Tumbled Dreams: March 30 – April 05, 2013

Also: Spirals, Helices, and Time.

~~~

“Once upon a time there was a tiger-woman. She used to be just a tiger but that was boring and she wanted to be different so she became a tiger-woman!” The boy held the story-book upside down. He couldn’t read and wasn’t trying to pretend to read, but every story he had been told came with the teller holding a book. Since he was now telling me a story, it was his turn to hold a book and stare at it intensely while telling the story.

“Why did she want to be different?” I held him on the couch in the cool house. Both of us under a multi-colored quilt with swatches that constantly changed color. I was babysitting him in his parents’ house while they went on a date and reconfirmed how much hell they could raise with each other.

“Because tigers don’t drive cars or wear fun hats or have swords or rescue pretty ladies! And the tiger-woman didn’t want to sit around all day being lazy or sleeping or eating the idiot hunter that doesn’t understand that tigers eat stupid people.” He nodded as he spoke, as if that was the most silly question in the whole world.

Works for me.

“So the tiger became a tiger-woman and had many adventures and became a pirate! And she was the best pirate ever and she was so good at being a pirate she had all the treasure chests that ever crossed the oceans!”

He put the book down and gave me such an intense stare I almost exploded into giggles. “Then one day…” He picked up the book. “Then one day the tiger-woman realized that she had all the gold in the whole world! And it was fun being a pirate but also very lonely. Everyone was afraid of her because she was still a tiger, just one that could walk on two legs and wear pirate hats and use pirate swords and muskets. So everyone gave her all the gold and jewels so she wouldn’t come near them. And she was very lonely.” He nodded with enthusiastic severity.

“So she started her last adventure. One that would take her to all the mountains and all the caves and even libraries to look up books! She looked for someone to be her best friend ever and to have adventures with. But everyone was afraid of her because she wasn’t a tiger and she wasn’t a woman. She’s a tiger-woman. So she became very angry and used all her gold and all her jewels to make a fabulous mansion to live in away from all the scared people that don’t want to take a chance and live an adventure.”

“One day, a man broke into her mansion. And the tiger-woman was very angry. ‘Who broke into my mansion! I will eat them like I ate the stupid hunters when I was just a tiger!’ And she went to chase down the man that broke in. But the man was chasing her! And round and round they went until the man stopped running and let the tiger-woman catch him.”

“‘Why did you break into my mansion, you stupid man? Now I will eat you!’ ‘Good! Because if you are just a tiger after all, then let me be eaten! I came to find the Pirate Tiger-Woman because I need her help!’”

“‘I’m the Pirate Tiger-Woman! Why didn’t you knock at the door?’ ‘Because the doorbell is broken and you didn’t hear me knocking.’”

“‘Well, what do you want?’ ‘I want to know how did you become the Tiger-Woman and not just a plain tiger. I don’t want to be a man anymore and I want to become a woman, but everyone says that can’t be done. But if you can become a tiger-woman, then I can be a woman too!’”

“The tiger-woman told him that a dying magician turned her into a tiger-woman with the last of his magic. She didn’t know how to turn back, or how to turn anyone else into a woman. But if he wanted to stay, she would buy him all the dresses he wanted and all the makeup he wanted and he could live like a woman in her mansion as long as he was her friend.”

“He was very sad that he couldn’t be a woman, but the tiger-woman seems like a nice person, so he stayed and she bought him many dresses and made sure they fit or she would eat the dressmaker. And in time she found that he made a very wonderful woman, and he found she was a really good friend, and they really liked each other in the way that grownups do so they decided to get married.”

“But other people did not understand and they were very angry. They said the tiger-woman was not a real person and the man was not a real woman so the marriage wasn’t real and many police were called to arrest him and force her into a zoo. So the tiger-woman spent all her gold and all her jewels to find someone that could turn him into a woman and did find someone but before he was turned into a woman, the man asked the magician to turn the tiger-woman into a human woman instead.”

“‘We live in a world that only looks at the outside. No one knows how the tiger-woman is really warm and kind and loving and sweet and the reason my life is so happy now. They only see a monster that eats stupid people that need eating and they are scared because she is more honest than them. I do want to be a woman, but I want to stay with my best friend even more, so if she becomes a human woman then we can stay together. Otherwise, it doesn’t matter if I become a woman or not, my best friend will be taken away from me.’”

“So the magician asked the tiger-woman if she would go with her best friend’s request and she had to admit that he was right. So she agreed to become a human woman even though that meant he would never become a woman. So she became a human woman and he remained a man with many beautiful dresses and he got a job because she spent all her pirate money and she stayed at home long enough to practice walking without the tail and then she got a job too because she didn’t want to stay home all day.”

“And he still wears his dresses and she found a job as a lawyer which is like being a pirate but on land and both of them are very happy and that is the story of Beauty and the Beast and they are still very happy with each other. The End.”

He slammed the book shut and dropped it on his lap as a final statement. I clapped at his story but I had some questions for the little story-teller. “So, are they husband and wife now?”

“Oh no, they are wife and wife! He doesn’t like the word husband.”

“Why does he still use ‘he’? Why not ‘she’?”

“He does use ‘she’, when he’s wearing his women clothes. But he doesn’t wear them all the time.”

The door rattled. Someone was unlocking the door. The front door opened and the couple entered. “Mommy! Momma!” The boy jumped off the couch, throwing the color changing quilt to the side and ran to the entering couple.

“Why are you up, silly boy?” The tall muscular man in the shimmering red sequined dress scooped up the young boy. She embraced the squealing boy in a tight hug and planted many lipstick marked kissed on the squirmy face.

“I trrusht he wash not trrouble.” The woman helped me disentangle from the quilt. Dressed in a combination of silks draped over denim, she wore her old pirate captain’s hat cocked to the side in ever defiant display. Her bright orange hair and the strange hue to her eye was the only visual giveaway she is the pirate tiger-woman of the boy’s tale.

“Dahlia, you better be glad you’ve married her. The way that dress shows off her… ” Dahlia laughed in delight.

“Oh, Weaverr.” She let my name slide into deeply content purring. “She’s the best booty I’ve ev’ plunderr’d. I might have t’ do it again!” She reached out and grabbed a handful of the lean flesh tightly caressed by the dress fabric. Sampson was still holding the boy and had to keep a mostly straight face as Dahlia wrote many animated promises with her nails.

“Momma! Momma! I told Weaver a story this time! I told her the story of Beauty and the Beast!” I saw Dahlia wince a little at the title.

“Yes, he did. He told me how the pirate tiger-woman and the man with the pretty dresses became best friends and are living happy ever after even now.”

Dahlia relaxed. Sampson carried the boy over his shoulder and went upstairs to put the suddenly tired boy to bed. Dahlia grabbed my hand in barely muted excitement.

“Weaverr… I heard you can run messages… and inquirriess.” I nodded. “My wife… she wants to be a woman still. And it hurts me that she can’t. If you could find someone…”

“It might require a move. And starting over.”

“As long as I have my wife and my son…”

“I’ll see what I come across. I’ll let you know.”

I bid her a good night and prepared to leave. “Wait! I have not paid you!”

“Your son did, Dahlia. He told me the story of Dahlia and Sarah. But the story is still being written.”

“That’s not payment.”

“I’m a story-teller, Dahlia. That’s a valuable payment, indeed.”

She embraced me and I smelled a faint feline musk. In habit, she rubbed her cheek forcefully against me. “One day, Weaverr… you must tell me why you have such feline scent.” I said nothing but returned the gesture with the same intensity and kissed her gently on the cheek. She escorted me to the door, holding on to my arm.

I stepped out into the dark night. As the door closed behind me, the dream ended.

