December 7, 2013
I’ve been having a full-blown, five alarm personal apocalypse of some sort as the year finds its end.
To sum these things up:
1. I’m STILL fighting for my disability.
2. I was suffering from severe endometriosis, which in turn all but guaranteed the LAVH//Full Hysterectomy I had on November 4th. Now, I’m in surgically induced menopause, and out of my bloody mind with extreme moods swings every 2-3hrs. Let’s not forget hot flash HELL every single night, all night — which in essence has caused me to get even less sleep than I was before the Hysterectomy. More on that in a moment.
3. I fucked up, and started talking to my ex in some wraparound, delayed-response attempt to silently punish my current BF/BD/NEW Ex for the 3+ times he cheated on me in our 8yrs of living together. I can’t and won’t speak for him, other than to say 4 months after saying we could work it out he decided we couldn’t. TOTAL Surprise to Me.
4. I am alternating between severe depression, and severe anger-managment issues. Mind you, this is probably due to the fact that my body has been thrown into menopause with no hormone therapy for the first full month after the hysterectomy due to how young I am. (Mid-30s, you bastards. Mid-30s.)
5. I’m completely disillusioned, disgusted, and done with the opposite sex. I know I’ve said this before but honestly I mean it this time. Between the past two, back-to-back 8yr relationships which ended so badly I can’t even find the words…I have nothing to offer ANYONE, male or female, sexually or asexually. I’m burnt out, I’m BUMMED Out…it is Over.
6. For the first time in my life, I don’t have anything constant other than my son — to keep me distracted from the failures that have come one right after the other for the past two years. Hell, I can’t even have a proper post-breakup pregnancy scare — I’m surgically barren.
…Ok, so that’s enough for the “Sad Sally Sanderson” talk. Let’s get to the point.
Life…Life, is horrible. It’s just frickin AWFUL, 99.9% of the time. It really, really is. But it’s LIFE.
As I was preparing to write this, my little son laid his head into my lap to fall asleep. Looking at his little round face, I had a complete epiphany. Literally, one of those frozen moments in time that brought everything to clarity. And that clarity-filled moment’s message?
None of the aforementioned even matters. None of it.
What was created and nurtured within the past 3-7yrs of my life is what matters — Not what was stalemated or ENDED in the last 3-7yrs of my life. And what was created — beyond the obvious, my son?
Confidence was created. It’s the end of all the questions, it’s the end of all the confusion, and it’s the end of all the worry over the uncontrolled. From this point on, I have utter and total control over who I am, where I go and what I do. I don’t have to think up lengthy explanations to explain my state of mind or physical condition compared to what someone else wants or wants to do. I don’t have to conform to some guy’s bullshit idea of what makes a man, in comparison to his behavior and treatment of his woman. I don’t have to explain away someone else’s refusal to respect anything, in any capacity. I don’t have to do jack SHIT, actually.
I “accomodate” no more. I play “mommy/maid service” no more (well, mommy to my son only). I “give up or give-in” no more. And I no longer give 3/4s MORE, just to get even less because of someone else’s wants and desires ever again. Because I’ve been doing that for so very very long — and as much as this all hurts me to the marrow of my bones, I have to take my mother at her word. This is blessing in disguise. This entire nasty, mess of a year has been nothing but blessing.
The Year of the Serpent, the year I was born…No change comes without sacrifice, pain, burning and blood. You can’t tear away at the old pieces of yourself; rip away those parts that serve no purpose without some exertion…some wear and tear…some pain. You simply can’t have change without some sort of turmoil or unpleasant resistance. And at it’s core, that’s what the Year of the Serpent brings.
And so I eat my tail again…devour myself whole in the knowledge that I’m being reborn…and that birth, of ANY Kind, is always messy.
Until we meet again…
November 14, 2013
“Alice: You’ve gone quite mangy, cat…but your grin’s a comfort.”
Cheshire Cat: And you’ve picked up a bit of an attitude, still curious and willing to learn, I hope.” – from Alice in Wonderland
I must confess something. While I am one of the most tolerant people I know, I am completely INTOLERANT when it comes to Atheism. I truly, truly despise the topic, subject, and practice of Atheism. While I respect the right for every human-being on this earth to “practice what they preach” (sans hurting or killing others of course!)
