Working with my Borinquen ancestor in learning the Baraja Española led me to working with an entity that I shall refer to as “the Ocean”, because… well… he’s the ocean. ~shrugs~ In typical Weaver fashion, I don’t approach the Ocean through traditional (read: properly initiated) means, but through a private arrangement valid between me and the Deep Blue Sea that was brokered by my Borinquen ancestor. It works for me. It works for the Ocean. And it works for my ancestor.
Well now…
Since making the private arrangement, there have been others that have been demanding my attention as well. Can’t have one of the brothers without the entire clan showing up, right?
Wrong.
I am not oathed to them individually, nor to their religion as a whole. I am not bound by the cultural restrictions that I would have had if I was raised in a household that acknowledged them. I called them out for their attempts at inserting themselves and pointed out that they only have my head if I have abdicated it to them. Which I haven’t. Hell, even the Ocean went out of his way to show me the limits of his hold on me.
I have the right to say, ‘No’.
I used it often.
They offered me many things if I would only say, ‘Yes’. But what I stood to gain was worth far less to me than what I stood to lose. No.
I thought that was the end of it. Until the day of September 13th. The Ocean had shown me a “thing”, and in looking it up, I stumbled across a mystery or two. Understanding it was like allowing expertly made chocolate melt on my tongue. It was something that destroyed what the mass-market was selling, even as it made me understand why what was sold to the masses was sold the way it was. The Ocean had shown me this thing, to help me understand why my Borinquen ancestor was suggesting a certain other thing to be integrated into my personal meanings of the 48-naipe (card) Baraja Española divination deck.
It does make sense, it really does, once you get under the layers.
One of the layers, however, involved the Ocean’s brethren. And they demanded a toll for passing through what they felt was their territory. Even though the process of understanding ultimately excluded them from my meanings and my practices, by virtue of their names being used, they claimed I was placing myself under their rule.
Here we go again.
No.
One by one, I called them out and rebutted their claims. One by one, they accepted my stance, some with humor, some sullen, but all acknowledged they had no right to my head.
Except for one. (There’s always that one.) He would not let it go. Even long after the involvement of he and his was removed from the understanding, he still claimed ownership. He got on my last nerve.
“For someone that claims to not be a god, but merely a helper of a god, you sure are acting like you’re the only god there is. I already went twenty rounds with a one true god before, and I’m still free. Knock the shit off. I’m not yours. I won’t be yours. And I’m more than a little pissed at your refusal to acknowledge my free fucking will by trying to chain me with logical traps that can’t even hold a fart much less a slaver’s chain! Knock the shit off!”
Fast forward to me camping out at a coffeehouse waiting for a call-in from work. I have time. I have coffee. I also have my notes. I’m going to sit here and work out a cartomancy spread inspired by the Ocean. I didn’t realize I had been pulled into a side pocket until I looked up and noticed I couldn’t see the table next to me. Standing over me, was That One Guy. He was determined to place me under his thumb come hell or high water, and since I live far from the physical ocean, he brought hell with him.
“I will show you. You have only the hint of wisdom from [the Ocean], but even [the Ocean] bows to me. He has your blood. I have him. Therefore, I have you.”
Here, the mysteries I had uncovered before asserted themselves. “No, you don’t. I know what those that fear you teach. But I walk between. I’ve seen behind thrones and powers. If I accept you at face value, at the words of what those empowered by you teach, then you would have power over me. But as it is, as long as I say, ‘No’, you have none. And all you can do is throw illusion at me.”
He grinned. “All I can do, is show you the truth. You, yourself, will kneel to me before the day is done. You will take the hem of my robe and submit in righteousness.” He faded and the physical world returned to me.
Gawds. What the fuck is it with monotheists?
Whatever. Back to working out the spread, and liveblogging my frustration on Tumblr.
This… spread… is demanding a Full Stop be implemented in the first round. Of such and such class of cards appear, abort the reading and find something else to do. Now I do use a Full Stop in tarot readings. I abort the reading if the Seven of Discs (Pentacles, Coins, etc.) is the first card dealt. A habit I picked up from using the Thoth, it has melted into my use of other tarot decks and it has proven a reliable indicator of when to not pass Go.
The odds of any one card being the first of a full tarot deck is 1:78, which comes out to a 1.28% chance. As I’m using the Baraja Española decks for this, the chance of any one card is 2.5% for the 40n(aipe), and 2.08% for the 48n.
Okay, the odds look like they won’t get in the way. Right?
