The sun is coming in through the windows of the red line. It’s bright, late afternoon, nearly 5:30 now. I can barely see the screen. It’s a good thing I touch type. At moments the sun shines directly in my eyes and I feel as though I will be blinded. But it also feels warm upon my face, upon my eyes. I am reminded of some visions I had recently, where I stood nude in the full light of the sun. Where for once, I was not afraid of the sun burning my skin, but was warmed by it. Where I felt uplifted and empowered by the warm light that bathed me.
I’m considering the need to start another place to write online. Another blog or journal. Not that this is a bad place, but I have plans already for Autumn Twilight, and what I’d like to do will interfere with those. I find that I am being called to read a great deal. Not just to read, but to analyze. To evaluate. To write about what I’ve read. To record my thoughts and establish them. I also find that this belongs in an electronic medium. A place where others can read my thoughts. Where what I’ve read may communicate it’s wisdom to me and others too.
I have this idea of having a topical focus of the day. Each day of the week would have an emphasis or topic. Not counting my daily dose of fictional and news reading, I would devote some of my time to reading whatever the current work (or subject matter in general) is, and write my impressions. I have formulated this idea from a few others I’ve had. One is Daniel. His method of reading and studying leaves me consistently amazed. He is reading 15 or more books at any given time. And he doesn’t rush through them. He will read a few pages, or a chapter. When he feels that he is full, he will put the book down and allow himself time to contemplate what it is he had read. I adore this, and it’s something that I not only admire, but find resonates with me. I often find that the deepest understanding, for me, comes from contemplating ideas piecemeal. Evaluating each and every concept or proposal on it’s own merit, then allowing them to change my world view and become part of me in their own time.
My second source, is that I’ve often found keeping a journal to be helpful. It doesn’t matter what I’m doing. A journal helps. I’ve journaled about things I’ve read before, while reading them, and after. And I’ve found that the discipline of writing about them helps to focus my awareness of what I’m reading, why it has meaning and value (or why it doesn’t), and what it means to me.
Edit: 2008 03 26: — I’ve started a new blog at blogspot. it’s called that witch i read. Okay, it’s a cheesy punny title, but I like it. deal.
It’s 10:41 pm as I write this. As is often the case, I am alone in my bedroom, lit only by candles and the ambient light pollution that is inescapable here. Vivianne is sitting on the floor at the foot of the bed, alert to all possible foes. I can hear the dishwasher going in the kitchen, and the toilet flushing as the lesbian takes a late night pee-break in her much needed sleep.
I spent a couple hours sorting files today. On the floor of the living room. Real files. Actual paper. Much of it was important. Some of it went into the recycling bin, but the vast majority of it was things that I need to keep. Over half of it was thing I’ve written. I found myself struck by the sheer quantity of words that I’ve put to paper. The sheer volume of it is amazing. And none of it is really complete. It’s stories, and concepts. First pages of much longer works. Tiny vingettes of whatever was taking my interest at the moment. I estimate at least 400 hand-written pages, much of it never placed on electronic media. This doesn’t count any of my journals, or the lengthy diatribes I have written here or elsewhere on the net.
Suffice it to say, I am realizing that I’m rather prolific. Laurell K. Hamilton likes to write 8 pages a day. That’s her goal. I wonder if I could write that much, or that frequently.
Anyway, the whole point of this is that there is a lot of that work that I want a digital copy of. The originals will of course be put into storage. I have no plans to let them go. What that means though, is that I have a lot of typing and review to do. I’m okay with that. It gives me some busy work to do when I’m bored. Something that is meaningful. It will also give me a chance to practice Dvorak. If I commit to doing transcription in Dvorak I’ll learn to type at a reasonable pace much more quickly than I’ve been able to do so far. I’ve already lost most of the Dvorak I learned last year, but I truly do want to pick it back up.
I’m going to try and post pieces of what I transcribe to the blog, perhaps they will catch the fancy of someone who will contract me for a book based on a piece in progress or something. :) — or perhaps I’ll find that I’m happy being able to look at it online.
The eclipse is almost over now, and I need to read and get some sleep before tomorrow. Blessed full moon all.
My friend,
I love you.
I honor the life that you live,
and each moment of your glory.
I honor your strength and sincerity,
and each wound you suffer wounds me.
