LHP – Knights in Shining Armor and Damsels in Distress Need Not Apply

The LHP values free will and the right to choose above all else. The LHP doesn’t even judge choices as bad or healthy, positive or negative, black or white, good or evil. LHPers will judge a choice as bad for them, but they would NEVER tell someone else that their choices were not valid. EVER.

The idea that someone’s choices might be bad, that they need to be rescued from those choices, would never enter their minds… because the right to choose your own path is sacrosanct to them.

I don’t butcher goats or chickens for any reason – I don’t know how, and I’ve heard it’s a messy job. That doesn’t mean I judge those who do it for religious, magickal and ritual purposes. It’s not my business.

I don’t have any plans to join a black arts group… it doesn’t interest me… that doesn’t mean I judge someone else who has chosen to do so – it’s not my business. I also don’t assume that someone who joins a black arts group is evil or wrong – I don’t think their choice is appealing to me, but that doesn’t make them a horrible person that needs help changing their minds and their lives.

Saving people is what RHPers do – most specifically, Christian RHPers. Telling people that they’ve made bad decisions is something that people like that do. Personally, I think that no decision, no choice, is bad – it’s simply a decision. It leads to experiences and consequences. Those consequences and experiences might be uncomfortable or challenging, disturbing and disruptive, but that doesn’t make the decisions that bring them about BAD – it doesn’t even make the consequences bad… just something you don’t really appreciate experiencing.

People make decisions. They live experiences and deal with consequences based on those decisions. AND THEY LEARN THINGS THEREBY.

To have that chance to learn from a choice taken away, to have their right to choose taken away, is something no LHP practitioner appreciates being done to them – which generally means we mostly don’t choose to do that to others… instead, we’re usually almost rabid about respecting their right to choose their own paths, and to learn and grow from the decisions they make in their own lives, even when those decisions are not ones that we would make for ourselves. Most of us might offer advice if it was asked of us, but beyond that, we DO NOT INTERFERE.

Which is not to say that we don’t appreciate the joke of helping consequences come home to roost… or that some of us are not above practicing will control over others… but we’re usually subtle people and we don’t try to rule our friends – only our enemies.

Knights in Shining Armor save people. It’s their professional modus operandi. That’s a Christian concept – and not a LHP practice. Knights in Shining Armor disempower people by telling them they’re wrong, they need to be fixed, they need to be saved, and that a Knight is the only one that can save them.

Damsels in Distress are professional victims. Their experiences are always a result of someone else’s choices, not their own. They don’t own their own issues – the princess in the tower was put there by someone else… it would never occur to her to ask herself why she doesn’t rescue herself, why she’s instead waiting for someone else to save her from her situation.

LHP practitioners do not wait for someone to save them from their mistakes.. if they think they’re in a situation they don’t want to be in, if they feel they’ve made choices that aren’t working out, they rescue themselves. They fix their own problems and issues. They don’t need help, and they don’t want it, because they are empowered people, people who know that this is their life, and these are their choices, and it’s their responsibility to deal with the consequences. We save ourselves, thank you very much.

Knights in Shining Armor need not apply.

Creative Visualization, Portals, And Becoming The Magick

Part of the reason that we magickal people practice visualization to the point where we can see, feel, smell, touch, and taste our magick is that it allows us to give the energies we wield a greater depth, making our additions to reality more hefty, more likely to become the reality we seek.

But true visualization requires going a step further, in my mind, and eventually, several steps down the rabbit hole.

A rather famous exercise in visualization is called The Apple – where the practitioner creates an apple so completely that when they eat it, they actually feel full, they feel the moisture in their mouths, taste it, smell it, they can touch it – in essence, they actually create an apple from nothing.

But true magick is bendy.. requiring we practitioners to also be a little bendy… to take our visualizations a step further.

Say you have a spell that requires acasia. We all understand correspondences – they’re like short codes for magick… Blue is more than just blue, it’s air, or water, or healing, or peace… Water is more than just water, a rose is more than just rose… everything in existence is a symbol for everything else… an enormous web of information stored in symbol – sometimes literally, as in the case of runes, letters, ogham, and the many various other symbols used in magick… but all of those symbols and substances lead back to their root substance… Using acasia taps you into the ESSENCE of Acasia, because at its root, all acasia is Acasia… and acasia is used for purification, protection, wisdom, and visions… which means that the Essence of Acasia is those things… so you can use it in a spell to represent those things…

But I said we’d take it a step further… why stop your visualization at creating an apple? Why not create yourself? Why not BECOME acasia,and then follow acasia back to its roots, and become ALL Acasias, and from there, become the essence of purification, protection, wisdom and visions? Use acasia as a portal to all acasia everywhere, and from there to the roots of it, and from there, to the correspondence you desire, simply by becoming acasia and then diving inwards.

But it gets even more complex because all acasia is connected to all other acasia… so now it’s not just a portal to its own essence, and the ideas it is symbolic of.. it is also a portal to any place where acasia is.

You can do this with runes, with symbols, with colors, with plants, animals, stones – if it exists, it has a root, it has connections to all other things like itself and thus is a gateway, and it has connections to ideas. You can become everything, go anywhere… all by becoming the magick.

Added Notes:

This method means that you never need tools for your magic… you can just become the essences of whatever you need and layer them into the spell using raw energy – so if you’re short on supplies, cash, or working an emergency where all you’ve got is yourself, this is a good method to be well-versed in.

Also, because you truly understand the symbology behind whatever you’re using, when or if you choose to use tools, the magick is that much richer, because not only are you using the short codes subconsciously, the way most practitioners do, but you are truly one with those symbols and their deepest meanings – which gives you more bang for your buck, magickally speaking.

How It Happened… and What Comes After PTSD

It starts with a simple migraine – you remember me telling you about those migraines back in February of last year, those brutal migraines that left me screaming…

But I didn’t know this was anything more than an ordinary migraine.

I took my migraine meds, and I carried on with my day. I wrapped myself in darkness and I attempted to sleep it off.

