Most of the people who were released from their positions mid-month have their last day and exit-interviews tomorrow. All of my co-workers seem more than a little annoyed and stressed. Some of it is just because it’s hard to lose co-workers like this, but a lot of it is just undue stress thanks to the way the company is managed. Our HR director is incompetent, dogmatic, and apparently cruel in her own right.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m aware that HR is a crappy job, but a lot of people seek it out. I suspect the people that are attracted to HR are often the same people that are attracted to police work. Petty tyrants with barely enough brains to remember their computer password with fair consistency. I’ve worked with exactly one HR rep who was friendly, courteous, and helpful to me. One. I’ve actually had more positive experiences with police officers than with HR.

I’m having second thoughts about my decision to stick it out in my current position. One of my coworkers who lost her job just received an offer that is very substantial. Another has potential employers caught in a bidding war over her. The market is good for my skill set and presentation ability.

I’m not going to bail just yet. I want to see how things flow once the reduced team is up and running. I’m particularly interested in how flexible and comfortable the work environment is. Hopefully things will work out well.

I keep telling myself that money isn’t everything, that there are many other more important things to concern myself with. It’s true, but a large part of me keeps coming back to how much easier some aspects of my life would be if I commanded a salary more in line with my intelligence and skill-set. I do realize that I’m underpaid for my abilities and performance. Underpaid by quite a bit. I won’t accept that forever, but for now I have enough. I suppose I’m not mercenary enough. Perhaps loyalty is a mistake when it comes to business sense. I’ll find out soon enough.

Imagine a girl who was never given a name as a child, and who has refused to take one. No, I’m not talking about the Childlike empress. This is difference. She lets people call her by their own personal nicknames for her, but she is looking for a name. She sees this guy who is smart and creative and seems to be extremely observant. She falls for him instantly and says “perhaps upon observing me, you could give me a name.”

Very mysterious, quasi-mythological character there. She’s dark-haired, thick and deep deep rown with honey colored eyes and dark olive skin. She’s tall for a woman, just over six foot, and in shape, but curvaceous for certain.

I’m meeting Coriander tonight for more lessons in ceremonial and goetic workings. It should be exciting and enjoyable. May be a bit of a late night though, we are’t starting until he gets home from work, probably around 9-ish or so. I’m going to try and bring Matthews stuff back to his place tonight too so it won’t be in my apartment anymore. It will be nice to have most of the Floor space in the living room back.

I should get paid this morning. That will make me happy. I like money. Then I can pay some of my bills and maybe spend a little money on me. I also have to find time to get a license plate sticker for my car, and a city sticker.

It promises to be a busy day at work today. There are several issues to explore, and several just flat out simple changes or modifications to interfaces and data-models. When it rains, it pours. I’ve been busier in the last three days than I have in the last month.

I’m not a normal person. I don’t spend my time doing normal things. I’m a nerd, and I’m geeky about several things. I don’t really watch television, and I spend a lot of time in contemplation of self and the world. As I’ve struggled with growing up in a world that’s hostile to individuation on principle, and individuals in general I’ve learned a few things that have been cropping up in my life.

One: You can’t rely on anyone, especially yourself.

There are no absolutes. Everyone is absolutely reliable dependent on their nature and the stimulus they’re exposed to. I don’t truly know the nature of anyone, and I certainly do not know the wholeness of their experience in the present, let alone in the future. Therefore it is ultimately impossible for me to have truly accurate expectations of behavior of anyone. This goes double for myself. I may have a better idea of my nature than anyone else, but I’m fucked up too. Don’t fool yourself about it.

Listen to Buddha. Release your expectations.

Two: Anything is possible.

Ten years ago I thought I was straight and headed for marriage. Five years ago I thought spirit-work was for the weak. Four years ago I thought I’d never join a tradition. Three years ago I thought I’d be doomed to clerical work for the rest of my life. A month ago I only used ceremonial magic when I had to.

Today none of these things are true. If I were the type to have expectations, I would suspect that next year I will discover that I am actually a sea-serpent experiencing a wild dream of a reality that couldn’t exist.

If you see the Buddha, Kill the Buddha. Then realize that there is no such thing as death and dismiss the illusion.

Three: Your teachers can’t see your path.

Your teachers will always think they know what’s best for you. Often they will be right. More often they will be wrong. Trust them implicitly, but learn to recognize your own needs and path amidst the vision they have for you.

I’ve encountered this too many times with my own teachers, in school, magic, and life. Things may have been easier if I’d recognized it years ago. My teachers in many things have been wise and strong, and they have given me gifts and lessons that I am grateful for. I see though, that it’s my machete that cuts the path before me, not theirs. Placing your own feet upon the steps of another in adherence to the path leads you to ignorance of the scenery and ultimately failing to learn the lessons you’re being taught.

