Whispers only entangle those who had no business being involved in the first place. So. Let’s get this done and over with.
If I have offended you, if I have slighted you, if I have done wrong against you or against those you defend, if you want to have some * words with me, let’s go.
No pretense. No preambles. None of this “Well I don’t know how to say this but”. Let’s just go.
If you don’t want to do it publicly, my messages are open. If you want to leave your gripe anonymously for a public response, you can do so on either one of my personal websites.
But this subtweet/contextless/you’re so vain you think this post is about you/if you do this go away is going to stop. And I’m guilty of it, too, and I finally realized doing that just keeps the wound open.
So if I have wounded you then let’s debride the wound, get to the source of the conflict, and then move on to the next thing rather than just sitting there and festering.
Back when I still thought I had all the time in the world to not only write for NaNoWriMo but also edit the daily updates and make a cutesy header image for each post, I used the following image for Chapter 2 of the story:
I have a ring that has been worn nearly every day since it was given to me nearly five years ago. A sort of large “cocktail” ring with a good size “stone” of composite amber in resin, which is then set in silver. I have always loved the deep rich color of the stone and the window setting allows me to see through the thickness of the amber to the underneath instead of just sighting along the top surface.
It’s been a while since I’ve given it a good cleaning of its nooks and crevices, so off came the ring and out came the swabs. Part of my check is holding the composite stone to the light to look for internal cracks and just to delight in the interior structure and visual textures.
I used to be a High Snob™ about gems, crystals, stones, and goods made from them. A man-made opal was for the pretties but if you wanted True Opal Power™, 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.
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.
“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.”
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.
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.
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.