I just cannot get behind anything that promotes FACT OVER FEELING. To me, Atheism is just one more step closer to full-blown spiritual and sensory DEATH that every generation come after Generation-X has now been born into this world with. More on that, but let me rewind for a second…
Have you ever been touched by the divine? Seriously, have you ever seen/felt/or heard the voice(s) of the gods? And if so, what did they show you? Why, you? What did it mean? I call it being “God-Struck;” the veil slipping just a notch, when you must need to hear a message from your gods…but ESPECIALLY, ESPECIALLY when you don’t need to hear from them. I can speak from personal experience; there is nothing like the feeling of being touched during your normal, everyday life by the actions, wills and words of the gods.
I don’t write this just in reference to my conversion to Paganism, my first true communion with my patron and Mother Goddess, Aset. I write this in reference to every single “small blessing and tiny miracle” I ever did see. The touch of the divine always comes at the most inopportune yet necessary time, for me. It’s not during or after ritual; it’s not when I’m screaming their names at the top of my lungs. It’s always and ever at my quietest moments – the moments when I realize just how badly my life COULD have turned out if what others’ call chance—I call it intervention, mind you!–had not made a way. These are the times in my life I remember most fondly, because their occurrence changed the course of my life for the better. It’s these times I think of, these “God-Struck” moments that made me deign to turn my head when I first saw the article written on the ‘God Graveyard.’
The God Graveyard; it happened on the campus of the University of North Georgia, via the North Georgia Skeptics Society (http://www.patheos.com/blogs/friendlyatheist/2013/10/31/college-atheists-place-god-graveyard-on-campus-200-tombstones-of-gods-we-no-longer-worship/ ). Long story short; 200 Mock Tombstones were placed on a busy portion of campus—each hosting the name of an ancient god now considered part of mythology. Below the name noted on the tombstone? A question for every person that passed it: When will your particular god join this mix? Atheists…people who promote themselves as the most rational, and most tolerant group of ‘groups’ in today’s modern world. They’ve worked hard to set themselves above every religious, political and separatist group out there. In my humble opinion, their reach goes well beyond that of simply not believing in what one may classify as mythological or diety-based sects. In my humble opinion?
Their reach has moved past community and solidarity. And when that’s official? You become a part of the public buffet; open and ready for public consumption. So, let me make my humble opinion the metaphorical fork in the road; their actions and obvious direction as Atheists? – the food on my plate. You cannot attack every single belief and inadvertently, every walk in life by making a “statement graveyard” in a public place – yet, say that it’s totally non-confrontational. By creating this graveyard, this particular Atheist group called out every religion (past, present and future) that is out there! They pointed their stanky little fingers at traditions, practices and ways of life that they know nothing about. They claimed both knowledge and experience – whether minimal or omnipresent—of ideals, practices and experiences that in essence they don’t know nor will ever know anything about! Who are these people, these groups who call themselves Atheists—to claim what DOES or DOESN’T exist in regards to a faith in practice that they’ve never once – if ever – tried to learn and experience from start to finish.
In my humble opinions, it’s the same thing as saying “computer science doesn’t exist” – though I’ve never even taken one C++ course a day in my life. WHO AM I, to say something I’ve never once experienced/participated in, is not real? Who am I to say that for those that have immersed themselves in the study/experience/or Worship of something, are wrong? It’s as simple as that. The doors of perception, one way or the other, are relative only to the individual or entity experiencing them.
When it comes down to it, some are more attune and open than others. And some? They refuse to open to that which cannot be explained away. It’s who they are and always will be—but that’s ok.
In finish, a quote from an article I read today:
“Absolute truth exists. And truth is not determined by the majority, but by the Truth-Giver. Most important, truth matters and consequences exist. We must be willing to discuss this so we can distinguish between good and bad ideas; or risk the consequence of being held back as individuals and/ora nation; or worse. If we don’t want to accept this, pray the pagans are right so that in the end it doesn’t matter.”–http://www.lcsun-news.com/las_cruces-opinion/ci_24469132/pagans-postmodernism-and-possible-consequences
Until we meet again…
Brightest Blessings, ~PW
April 3, 2013
Last night, I dreamed about the gods.
Now mind you, while most would not find this a monumental occasion, I do solely because I haven’t dreamed about them in months.
I’m telling half truths…I didn’t dream about them, I walked the dreamscape WITH Them. All that I remember at this point in the evening is that Dionysus was primarily there, along with some version of Pan. I remember the dark forrest, but not being afraid. I remember a horned, small statured man speaking to me in loud exaggerated barks that were part latin, part greek and part the language of the gods.