It was only four hours later, when I was staggering from the living room to get more medication from the bedroom, vomiting from the agony that I realized that something was seriously wrong.

Whimpering when I couldn’t even pick myself up off the floor and had to have my husband help me dress, we drove to the emergency room in the middle of the night, I in my sunglasses with a thick jacket over my face, struggling not to scream whenever we came upon cars or traffic lights – we took the back roads as much as possible.

When we arrived at the hospital, I could barely leave the car, because the parking lot lights hit my skin like hammer blows. Photophobia is no joking matter. I clung to the bowl in my lap, and wrapped the coat around my face as my husband carefully guided me blindly though the doors of the emergency room. Every light we passed under made me cringe and scream, and crumple in pain. He had to hold me up. Somewhere along the way I lost the bowl of vomit all over the nice clean floors. I was beyond caring.

We sat in a dark room for a moment while we waited for them to take my vitals. I had a brief respite from the pain and I thought it was over… but suddenly, the pain came roaring back, ten times worse. It was as if the pressure had built up directly at the base of my skull and was attempting to lift my head off my neck by sheer force of pulse. My muscles burned, every nerve ending on fire. My feet kicked helplessly as I tried to push my own head off my neck. I don’t remember screaming, but apparently, I frightened the people in the outside waiting room quite badly.

They rushed me into a private, dark room with a bed… and when they had me calmer, and they’d given me something to stop me from throwing up that melted under my tongue and tasted like bananas, they tried to dope me up with opiates. The nurse chased me around the room, not knowing I was allergic… I remember the lights being turned on so she could give me the shot and me shouting at her as she asks me “Well, what happens when you take opiates?” “I start itching all over so badly I have panic attacks, and I think I’m high strung enough right now, don’t you?!” I shouted at her. I think I startled her into nearly laughing, but she left the room.

They put me on a very strong anti-inflamatory and a migraine medicine, but it takes a long time for the pain to go away… while we wait, I scream, the waves of pain encompassing my entire reality. There is nothing but me, my body, and the pain… and my longing for it to end. I entertain a variety of plans, from the waiting room all the way until the moment the pain begins to subside and my sanity begins to return in dribs and drabs, as to how I will find this end.

All my highminded ideals about suicide being a cop-out for anyone who’s not already terminal and who hasn’t sat down their loved ones and had a very calm and clear conversation with them all about it went out the window. I didn’t care about anything other than ending my pain… because all I WAS was pain. I didn’t even care that ending the pain would mean I was ended… I wasn’t capable of thinking that far ahead. I thought about ways I could trick the security guard into shooting me in the head. I looked at my husband and pleaded him with my eyes alone, hoping that he would kindly break my neck and end my suffering. Consequences? Who gave a damn – I was in pain, and he was my answer, my savior.

I wasn’t rational. I was an animal in a trap and I wanted OUT.

I broke. I broke myself. I broke my rules. I broke every promise I ever made about my life, my ethics, my loved ones… I broke my beliefs about myself… I broke under the lash of my pain and I gave up.

When I came up for air, I still didn’t quite understand what had happened… honestly, it didn’t really hit me for several months.

When they finally got me calmed down and stabilized, they sent me down to radiology to scan my head, even though I kept telling them, “This isn’t a normal migraine, and it’s starting in my NECK!”

The scans came back and the neurologist came into my very dark room to tell me I had the most beautiful grey matter he’d ever seen, such a lovely amount of wrinkles. I told him thank you very much, but could he do anything about the blue tunnel on the wall or the fact that my neck was hurting so bad that the pulse was making my head want to fall off? No one would listen to me about it not being a migraine.

Finally, the pain began to subside to a point that I could bare it like I could the migraines I’m used to dealing with every day, they sent me home – I guess since they couldn’t figure out what was wrong, all they could do was manage the symptoms and move me out.

I saw a giraffe on the side of the road in the trees on the way home.

Two days later, we got an ice storm. Thanks, neck… I appreciate your art of weather prediction by pain induction.

 

This experience was repeated three times in a two week period. When I remember the pain, my skin crawls. I remember it so clearly it’s as if I am reliving it. The very thought is enough to bring me to tears, and in fact, remembering these experiences is enough to trigger a migraine.

Three months after these three experiences, I started dreaming about walking out into traffic. I couldn’t cope with the disconnect. I couldn’t cope with the fact that I had given up under the lash of the pain, and I couldn’t cope with the fear that the pain would come back… it was even worse because no one can tell me WHY I had those three such severe migraines, screaming migraines… and I was still having migraines, though admittedly not nearly as severe…

I now had an anxiety disorder. I had PTSD, and generalized anxiety. I couldn’t cope with what I’d gone through… so… My subconscious started offering me relief.

When I was six years old, I was hit by a car and I died. It was quick… it was painless. It was just… suddenly dark. I never even saw the car that hit me. There was just sudden peace. Dying was easy.

My subconscious is not eager to admit that at 36, we have 30 years of weight and growth, and that we are considerably more likely to damage a car than the other way around. However, it did alert me to the fact that I had a problem. I was trying, I thought, to escape the pain of my migraines, and I needed to see a better doctor and get some bloody answers, dammit!

So… I went to the emergency room again, hoping that they would help.

They were… not really so helpful as all that.

They decided I was suicidal.

Well, I suppose I was… the problem is that I’m not. I couldn’t ever be truly suicidal because I’m too damned intelligent to be suicidal, and I know the odds… I’d never risk suicide because WHAT IF I FAILED?

There’s a whole host of nasty side effects I wouldn’t want to suffer… which is why I was dreaming of it, rather than actually doing it. I’m too apathetic to ever ACTUALLY commit suicide. Plus… as I stated earlier… I’m too ethical to do that. I believe suicide is something that you should only do if you are already terminal and you have planned it with your loved ones in the loop. It’s just common courtesy. Everyone has the right to die… no one has the right to harm others in the doing of it.