~~~

The third dream of the night. (Busy night for dreaming. Shit for sleep. Send help. Need coffee.) I wanted a hamburger. Nao. I walked with a relative to the local burger joint. Nothing spectacular. The food was messy, but cheap and plentiful. How you ordered it was how you wanted it. A local place for local folks, and full of local stories.

Of course, it’s on the Crossroads. How many roads crossed in front of it depended on how many levels you were willing to see. And how many levels were being interacted with.

“Hey, what’s the Cuil special?”

I laughed before realizing my cousin was about to order it. “Nah, bro. Don’t. I’ve had enough weirdness for the night.” Bystanders burst into laughter.

I ordered for the two of us and waited by the Pick-Up window while he went and sat down. A group of high school band members came in. The three drummers wore their drums and were warned by the manager not to make “discordant noises” and to behave themselves. Two of the drummers immediately tucked their drumsticks away, but the third waved his sticks menacingly.

For some reason, the third drummer took an instant dislike to my cousin. He kept trying to verbally provoke my cousin into an argument, but my cousin (unlike the rest of my family) refused to take the bait. Unable to annoy him with words, the third drummer started playing his drums in a jarring rhythm that was hard to ignore.

By the time I had picked up our food and came to the table, the other two drummers had fallen in line with the troublemaker and was amplifying the ‘performance’. The rhythm was getting on everyone’s nerves, but was also jarring enough that no one could get enough thought together to try and stop them.

You want a drum war? You got a drum war.

I placed the food on the table, and caught the eye of the manager. He mouthed the words, “Do as you please.”, before closing the Pick-Up and Order windows. I sat back, unaffected by the bone-shaking sounds, and just started patting on the table with my bare hands.