I remember the wild hunt beginning, and me becoming no longer the watcher Spider but the Mad Maenad…I remember hunger, and drunkenness, and absolutely NO FEAR as my spidery legs morphed into human legs and limbs. I remember digging into the dirt with my dirty, cracked and bleeding feet- -the powdery wet soil soothing me as the Pan-like creature barked and pointed his commands to me and mine. I felt the ivy tangled in my dreadlocks; hair I don’t even have.
The creature pointed at the snow-capped mountain tops, and I nodded my acknowledgment. We were going to run, and crawl and climb and fly to Dionysus- -make him proud of our strength!
…And then I was running, inhumanly fast- -Sooo fast that huge clumps of raw earth exploded from the ground in my wake. I was so excited, FEARLESS! I could not wait to fall at the feet of my god, and writhe with ecstasy just at his nearness…but as I kept running, I began to realize something…
I was never getting closer to the mountain, because he’d already devoured me. I was already inside of him, my Dionysus. He’d consumed me, as I was now trying to consume him! This running was pointless- -he’d never left me, if anything just infused me with his power by chewing me up and spitting me back out whole and renewed.
The creatures I ran with shrieked their approval in great yelps; leapt into the air and somersaulted with pleasure as my eyes became more open with the realization…that this dream wasn’t a dream but a message from my god–one of many to come, from my mixed and glorious Pantheon…
“…you were always free!”
Until we meet again…
April 20, 2012
***For some odd reason, this one was queued vs. showing in my posts from last week, no idea why. So, re-posting the right way***I can see why the mythically (or real) Maenads of olde would’ve LOVED a good rave in these times. It was through dance that they found themselves, found that higher state of being. It was through EXCESS that they became physically mad, psychotic, enraged with the need to service that which they considered ‘the divine’.
What could or couldn’t be divine? What’s right or what’s wrong, about the methods and choices other Pagans use in order to worship their patron Goddess or God? What is the necessity of following rules and guidelines, in order to perform magic ‘correctly?’
Magic isn’t about right or wrong, ceremony or decadence, what color you wore or how you interpret the words written in parchment.
A movie called Stigmata struck me with words that may or may not be true – but have always FELT true when it comes to my thoughts about the Divine Presence, whether male or female (it just happens to be female to me). This movie had a lost text of the bible, that started with the following:
Jesus said the kingdom of God is in you and all about you not in a building of stone and wood Split a timber and I am there look under a stone and you will find me?
When I heard those words the first time, they struck me hard – actually made me cry. At the time, I was still a non-practising Episcopalian. Now? I’m very much making my moves, and theological study and religious beliefs about Isis worship — it just simply makes sense, and feels right to me. It’s what was always there, for a very long time; I truly feel that I have simply reconnected with what was always there.
Egyptian Paganism & the Hellenic traditions have been in my heart since I was in elementary school. My borderline obsession with reading books about the old Dynasties of Egypt and the myths of old Rome & Greece, now comes full circle as I realize I was simply searching for something that reminded me of “me.” It simply, without fail, made sense to me. It wasn’t about dog-headed and bird-headed gods and goddesses, it was only about the one, she who had always been there. And there are a lot of people who feel offended by the fact that I don’t see ‘her’ as a HE, and vice-versa, that I don’t worship the others as patron Gods and Goddesses, also.
What I’ve learned is that the only person that you can satisfy when it comes to your personal theology, YOUR beliefs, is You. It’s what makes *your* heart beat, what makes your pulse quicken, what floods your dreamscape. And what’s unfortunate as that the human race has not learned after all these millenia and years to respect each other’s beliefs and principles, as they are all simply based on one – doing to others as you would have done to yourself.
I’ve begun looking into the story of Skopas, whose statue stands today as the simple of passion for one’s god/goddess, a symbol of Bacchic ‘frenzy’ or devotion, furor even, for their God. The Maenads’ mark on history most certainly may be gone but not forgotten. They are a part of Hellenic tradition & Greek mythos that still inspires me to this day – the part I most identify with. Excess has nearly killed me many a time; you’d think I’d learn. But that was the excess of the chemical, the material. The Excess of Passion – it’s an emotion and action I’ve never found myself quite able to let fully go of. My great passion for the things I do, and how I do them, more often offends others and gets me in trouble. But my great passion is what sets me apart – being fearless by being possessed by a nearly orgiastic ‘passion’ may be considered dangerous by some, but boundary-pushing by others. Me included. So as I start to study these things, I try to remember that it’s ok to express here the feelings inspired by being struck damn near dumb and stupified by the Divine. She called me home, I went. And regardless of where that takes me, I can tell you for a fact that the magic of she has led me nowhere that I can suffer harm throughout this new year of my worshipping her. My senses, and my instincts are so razor sharp now, that I doubt myself no more. I follow my heart without fear this time, and if that’s madness – so mote it be.