But this is a /class/ of cards that will be used as Full Stop if encountered first, and the spread is being designed for the 40nBE, so the odds of a Full Stop is now 10%.
That’s significant.
And after a side slipped warning, I’m wondering if I should throw a full stop myself on this affair.. Boundaries are being dissolved and I keep having to remind myself what the initial purpose of this exercise is.
He kept inserting himself into my thoughts, and quite intrusively at that. I felt my awareness split. One shard is nursing a cold mocha. One shard is at the Ocean’s shore with the notes. And one shard is seeking Rummer John’s table.
I tried to joke away my concern even as I acknowledged it.
I’m not concerned. Nope, not at all. I’m just sitting at Rummer John’s table for the view, not for any reassurances. You know how much shit he’ll give me if I did?
Even if Rummer John confronted me about why I was seeking his table, it would still be more preferable than being yoked to an entity that sought my enslavement. I kept starting over, kept going through the basic steps that the Ocean was showing me. If I was going to read the Baraja Española for others, there were certain cultural symbols that they would be expecting. Even though the symbols are really symbols of a misinterpreted symbol, most of those sitting at my reading table would not understand. They are accustomed to seeing these things, and even though they are not relevant, they will not be settled without them.
But these symbols are those of [the Ocean’s] brethren. And of That One Guy in particular. This was his proof that I needed to yield to him in proper and formal affair. He was the gatekeeper through which understanding and power flowed. I had to yield. I had no choice.
No matter what direction I turned, That One Guy kept pulling the road back to him. He was incessant and crafty, throwing in complications where no complications were necessary. So smooth, I didn’t realize the intrusions were his until after the fact.
I reserve the right to live blog my bitching as I work this out. Such as why the hell does hexadecimal notation have to be all up in this. ~rabble rabble bitch~ Just because modem computers have their history firmly rooted in geomancy doesn’t mean… Oh… Geomancy.
Ifá divination. Binary reduction.
Gawd damn, just how many forbidden boundaries am I going to leave tire marks on before I’m done? Fuck!
Part of my conditional release from Papa Legba’s debt for the cowrie shells, was that I would not use them for established (read: initiated) methods of divination that used cowrie shells. Guess which method was listed by name. Ifá divination.
Forbidden to me, unless, I were to place myself under the yoke of the one that initially taught it…
He appeared again to my sight with a gentle smile. Again, I rejected him, and reminded him that my word to Papa Legba could only be dissolved by Papa Legba. So unless he wanted to start a cross-pantheon pissing fest, his claim was invalid and I would not be learning Ifá divination.
The shard of me sitting at the coffeehouse was confused. Something was wrong. But I didn’t know what. I had difficulty seeing. I was feeling Rummer John’s table more than I felt the wood table. Something was clouding my senses and my reason. I tried to express my concerns in a post.
So here’s the thing. What I wanted was a spread symbolic of certain folk that would help direct the querent towards the source(s) of seemingly unconnected problems. A symbol of a symbol because I am not initiated into certain paths and I don’t have the right to call on them for myself, and certainly not for others. But a recognizable symbol of a symbol because the target demographic would be expecting these symbols because that’s what is in their culture.
Like going to a corner clinic’s nurses for a checkup, but seeing the doctor when things get bad. My role is at the clinic. I’m not credentialed for anything more. And that’s okay.
What I’m getting: 220V to the cerebellum. I’m being plugged in to a system that I am not authorized to touch. And as quickly as I correct myself, I wind up back in it again. My access will not be recognized by any of the credentialed doctors, and I’m sure I’ll be viciously prosecuted for practicing without a license, but it’s like the /system itself/ is plugging me in via a custom interface.
Is this a divination I’m working out? Or is it an invocation, an indwelling, a working, or all the above?
I have no idea but it’s a hella ride so far!
I didn’t want people to worry, so I ended the post in what was supposed to be an upbeat and cheery demeanor. Laugh at danger and such.
I was very afraid. I didn’t know where I was at. Something was interfering with me. But as fast as I would reckon who, the knowledge would be hidden in clouds of white light. Only the shard of me at Rummer John’s table was untouched by the confusion, but that was just a small bit of me.
I finally realized I was being intentionally deceived. I kept forgetting by who, but remembering that someone was fucking with me was enough. The dangers of being isolated, you start losing track of the line between plausible and bullshit.