I love you,
and will never leave, though you may
push me away in anger.
I love you,
though you may not wish my hands or hug,
and may turn on me today.
I love you,
quietly, in the darkness where
nobody can see.
I love you,
loudly, against the naysayers and
doom-sayers and hatred.
I love you,
In your sorrow and suffering,
and In your joy and celebration.
I love you,
I will not turn away from you.
I will face you, armed only with my love.
I will honor you, bare chested, with open heart.
I will counter you, and provide the foil you need,
though it wounds me.
I will touch you, though my hand may be burned.
I will love you, even in the long night,
when we cry and suffer.
I love you.
The last thing I remember is her smiling face. It was terrifying. Her light hair hung down around her triangular face, bouncy curls wavering in my fading vision. Whatever was in the syringe had worked quickly. There was excruciating pain. I lost control of my muscles and fell to the floor. She bent over me, her slender, precise hand curling to hold the pulse point in my throat.
I knew I was dead. I had to be dead. There was no breath in my lungs. I watched my body be taken to the morgue, and felt myself dragged along after it, unable to move more than a few feet outside of it. She wouldn’t let them preserve or dissect my body. I was buried the next day. The earth is a comforting dark place. A place where you can rest peacefully. I began to wonder if there was some way to move on. I was trapped, unable to move away from the slowly decaying hulk that was my body. I tried, but it was as though the universe were less than a yard in radius. There was nowhere I could go.
I felt a shock of electricity. A blast of force, and my consciousness, if a dead person possesses consciousness, rippled around me. I blinked. I was in my body. I blinked against the dark, but it was still dark. I began to beat against the lid of my coffin. I screamed. It occurred to me that for whatever reason I was back in my body, I didn’t have much air down here. I stopped moving. A few seconds later I heard a thump, coming down through the ground. Another, and another. The thumps grew louder over the space of a few minutes. Then there was a hard thump against the coffin. I jumped. A few more thumps. The coffin lid opened.
to be continued …
My love,
I write this as I lay beside you in bed. The lights are out and you slumber peacefully. Your breathing is steady and calm. My heart beat is not. It is a war-drum pounding in my chest. I won’t be here with you much longer.
I am not leaving through my own choice, you can say that I’m being taken. You have asked me time and again to tell you about the mysteries you have always known surrounded me. Would that I had time to tell you all of it. I do not. I have but the time for these scant few words. Your love is all that has kept me alive this long. Soon, it will not be enough.
In the park by the beach, there is a tree. It is gnarled and it’s branches spread like fingers reaching out to grasp the sun. Beneath that tree there is a single stone, shaped like heart. If you go to this tree on the night of the full moon, and look beneath this stone, you will find my legacy to you, a gift more precious than anything I could ever give you.
When I’m gone, you must not cry. You must do nothing but hold my final gift to you in secret. You will know what to do with it when the time comes. You have all my love, and I’m afraid there is nothing more I have left to give. Be well, and trust yourself!
your love,
Jessica
Our household is non-traditional in a lot of ways. But we are extremely traditional in some other ways. In our home, holidays are meant to be spent together, doing the things that are meaningful to us. So we spent Sunday together, a whole slew of our family. By the end of the evening there were eight of us present.
I can’t speak to the experiences of my family while I wasn’t around, but I can speak to my experience. Saturday the 2nd was technically Imbolg. But I had Mystery School, and everyone else had things to do. John and Elizabeth went to a ritual sponsored by Earth Spirituality Chicago held at the Occult bookstore. They said the guided meditation portion of it was amazing.
I had Mystery School all day. Eleven and a Half hours of Mystery School. Granted there was a communal dinner break in there, but that’s a lot of Mystery School. Have I mentioned that I’m a masochist? I love my mentors and fellow students, and I love experiencing and exploring the mysteries of our vocations together. There is little on this plane (perhaps kink) that I enjoy more. Then again, we have oft discussed the mysteries of our vocations in relation to, and inside the world of, kink. So maybe there isn’t anything I enjoy more.
I got home just before midnight on Saturday. The apartment was lit with candles that made the walls and floor glow. The hearth altar had new candles, beautiful pillars almost three feet high. Mark, in his generosity, bought them at Ikea earlier in the day, along with who knows how many other candles.