The troublemaker just laughed at me. What could bare hands on a table do against three professional drums? I wasn’t playing to counter them, though. Not yet. I could see through the different levels that the burger joint abutted against. I saw more than the two paved roads out front. This is the Crossroads after all, and Liminal Keri can be in many of them at once.

I played to call for assistance. In the barely audible rhythm, I spoke a different language. I paused my hands, resting them on the table. My hands had ceased but a gentle rhythm continued. Help was on the way. ll I had to do was sit tight.

Soon two men walked in the front door of the burger joint. Their appearance surprised many, as they were not seen approaching through the large clear windows. They seems to come from the space in the door, from the threshold between inside and outside. The two men came and sat without introduction on either side of me.

They weren’t from here, but they’ve always been here. They said nothing, but spoke many things with their animated faces. Their skin had a strange ashen hue to it, as if they had walked through a dry and dusty area. Their eyes appeared blinded from cataracts, but they saw with a clarity that pierced even the soul.

Once they were comfortable beside me, I nodded my thanks to them both. They smiled in return, this was not a hardship to them and they felt it an honor to be of assistance. I glanced at the three drummers and nodded towards the troublemaker leading the pack. The two men nodded knowingly in return.

The three of us placed our hands on the table. The troublemaker openly mocked us. The two more experienced men allowed me to take the lead. I was humbled by it, and hoped I didn’t make things worse. I listened to the troublemaker’s rhythm, mentally isolated it, and found how to tweak it to make it my own. My hands firmly began playing the tweaked rhythm.

Where before I had played gently because my targeted audience was on a different level, now I’m hammering the table with prejudice, pouring my strength and intent into this level. The man on my left listened for five measures, understood the intent, and began playing his accompaniment to my rhythm. Another five measures later, the man on my right did the same.

The three drummers were playing the same rhythm, the other two following the lead, strike for strike. I and the two men were playing three distinctly different rhythms that could each stand alone, but when played together created a complicated master rhythm that arrested the attention and demanded full contemplation. At once, we had the attention of everyone else except the three drummers.

The three drummers played louder, striking their drums harder, trying to drown us out. The three of us, still playing only bare hands against the same hard table did not waver, but managed to find resonant spots on the table. Our striking was amplified by the table and the reflection of the sound against the hard floor.

Almost immediately, one of the other drummers found himself faltering. He was trying to concentrate on the troublemaker, trying to keep in step with the hammered rhythm strike for strike, but he kept slipping into following my second helper instead. I watched his face as he struggled. When he was following the troublemaker, his face was tight and stressed. When he slipped into following the second helper, his face relaxed and he appeared ready to fall into sleep… or trance.

The internal struggle was lost, and the drummer began playing the second helper’s rhythm. Soon after, the second drummer slipped into the rhythm of the first helper. As they did so, they seemed to fade out slightly, as if they were no longer on the same level of existence with me and my cousin.

The troublemaker swore many expletives at me. He made many promised of violence and degradation should he put down his drumsticks. Well then, I better make sure he doesn’t put them down, ever, then.

I shifted my playing slightly. I wasn’t trying to just take over the drumming anymore. This was now a personal war. I played the sound of hot blood in overheated veins, the sound of deep breaths taken to fuel swiftly moving muscles, the sound of water rushing in flood, the sound of trees dancing in a hurricane, of the yielding of reason to the lust of flesh, of the breaking of the mind before the forces of the universe, of dust and ashes being stomped between one’s toes.

I almost overplayed myself into being broken as well. Intentionally. I wanted to take the troublemaker to the cliff’s edge. It was a few minutes before I realized I didn’t hear his jarring rhythm or the rhythms of my helpers anymore. It was just me, and my rhythm reflected in the troublemaker’s playing.

The look on the boy’s face told all that he was terrified. He could not stop playing. He was begging for mercy and pleading for me to stop. My rhythm had wormed into his very bones and he could not control himself. He screamed how sorry he was that he tried to bully us and swore he would never pick up a drum stick again. Mercy! Mercy! He was so sure that he had inadvertently challenged the Devil himself, and he was going to be dragged off to Hell playing his drum for eternity.

I did not bring my playing to a gentle repose. A few accents and I halted sharply. My two helpers smiled and silently chuckled. I worried I had gone too far, but the looks on their faces told me I had done just what was necessary to teach the boys a lesson.

I looked at the three terrified boys. “Remove your gear.”, I ordered them gruffly. They quickly complied. “You know the ‘Old Man’?” It was a guess. Nearly every small community has a Wise Person that knows things the official religion denies. They quickly nodded. “Go to him. Tell him what you did and the sins you’ve committed against those here. He will tell you how to cleanse yourself of your guilt. Do that, and only after that may you come back and reclaim your gear. If you still want it, that is. Sneak back and take it before clearing yourselves, and next time I will not cease until your arms are broken!” They were whimpering and holding sore hands. “Now, get out!” They fled quickly, all three of them exiting before the door was fully open.