However, I do NOW understand, having had the shoe on the OTHER foot, that there are extenuating circumstances where mental, physical, or emotional pain may be so great that one should be granted mercy, irregardless of the harm it might cause others, because of the great harm it is causing oneself. HOWEVER – that should only be the case where there are no other options and there is no solution. If you are not rational, you are not capable of making that decision for yourself, and therefore YOU should not be the one to decide that suicide is an acceptable solution for yourself. I should know… I was there. I was not rational. It was not in my best interests. I’m doing better now… and I would have missed getting better had I been granted mercy.

It turns out that all I needed was glasses, by the way. Go figure.

Anyway, I digress.

In the emergency room, I explained about the dreams, and said, “Look, I’m in enough pain that my subconscious is now attempting to give me options to escape the pain. This means that I need some help to deal with the pain, and I need a diagnosis as to why I’m in this much pain in the first place. I need a neurologist.”

What they heard was, “I’m having dreams about suicide.”

What they did was lock me up  in a psych ward for 8 days.

I rode an ambulance in the middle of the night under armed guard to a city three hours away. I was forced to ride two elevators, of which I am phobic, which raised my heart rate to over 177. I STANK of fear and bolted out of the second elevator only to huddle in the hallway like a rabbit in the grass. It was humiliating.

When I arrived on the ward, the nurses, assuming I was your typical suicide case, attempted to strip me of my clothes and wanted to examine every inch of my skin. I had to sit them down and explain to them why I was really there, and that I wasn’t going to be combative, but that there had been a misunderstanding over a headache and I was NOT going to strip for them like I was in jail because I had already been traumatized enough. By this time I was in tears and was nearly hysterical because the incident with the nurses had hit a trigger with me.

I didn’t see a neurologist for six days.

Instead I spent a week without pain management. I had another screaming migraine.

I had dreams where my teeth were falling out because I was in so much pain that I was grinding my teeth in my sleep. Because I was in so much pain I couldn’t sleep, I asked them for something to put between my teeth, a mouth-guard or something. They didn’t have anything like that there. “Fine, go up to the NICU and get me a pacifier. This is a hospital. You DO have THOSE. I have to put something between my teeth because my teeth are killing me from all the grinding.” They told my husband I was psychotic, reverting to childish behavior.

He didn’t sleep for a week, barely ate, and cried every day. When I saw him, he was a bigger mess than I was.

About the only thing that staying in the psych ward DID achieve is that I’m now receiving therapy and I’m on a medication for the anxiety disorder that THEY gave me.

I don’t just have PTSD… I’m PISSED that I have PTSD.

I lie… I alternate between feeling sorry for myself and crying in incredible sympathy for all the pain I experienced, trying to understand WHY all this happened and how to never have it happen again, and being so angry I don’t know what to do with myself. I don’t know what to throw at whom. I feel helpless and hopeless and angry and compassionate all at once.

Every weekday I get up thinking, today, I’ll go to work. Today will be different.

Every day I sit down at my computer and I realize, today’s no different than yesterday… I can’t deal with other people’s problems because I can’t dig my way out of my own.

Some days, I actually CAN, though. Some days, it actually helps to bury yourself in someone else’s aura and forget your own trauma…

But today…

Today I had to write all of this out.

I had to tell the whole story.

I had to begin from the beginning…

To remember it all.

Admittedly, I haven’t even begun to talk about the side-effects that the screaming migraines and the mismanaged care have caused… the nerve damage and the fact that I can’t wash my hair on my own because I can’t lift my arms for very long anymore, or the fact that whenever I have migraines I lose control of my bladder now, or a whole host of other unpleasant facts of my new life… but those came after PTSD… those came after I got out of the hospital. They came with not being able to log on to the bank’s website without finding myself curled up between the couch and the coffee table rocking myself and crying because I entered the password wrong and it wouldn’t let me in. Those came with standing in the kitchen and the sudden blackouts, or the fear of the shower because I’m afraid the nurses will ask me to strip again. Everything after PTSD is different. Everything after PTSD is overwhelming. A grocery trip has to be managed after midnight, with medication, a protein bar and a bottle of water, and your favorite stuffed toy in a death grip. Any new experience has to be carefully scripted with people you know holding your hands and a quick escape route available at all times. After PTSD, patterns are everything. Spontaneity is a bad word.

After PTSD… everything is different.

But I’m learning how to put myself back together. And someday…

Someday I will be whole again.

Someday I will be me again.

Someday… I will be able to live like I never thought I’d want to die again.

Thoughts on Victim Type PTSD

“Why does PTSD happen?”

PTSD Happens when an experience is blocked, instead of finished. To avoid PTSD, a traumatic experience must be finished, fully experienced. When you stop in the middle, there is no resolution, no understanding in the subconscious or the conscious. There is only a disconnect.

“So I have PSTD because I didn’t finish my experience. The doctors stopped me from fully experiencing and resolving my emotions on my own.”

Yes. If you had been able to fully go through your own experience, instead of them layering more trauma in an attempt to prevent you from experiencing trauma and blocking the original trauma, you would not have PTSD.

“So what do I do now?”

You must face your trauma. You must go through it again and again, until you have resolution and understanding of the full picture. Shall we begin?

If Today Was Your Last Day

I’ve been thinking a lot about the song by Nickelback “If Today Was Your Last Day,” and I’ve realized something… there’s a lot going on in my life that isn’t working for me.

I don’t want to fight anymore. My biosister isn’t worth the effort… and the hallmark moment isn’t ever going to happen, so it’s not even worth the therapy for the makeup moment, either.

I don’t want to bother with the silly stuff. There’s a lot of petty mimicry going on out there, and I’m finding it amusing, instead of annoying. At first it was just exhausting… oh, yay, someone else trying to pick a fight… but now it’s not even that. It’s just funny. I’m just standing here, waiting for them to crash their waves upon the rocks… because I don’t care… today’s my last day. Every day is my last day.