On Sunday, December 8th 2013 the Lizard King would have been 70 years old.
Instead he died one year shy of Osiris.
Here are some quotes from the great man:
People are afraid of themselves, of their own reality; their feelings most of all. People talk about how great love is, but that’s bullshit. Love hurts. Feelings are disturbing. People are taught that pain is evil and dangerous.
Needless to say, I think you should contribute something. Here are the details:
1) This is not a tumblr giveaway, no amount of likes or reblogs will win you anything or up your chances of winning. This is a proper contest, and you must submit art in a format of your choosing, in honor of Dionysos.
2) All works must be ORIGINAL works of your own.
Priestess and author, Isidora Forrest has a wonderful post detailing the reason why Heru-sa-Aset's birthday is celebrated on December 25 (Hint: Look in Plutarch). Here is the article: Isis, Osiris, Horus and the Holy Day of December 25.
The Kemetic Festival dates for the birth of Heru-sa-Aset (Horus son of Isis) are different.
The celebration of Giving Birth of Aset, Mother of God is from 4 Peret days 4-21 which is in March or April depending on the Kemetic calendar (1).
November 27, 2013
Needs and wants have been on my mind tonight.
I know it’s the season for giving gratitude, but I’m selfless 364 days of the year. Tonight, I’m going to be selfish. Tonight, I’m going to ignore the required to heed the desired.
Will I EVER be desired again? Will anyone, EVER, want ME again? Will I ever be loved again? Will someone actually love me as much as they LOVE ME—Physically? Will they love me enough to not hurt me…or maybe at least pre-warn me before they do? See, I am just SO damned tired of singing that same old crusty damned love song. I want the kind of love that can become a partnership to last throughout all of time. I enjoy the fire; I crave the romance & desire but it won’t last—it never does. Common courtesy and mutual respect go so much further with me. I don’t want to be ruled or rule over anyone.
But these are just dreams, I’ve come to realize. Everyone who says they love me, hurts me mortally in some way eventually. Sadly for me, I always forgive no matter what, when or how many times because my heart’s too big. I care for life, even if I no longer love. Sadly, I knowingly allow myself to be used because i can’t stand hurting anyone. But I’m not infallible. I hurt people too. I wrong people too. But more often than not, whether they hurt me or i hurt them—I’m the one that’s disposable. In the end, I get thrown away.
Knowing that and all the other lessons learned from love I know that this last time truly was the last time. What’s left of my ability to love will see me and my son through the hard times. The fairytale, for me, is finished. I’ve realized tonight that in voicing what it is that I DO want, I’ve finally been able to give REAL gratitude at the time of year when it’s MOST Due—Gratitude to those that have taught me these harshest of lessons. I thank them for reminding me this very night, yet again, that in the end I will be walking alone but with Knowledge gained that wouldn’t have come without the part they played. While it hurts…you’ve received a “small blessing” of new knowledge…and the “tiny miracle” of living through it, to come out a more complete version of yourself.
That’s my story, anyway…and I’m sticking to it! Until we meet again…
November 26, 2013
This month, I've noticed my dream landscapes becoming more vivid and more strange, with some weird phenomena happening when I first awaken (things seen in the room, moving figures suspended in midair...and no, I'm talking shadows; it sound very seventies horror movie, but I've wondered if perhaps it's ectoplasm). In what passes for my "waking life," I've been walking part of the way home from work in the afternoons (I began this to counteract the hours of sitting at my desk, and to hopefully lose some weight, and then it began to feel like part of my Duties, as well as a pleasant interlude away from increasingly crowded buses).
The charge of “essentialism” has become equivalent to the “kiss of death” in recent feminist discussions. In this context it is taboo to speak of Mother Earth. Yet, I would argue there are good reasons for speaking of Mother Earth that do not add up to essentialism. What if the values associated with motherhood are viewed as the highest values? What if the image of Mother Earth encourages all of us to recognize the gift of life and to share the gifts we have been given with others?
Today we continue our late autumn theme of “Death and Life” with Natural Pantheist. The theme for early winter will be "Beginnings". Send your writing and art to humanisticpaganism gmail.com by September 21, 2013.
Over the past few years I have lost two people that I was very close too. The first, my Nan, died of cancer at the end of January this year.