The two helpers waited until the boys were long gone before bursting into exuberant silent laughter. I thanked them for their assistance. They thanked me for the entertainment. As each person watching us blinked, they faded a little more until I blinked last and they were gone.

My relative ate his burger at last in peace and quiet. After he was done, he looked at the menu, then looked at the drums in the corner, then looked back at me. “You mean shit gets weirder than this?”

That does it. Fine. He wants to be thrown in the deep water? I’ll gladly give him the kick.

With a soft voice and soothing tones, I said to him, “I give you a hamburger…”.

~~~

“They are a key.” And by ‘they’, he meant one wand in particular. It’s not attuned to anything special but elemental fire. I’ve been wondering all day just what kind of door/lock he (or his master) would need an elemental fire wand for.

I’m looking at it the wrong way.

It’s not the door/lock that prompted him to search for the wand. It’s what the wand does. Gives the wielder access to elemental fire without setting the wielder’s ass/hands on fire, and without the intellect of another sentient being getting in the way. That’s all. Nothing more. Nothing less.

The problem came up. [Tom] said “I know a girl…”. He was sent to get it. He failed. My involvement in their situation ended when [Tom] failed to get the wand.

Okay, musing over. No hunting horn will be sounded for no harm was done. Should I see any of “the old gang” over yonder, I’ll just throw down that fire and be done with it.

Not my problem.

~~~

And Another Thing…

For y’all that missed the Great Bitch Fests when the question originally bombed my inbox nearly every day, but may be curious based on the bitching of the gaggle at Clitopia…

The Raven is NOT my totem.

In fact, I have no totem.

I am not Ojibwe, and have no claim to the word, or the actual meaning of the word. I do not recognize the mainstream connotations of the word as legitimate uses of the word, but as an attempt to contort the language, however unconsciously.

For you folks new to my writings, you’ll see a few animals make regular appearances. I seem to have an affinity with ravens. But I have no Raven-Spirit. My (dream) roommate is a snake, goes by the nom de plume of “Snake”, but is not The Snake Spirit. And never you mind about the panther. And I’m not explaining why the Red Queen called me “Wolf”, either. Besides, Esse still has some explaining to do about that…

And yes, the Red Queen is the Bright Queen in the Dark Hall, and if you haven’t figured out who she is according to common lore, don’t worry about it. Just don’t piss her off should you encounter her.

Okay. That should cover it.

~~~

It took a series of distractions to get me to relax but the gift was eventually delivered. On opening the box, I realized all else that happened was an illusion and a diversion. The gift alone felt solidly real.

The subterfuge meant the attendant that was supposed to show me how to operate the gift wasn’t there when I opened it. By the time she caught up to me, I had it fully disassembled on the table and was cooing over the precision of the work. She looked quite distraught so I quickly reassembled it and asked her to show me how to operate it.

To her surprise, it worked perfectly. “I tinker.” She raised an eyebrow and nodded. She showed me features I hadn’t noticed yet and went over care. She wryly mentioned that I didn’t need her to show me. “That’s not the point, though. Your instruction is part of the gift.”

Her instruction complete, she left me with a card detailing warranty instructions and departed. The gift, if made in the Waking, would be worth over a thousand dollars if only for the precious metals and inlay work. The Dreaming equivalent is worth much more. She was only able to show me the mechanical nature of the gift. When I took it apart, I could feel the connections between the pieces. There is more to this than it appears.

The motive of the gift is water dragons in the shape of lionfish. That is the only clue to my benefactor. It is a beautiful gift. I just don’t know from who or why.

~~~

Figured I might as well get around to dealing with “J” once and for all. After his elaborate announcement of his return, he was quick to try and begin terrorizing me like in the old days.

He only got the jump on me once, and once I figured out the scenario, I took it over and almost cornered him in his own death trap. (He was doing fine, realism-wise, until the falling elevator car turned sideways in the shaft and lost the top part of the car. Elevator shaft with Hollywood clearances = Keri is lucid and pissed. After dismissing the other people-props from the scene, I turned the car completely over and placed him at the bottom of the shaft. The look on his face as I rained death from above was so delightful. “You can’t do that. You’re not supposed to be able to do that.”, he whispered in confusion. He blinked away just before the car smashed into the ground.)

After that, each time he tried to terrorize me, I turned it quickly around and hunted him instead. He locked me in a sexual predator’s house and chained me to a bed. The predator wound up being mounted on all four walls of the room, and I tore the house apart looking for him. He set fire to the house to escape from the scenario he made.

He dropped me in the ocean with weights tied around my ankles. (Fear of drowning is still a big thing for me.) I became a school of minnows that swam free of iron and clothes, then coalesced into an shark that quickly caught his scent. As I bore down on him, he tried to out-swim me. But wouldn’t you know it, the ocean currents suddenly turned and pushed him towards me. He blinked away just as my jaws closed in on him.