Walk beside your teacher. Watch his actions and model those that resonate. Solve the problems that he can’t. When the time comes, dispatch him (metaphorically speaking… mostly).

Most importantly!:

Consider, Intuit, and Act from a place of sincerity and love. This is not the only way, but I do not believe there is a better one.

John left for Missouri earlier this morning. He’ll be gone about ten days, that’s a long time. I kinda want to take a nap. There is sort of a geeky cute guy on the train. Not gorgeous, just cute. He’s huddled in the corner by the door reading a book and trying to disappear.

I’m listening to Linkin Park: Meteora to keep me awake and help me grow more awake during the train ride. It’s not helping as much as I’d like. I want to crawl back into my bed with my kitty and cuddle. It’s mornings like this when I wish I had a regular bed partner to encourage slothly cuddly behavior on my part.

I’ve got to do a lot of table comparisons at work today. That will be fun. Then I have to try and install/update a reporting services installation to see what works/doesn’t work. It promises to be a full and rather interesting day, which is very happy on the not-falling-asleep-at-my-desk side of things.

I’ll probably get home and go get some food around 8:30 or so. I’ve got a full week ahead of me. Tomorrow is the only evening that I don’t have a commitment after I get off work. Exciting!

I’ve been thinking a lot about authority figures. I began writing an essay on authority and it’s relationship to neo-pagan religion, particularly my experiences with the Brotherhood the other day. The same issue has been rising for me for months now. Authority is a bias that only I can assign, and ultimately nobody has authority over my life but me. I’ve encountered numerous issues where I’ve had to challenge or flout authority in the past year.

On Sunday I went to Patrick’s second Saturn return celebration and joined in community to welcome him to elderhood. One of the themes of the afternoon was the recognition of self-authority instead of external authority, and this is typically one of the lessons of Saturn’s first return (which is probably near for me, if not already present, being 28 now).

I’ve been realizing that just becuase I respect and often agree with one method of doing something, or with one mode of behavior, doesn’t mean I have to always agree with it or obey it’s tenets.

I’m meeting with Coriander later this week for some more training in ceremonial magic, which is very exciting. I’ve been having some success lately with balancing the strict structure of ceremonial magic and ritual with my own tendency towards wild energy. I’ve also had some revelations and reminders about using/channeling the energy of godhead through ceremonial magic, which is counter to my natural instinct.

I’m listening to the soundtrack to Fame! the Musical. It’s a lot of fun. Most people think it’s cheesy, and it is, but it’s very enjoyable to me.

This is kind of a random catch-all post. I’m in that sort of scattered mood. I need to put some thought into Kevin as well. Just turn my attention towards him and the spirits around him so I can best serve him tonight and in the future. John is joining us for dinner, so that will be fun. I’m not sure what I want to eat. Probably chicken strips, cause they’re delicious. Or maybe Kevin and I will split a pizza, if he likes the same shit i do.

As he concentrates, the orb begins rise from the table, steadily levitating until it is above his head, showering it’s light upon his pale scalp. Gregory flexes his mental effort slightly and the light brightens to the warm glow of a setting sun. He focuses for a moment and fixes the orb where it rests, hovering in the air near the ceiling and uncrosses his legs. He rolls up onto the balls of his feet and the pool of fabric slides down his legs, leaving only his toes and heels exposed. He moves the table into the corner and returns to the center of the room, almost missing the presence of a man standing in the dark of the next room, just out of the lights glow.

“Who’s there?” He asks, wondering why anyone would be here at this time of night. Nothing he was doing was anything they hadn’t seen him do and studied for months already. There was no reason for them to be surprised.

“It’s me.” Jared says, his voice soft as he steps into the light. Gregory pauses for a moment when he sees the young orderly. Not wearing his white uniform, but dressed all in black. The fabric was tight to his torso, it’s sleeves ending about four inches above the wrist, where a silver band circles his right wrist. His black hair braided tightly and pulled up behind his head. Gregory has a momentarily chaotic vision of the other mans body pressed against his, skin sliding together, generating heat through friction and exertion.

Jared’s expression quirks for a moment, arching an eyebrow. He blinks and seems to refocus. “If you want to leave we have to go now. I can’t stay after tonight.”

“What? Why? What’s going on?”

“We don’t have time for all your questions Gregory. I don’t know that we have time to be talking here. You need to trust me.”

“Why should I trust you?”

“Because,” he smiles and extends his hand, “you aren’t alone in the world.” His hand opens and above the palm a purple flame springs to life, dancing in the air, shooting sparks up towards the glowing orb that still hovers near the ceiling.

My organs are human, if somewhat oddly functioning. My heart beats about ten times each minute during strenuous activity. While asleep it is far less. I have never been ill. I have never had an infection.

