It’s My Car But I’m Its Driver

I used to be a High Snobâ„¢ about gems, crystals, stones, and goods made from them. A man-made opal was for the pretties but if you wanted True Opal Powerâ„¢, then it had to be a nature-made opal that was likely mined using questionable labor practices at best.

It was all about honoring the natural spirit of that stone, or so I was taught when I first started exploring the worlds of occultism, paganism, and magic. Only Mother Earth could create good things. Mankind (with a particular emphasis on “man“) could only corrupt the good things created by Mother Earth. Therefore it was better to chase that One Perfect Stone than use any constructed simulacrum.

Three things happened that would eventually cause me to examine my relationship with the objects I cared for and/or owned: An old opal pendant became active, my car was replaced, and I bought new earrings.

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A Favourite Food – Roast Beef Sandwich

A roast beef sandwich preparation was shared with me, and my dear readers, I have got to put this together. It makes me hungry just looking at it.

Also: for a Roast Beef Sandwich, I lightly grill the bread, add a mayo/balsamic vinegar/garlic/black pepper dressing whose ingredients vary by mood beyond that, very thinly sliced beet, arugula, and purple lettuce on both sides of the sandwich, hummus on only one side of the sandwich, shaved roast beef in the middle (warm in the winter, cold in the summer), cut into triangles and eaten with more of the dressing on the side for dipping.

Yup. Hungry now.

Taking Coordinates

“I don’t know how to start writing about this, Oba, Iyoba. I have been silent for so long, do I even know how to make words flow again. Would that I had your determination to follow through, Oba. Would that I had your resolve to make things happen, Iyoba. I guess I have to start somewhere, so I guess I’ll just start.”

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This Is Not An Update

I’m not supposed to be blogging. I’m supposed to be finishing up a thing that according to the clock will only take me a few hours at most if I be meticulous about it but has taken me literally one week to acknowledge and one more week to determine what exactly has to be done.

I have a lot of words for you, dear Reader, but I am at a loss of how to present them and which ones to give to you. I’m not exactly oathbound to remain silent, but at the same time, things have changed so that what I do speak of does not affect only myself if you were to take my words in bad faith.

So a quick recap of where I am and what I’m doing, then. A list of generalities as a formality.

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No Favour To Return

This is probably not helpful, because I’m much younger than you and not part of any community to speak of but: I have been quietly following you since I made a tumblr to follow people with because I was in a cult in my teens and something no one ever talks about is the ANGER and the HURT and the way that it just KEEPS GOING even as I keep going– the way that it so overtly breaks you and so subtly continues to break even years later– but you. You talk about it. And that– that is a light for me. Not because of ‘it gets better’ or anything hopefully trite like that, but because it /doesn’t/, you just live with it better and worse and your writing sets it out so plain– trauma is trauma, and even in the older pagan/polytheist circles I’ve found, no one likes to just face up to the scars. You do, though, and write it so well– I don’t know. It helps, and I can’t say that I can return the favour at all– but it helps. So. Thank you. I am sorry you hurt so much.

That was a message sent to my Tumblr blog quite some time ago. I never answered it publicly there because I didn’t want to expose the sender to undue harassment.

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Waving back.

Forgive me, I’m out of practice. The words tangle in the web of my feelings and fears. When I poured my words on Tumblr it was a lot easier to post without structure. I told myself that this blog was reserved for formal statements without comment. Truth being that this blog was reserved for long posts.

But the words don’t care. (And Tumblr is becoming dangerous to reader and writer.) They press on my mind and make my hands itch. While I have improved on discerning which words should be kept private and which words are stories starving for sharing, I still am hesitant to post here.

But here I am.

It’s going to take time for me to learn how to speak on this blog again. There is a difference between speaking to an empty room and speaking to the sea.

A Last Look at 2017

I started 2017 physically struggling but spiritually sound, and I am ending 2017 physically sound but spiritually struggling.

As of this post, it has been all of seven days since my daughter [Dter] and I moved out of the family home into our own apartment. If it were not for the influence of, instigation by, and inspiration from several key “spirits” in my life, our circumstances would have been much less pleasant than they ever had been before.

So to [Rummer John], and “Malphas”, and [Horatio], and [Pescado], and [Philippus], and Socheniel, and [ThisWoman], and [Patient Caller], and “Mary”, and “Jehovah”, I give my thanks and acknowledgement for the actions you all have pushed, pulled, and dragged me through.

It’s not the close of a chapter, it’s the close of a book. And I am at a loss for words to begin the next volume with. Continue reading “A Last Look at 2017”