He put me in a dark forest with hunting dogs baying in the distance and shouts from their masters promising all sorts of violence on me. I didn’t run. I didn’t even reach for the trollkona mask. I just waited. When the dogs found me, they were confused until they sniffed me and recognized me as Alpha Bitch. When the hunters caught up, their own dogs rent them to pieces. The dogs then helped me chase J down in his own forest. J ran up a tree and blinked away.

J needs to be present in whatever scenario he is using to try and terrorize me. He can not watch from a safe distance. He needs to be close enough to me to feel the fear. See, the point of all the antics is not to crush me, or to drive me to suicide. He needs me alive, and he needs me to have just enough hope to crush, and he needs me to feel fear.

Before his banishment from me, he would do all this in person. Sometimes he would wear the faces of those I knew, of those I trusted. Sometimes he would wear my own face and take advantage of my disassociations. I was afraid of myself, and J was a large part of that. I’m sure my emotional responses was like a Willy Wonka chocolate factory. So much yummy goodness for him, it was more than he knew what to deal with.

He’s starving now.

He’s getting desperate now.

In my last meltdown, I felt him on the edges of my mental periphery, trying to glean whatever scraps of strong emotion I was allowing to leak past me. I turned my attention towards him, but I didn’t go after him then. I knew I wasn’t in the right head space to even try. But I didn’t want him to think he was safe either. He felt the heat of my attention, and fled.

I created a containment field, much like I did the night of his banishment. I called him into it, drawing his straggling pieces together like fishing hair out of a drain. What assembled before me was pitiful. This was the monster that drove me into catatonic states? This was the demon that promised to use my hands to commit horrors on other people? This is Fear?

He whimpered. He tried to hide from my gaze. He didn’t beg to be released, or destroyed. He was too busy being terrified by my hold over him.

My childhood molester created him in my psyche those decades ago. Five years ago, he was banished from me. A few months ago, he returned to me. And now I realize, the only thing holding him together, is the memory I have of him. The less I consider him, the less he is.

The act of summoning him into one spot gave him my attention, and in doing so, fed him more in that one instant than in the previous two months where I turned his scenarios against him.

I don’t think I could banish him. That means giving him too much attention.

I released the containment field, much to his surprise. I dispersed him back into the edges. He cried out as I did so.

He has no power over me than what I give him. I would banish something I considered powerful enough to bring me harm if allowed to stay. He’s a fading memory now, a whisper of the past. He serves as a warning to me.

He also serves as a measurement of what I am, and am not.

I am not the monster that hurt me.

I am not prey.

I think those are two very good markers to keep.

~~~

Three white crows. ~rubs eyes~ Yup. Crows. Not as large as ravens. And definitely all white. Haven’t seen them in a while. Not since…

Oh.

~takes off in flight after them~

~sudden wind gust slams me out of the sky~

Landing on the sharp stones on my feet this time, I even remember to wear boots to protect myself. Not much has changed on this mountain top. I hear flapping above me. I turn to see the three white crows perched in the tops of three thin pines.

A strange little sound from behind me startles me, then four little paws clamp around my legs. A bear cub wants to play.

Oh shit. Where’s Momma Bear?

RIght behind me of course, and she is not happy. I gently shake off the bear cub and back away. I almost repeat the mistake I made the last time I was here, but I catch myself and lay a full grown salmon before the bear instead.

“I’d call you Brother Bear, but you’re a female and even then, I’m not your clan-mate. Hello Bear, I hope I’m doing this better this time around.”

The bear sniffs the fish, looks up at me warily, then starts ripping in to the salmon without even a grunt. Her cub kept trying to play with me, but I kept dancing away from it.

Yea. You’re doing better. Why haven’t you fled?

“There must be a reason I’m back here. Twice I’ve been pulled here, and twice I made an ass of myself before being ejected. Third time might be the charm.”

The bear cub caught me and clung to my leg. When I tried to shake it off, it only held on with childish glee.

“I’m trying not to piss you off, Mother Bear. But your cub thinks me a playmate.”

Heh. So far, so good.

“Yes, I’m pissing you off? Or, yes, I should play with your cub?”

Yes. She made quick work of the salmon and licked her paws. She sniffed the ground where the salmon was and looked up at me expectantly. I called forth another large specimen, hobbled best I could with the cub’s extra weight, and laid it before her.

You pick good fish. She began tearing into this one but at a slower, more savoring pace.

“I like raw salmon, too.” I gave up trying to be rid of the cub and began wrestling and playing with it. “What’s different this time, Mother Bear? Is it that I found my wings?” I slipped and fell on my rump. The cub bawled and embraced me in a hug. When it let go, it settled against me as if taking a nap.

My attention was too focused on it. The mother bear’s fishy breath at my ear was my notice she was done. Nothing is different. You are the same as before.

“I’m not running. And I haven’t left the mountain.” I stared into the maw of the bear that ripped my face off so many years ago. “We speak to each other. And the crows are not laughing at my ignorance.”

Nothing is different. You are the same as before.

“Last time the crows taunted me for thinking I was to be a shaman. I have since been disabused of that notion. They told me I had to get off the mountain before I could be a shaman, but now I know I am not what I thought I was. Maybe then, the requirement to get off the mountain was also a ruse.”

Can you leave the mountain? She phlumped on the other side of me. Her great weight shuddered the loose rocks under me.

“I could. I have. I just have to decide how. I have many ways available to me. But I don’t know which direction to go.” I thought about my wording. “No, I don’t have direction at all. I think that’s what I’m waiting for. Someone or something to point me in the right direction.”

The three white crows watched silently. The cub grunted in its sleep. The mother bear gave a great sigh and I felt the pressure of her preparing to speak.

~HONK~ A truck horn sounds off outside, followed by the many expletives of one of my neighbors. My head blooms with sudden pain as I’m forced back here.

I’m going to go get some tea before I blow up the neighborhood.