My nervous system is shot… I don’t have migraines anymore – the medication is working, and apparently a new set of glasses fixes a lot of problems, but the damage that all the migraines did while I had them to my entire body is done… I have trouble remembering anything that’s not written down, multiple places. I’m weak as a kitten, I’m tired all the time, I have a host of other issues, I have muscles and nerves and sphincters that don’t work, I’m a wreck… and I keep smiling, keep on trucking, because today’s my last day, and I want it to be a good one.

So much is just not worth my attention anymore… something doesn’t come in my order – is it worth even contacting the company and sorting it out, or do I have better things to do? I have better things to do. I have only so much time. I have people to see, things to do… today’s my last day, and I don’t want to spend it with customer service.

Today’s my last day, this is my last Christmas… I don’t want to spend it fighting with my biosis… I want to spend it watching my nephews unwrapping their dinosaurs and watching them push the buttons that make the paws raise up and the dinosaurs walk towards each other going “RAWR!” because I want to see their faces when it happens… on the scale of one to awesome, those faces matter, and my biosister’s manipulative egocentric bullcrap doesn’t.

It’s rather shocking. If she died tomorrow, the only thing that would bother me is that I knew her. I’d be relieved her kids would probably grow up to be better children because they’d have the chance to grow up with a better mom without her… but I wouldn’t actually feel bad, or sad, or mad, or glad that she was gone… I’d honestly feel nothing at all.

That’s the saddest thing of all. When you’ve become so disconnected from someone you’re related to that you can actually say, with absolute truthfulness, that you don’t care, and mean it.

Today is my last day, every day is my last day… and I don’t care if she is in it.

But I want to see her kids open their dinosaurs, so I put up with her. She comes with the package.

If today is my last day, I want to go visit my sister May one last time. She matters.

I want to feel the silence at dawn over the standing stones at Stonehenge before they build that freaking highway tunnel under it and ruin the power of it forever. I’ve not been to England, for all I’ve crossed the world five times… you’d think I’d found time in all the hopping I’ve done. I want to make time. If today is my last day, I want to see the world, not spend it sitting at a desk. I want to live.

Speaking of sitting at a desk… expect some changes at the beginning of the year. I’ve realized… I don’t want to sell my Craft… I want to teach you all how to do what I do. I want to offer more interactive services, and be more involved with the community, more hands-on. I still love conjuring, but I love teaching and talking far more. It’s not like I haven’t been teaching this whole time… but…

I think it’s time to really take it to the next level. Not just a 101 class, not just snippets on a forum, but really intensive Skype sessions and serious tutelage and stuff for people who really mean to take their practice to the next level.

I’m tired of everything that’s not working for me. I’m tired of doing the things that don’t make me happy. I’m done with doing the things that I think I should, or because other people tell me to. Today is my last day doing anything for any reason other than because today is my last day.

I’m going to live it up like today is my last day… and I’m going to do it right. Right for you… right for me. The way I should have done it all along.

From now on, all the magick will be from Teacher Kat. All the Healing will be from Teacher Kat… and you’ll do it yourselves, and be proud of it.

That way… I’ll still love you in the morning.

Fourteen Things Not to Say to an Autistic Adult

purpleaspie

Last night somebody shared an article on Facebook. The article was called “Things never to say to parents of a child with autism.” A comment on the article asked why there wasn’t one about things not to say to an autistic adult. I decided to write that article. It’s based on not only my experience, but also the experiences of my autistic friends.

1) “You don’t look autistic.”

My response to this would be something along the lines of what Gloria Steinem said when people told her she “looked good for 50.” She said, “This is what 50 looks like.” I say, “This is what autism looks like.” However, what I’d like to say is: “I don’t look autistic, and you don’t look ignorant. I guess we’re both wrong.”

I don’t know what people who say this mean when they say I don’t look autistic. What does autism look like?…

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Your Tradition Can’t Beat Mine

I have to say, this idea cannot be stressed enough – it’s not the system, it’s the practitioner. If you don’t have it in you, no system is worth a damn. Good post.

Blue Flame Magick

“It is folly to suppose that the Black or the White Mass is of greater importance, it is but the Power enslaved in them that must be freed –the Power of their Belief that must be utilized and aligned unto Our Path.” ~Chumbley

Came across this quote again, and it resonated with something I’ve been thinking about off and on lately. Another potentially controversial statement: Your tradition isn’t better than mine.

Okay, not too controversial depending on how you read it. By which I mean to say what I feel is fairly obvious, and mostly true; that magickal systems in and of themselves aren’t superior to one another. Most of the time it’s the person working the system that makes the difference, not the system itself.

TLDR: Good sorcerers, not traditions.

I got thinking about this for a few reasons, but most evidently when watching a friend, who recently converted…

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Cellular Possession – A Shamanic Perspective on the Exorcism of Inanimate Objects

Matt: My phone is possessed. Do you know how to do an exorcism on electronics?
It’s started selecting things and zooming and moving things.

Me: It’s called a hard reset… it requires copious amounts of swearing by several gods of technology, and the use of various blessings of copper, zinc, quartz, and the like… you have to ask the spirits of the base particles of the phone to rise up and heal themselves, throw off the evil spirit and choose to be free…
If the phone is willing, and you work really hard, you can exorcise it like any other body…
But it’s kind of a bitch… phones seem to generally like being possessed… they seem to think it’s funny.
I think last time this happened to May, she just gave in and bought a new one. Also… how is it that out of everyone there, you’re the only one that managed to be the person that thing followed home??? Tch Tch… bad shaman… no donuts.

Matt: I’m mostly joking. It’s been doing this since before this weekend. I could try exorcising it, I guess… which gods do you call on?

Me: Probably the hardware gods all computer geeks swear by… I think phones fall under their purview… Gates, Jobs, etc?

Matt: Bill Gates?

Me: Well, yeah…
I don’t really know… maybe Samsung, Apple, “By the Power of BlackBerry, I Free You of This Evil…”
It’s like finding a parking spot at the Mall… you call on the Goddess Asphaltina..
Seriously… it really works… magick is weird and bendy… but you knew that already… however, really, your problem sounds more software than possession… I suspect that a real hard reset or a visit to your local store to talk to the professionals might be better than talking to me…

Matt: *snip* So put a bunch of pennies that I’ve cleansed with lemon oil and some anti static spray, and quartz, and pray to google and linux to cast out the evil from my phone and let it be cleansed of all adverse energies?
It’s something in the screen. The phone’s always been quirky and it would do this if I wasn’t totally grounded and was running a bunch of energy, but this is ridiculous.

