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”
I had barely closed my eyes when Malphas1 was upon me. Continue reading “Dream Journal: 2018-01-14.01”
I fell through a thousand worlds. Through winters and summers. Through solid rock and open skies. Silks and furs and iron couldn’t hold me. Plastics and biofilms and networks couldn’t catch me.
I had no place in any of them.
I fell through a thousand worlds in the blink of an eye and landed on my feet with a splash. The water embraced my feet and ankles as I came to terms with the sudden stillness. The ground underneath me accepted the burden of my arrival and held firm.
Spanish moss hung from the unmoving trees that framed my view no matter where I looked. A pair of eyes reflected my wonder before blinking under the surface. The gator moved indifferently into depths I could not see. The damp air covered me with the scent of tenacity that could be the striving of life or the patience of death.
I recognized what world I had fallen into and smiled. It has been a long time since I was in the swamp. Even though I did not recognize a single tree, current, or marker, and had no idea how to get to the places I did know of, I was comforted to be here just the same.
I would not be in the Swamp if the Swamp’s master did not allow it.
I just have to find a different way to his table from where I have found myself.
I meant to take a step to begin that journey. Suddenly exhausted, I fainted and fell where I stood.
The mud caught me as if to say that I will fall through no longer. The water covered my face and the dream ended.
A phone is ringing. I pick up the nearest handset, but the ringing continues. It is the wrong handset. Continue reading “Dream Journal: 2018-01-07.01”
I have had the stone for a while. Esse, once called “The Svartalf” in my earlier writings, had claimed it to be a key for entering spaces he had set aside for me. But after I successfully took the doll back from him two years ago, I interacted less and less with him until by the second half of 2017, I had not interacted with him at all and I wondered if he was now relegated to the past.
Sorting through my things as I continue to settle in the new apartment, I found the stone in my collection of wooish objects. A thumb-sized piece of granite that was originally light gray when I first found it, over the years it has darkened slightly from the handling. The seemingly smooth surface is unpolished allowing light to sparkle from the mica rich stone.
As I sat in my chair, reminiscing about the shenanigans stirred up (and put down) by Esse, I held the stone securely and thought of him. How much of the past will come with me? Continue reading “Dream Journal: 2018-01-01”
While I was chilling at home with absolutely no fucks to be had or given, an acquaintance calls me. He’s participating in an on-site group ritual and their contracted seer called them with a last second extortion attempt raise in price that was above and beyond what the group was willing to pay. If I were to be paid the original amount (a sum that caught my attention for sure), would I be willing to drop everything and come over to be the seer for the night?
“Before I let my greed completely blind me… that’s a lot of goddamn money for a one-night show that’s not even guaranteed. What are you not telling me?” Continue reading “Dream Journal: 2017-12-03”
I don’t know about a lot of things right now. I’m still in the liminal boundary between desert and forest. I do have a “life update” that is a direct result of the DoMagick: Beginner’s Mind workings I did in September. Of the two items in this update, one is already completed and the other is still ongoing. Continue reading “Transitions”
When I scribbled my notes immediately after yesterday’s ritual, the agreement felt like something I had witnessed rather than something I had participated in. Even throughout the day, as I reflected on the actions to see if there was any scene where my memory proved untrustworthy, the agreement remained intact, word for word. It was only when I was finally able to sit down and type up the subtleties of the scene, encasing the event in parsable words for you to read, that the full weight of what I have done pressed on me.
I am terrified.
Not of the spirit, nor of his master.
Not of the godhead, nor of the angels.
I am terrified of myself and what I am becoming as I continue to challenge the fears that were beaten into me and defy the edicts that were supposed to protect me but kept me safely caged instead. Continue reading “Do Magick: Day 19 – Smoke”
The completed wand still left a brush of oil on my hand if I gripped it hard. To be expected, as the grain of the apparently smooth surface of the worked wand lifted once the extra virgin olive oil started to soak in. I remember the same happening to my other wand as the dry wood absorbed the offering. Each day I will have to buff the wand with a shop towel to remove the loose particles and burnish the underlying surface with another layer of oil until it seals itself.
The wand was in my hand as it was too long to fit in the small shoulder bag holding the rest of my ritual gear. The two cumbersome items were the Book of Oberon itself and the large cotton shawl that was my working shroud. I had figured out a way to twist the thin fabric of the shawl into a compact knot but the book refused to bend to anyone’s will.
I stood in line with other would-be magicians. Ahead of me I saw the gilt framed doorway into a large white building and the two people gatekeeping it. They accepted some with only the inspection of paper copy of an identification card and demanded others prove the authenticity of a properly assigned and notarized card. Some they accepted without identification based on the contents of their bags, and others they violently rejected despite the bags being as complete as money could buy. I did not know the criteria by which they judged who was worthy to enter the white building.
As the line grew shorter before me, and I was able to see more of the white building, I questioned why I was in this line in the first place. I tapped the person waiting in front of me on the shoulder and asked a neutral question. “What happens to those who are rejected?”
The person turned their head to speak towards me but never turned to face me. “They are refused. It is their choice if to reapply or not. It is worth entering the club though. Doing so adds legitimacy and power to your work.”
I was able to see a sign above the doors. Large gold letters shone against a black background. “The Inner Sanctum” A smaller sign underneath the club’s title explained the club’s purpose. “A gathering for true magicians.”
Are you fucking kidding me? Continue reading “Do Magick: Day 17 – Midterm”