As I prayed through the nine days of Saint Mary MacKillop’s novena, I knew I was going to find my apostate ass sitting willfully in church. I could find no justification for doing so other than “It’s time”. If my path was going to go where the clues were implying it would lead, if I was going to heal further from the abuses that were forced on me, if I was going to make peace with my past and my present, there was no other way.
I was so terrified of following through, I lost the ability to shed tears over it. Continue reading “Slaying Dragons”
The way my angelus aspect stood behind my seated form mirrored the way the black armored angel stood behind [the Bow-Wielder]. I held the wood beaded rosary I had restrung. She held a shiny black beaded rosary similar to the one I had sent away.
“Years ago, you said I was a terrible Christian, and that I had to make a choice between devotion and survival. I chose survival, and with that choice, completed my apostasy.”
She answered with a silent nod as her soft and tender smirk mocked me.
“I’ve been chasing your ass ever since.” Continue reading “Courage, Trust, and Openness”
I didn’t promise I would. I said I’d look into it. Saint Mary MacKillop’s themes are “Courage, Trust, and Openness”. And you know what… I think confronting a fear would be a damn good way to express, demonstrate, and internalize those themes.
It you do not have a Catholic friend, attending Mass is still one of the best introductions to the Church and going alone is not really difficult at all.
Continue reading “Daring the Devil”
It has been about two months since I last saw anything from the hillside spirit I zoom past to and from work. I had mentioned to others that it felt like a door was gradually closing starting last fall when the harvesting of the fields around the hill was at its peak. Continue reading “Spirit Journal: 2017-05-29.01”
A Catholic friend and I often have conversations about her faith and my lack. Neither one seeks or even wants to convert the other, but the space between us is an accepting one and she knows she can air out her doubts without condemnation for or against from me. Our most common reply to each other in these moments has been “And how does that make you feel?”
In a moment of complete lack of mental brakes, she asked me for my opinion on Mass, and I let slip the inconsiderate answer of “It’s a magic ritual.”
The silence that followed felt like bricks falling on my head.
“Explain.” Continue reading “Spirit Journal: 2017-05-06.01”
Last night was going to be the night I make my next formal attempt to scale the Holy Mountain. Self work that I thought was going to be just a couple nights of wishful thinking and patting myself on the back for being so daring and explorative had turned into weeks of rescuing my shattered and forgotten soul pieces from the past, present, and implied threats from the future.
I had forgotten all about ascending the Holy Mountain, to be honest, as another desire arose with the recovered pieces to take priority over the expression of pride I had mistaken for progress.
Unity. Continue reading “Spirit Journal: 2017-04-15.01”
I understand now that neither Will nor Knowledge will get me past the flames. The answer is Desire and the lust must be for Union.
If I give up, nothing really changes. This is a Bastard Path anyway and none of this is “real”.
If I persist, if I ascend the Holy Mountain past that point, I will be altered yet again, and by a process that terrifies me.
I haven’t decided yet.
I brushed my hair backwards after washing it last night. After years of setting the pinch-short afro to orient forward, while discussing certain events with Dter, I brushed it backwards and set it without realizing what I had done. Continue reading “Dream Journal: 2017-01-12.01”
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”
Spirits: You need to learn The Thing.
Ancestors: The Thing is a good way to interface with us.
Random Divination: The Thing is mutually pluggable with you.
Rummer John: You know what would help? The Thing.
OG: I’m inserting myself into your life explicitly to participate with The Thing.
Friends: We could see you being all in The Thing.
Me: There is no one to help me into the pool. I don’t know how to find The Thing, how to learn The Thing, or who I could scrape trust to even begin to learn The Thing. And even if I could begin with The Thing, what the hell am I going to do with it?
Fam: Hey Keri, what’s this shit on me?
Me: It looks like The Thing, smells like The Thing, and tastes like The Thing. If only I knew The Thing and could directly help deal with this shit.