Mark, George, John, Shivian, and Elizabeth were all piled into pillows on the floor, waiting for their food to arrive and chatting. I was exhausted but felt renewed by the love that filled our home at that late hour. I, admittedly feeling a bit detached and unfocused, joined them and we communed for an unknown period of time. Then there was food, and I stole a piece of pizza, which was yummy.
John and I stayed up together in the living room talking philosophy as Lizzie slumbered and the rest of the boys watched “Into the Woods.” When we finally fell into bed around 4:30 I was pleasantly warmed and looking forward to the day ahead.
I got out of bed around 11 the next morning, feeling refreshed and aware. There was frost on the windows, and cool winter-light coming through the windows. We puttered around for a little. I cleaned and swept, and George made scones for breakfast.
This all seems rather dull, but if you’ve ever had the experience of sitting on the counter of the kitchen, laughing and and smiling, you understand why I mention it. Around two in the afternoon the cooking began. George wanted a feast. To the sound of Josh Groban, S.J. Tucker, Wicked, and Mika we danced and sang. John and I began to cut the beards of wheat off the stalks so we could make Brig’s crosses later that night. Lizzie had some adventures zesting fresh oranges with a cheese grater. George laughed maniacally as he poured half a bottle of cabernet sauvignon over the Seitan. We were awed when the corn/wheat/white-bread braided loaf came out of the oven, smelling rich and hearty.
We have a huge kitchen. It’s a dream. George complained that there wasn’t enough room. Again. We did a lot dishes throughout the day. All in all we managed to keep the kitchen relatively clean, even by the end of the night.
Josiah came home from Kelly’s, where he hadn’t slept well and napped for a couple hours. I was *this* close to waking him up with a snowball, but I didn’t want to get hexed. Mark and Shivian arrived around 6:00, and we began to prepare everything for the evening. We lit the living room/ritual room with candles, the Hearth altar glowed with a fire all its own.
We feasted, serving each other, pouring water for each other. We laughed and smiled more. Then we cleaned, moving seamlessly, and we sat and conversed until Frank arrived. Fresh from work, excited to be with us, to celebrate. We were eight now, and we cleared the room, moving into a circle as is habit.
We laughed at each other as we made our crosses of wheat, the moist stalks trying not to fold properly. We made offerings to the flames, and ground herbs together, sharing our intent for joy and happiness in the coming seasons. We made up chants, writing melodies and harmonies under the sounds of each others voices. The room grew warm, and the Goddess walked among us.
Brig came up through George, her words warm and sharp, like the fires of the spring and summer. But they wrapped around us, sharing her warmth and love, her blessings. She touched us with humor, with anticipation for the future, with the strength of our love and our community. When she left there was a moment of genuine sorrow that came through all of us. Then we let our love move around the room again.
We kissed and hugged. We shared our love and placed our gifts in their places. We separated and let ourselves move to our beds, sleeping. The sun was returning, and we slept in peace.
It begins with fear. I am walking down an empty street. The light of the sun is harsh and foreign upon my skin. The buildings tower around me, reaching to the bowl of her womb, man-made erections attempting to pierce her majesty. The shine of silver and glass is blinding in this canyon of man.
I know the journey is not over yet, I am too alone for it to be done. I reach out with my gift and I can sense the presence of spirits all around me. They move angrily, hurrying around with no seeming purpose. Everything about them seems blurred, unlike most of the spirits who visit us from time to time, whose minds are clear and precise, who never give away their true purpose.
These spirits are weak shadows by comparison, but their numbers! There are far more than I can count, and I can’t hold one in my mind for more than a moment before it has moved on. I can feel them growing closer to me, pressing in around me as the veil grows thinner and thinner. I run, terrified that my mind will be crushed by their weight. I turn between two of the buildings and move down the pathway there. There are iron boxes there and I hide behind one, finally getting inside one, thinking perhaps that it would shield me.
There are far fewer spirits in this pathway, and the iron box begins to smell. The crossing truly growing near. I wrap myself in the thin cloak Tia had given me before the war and huddle in the box, waiting for the crossing to be complete. There is a lengthening of time, then a slowing. I can feel the world stretching around me and my body begins to tremor.