~~~

Me: “So other than camping on the last connection you have with humanity and regretting your choice of Watchers because I’m randomly unstable as shaken nitroglycerin… howzit?”

The Jumper: “And you say I have an anger problem?”

“You do. Shall I push your buttons again and see if you turn dead corpse black again?”

“INSECT!”

“I know! Let’s go over your inability to touch anything. Even in this incorporeal realm of an allegory of an intangible place, you still can’t touch anything. Not even the allegorical roof you’re camping.”

“I AM BEYOND YOU!”

“Dude. I hate to break it to you… but you’re dead.”

“I AM A GOD!”

“Then do something divine and prove it to me. Or have you forgotten what my role is in your private mystery religion. I am your WATCHER. I WATCH. Nowhere in the role you have so thoughtfully assigned for me is it written that I BELIEVE. Bit of a difference there, ol’ chap. And it’s an important one.”

“I WILL DRIVE YOU MAD FOR THIS!”

“A bit too late. I’m certifiable already, and I’m talking to someone that most likely never existed but can’t come to grips with his or her own death and has created quite the outlandish story to keep running away from the truth.”

“I… I am not dead. I am a nascent god! That’s all… You’ll see… keep watching, Watcher.”

“I have been. And you’re missing some things if you’re were on the apotheosis track. Where is your connection to your living priests? What is your symbol? What are you a god of? I’ve been holding your thread, very carefully, waiting to feel the slightest tug of a prayer. Your thread is slack. There’s nothing connected to it. You’re dead.”

“NO! I’m not dead! I’m a god!”

“Then humble me, oh divinity.”

“If I’m dead, then why am I able to talk to you?”

“Because I’m a Bone-burner. Among other things. Because I can help you pass on. All you have to do, is say you’re ready to go.”

“You’re going to take me to Hell!”

“Heh. Nope. Lady Hel has already declared you are not of hers.”

“Lady…? I mean Gehenna! You know! Where… where…”

“No angel has come looking for you, either. I dunno what crack you fell into, but it’s a deep one. Look. It’s simple. No judgement. No trial. No conditions. Only a complete and final release from… this. Somehow you managed to find yourself a neat little hole, but there are many paths under the hill, and many places where those paths cross. You’re dead, but you’re not entirely safe, either. There are always predators.”

“But… I’m a god. If I’m dead… then why you… How can you be sure?”

“You know the saying, ‘It takes one to know one.’? Well… my man Horatio has been watching you. He’s dead. And so are you.”

“I’m not dead! I just haven’t completed my ascension! You’ll see!”

“No, Horatio. Don’t chase him. Just let me know if he comes back. I won’t be other people’s conscious anymore.”

~~~

April 4th, 2013:

Well, have enough of the Jumper’s pieces to get a rough timeline of his death. A con man that hit a rare legit windfall, instead of going clean with his life, he decided to make his dream come true, and in the process establish the next capital of adult entertainment. But he squatted on the wrong land and angered the wrong preacher and got the wrong kind of attention from a “don’t need no judge” sheriff.

“I’m going to hit it big. You’ll see!”

Whenever you’re ready, Bill. I’ll be here.

~~~

April 4th, 2013:

The Envoy and the Matron called it, “the right kind of randomness”. I know it as “being a catalyst”. I don’t have to do anything. I just have to be there. Just have to be present.

Not often I am pulled in place just for that property. But when I am the script is often blown to hell and I am always the last to know.

