Who’s Telling This Anyway?

I have been warned, that I have been making myself too transparent in my writings. Too many details about my inner self, my workings, and my ecstatic path. I have become a Mystery Cult of One with many anthropologists camped outside my hut, ready to pull apart my fetishes the moment I set them down.

Despite the tag “Yes There Is More – No, I’m Not Telling”, folks are running off with my words at face value. Which leads to sometimes interesting, often frustrating private exchanges.

“Hey Keri, in that last post where you mentioned such and such, you were talking about something else, weren’t you.” Yes. “What was it?” Can’t tell you. “Why not? I won’t tell, I promise!” Sorry, no can talk. I’ve said what I could. “Well, I think it was [wild speculation].” I can neither confirm, nor deny, your speculation. “<angry> What the hell makes you so damn special?” Why do you want to know so bad? “<many expletives and derogatory remarks>”

Running head first into other people’s prejudices and preconceptions is always a source of amusement for me. I’ve learned (mostly) not to take such miscommunications as personal assaults. So, when I spelled out clearly (I thought) that I am “Lokean”, and what type of Lokean I am, for several days afterward I received private messages that could be represented as “Hey, I’m Lokean too, wanna fuck?”. Um, no. “But Loki fucked everything that moved, we should too!” No, you’re not on the list. If you wanna know why, ask Loki yourself.

By the way, I did hear back from one randy male that actually did petition Loki to force me to submit to him. Last I heard from his now-ex, Viagra didn’t work for him after that. Apparently, even after his divination confirmed that I was “not available”, he tried to force the issue with a working. Oh, schadenfreude.

I suppose I am a Mystery Cult of One. I have no grove, coven, familia, or kindred physically present. Of the group that I do consider kin, the closest one is a four hour drive away across an unforgiving desert.  I also have no open place to practice, and must keep my more heretical thoughts and expressions a secret from my bloodkin.

As such, dreamwork and trancework are often my only means of Serious Magic. Because I have no one to synchronize my perceptions and beliefs with, the dreamscapes take on a life of their own. So when I write of what I see, my accounts are not likely to align with the widely accepted myths and third-party accounts. Add to that, I do keep some mysteries to myself, either leaving them out entirely, or obfuscating certain details. Which leads to people flipping their shit and trying to discreetly correct me.

“Loki doesn’t do [that].” Well, he did for me. “Then it wasn’t Loki.” You tell him that. I want to watch, from about 30 feet away.

“Papa Legba wouldn’t have accepted your offering, you were doing it wrong.” I’ll concede I was doing it wrong. I thought I made it clear that I had no fucking clue what I was doing at the time. “Also, Papa Legba wouldn’t even have accepted it from you because you’re not an initiate.” Tell you what, you go dream your own dream, run into him, and argue your case.

“If the guy you called ‘Keeper of Skulls’ is [redacted – wild speculation], then you’re in deep shit. Unless you’re initiated, only the dead can approach him.” Something about my three page response consisting of the word “ROFL” repeated over and over, really unnerved the person, as the final response from him was, “I’ll see your skull on that table soon.” Someone hasn’t been paying attention to the direction my dreams have gone lately.

It’s obvious I have no real direction with this little rant. I’m just seriously annoyed that some readers are taking my accounts and running full throttle on the assumption that they know everything about me, my path, and my workings. There is this undercurrent of dominion that comes across, an insatiable need to put me in a small little place where they can keep watch over me and make sure anything I write about is orthodox. As if with my various heresies, I threaten their fabric of reality.

As bothersome these little minded pricks are, they do serve a very important purpose. They help me to respect and treasure the small group of people I do consider my kin. Even though not a one of them walks the same path as me, they have accepted me with a level of openness that I still have trouble believing. This… tribe… encourages me to continue walking counter to what has been accepted and repeated in blind faith, even though it means I will walk spiral around and through them.

My anger is spent, I have nothing more to add. I suppose I’ll go post this and see how others make of it, as they may.