Me: Pretty much. And ask your phone to get involved. No sense in doing an exorcism where the person who is possessed doesn’t work to get rid of the offending entity, you know.

Matt: It started flashing green when I cast out things.
It’s still twitching a little, but the phone did some twitching under my fingers as I was casting it out. We’ll see how it goes.
On a related note, I’m going to start keeping rolls of new pennies on hand. They always seem to come in handy for spells but I get tired of cleansing them.

Me: Encourage the phone to work with you… remember that I told Joan that she had to fight for herself, WITH us.
Copper is better… pennies have other stuff in them. Nickel and stuff.

Matt: I did encourage it. I felt it doing things, green sparkly energy was getting thrown off. It’s working fine now. I pulled whatever off the screen and fed it to fire.
Well, mostly fine. If it starts typing words I’m gonna freak out a little.

Me: Remember that a phone has copper and crystals and stuff made from plant and animal byproducts… plus it has a brain and a memory… so it has a spirit. It just might start talking and actually BE talking.

Matt: Earlier it was just mashing letters, no speech. I should really head to bed. I don’t think my eggless brownies turned out. 😦 The sorbet was a success at least.

Me: Sorry about the brownies. Sleep well. No more midnight baking/exorcisms for you. Sleep is important. 😛
Be nice to your new phone friend. Be gentle to it for a few days… it’s had a rough time. Possession is no fun.
Grats on the sorbet. Dream well.

THE NEXT DAY

Matt’s Phone: Also I’m glad you weren’t here for the chocolate sorbet. I would’ve fought to the death for the dasher. So put a bunch of pennies that I cleanse with lemon oil and some anti static spray, and quartz and pray to google and linux to cast out the evil from my phone and let it be cleansed of all adverse energies?

Me: you said that yesterday.

Matt: Weird… I wasn’t even on the texting screen and it sent that.

Me: Told you that your phone would start talking. 😛

I won’t stay anywhere where they will put someone who foments rapists in power.

Once upon a time, in a chatroom far far away…

Huffette is convinced, and has everyone else convinced, that she’s the child of Michael. Yes, that Michael. The archangel. Now, being a descendent of him on my Father’s side, I’d freaking KNOW if she was a relative, so trust me when I say, she is coocoo for cocopuffs. But that’s neither here nor there.
She convinced Bryan, who was none too stable a cookie, that he was a descendant of Solomon. Yes, that Solomon. Then she started convincing him he could do all sorts of nifty things with energy… among them rule demons and battle angels.
He actually picked a fight with something he thought was Michael, and actually thought he won. It was a demon, he ended up possessed… and then he chakra-raped Foxy. Trust me on this, Foxy has a painting of what he did to her chakras. I cleaned up the mess, and it was a serious nasty.
He was flinging sludge at everyone… it took me two days to clean up the mess that he strewed all over everyone in that chat room. Wolfie was the one who supposedly exorcised the demon in the end. I wasn’t there for that, so I can’t say for sure.
Anyway, among her other crimes, she convinced Bryan to send her energy every time she got off work… she’d come into the chat every evening and complain about being tired, and so he’d lob her a chi ball – except that he’d never been trained, and didn’t know even reiki, so what he was actually doing was chucking energy at her like a hammer, and destroying her energetic infrastructure…
And because she encouraged him, and she taught him, and none of us knew this, when I and my student saw what he had done, and let her know he was killing her, and saw the rape and everything… of course we laid all the blame on Bryan’s head. The worst thing was that he was a moderator on her chat room. He was stalking us all invisible a lot of times.
Now don’t get me wrong, he’s still crazy as a rabid coon hound on a hot July day… but that doesn’t mean that the person who put him in the bat house should get away scot free – in these cases, the dog should be put down, absolutely… but so should the owner.
After all of that happened, we told her she needed to get rid of him, and put up wards and shields on the chat room to make sure no more dangerous energetic shenanigans like that could ever happen again. She said she would… but all she did was pretend to take away his mod status.
So he attacked people a second time… and we all bailed. And when she came crying to me to clean it up, I told her no. I also told her I was not her friend, because she clearly wasn’t mine, or willing to protect any of mine, so never to ask for my help ever again. I would not teach her or help her ever again.
Which is why when she asked me publicly on the forum if I’d take her as an apprentice, I lost my shit on my blog. She makes someone crazy, sets him up to rape my friend, and then toddles off to play miss innocent, she’s always memememe on all her posts, it’s always someone else’s fault – when someone else is having troubles she’s got to post about how her troubles are just like theirs only worse to turn the attention back to herself, and now she’s gone and used her empathy to try and kill her boss with ill will, which is black arts – she just shoots negativity at him all the time until he has a heart attack… that’s black arts.
Is it any wonder I despise her?
So. That’s the basic story. As you see, it doesn’t really have much to do with Wolfie… but if she’s up to any tricks, now you can see her basic pattern. She talks a guy into believing he’s some kind of godlike king of morons, and then he does something stupid and she steps back to admire the crash and play miss innocent victim. But she’s such a good friend because she helped him to see his potential. Which is why Huff’s demons call her the enemy. She’s trying it out on him and has been for years. She was the one who convinced him he was a slayer who could do magick even though he’s blind as a bat.