I visited a large extended family. I stayed late and since I was going to help them move in the morning, I stayed the night. I woke up in a different family’s communal house. They all told me I was in the right place, but everything was wrong. The new family kept asking me to do things for them. Things that started out alright, but in the end only backfired and caused problems. A divination was performed. Cowrie shells were thrown by the family diviner. The shells broke on impact. A deck of tarot cards were dug out. The ink had faded on the front of every card, leaving a white surface. The pendulum string snapped. The iron nails rusted into powder. The salt clumped and the sugar was infested by ants.

“Maybe I should go.” “NO! You belong to us, now!”

A baby was sleep on the bed. He farted, giggled, then babbled. “Return what you have stolen!” The family head ordered the baby thrown off the cliff. As he turned away, he muttered, “Damn kids bring just anything home.”.

I’m sent on more errands. I keep looking for the family I should be with. The new family still says I’m in the right place. I lose track of how often things backfire and just note each one is more severe than before.

The last straw is being sent to help a teenage couple propose. The pair have to scale a large balanced boulder and propose to each other at the top without toppling it over. My job is to counter-balance their weight because instead of ascending on opposite sides, they are insisting on climbing side by side. Halfway up the boulder, the spirit inside wakes.

It is livid. It is not where it is supposed to be. It was stolen and imprisoned in the rock. But now that I’m here, it can feel the surroundings through me. In gratitude, it is giving me until the count of 9 to get off the rock before it destroys itself. One…

I scramble down and yell at the couple to get down also. They fall off the quivering rock but don’t get hurt. They start to throw things at me for messing up their perfect moment. Four… I grab them by the ears and pull them clear of the rock.Nine…

The spirit calls down a great lightning bolt that shatters the rock. Shrapnel tear into the side of the house causing some of the walls to fall down. A room is exposed with rotting human bodies piled around four wood carvings. “No! That has to stay in the dark! Sunlight will break the rules!” The family head is barking orders, but half the family has fainted. The bodies exposed to sunlight burst into flame. I realize the obvious and flee.

After running to exhaustion, I sit on a sidewalk bench. The sun had just set. “There you are. I knew it wouldn’t take long once they stole you too. My, what a mess you uncovered!” It was the matriarch of the family I should have woke up with. She pulled me to my feet and embraced me warmly. “Forgive me, but if I told you the truth of why you were here, it would not have happened.”

“So, what’s the truth?”

“Anything good was stolen from us. Even our children. Our house gods would not protect us. Nothing we did worked for us. We needed to find out why. I knew lies and plots fail when you are near. Forgive me for using you.”

“Par for the course. Nothing to forgive. Was I a good catalyst? Did I work in your favor?”

“The four wood statues are our original house gods. They grew greedy and wanted more than what we agreed to give them. They made a new deal with the others. Our own gods were stealing from us to benefit them. But you have uncovered their falsehoods and their greed. They have violated not only their oaths with us, but their oaths as gods, and their oaths with other gods.”

“What happens now?”

“Most of what they took, they fouled. We are rebuilding what was taken. We will recover. The betrayer gods have been removed and thrown into a pit for now. The thieves are being undone. But come, there is something you should see.”

She led me to the edge of an abandoned quarry. She shone a light into the pit and I saw the statues of the betrayer gods. The hands had been removed and the faces were blank.

“You guys didn’t do much damage. I’m surprised.”

“We didn’t do that. We kept our promise to treat the statues with respect. Our divinations said to place the statues here until final judgement is given. We covered the statues when we removed them and when we uncovered them, they were like this. What do you think happened?”

“They have literally lost face. They now have no hands to take or work. They kept their feet though. I think they will be wandering until the end.”

She walked me back to her new tribal home and bid me farewell.

~~~

April 4th, 2013:

“Wolf.”

“Am not.”

“Yes. You are.”

“Well… when on one of Esse’s hunts, maybe.”

“He is only enabling you. His masks and weapons are like your cloak. Giving form to something that has always been there.”

“You are starting to appear to me more and more, Madame. And I am noting who is receding. Am I being handed off?”

“You are not mine. Wolf.”

“I am not his, either. And I’m not a wolf.”

“How far are you willing to go to find out either way?”

“God damn, your scent is intoxicating and distracting. No fair.”

“What is my scent? Tell me, and I will leave you in peace.”

“In peace… for tonight.”

“Well… for tonight.”

“Blood.”

“Wolf.”

~kiss~

~~~

The new axe is done. As are replacement tools. The surviving tongs I have left as is, though. They are pug-ugly but still functional. Feels wrong to remake them because they twisted and darkened from the heat of the Tibetan coal. They survived where the others melted away. They should be celebrated, not hidden.

