house. Continue reading “Larger On The Outside”
Until yesterday, astronomical events didn’t fuck with me any more or any less that any other person on this planet. Eclipses were a time of detached observation and an excuse to indulge in terrible puns while teasing the local doomsayer.
I knew there would be a solar eclipse yesterday, that the only area affected by it was Antarctica, and even then it’s just a partial eclipse. So going by all my years of personal precedent, it was a non-event and I had more important shenanigans to get into, like earning a paycheck.
However, to be short, the morning went to shit. Continue reading “Blue Shift”
I wasn’t trying for anything, I was just trying to sleep. Anxieties I had ignored for too long and worries that overfed each other crawled into my bones, making me ache from head to toe.
I couldn’t sleep. I thought to get out of bed and do something constructive like finally count how many tarot decks I actually have. (I continue to be ashamed by the amount of retail therapy I used to distract me from the environment I was living in. My opinion of hope remains that it is the worst evil of all.)
I couldn’t move and my mouth tasted like it was filled with iron.
Ah. Hypnagogia. Fuck. Continue reading “Dream Journal: Soft. Be Still.”
The night was not pleasant. Too many distractions built up from the week meant I didn’t recognize calls and tells until after the window for answering them had closed. My sense of disconnection deepens and I fear I have recognized my errors too late to remedy them.
All night I had dreams of a wanderer trying to come home, but home is no longer there. After many adventures, she arrives at the place where she and her friends would regularly meet, only for the place to no longer exist, her former friends are too afraid of what she has become, or be barred from entering because of the viewable changes that heralded how she survived.
All she wants to do is come home. But there is no home for her to come home to. Continue reading “Home Is Where The Coffee Is”
January was full of revelations. I always knew I was being played by “The Spirits”, but finding out just how far the game went really fucking hurt. The degree to which the things I took for granted were just smoke and mirrors meant to distract me made me despondent. Whole fortresses were revealed as vain imaginings whose sole purpose was to keep me distracted so I wouldn’t cut my throat.
I can’t be mad about the result. But now I don’t know what to stay alive for.
A lot of shit got reset in January. I no longer needed certain habits and rituals to keep me safe from other occupants of the house, embodied or not. There were too many hours sitting dumbly staring at the wall waiting for someone (or something) to tell me what to do. Continue reading “Winner’s Remorse”
I’m still sorting through the stuff I brought with me during the move. Work and commute during the week left me very tired after work and the weekends never had enough hours to take care of everything, so I still have four banker boxes of old paperwork to sort through. It’s not helping that the remaining boxes also contain evidence and references to some unpleasantness that was inflicted upon me during the past decade.
Yesterday, as I prepared for leaving for work, I took a hard look at the remaining boxes taking up space and acknowledged the difficulties I was having in facing them. I turned to the Wood Statues that had the misfortune of overlooking neat stacks of documented pain. “I know y’all are supposed to have a special space set aside for ya, and that nothing ugly or unpleasant is to be in your view, but welcome to my environment. Remember, you asked to come along for this. I want this place cleaned up proper, too, but I’m having a hard time of it. If you want this space clear, you’re going to have to help me stay focused, even if that means yelling in my ear.”
As I set out for work, I was mentally creating a schedule for weekend tasks that I promptly forgot about when work does as work is and time tables go to hell. Continue reading “Help In Any Form”
I had chased after this book when I had more money than sense and was chasing a dream that I now realize has nothing to do with me. So here I am, six months and a zip code removed from the delirium and I realize that I will never do anything with this book or the information contained therein.
I considered donating it to the local library, but let’s be real about what the library is likely to do with the book. I bought it so it wouldn’t be pulped after the copyright fiasco in Europe… and it’s a good chance that without any interest from the county’s library patrons, it’s going to be sold for just that after a year or two. (San Bernardino County isn’t exactly a hotbed of occultism.)
So I’m offering it to y’all for $75, including shipping, as is. Yes the shrinkwrap is gone, however this edition did not have any of the inserted goodies that I was previously hoping for. (Why is another rant and a half and the first slap in the face showing me that I was chasing someone else’s dreams.) Continue reading “For Sale: Sak Yant book”