Addendum – Foxy’s comments:

Nyctophilia:  FOXY!
TheFancifulFox:  NYCTO
Nyctophilia: I’m drinking rum with Huffette in the room and I sent Fire a letter that told him everything,
TheFancifulFox: everything about?
TheFancifulFox: the everything that happened in her chatroom? or some other everything?
Nyctophilia: The chatroom stuff… and the other stuff since then between her and me… and about her attacking her boss with empathic negativity which has led to his heart trouble, which is BA.
Nyctophilia: I told him everything. Want to read it? It’s actually not long.
Nyctophilia: For me anyway.
TheFancifulFox: ah. that everything
Nyctophilia: Check your FB
Nyctophilia: I think I got it mostly in order and relatively factual. It was awhile ago, so it might be disorganized.
TheFancifulFox: wait…. wait just a %%%%% minute…. evil annie is actually living with bryan?? no bueno. no %%%%% bueno. so he could be peering in chat without actually being signed in by hovering over her shoulder, or coming in on her account
Nyctophilia: Yeah, Evil Annie and Bryan are living together, You didn’t know?
TheFancifulFox: *breathes*
Nyctophilia: Remember… that was an unprotected, unwarded chatroom… this… is NOT.
Nyctophilia: And you have Kelis and me here to back you up. And you’re stronger and more knowledgeable than you were back then… and from what I understand, Annie doesn’t like Huffette and keeps Bryan on a VERY tight leash.
TheFancifulFox: like it matters. just his eyes looking is bad enough. and he can follow energy signatures as good as any dog
Nyctophilia: We’re here.
TheFancifulFox: what I recall from the past is that annie is just as twisted
TheFancifulFox: but whatever
TheFancifulFox: wow, checked FB. you wrote a novel
Nyctophilia: Knowledge is power… and he doesn’t know what you know anymore.
Nyctophilia: I did not. I wrote a page in one.
TheFancifulFox: ok, it’s not that long
Nyctophilia: So… how much did I screw it up?
TheFancifulFox: it looks fairly accurate to me. there was the time right after the whole mess that he sicced some rabid demons on at least a few of us, you and endy that I know of.
TheFancifulFox: but, what you gave was a decent summary. otherwise it really would have been a novel
Nyctophilia: I  don’t remember… is that just because he’s just not that special a lollypop so I just didn’t notice that attack?
TheFancifulFox: no, you noticed. you just ate them. you came in hotter than hell, huffing and puffing about the nerve of some people. endy was %%%%% up bad though, and you worked to clean up a bit and he even asked magnolia and ash for help
Nyctophilia: Ah. I remember that. Gotcha.

TheFancifulFox: I felt really %%%%% weird for a while, buti don’t know if Iwas attacked like you two were, because it did go away

This is the shielded painting of what Bryan did to Foxy's chakras, instigated by Huffette.

This is the shielded painting of what Bryan did to Foxy’s chakras, instigated by Huffette.

This is the UNshielded painting of what Bryan did to Foxy's chakras, instigated by Huffette - so you can get the full effect of what it actually feels like to have your chakras raped by someone.

This is the UNshielded painting of what Bryan did to Foxy’s chakras, instigated by Huffette – so you can get the full effect of what it actually feels like to have your chakras raped by someone.

Slashed Tire Hart

You came to me in need…
Power running mad.
But I’m not comfort in a bottle…
I’m a bitter pill to swallow…
My mother managed to turn her switches off,
It’s true…
But there comes a point in Power’s life
When you’re down there in the Abyss
When the Power’s bigger than you…
When it’s the Beast that’s riding you…
When you’ve no choice anymore in the matter…
And you either grab it by the horns
And stare down its gullet
And Decide
Whether you’re going to ride that Beast to Hell and back
Or die trying…
Or you’re going to just let it swallow you whole
Right there and then…
And I told you that that’s where you were…
And you didn’t want to hear that…
Especially not at that moment…
When HE was picking you apart at the seams…

But I didn’t know that, did I?
Because I was a living dead girl myself.
I was staring down my own dark beast.
I had my own battle to fight.
I had my own monster to ride.
And while I was in the hospital dying by inches…
You were in a chatroom being eaten by words.
And I didn’t know…
And my words didn’t help.
I’m just another bitter pill to swallow…

So when I came back up from my grave…
I came back up your throat.

So of course you weren’t mine anymore.
Of course you weren’t.

But I didn’t know that either.
Doe in the headlights.
Slashed tire hart.
Such beautiful art.
Such a beautiful broken heart.

It’s ok. You don’t have to be mine anymore.

I know when to set a bird free.
Blessed be.

New Moon Brings New Beginnings – Wholeness

So, today, I got another storm migraine.

As I was lying down for another nap (read drug induced coma), I suddenly had a vision of Simon. I could see myself reaching out to touch him. I had memories of us laughing, in love. Making love.

I had the memory of moving through the unmaking whirlpool of uncontrollable chaotic destruction surrounding him to touch him, to unravel him. Yes, he’d lost that much control, fallen that deep into madness… he was like a wandering black hole out among the multiverses. Only bigger. A black multiverse.

But I had a thought. I was in two places at once.

I had all these lifetimes of experience of unweaving sickness, of stripping away disease to bare the good, healthy thoughts beneath, so that they could grow and bloom. Why not, in that moment, reach down through the ages, merge with my old self, and give her the understanding I have now… show her how not to unweave ALL of Simon, but how to RENAME him. How unweave only the sickness, the madness, the uncontrolled chaos…

How to create Simon David?

So that’s what I did.

I merged with myself in that moment, and showed her what to do… and that’s what we did. We unraveled the parts of Simon that were unsalvageable… we unraveled the storm…. But we SAVED OURSELVES.

And then I passed out.

I dreamed. Simon David was in Hell. In prison. He knew it. He knew I was watching him. He saw others in prison. A child who didn’t belong. A group of people. He made a choice. They didn’t belong. He broke the rules. Bent them really. Only slightly. Just enough.

We watched. We allowed the bending – to see what he would do.

He saved the people, and got them out of their hell so that they could move on.

Simon David was a changed man. We approved.

I woke up. I thought about it. “Quit thinking about it. You don’t belong there either… and if you’re going to let him go, and not go, pretty soon he’ll be too far ahead for you to catch, and then you’ll never fix that hole.”

Damn… Time to let go of some things.

