I dreamt of rosaries. To say that the scene was set in a rosary store is a belittling summary. Money was not the only currency accepted. A barely heard sigh expressed in faith could “buy” more rosaries than any ridiculous amount of cash, gold, and/or jewels. While there were rosaries for people of prestige, their prestige meant nothing here.
Most of the rosaries were custom assembled. Somewhere nearby was a factory where precise machines made precise knots holding precise lengths of precisely shaped beads in place. But what combination of colors and textures and lengths and bead counts could be altered in the length of time it took for someone to describe what their perfect rosary looked like.
Also somewhere nearby were an assembly of people that handmade the rosaries starting from the spinning of flax (or cotton or wool or paper or silk or plastics) into thread and the making of beads from various materials and sources. Their rosaries ranged from a child’s first knots to fine threads of gold spun with silk that were stitched into tiny lace baskets that held the teeth of martyrs in lieu of beads.
Continue reading “A Store of Faith”
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 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”
No more excuses. I need to start tying up loose ends before I get caught and strangled by them. I reached out to [Merciful Mother] Mary and asked permission to enter Binah for a proper run across the Path of Daleth that she described as ascending the holy mountain to meet her husband. (She is, and she is not Mary, and there’s a lot that I understand that I am not willing to talk about in public.) I had made a half-hearted attempt the other day, and I deserved the standstill I was brought to.
But because reasons, I understand this is much more important than I understood at first, and if I am going to proceed with other important goals in my life, I needed to complete this one along the way.
I entered her sphere and admitted my intentions. She pointed out the things that were keeping me from taking advantage of my gifts and asked what allowed me the grace to continue. Continue reading “Another Knot in the Path”
Hail Mary, Queen of Heaven.
Holy Light, cloaked with stars.
Sustaining Love that warms fading embers.
Hail Mary, Queen of Sorrow.
Holy Tears that purify the waters.
Mourning hands washing my heart clean.
Hail Mary, Queen of Hope.
Holy Mother, holding my hand.
Sweet encouragement lifting me with the sunrise.
Remember my suspicions that “my” [Merciful Mother] Mary was something else wearing that face so I could interact with her and without fear?
All the clues about her identity was written publicly. It just took sifting through two years of scattered shitposts to put them together. (The final clue was her insistence I meet her husband atop the burning holy mountain.) Continue reading “Dream Journal: 2016-11-23.01”
The black rosary appeared in my left hand, wrapped loosely around my fingers. The spectral breeze carried the scent of fresh sweet water.
“Not yet, Mary. I’m to the Hanged Man in that deck, and I still have cards I could confuse with you left to confront. When I am finally able to give you and… your husband… my attention, I want it to be in full and complete.”
I closed my left hand on nothing and the breeze stopped.
That she is giving me space when my ancestors are not is indicative of something, but what the fuck do I know about spiritual things. -sigh-
When I wasn’t being tempted to do the thing I was told not to do, I put together the clues I have about the holy mountain I saw and why it is so important that I ascend it.
Well, I did say I wanted a blasphemy. Continue reading “Dream Journal: 2016-05-23.01”
The other part of the night was spent wrestling with my anger. I found myself [dressed a certain way], standing on a cliff overlooking an agitated sea. In my left hand, the rosary of Mary’s covenant was tightly gripped. In my right hand, the shenanigans rosary was loosely wrapped.
And I was screaming. Continue reading “Dream Journal: 2015-07-24.02”
I went back.
Not because she called me. She didn’t.
Not because she forced me. She didn’t.
Because she asked me. So I went. Continue reading “Heaven, Sorrow, & Hope”