There is no light in the box, but I shut my eyes, trying to keep back the visions that begin to arise, to no avail. Tia, her round face upturned to the glowing light of the moon, streaks of auburn glowing firey red by the silver sparkles. Then her features twisted, becoming some sort of unnatural beast. Her body catching fire and charring as it convulses around itself until she has become a demon. She lunges at me and I turn, striking at her with the sword from my back. The wrought silver blade moves through her as though she wasn’t there, and she cries in terror.
Tia’s eyes look out at me from the grotesque visage before me, and its forelimbs curl towards me, claws sliding from their sheaths. It lunges again, and my body twists as it was trained. The sword comes neatly around and severs her head. It rolls upon the grass at my feet, amber skin basked in the moonlight. Her hair pooled at my feet. The blackened visage gone, as if it had never existed.
Now I am screaming, I know because I can hear nothing but my own voice, vibrating horribly in the metal box as the world loses it’s sense of reality. I am thrust into memory, and my fathers anger at my actions. His eyes turning cold as he look sat me, tears for Tia frozen in place upon his cheek as he banishes me to the wilderness.
“Father, my liege, no! The demons are coming, they are here! Tia became one, I swear to you!” My voice was hoarse from crying, and my own eyes dark and angry from grief and terror, their leaf-green hue almost black now. He shakes his head and the maiden of the way, my elder sister, looks at me with pity as she moves towards me.
“You no longer have a place in this realm prince. Your way has been barred. Leave now and you may find solace at the hearth of your kin. Her talent wraps around me, and I feel the way to this place pulled from my consciousness, the symbols torn from me. I rise to my feet, already feeling the court beginning to fade from my sight. I look at the maiden of the way, whose hands begin to move again, preparing to send me far from this place. Her eyes betray her glee, their purple starburst glittering with silver and gold.
I shake my head once and shatter her weaving before it has encompassed me. “I will make my own way dear sister.” She raises herself to her full height and I sense her reaching for the power of the court to carry out her duty. I smile and step sideways before she has done more than touch that power, and I am gone. I feel echos of her anger as I move, turning again and again until I come to a place in the wild, where the soft sun caresses my skin and fills my hair with it’s light.
I lay down on the shores of the great river, and let myself sink into the earth to rest, but there was no rest to be found. The river carried to me memories of the demons. It brought visions of what they would do to my people, what they were capable of. The river gave me new warning and bid me follow its course and I did. At her mouth the delta of land was dark and sickly. Nothing grew in the rich soil, and I could feel the power of the demons there. I rose upon wings and gazed down upon it, and could see the point of terror, the piercing of our world that let their horror spill forth. And as I watched they parted from the delta. Shadows slid across the earth, undaunted by the light of the sun.
I laid back into the river, to watch the motion of the shadows. Time was meaningless to me, and they spread through the land, bearing their poison to the far-thrown corners of my world. I experienced each feeling of hopelessness and despair again and again. Finally, when the war began I tried to fight the demons, but they were too many and too strong. I rose from the river, and saw the destruction so many realms had endured, and I knew only that I must do something.
I am as’thar, and my magic has grown stronger since I first earned that title. I called spirits to me, the spirits of the other world beyond the veil, and they called me to them. There was something in their thoughts, something they could not express or truly understand. But I saw in their magic the echoes of my own. More importantly, I saw the echoes of the evil that was pushing through my realm so quickly. Surely they must have some way of combating it that I could not know.
And so I began the crossing. I walked under the sun and moon, beneath the firmament for days on end, until from that far away delta I began to travel along a line of power, one as yet untouched by the plague. I cast the power up from the land, sending my sorrow to the keepers of the place that I could not be more gentle. I called upon Her majesty, upon the blooming life of the sun and the way opened before me. I walked towards the lake, I could smell it far away, and when I first saw it, gazing upon it from a hill I knew that I was near where my home would be, if the way were not closed to me. In the air above the lake were shadows of a city, buildings towering before me.
I walked too them and they grew slowly more distinct, until I walked into one and it’s wall had substance. I followed the black roadways towards the lake, drawn ever forward by the power I had summoned, until the world collapsed upon me, folding over and over in this box, hidden away from the world I was trying to enter.
I lived my life a hundred times in the space of that fold, and then there was nothing but blackness, and the cold wintry air of the city. Then the bustling noise of the spirits moving around, and the hollow thud of the box I sat in. I listened for the sun and shivered. Waiting patiently for the darkness to settle before venturing out into this strange new world.
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