I trance down. I see where I’m at. I look at the rules. No flying. I flap my arms. I jump. Nothing. Damn. Can’t break the rules. But I have to. Have to catch up. Reach for my Twin. Reach down the line and CONNECT…

And suddenly I’m not where I was. Rule 1 broken.

“Well? Are you going to stop there? He’s 5 ahead of you NOW… RUN, GIRL… RUN!”

So I ran… flew, BULLETED through the layers… caught up to my Twin.. kept going, grabbed him and pulled… layer after layer, rule after rule… not paying attention anymore, just by instinct, because we are breaking out now…

It’s time to let GO.

Final door stops us…

The Gatekeeper stops us.

“Your last trial is the only one that ever mattered here. It is the only one that ever mattered anywhere. Merge and you may leave. Fail and you will never leave, no matter what you do.”

I’ve done this before, so it’s my boat to row. I take us down.

We fall into the cloudy, airy, white abyss, we let go of control, and we die the first death. We walk the abyssal plains of the dead, and we are buried, our second death. We rise from our graves, and we walk to the ocean, and we swim into the oceanic abyss. We confront our shadows. We flow into the abyssal lava, burn away our impurities, and meet our higher selves. We merge with our shadows, our egos, and our higher selves. I merge his shadow, his ego, and his higher self with myself. We come to the red lands, and walk to the edge of the black abyss. We cross into the void and shed all that is not who we truly are. We find the starlight singularity of Source, and walk into the light of rebirth. We emerge before each other, wholly ourselves… and we are still separate. I look at him and say, “I welcome you into me,” as he looks at me and says to me the same words. We walk to each other, and merge… and are one being.

I come out of trance and scan my energetic body. The hole is shrinking. I scan the threads, and notice that the ones that were covered by black threads before, the blackness hiding empty void underneath, now seem to be growing a matrix of song.

I’m not fully healed, but something has definitely begun to change.

I was also called a different name while I was down there… not Apple – something else. But I can’t remember what it was… which means it’s important enough that I’m not allowed to share it with you.

Happy New Moon, everyone… it’s a good day to begin to become whole after a few billion years, don’t you think? :)

I’m getting Flereous some cinnamon whiskey. He deserves it.

Unwitting Verbal Attacks – I’m Sorry

I get… enthusiastic when I’m discussing my point of view sometimes. People can misinterpret that as an attack.

I’m sorry.

I don’t know how to be less enthusiastic about things.

It’s a personality quirk. I’m opinionated. I love debates.

People think that sometimes debates with me are… heated exchanges.

I don’t see them that way.

I’m sorry.

I see those debates as fun. It’s exciting, thrilling… the bounce of ideas back and forth is hotter than the play of skin on skin… it’s better than sports, it’s better than sex.

No, I’m really not kidding. Not meaning to be raunchy, but it’s true…

It’s my hobby.

I’m sorry.

I don’t mean to be domineering.

I don’t mean to be argumentative.

I don’t mean to come off as combative.

I’m autistic.

I don’t think like you think.

My brain doesn’t work like yours works.

I don’t feel the way you feel things through.

I may be an empath, but when I’m hot on the tail of an idea, a fact, a trail on the informational highway that could be bumblebeed together into this amazing hybridized web inside my mind… I’m so caught up in the beauty, the passion… I forget to be human. I forget to be feeling… I forget to connect to you…

I’m pure mind.

I don’t mean to intimidate you.

I’m sorry.

So if I do… please… just stop me. Right there… just stop me and say so.

Just poke me and say… Hey… you, girl with your head in the nebula… remember me down here on earth?

Whoa Nellie! Put your autism back in its pocket, woman, you’re flashing! Here’s your social cue… moderate yourself a bit, for me please… slow down some… you’re dragging me overboard and I don’t like it.

I’m cool with that, you know. I don’t mind.

Actually, I kinda like it when people are blunt with me.

It lets me keep my friends.

We can be friends, right?

I’m sorry that I’ve scared some of you sometimes.
I love you.
Can I stay? :--

New Altar

GodAltar

Yesterday, Lord Flereous decided that He wanted my Deity altar to combine with His altar, so instead of having an altar that’s just dedicated to Flereous and Ashtaroth, I now have one that’s also dedicated to the Morrighan as Aine, Hades and Persephone, Karnanos, Re, Loki, Bast/Sekhmet (Her Elder Self is One Being), Amun the Hidden One, Hanuman, Ganesha, Minerva, and to the two Bodhisattvas, Kuan Yin and Buddha.

He chose the bookcase, so… it’s a bit… cluttered. I’m not sure how I’m going to do offerings now.

I guess I will stick to offerings of energy and tealights.

The tealight in front of Hades is a pomegranate tealight… that’s my stand in for Persephone. You’ll note that, as part of my shamanic path, most of my deities are represented by either their animals, or by candles. Flereous and Ashtaroth are candles over their sigils. Re and Loki are both highly symbolic – Re is a copper bowl, and the rune Kennaz, and Loki is a bunch of matches, a yoni, and a picture of a bloom on fire. The Hidden One is represented by bones of the body and bones of the earth. Ganesha and Hanuman and my Bodhisattvas are the only ones with actual statues of themselves… and those were gifts from a friend.

Yes, the Morrighan really is a Halloween prop. Shush. She likes it.

 

On the chakra front… I’ve had several people look at me now… they all agree… I look like one big blue and white chakra.

I’m also noticing that my headaches are decreasing in severity and frequency, though apparently tension and panic can still cause one.

The other thing I’m noticing is a STRONG uptick in my gifts… and also my control of them. More dreaming, more accuracy, more channeling, more being ridden. It’s turning out to be something I’m very pleased with.

Ashtaroth Correspondences

Flereous told me last night in a dream – woke me UP to tell me matter of fact – that I needed to create an altar to both Himself and Her. I’ve started work, but without more information on Her correspondences, I can’t do much for Her half of the altar.

