In my time honored tradition of avoiding one problematic thing by immersing myself in another one, I made another attempt to pass the flames of the Path of Daleth again. I reckoned that if the angelic blessing was going to be dumped on my head willing or not, I might as well take advantage of it.
I did not think I would be able to transition to Binah. The headspace is different. The awareness is different. Sometimes I make it, but what I bring back is in an incomprehensible language that I only have the feelings of but can’t transmit the memory of in any humanly comprehensible way.
I was surprised to open my eyes and not only find myself standing on the waters of Binah, but to be softly glowing myself as well.
Mary was waiting for me. Continue reading “Dream Journal: 2017-04-20.01”
I wasn’t reaching for an answer. I wasn’t reaching for an acknowledgement. I wasn’t reaching for confirmation or a rebuttal or a rebuke or a reason. I just wanted to “stretch”. The only way to recover old skills long dormant is to use them again, after all. I had no expectation of actually doing anything.
What mattered is that I tried to do anything at all. Isn’t there a saying that “God will meet you halfway if you only but try.” ? Continue reading “Spirit Journal: 2017-04-19.01”
I made the necessary preparations and carved out the minimally required number of hours in solitude. I was going to go up that holy mountain tonight, dammit. Every part of me was singing one part of a duet and I knew the only way to complete the harmony was to go.
So I went. Continue reading “Dream Journal: 2017-04-18.01”
*profuse bitching about the consequences of profuse bitching goes here*
Dreamt I was on my way to help a friend with a ritual, but to get to his ritual room, I had to pass through a hallway lined with altars and shrines. I kept my hands to myself as I went and listened to a mutual friend identify who each table was dedicated to solely by the things on the table.
The mutual friend stopped me at a pair of small tables so close together the covering cloths were touching. Continue reading “Dream Journal: 2017-04-17.01”
The theme of Nature versus Nurture comes up a lot in my writings lately. Not all of my dreams involving conflict between established traditions (Nurture) and personal abilities (Nature) are mere flights of fantasy. My immediate relatives reject me based on lack of a shared culture that was intentionally denied me (Nurture), but my ancestral chain going from Great Aunt Mabel™ and up are reaching out and seizing me anyway (Nature).
There is a lot to be said for initiatory traditions, sincere initiations, and formal education in paths, histories, and workflows that keep a (sub)culture alive. But a good number of those avenues are closed off to me, either by malicious intent or lack of disposable income. There is no “nurturing” to be had. I’m on my own. Continue reading “Spirit Journal: 2017-04-16.01”
Dreamt Hell had frozen over and I managed to attend a pagan con. There was a clash of cliques in one of the hallways and I got caught in the crowd that assembled to watch the catfight. As I struggled to move away from the knot of bruised egos, I was able to overhear enough of the verbal weaponry to understand the core of the conflict.
A fight over bloodlines usually ends with blood spilled. I had no desire for any of that promise to be fulfilled with any of mine. Continue reading “Dream Journal: 2017-04-15.01”
I dreamt that I slept. No shit. Straight up, that’s it. My spirit perched on the head board of my bed in the form of a crow and watched my body sleep soundly for eight fucking hours. It returned to my flesh in the microsecond between the phone screen lighting up as the time app marked the hour of the alarm and the sound of the alarm beginning.
I saw my body’s movement quirks and heard 2am farts and waited out the time peacefully and in abiding solitude.
It felt like a preparation and this afternoon I received some news that made me grateful for the down time.
I’m ready. Let’s go.
If I hold still, maybe they won’t see me. I already knew that was a false hope, but until I could get my wits about me, I’ll take any hope I could get.
All I cognitively knew was that I wasn’t in my room anymore, I wasn’t in my body anymore, I was surrounded by spirits of the dead and I wasn’t sure I wasn’t one of them. Continue reading “Dream Journal: 2017-04-13.01”
The nightmare was just a repackaging of internal shit and external drama. Some wounds will never heal fully no matter how often I clean and salve them. Despite being lucid, none of my usual tricks brought the runaway mental train to a halt and I settled in for what was going to be another night of self-harm one way or the other. Continue reading “Dream Journal: 2017-04-12.01”
I sat down to further pull apart resurfacing memories and feelings. I looked down at my hands in my lap then looked up to see I wasn’t in my room anymore. [My Bow-Wielder aspect] sat across from me, holding my rosary in one hand and my surviving bible in the other. The Angel of the Lost Crucifix stood guard over her.
“I need another name for that bugger lurking over you.” Continue reading “Dream Journal: 2017-04-10.01”