They tell me that my genetic material is unusual, that it is not human. How different they do not say. I only know that I can do things that my parents couldn’t, that nobody human could.

I have felt different for nearly a decade now, ever since my parents brought their holy child to the Doctor to show him what I could do.

I moved my fingers and swirled the coffee in the doctors cup. I used to do it to amuse my baby sister. I’d sprinkle some pepper into the water and swirl it around until a miniature tornado moved inside the glass.

I have not seen my parents or sister since.

They tell me that I am not human. I have always believed them, but now I doubt. What is it that defines a human? Is it our bodies? Our genes? Our soul?

I feel human. My heart hurts for the parents that I will never see again. I am lonely, and I will never have anyone to love, because I will never be allowed to leave this place. I long for the life I might have had, although I can hardly imagine it. If I could, I would leave this place, with it’s pale orange walls and sterile floors. But I will never be able to do so.

I will stay here until I die, unless Jared keeps his promise to me…

I’m in kind of an odd mood. I’m working through some shadows tonight. The moon is barely waning and already I am getting depressed. I’m not sleeping so well either. The next two weeks promise to be challenging. Which is good, but also hateful.

I wonder if it’s always this hard to reconcile self-perception with the perceptions that people have of you. The person I am can only be self-defined. If I am to have personal strength I can not let myself be defined by the people around me. I can not let ascribed motivations supersede actual motivations. Self-definition, self-awareness is the core of individuation.

I think I see a hole that a lot of magicians before me have stumble into. It has me caught because I haven’t found a way around it yet. Must everything be a tight-rope walk? It would be really easy for me to isolate my perception of self and deny the veracity of perceptions given to me by others. In the core of things, this must be the goal. Nobody else has the right or power to define or constrain the person I am.

But I have no desire to be alone in my life. I have no desire to estrange those few people close to my heart, and their feelings and thoughts are valuable to me. It’s hard to tell someone you love that you aren’t the person they think you are. Or that you aren’t acting from the motivations they place upon you.

It’s harder to try and take criticism or observation at face value and try to reconcile it with self-perception and memory. All perception is valid, even the perceptions of others. But what about perceptions that don’t reconcile, or don’t appear to reconcile in magnitude?

There’s no easy fix. I have to take what I’m given at face value and evaluate it’s place in my self-perception. How to change those perceptions that are inaccurate though? If someone brings something to my attention that is accurate it’s important to learn to observe it. That’s tricky but it is a matter of self-awareness.

But how do you change the perceptions of others that are inaccurate, and stem from their conceptual model of the person you are? I suppose people have been struggling with this since before the dawn of time. It’s hard to get a sexist to see an actual person behind the gender-identity they’ve assigned them. It’s equally hard to get a racist to see through the race-identity they expect.

Is it more difficult on a personal level? People create behavioral and identity models in their heads of all the people they meet. They use those models to interpret how you will react and how they should treat you. The accuracy of those models depends on the persons skill at creating them, the prejudices or blind spots that are in effect, and the rate at which the person they are modeling changes hir behavior. How can you break out of the models that people are placing on you gently? How can you be respectful and sincere, yet still let people know that they have some flaws in their model, or at least some dated components?

–

“I’m fine, Mom. Really, just take me home.” Jaysen pleads. Jacqueline, pale hair glowing sunlight, glances at the EMT behind her son. When he nods she returns the motion and presses her lips tightly together.

“Come on then Jaysen. Lets go.” Jaysen says goodbye to his coach and teammates as his mother picks up his bag and stands impatiently by the door. He looks longingly back at the gymnasium where the competition continues without him. Rubbing his temple he puts his sunglasses on as they walk through the sunlit hallway towards the parking lot, trailing after his mother.

He’d never missed a landing before. He’d never even fallen before, not accidentally. His eyes hurt, even behind the dark glasses the sun seemed to burn through them, piercing his head painfully. He gets in the passenger seat and keeps his eyes closed for most of the drive home.

“I told you I didn’t think Gymnastics was a good idea. I told you you’d get hurt.” His mother said when they were at home. “You had to do it though. Just had to be special.”

“I didn’t fall because of gymnastics Mom, I had some sort of freak headache.”

“Stress is what did it!” She was ramping up into hysterics, Jaysen had seen it a dozen times before. “The paramedic says your blood pressure probably spiked and caused you to black out.”

“They don’t know that Mom, it’s just a guess. I’m fine, I just need to take some Tylenol and I’ll be good as new, you’ll see.”

“I will not see. You’re going to the Doctor tomorrow, and you’re not going back to gymnastics. And that’s final.”

Jaysen, knowing better than to try and argue with her when she was like this, just hurries out of the room. He dumps Three Tylenol into his hand and swallows them with a chug of water from the bathroom sink, then hurries to his bedroom, leaving his mother fuming in the kitchen.