But anyways, the new axe is completed. Just needs to be tested, bloodied, and then it will be named. Just remains to see how it will be tested, by battle, or by Esse.

~~~

She held the leashes very loosely, with just enough grip that the dogs’ lunging didn’t jerk them free. She laughed at me, this seeming woman, with obvious enjoyment of her threat. The deep blue robed woman stopped laughing when she realized I wasn’t worried or upset.

I looked at the barking pit-bulls. They weren’t growling, just barking. They weren’t barking harshly, just being noisy. They weren’t lunging for attacks, they wanted to play. There was nothing threatening about the dogs themselves.

She let herself get jerked closer to me. “Oops!” She laughed but quickly turned angry when I did not react. One of the dogs was able to get a little lick on my left hand. He started lunging even harder. His tail wagged with intensity. “Oh! You’re fucked if I let go! Shaitan has your scent now and he’ll rip you apart!” Why she was so determined to scare me, I don’t know.

“Shaitan? Like ‘The Accuser’? From the Torah?” I wanted to slap her silly. Shaitan wanted cuddles.

“Are you mocking Shaitan? You think these are only dogs? I have Shaitan and Sobek bound to my will and it is only my benevolence that keeps them from ripping you to pieces and devouring your soul!” Light-colored Shaitan and dark-colored Sobek paid her no mind. They whined when they finally realized they would not reach me. I put my hands out to pet the two dogs. Their tails whipped up dust behind them.

She pulled sharply on the leashes, jerking the dogs away from me. Shaitan fell over on his back and Sobek tumbled on top of him. “No! You can’t touch them! Mine! I have bound them and they belong to me!” In her action, I saw a glimmer of light behind her. Wings. Light blue wings folded closed and glamoured to be invisible. I took a hard look at her.

A flash vision came over me. A spoiled child. A jaded adult. Indigo-blue with streaks of white. A herald, floating above the ground in glory and splendor. A bare back showing marks of chastisement. An arrogant argument. A bully.

Looking at the dogs, I see their form shimmer as well. These were bound creatures, but they were not dogs. The binding on them prevented me from seeing more. But if I could touch them… “They are splendid! You have such beautiful dogs! May I pet them? They are adorable!” The two dogs scrambled forward again but the woman pulled them back to her side. She held them so tightly, they were forced to lean on her to breathe.

“No! Mine! You’re mocking me! These are dangerous creatures and I should let them tear off your arms! I’ll be nice and let you walk away, this time! But next time I’ll let Shaitan and Sobek have at you!” She dragged the dogs away and left the scene.

~~~

I’m writing notes, sitting alone, and sipping a coffee. I might want to be left alone, you think? Silly me.

“I’ve seen them!” He sits at my table with a muffin and a coffee of his own. Completely ignoring my verbal challenge, he continues as if I had been waiting just for him. “I’ve seen them! Angels! After long last, they have shown themselves to me!”

I bounce between deciding which of his arteries to rip out first and how deeply to scar his soul. He mistakes my pause for encouragement. “And I was right! They look human!” I facepalmed. “You’ve seen them too!”

I look up at his face for the first time and realize I’m still dreaming. His face is obscured by a brilliant glow of still reflected light. Yup. He has seen an angel, and one in glory at that. Okay, I’ll play along. “I’ve seen a few.”

“They told me you had! That’s why I looked you up! No one wants to believe me! But you’ve seen them!” He gestured excitedly.

I relaxed a bit, smiling because he was genuinely happy. “They look humanish so we humans don’t freak out. They aren’t human. And they look entirely different.”

His happiness wavered. “No… Winged humans.”

I sipped my coffee as he made flapping wing motions. “No. However they want to appear, that’s what. I’ve seen angels with no wings, broken wings, two wings, and six wings. I’ve seen human flesh tones, porcelain white skin, black tar skin, blue skin, and no skin at all. As small as a child and as tall as… taller than the sky. And I’ve seen angels that my limited brain could not comprehend, with a visual structure so paradoxical, I seized from the impossibility of it.” I finished off my coffee. “You, my man, have seen only what you were meant to see. Now, take that gnosis they have given you, and see where it applies to your life. You can not take your vision and use it to measure what others have seen.”

My eyes was used to the glory still reflecting off his face. He looked a little sad under the light. “So, I can’t tell anyone about it?” He gripped his mug in consternation.

“You can. But you can’t expect everyone to take it at face value. Or even believe you! If you want to tell, tell, but be prepared for a backlash.”

“Did you have trouble when you told?”

“I get trouble nearly every time. But I expect that. Because it’s a personal thing I’m telling, and some people view personal stories as assault by bragging. You have something most other people don’t get. Jealousy is a bitch. Personal beliefs are a bastard. When those two cross, it’s shit.”

“So what do I do?”

“Whatever you damn well please. But try to mind your manners. Interrupt me again like this and you’ll be eating your mug.” I picked up my things and left the coffeehouse.

~~~