What would really help: Having a person physically sitting with me and challenging the cards, the notes, and the process as I go. I’m risking being swept up by confirmation bias and emotional self-deception. I’d give all my coffee to have someone just /sit/ with me through this and idly point out when I’m full of shit.
What I’m getting: Another cup of tea.
(Tagged: #Despair & disillusionment. #I has it. #And that seems to be all I’ve accomplished today. #Fuck.)
I felt trapped, caged. I felt manipulated. I knew what I was seeing with the cards was utter bullshit and false. At the ocean shoreline, when I looked at the waters, I could see clearly. When I looked up, away from the waters, my sight was muddied.
Looking up at the heavens, I was reminded of another series of refusals from a One True God deity. Yes, this has all the earmarks of someone trying to bully me into submission.
“I said, no! And I mean it! Dammit! I do not yield to you! I do not submit to you! Decry me as an evil-doer if it helps you sleep at night! You have tens of thousands and hundreds of thousands that fear you as you wish. You don’t have this one!”
[The Ocean] told me to leave it for another day. I had already done well just standing up for myself. I left the shoreline. I did not leave Rummer John’s table, though. I’d rather be embarrassed than subjugated.
A few hours later, I came completely to my senses. But of the day, I remembered very little. I left a little note, more for myself than anyone else, on Tumblr.
That Confounding Spread & notes have been put up for (a while) now. I need to walk away from it for a bit. Everything is melting together, and I’m losing sight of the boundary between where I know I can step and where I know I can’t.
~sigh~
It might be worse. It could be an initiation.
Might be that you’re being credentialed but don’t realize it.
Excuse me, I’m going to go beat Fear and Paranoia into a couple ditches somewhere. I still don’t see the purpose of it. These are all community-serving skills and I have no community to serve.
I’m just a card reader. And a professional bitchologist.
I need a beer.
My house is dry at the moment, I have no beer nor rum. Just as well. I didn’t need to muddy things further, right?
And now you know the backstory to the latter half of this conversation with Rummer John I had the night of the 13th. As far as the former half, well, he said no talky. So no talky.
RJ: You saw [a certain thing].
Me: Yup.
RJ: You ain’t screaming about it?
Me: I did at first, until Hermes told me to chill out and let it sit off the stove for a bit.
RJ: And now?
Me: My delicate sensibilities are still bruised, but now that I’ve calmed down, I realize ain’t a damn piece of it any of my problem. It is what it is and it isn’t any of me. I reserve the right to talk shit with [others] over glasses of sweet tea.
RJ: Your claim is denied.
Me: Wut? Which one?
RJ: To talk shit about it.
Me: … … With respect, Sirrah, if the court would grant me mercy, I wish to know why.
RJ: Who the hell are you to police what I do and how?
Me: ~gulp~ Yes, Sir. I hear the court’s judgment and have no appeal to file.
RJ: You know of it now. You do not touch it. That’s my business and if I want you in it, I’ll let you know personally.
Me: Yes, Sir.
RJ: ~tops off our glasses~ Now. Tell me why you camped at my table all day yesterday.
Me: I’m over my head, again. [The Ocean] was showing me a thing, but [others] kept inserting themselves and interfering. I lost myself and fled to safe harbor. ~chugs rum~ To be honest, I’m missing four hours from my memory. I was in public at that time. I barely remember what I physically did. All I know is that I knew I would be safe here, so here I came. ~empties glass~ ~softly speaks~ I’ll walk away from everything before I allow myself to be chained again.
RJ: Is that what you think this is?
Me: Feels like it. They want me in a certain way that requires certain oaths that binds me until they are willing to release me. And the one pushing for this isn’t the kind to let go. My senses are overwhelmed. I know I’m being lied to. [The Ocean] is respecting you and the Ravens. Why can’t [they] do as well?
RJ: Bitches be greedy.
Me: ~almost falls out of the chair~ Heh. Yea.
RJ: I can’t interfere with that, because you aren’t mine, you know. But I’ll make sure a chair is always here for you. I can’t tell you what to do. I’ll just remind you of your name and your toys, [Redacted] Weaver. She that [verb] [adjective] and is [noun]!
Me: Okay Playa’.
RJ: It’s a good Game, don’t be hatin’!
~He leaves and I realize the verbal play he just said. Playa’ indeed!~
The verbal play is not shown in this transcript of the conversation. I wrote the word that was spoken, not what was intended. Some would say, what I heard was blasphemy. Wouldn’t be the first time. Won’t be the last. So his joke remains with me.