—

After her son has gone upstairs Jacqueline calms down quickly. She takes a deep breath and goes into the bathroom. She rubs her right arm and pulls up the sleeve. A small pink birth-mark is situated right over the vein about halfway up her forearm, shaped like a fat little ’s’. She frowns and leans in towards the mirror, turning on the higher powered lights. She blinks her eyes a few times and looks at her eyes. The pale gray is shot through with white lines, bursting from the tiny pupil and bisecting a halo of the deepest black that lines the disk. She takes some Tylenol herself, sighing in sadness before getting up to make dinner.

I walk out of the small pathway, my feet pushing through the snow, as though they were questing for the cool earth beneath, but encountered only the strange black paving. There are more lights here, of all shapes and colors. The light is dazzling to my eyes. Not as harsh or bright as the cruel sun of this place, but disorienting. The light comes from everywhere, but doesn’t seem to illuminate much at all. The black street is mostly free of snow, as if it cleared itself, or as if the snow could not last upon it.

I look up to the sky, and there are no clouds, but there are also no stars. The buildings rise all around me, but I can see the sky. There are no stars. I shudder against the thought. Where do these spirits find inspiration? Where do they gaze when waiting for Her to communicate with them? I pull the hood of the cloak over my head and begin to walk North, through the city. There is nobody present, only a stillness as eerie as the place itself. Before crossing I had sensed the abundance of spirits here. But now, almost none at all. Those spirits that I could feel around me were in buildings, moving slowly. None of them with the power that I had come looking for. I could feel power under the black streets though, sleeping deep within the earth. There were spots, north, where it spiked up, reaching to the surface before moving deeply beneath it again.

I walked toward those. Surely, if there were spirits of power here, they would be near the power. Quietly, I set off towards them.

I don’t know much about the details but it does sound like an interesting project. I’m not really worried about my job security. I think they need to get through this round of layoffs before they start looking at more cuts. The CTO believes that in a few months they’ll be looking at hiring and rehiring to refill some of the staff that they cut. I may end up moving back to the original team I was on when that occurs, or perhaps not. I’ll spend some time polishing my resume this weekend anyway. Best to be prepared for the possibility.

I’m going to try blogging a little more regularly again, even if some of what comes out isn’t life changing or crazy important. I’m going to try for 3 blog posts a week here. I’m also working on a new skin for the site. I will be very very happy when it is done and looks awesome.

Work is crazy busy. I feel like I’m being pulled in multiple directions at once, and need to get clarification from management what my priorities are. But it’s good that I’m keeping busy. I have no money right now, and I hate that with a fiery passion. I get paid early next week, or possibly over the weekend. That will be very very helpful and make me feel like less of a bum.

As of yesterday my weight was 255 lbs. This is 15 lbs lighter than I was 5 months ago. Not great, but it’s getting there. My current goal is to be less than 230, which will make me lighter than I’ve been in 5 or 6 years. After that I’ll start looking at breaking the 200 mark (which will make me lighter than I’ve been in a decade).

I’m also going to try to write more fiction again, but I don’t know how often or how much I will be able to get to. It’s not high on my priorities. I’m going to try for the 3 blog posts a week to start and build up from there. I also want to build a writing program. I may build it as a web application or I may not. The idea is to over time be able to have all of my writing in one location so I can manage it more easily. That’s not to say that I’ll ditch my journals. A lot of writing seems to be more appropriate by hand, but I would like to make an effort to type most of it as well.

I stepped out into the night, wearing only scooby-doo sleep pants which have been worn and abused so long there are holes and rips that define their shape as much as the fabric does. The rain was light, almost non-existent as I walked around the corner to the small grassy lot; across the street where there are bushes and flowers and trees.

Atenomai: A call to say ‘I honor you’ but much sweeter of sound and connotation.

I compare the wild spirit of the rain and the dark moon with the rigid motion of prescribed ritual and I want to laugh. The power here, standing in the wild, in the presence of the natural divine is not met by the formulas of ritual. I lift my heart in thanks to three great names, and to the forces that surround me, and I laugh as the wind blows my now-wet hair around my neck. I glow darkly, fire curling around my fingertips. Gun-metal grey mixed with vibrant earth-green, and recently a shining blue that wraps itself in veins and cords through and beneath the flames that race along my skin.

I am a wild thing in my heart. My power is the rushing force of the waterfall or a mighty river. This is my gift, and my danger. I will not be tamed, it is not my way. But a waterfall that floods the plains and drowns the crops is worse than a fickle stream that is barely able to coax a few root vegetables from the earth each season. It must be known, if only so that the crops may be planted elsewhere, or the rivers course changed somewhat.

Atenomai, may I find the balance that I see here. May I find control that does not seek to tame the natural divine in me, nor unleash it wildly upon my life.