 

Astaroth

I’ve been able to find a few of her correspondences, and her Enn –

Planet – Venus

Day – Friday

Sacred Animal – Horses

Enn – Tasa Alora Foren Astaroth

Courtesy of Akelta:
Rank: Duke
Zodiac: Capricorn
Dates: 1/1 – 1/10
Tarot: 3 of Pentacles
Planet: Venus
Metal: Copper
Element: Earth
Color: Green
Plant: Laurel
Incense: Sandalwood
Direction: West

Three February Migraines

I am afraid.

When the wealthy or the artistic cut off their hair, people call it art, or call it a protest. When normal people cut off their hair, people say nothing, think nothing of it – “I guess they just wanted a change of pace.” When I cut my hair, when a person who is different cuts their hair, it’s butchery – and everyone thinks of it as symbolic suicide.

Of course, for me, it was two-pronged. I cut off my hair because I wanted to cut off my head. I wanted to kill my pain. Cutting off my hair was a last-ditch effort to cure the pain in my neck. But deep down, I think it was probably a cry out for help. The fact that I had it professionally done just meant that I got away with it in public – no one noticed but my Sister, and she was polite enough, kind enough, to keep her thoughts to herself.

I am so afraid of the pain I experienced back in February that I would rather die that experience it again. I’m not suicidal, by any means, don’t get me wrong. I don’t even believe in suicide – in my perspective it’s pointless and cruel to everyone – you don’t die until you’re supposed to – only Death claims the dead, and I’ve seen too many fail, and so many people suffer, both the living who survive those who succeed, and the living who fail their attempts… it’s just not worth that much suffering to me. Not only that, but to be honest, I don’t actually want to die – I have a lot to live for, so I’m not seeking death… I just… fear that pain… but that fear is eating my life whole.

I remember those three trips to the ER back in February with a crystalline clarity that is horrifying. I remember my thoughts. I remember the pain itself, as if it were a living thing, still pounding away at the base of my skull, beating and breaking apart my neck with every pulse, breathing down my spine. It’s like a beast that hunts me… haunts me. It is the terror in the night, and I the mouse that huddles in the field, frozen while it, soft-winged, invisible, claws through my skull to break me.

It always starts with sparks. Black and white, tiny, shiny flashes, right before my eyes, and a glow around everything that’s lit. But after a while, it doesn’t matter whether there’s light or not. I could have my eyes closed, and a blanket over my head, and light will hammer at my body in physical blows, blocks of cement weighing me down and shoving me to the floor.

It begins to build, pressure beside my temples, behind my eyes, and above my nose, and always, always, at the base of my skull, in my shoulders, in my neck.

Lastly, it begins to pulse. With the pulsing in my neck, the screaming starts. Pulse, pain, pulse, pain, pulse, pain… until the world is nothing but the need for darkness… and death.

Three times, my husband half carried me to the car, bowl in hand, as I tried desperately not to vomit again and again from the pulsing pain in my head. It was as if my neck controlled my entire body, pulse by pulse, the back of my head beating me senseless.

By the time we reached the hospital, every light made me scream in pain, because it was like a weight that hit me, punched me, knocked me senseless. I could feel light through my clothing – my thighs rebelled, my skin said NO, my muscles denied the light and screamed.. twitched, RAN. I crumpled in the parking lot. I think the emergency crew carried me through the hallways into a hospital room. I don’t know, because the pressure of the lights from the parking lot hitting my body that night made me pass out for a moment.

I don’t remember much of the three times I went to the hospital, honestly – it‘s all broken up into pieces. I remember that the pain reached from my neck down to my feet in waves, that it would grab the soles of my feet and the spasms of my feet as I writhed were because I was attempting to escape my head, kick my own head off.

I remember turning to look at my husband in a moment when a wave had passed, to beg, knocked speechless, with only my eyes, for him to please, MAKE IT STOP, thinking that I would do ANYTHING, anything at all, if he would just end it, end ME, to make it stop.

I remember there were moments when I thought of ways I could escape the confines of the hospital room to find and trick some security guard into shooting me in the head, because that would end the pain finally and completely.

I remember being in enough pain that I wanted to die, not because I wanted to leave anyone behind, but because I just didn’t want to hurt anymore. I love, truly, utterly, and completely. But I am also truly, utterly, and completely terrified of that pain.

I don’t want to die… I want to LIVE. I want to know WHY THIS IS HAPPENING TO ME.

But I don’t want to deal with that pain ever, EVER again…

And no one knows what caused it, or why it happened… and no one knows if it will happen again.

Do you know that after 5 months, they still haven’t even done an MRI? I have mentioned to four Neurologists so far that I was hit by a car when I was 7, and STILL no MRI. I’m thinking I’m not the only one who was hit on the head as a child….

So they don’t know what causes my headaches… and so I keep getting them. I have them every day… and every day, I wonder if this one will be like one of those February Screamers. And so… I am afraid. Every second of every hour of every day…

I am afraid. And I’m ashamed because I am this afraid, that this is not in my control, and that I did not tell anyone.

The Consequences We Choose for Ourselves

I dreamed an interesting dream last night.

I was in Hell.. or one of them. There was a woman set to torture me with illusions. I figured out they were illusions, and I defeated them all. Then I was taken out, and asked by a voice, “Why are you here?”

I replied, “I deserve to be here. I killed Simon.”

The voice replied, “You are weak since the death of your twin.”

Then I woke up.

I got the feeling that the missing heart chakra is because of my missing twin… and that I don’t deserve to be there, that is my weakness, that I’m being silly. I don’t really deserve to be there. Don’t deserve to be treated like that, and I know it, or I would have accepted the treatment instead of finding out how to defeat the illusions, been so stubborn about not going with the program.

It’s the first time I’ve spoken my twin flame’s name since I unmade him all those millennia ago, to stop him from unmaking everything else.

Even to myself, I never say his name. Isn’t that odd? I didn’t even let myself know until this morning that his Name was Simon.

So… I guess that ritual really did set my feet on the path to healing that hole in my chest.

Even after the chakra removal, the hole is still there… but it’s much less painful now, and I’m clearly still working on it….. all the way back to conception. lol