the voice from here and beyond
7 March 2008
Thursday Vision of Fall Horns
I’m really good with feedback on the woo filter- I appreciated the one offlist link to more Melek-Taus stuff. This guy was just kind of wacky. My other note of annoyance- getting used to obsidian sphere gazing work, I’ve started to start zoning off and out on almost anything round black and shiny- thus the “gazing frog” jokes that are evolving.
I laid down on last Thursday night. 1am. I had to be up at 4am. But I couldn’t sleep, so I went to take a long bath, cleansing inside and out. I felt the water wash over me, into me, through me, out of me, let myself sink into the waves. I let go, and opened my gills.
Back out of the waves I tried to lay down again, but was called to erotic play instead. Ah, the universal joke- to have universal coitus interuptus. Of sorts. Not entirely true. But I found myself in a very, painful, position as my body froze mid anal masturbation and was no longer able to move. Or more accurately post orgasm right when you want to pull the dick out of your ass, and afterwards it starts hurting, then worse, then…
He appeared.
I think it was He.
It looked like a stag, but its body was made of dead leaves fallen from trees in oranges, browns and deep reds. Its horns were made of bare tree branches. It stared me down, stared through me.
Ouch.
Oh, you’ve done worse.
Yeah, but can we not, this sucks.
Oh, you’ve done worse.
It got wore.
Can we stop this now?
Oh, you’ve done worse.
Suddenly I flashed back full body to the moment my nipple fell out in my hand in the shower, and I froze in the water, then began to scream. As I started to freak out, the picture froze, and I wooshed back to my body and the pain in my literal ass.
Just a reminder, you’re not actually there. You’re here.
Thanks. (But I was thinking thanks asshole)
Suddenly I flash back to going into the shower that morning. Winter was in the other room. I stripped out of my clothes and checked the water temperature. I unwrapped my bandages, and stepped into the water. I began to wash, bent over to grab the soap, and out my left nipple bundle fell into my hand. I stood up in the water and froze, then began to scream. I wooshed back into my body and the now seemingly on fire anal sphincter.
Just a reminder, you’re not actually there. You’re here.
Thanks. (But I was thinking thanks asshole)
We did it again.
Again.
Again.
Until somewhere between times 5 and 10, I lost track, it went like this instead…
I flash back to going into the shower that morning. Winter was in the other room. I stripped out of my clothes and checked the water temperature. I unwrapped my bandages, and stepped into the water. I began to wash, bent over to grab the soap, and out my left nipple bundle fell into my hand. I stood up in the water and froze, then breathed deeply and stepped out of the shower. I set the severed bundle on a piece of clean gauze, then call out to Winter- “can you call the doctor? My nipple just fell out.”
I come back to my body and and finally I have my arms back, and I slide the dildo out of my tender ass. Thank fucking gods.
Oh, you’ve done worse.
Fuck, I start to scream, as I’m whipped back to my burning flesh. I’m in my cottage, a different life time past, one I’ve been to before, and my shirt is on fire. I’m screaming.
Just a reminder, you’re not actually there. You’re here. (back to my tender body and tears down my face).
Thanks. (meaning it this time)
The story starts earlier this time. I am walking into my cottage, carrying a bundle of something under my arm. Its a warm evening. I am smiling slightly, its beautiful, and will be beautiful tonight. I walk into my cottage and start setting things down on my table and start rummaging around for something to eat. I hear a noise at my door that had closed behind me. I go to check on the noise, but the door won’t budge. I shake the door hard, but it won’t budge. I start to panic when I smell the thatch burning. I look out of my one window and see him, the man I knew too well, with a look of great sadness wandering away. I know what comes next…
I jump. Suddenly I’m somewhere vaguely civil war era america guessing by the uniforms. This is NOT my timeline, I know that much. It’s his. The man who I knew too well. He’s the brother of the woman in front of me, who I’m having an argument with her husband I can’t understand.
I hear the rustle of leaves behind me and the stag of fall leaves is behind me.
I didn’t know you could do that.
Neither did I.
You weren’t ready to actually deal with that one were you?
No, apparently not.
I snap back to the burning thatch smell, step back to Winter asking what is wrong, step back to my body aching and tender.
I come back with an hour until I have to leave for my flight.
Interesting approach to Recapitulation/Soul Retrieval I suppose, but god damn it, can’t I just have normal sleep any more?
A few things happened last night. I sat down over the phone with the person whom the cords debate was happening, and we completely restructured our relationship. This sucks on a thousand levels, but had to be done. It was better than just cutting those cords and removing them from my life, which I could have and actively considered doing last night. It was a revelation for him to realize that I was not the one who had closed certain doors, and lets just say he and his Patron have a LOT to talk about.
As part of that conversation, we discussed what seems to be an active energetic working that has been done on him. I gave him two assignments. One was to create a list of all the vows he made to her, and all that she had made to him, and put them on paper. To really look at them. Just because she broke a vow that was made before his Patron does not mean he has the right to break any of those without finding recompense for it. He was a bit surprised, as if it hadn’t really occurred fully that part of this BS against him could be his own fuck ups around his magical work. Gah!
The second part of the assignment I gave him concerning this person was to create a shield specifically against any working she may very likely be doing against him. I hate fucking witch wars. Even if neither of them ID as witches. I recommended a variant of hoodoo shielding technique that I’ve used involving taking something personal of theirs, binding it in wire (or barbed wire if there is a desire for pain when they work against you), tying a statement of your life ebing yours to fuck with, not theirs, or something like that- then either burying it, or in a twist I enjoy, submerging it (if it won’t fuck up the physical system) in the water tower of a toilet, so each time they do work against you they literally flush their own energy down the shitter.
I told him there are other ways to create sheilds, but he likes things wrought with visual meaning, so I knew i would appeal to his warped senses. So much better plan than any physical harm against the person, or any darker magic that he was actively considering as we both know that if anything, even cancer or a stroke, happens to her, people will be pointing the finger at him or I almost instantly.
So I mentioned this idea to someone I cherish, as they were asking how it went, and half way in this part came up. I could hear them stiffen up on the other end of the phone and say “well, you don’t really want to invite that energy back into YOUR life- 7 fold return and all.” I froze- not about the statement, but about the fact that wow, obviously we’re on different pages about magical ethics.
I don’t keep a bloody Hell Tree (but wow, hearing Christopher Hartleigh Low speak about his did get the dark arts minor fetishist in me a bit wet), and I’m not prone to cursing anyone. I’ve done it when the work light goes off, because sometimes the Work I do requires that, to open doors, people need foundations shaken. Opening doors and keeping pathways clear (or in some cases, mucking the snow out of their driveway so they can get from the door to their Work), pretty much sums up the bulk of what my Job is. It takes a lot of different forms. Sometimes I become a magical packrat for the universe (anyone who has met me at a KC has probably noticed this, or hell, has met mi Madre). Sometimes its me teaching classes and opening eyes. Sometimes its as a random oracle, stating words that people needed to hear. Sometimes its me pulling people out of abuse situations and finding them a place to stay. Sometimes it is about loving fully in the moment to show someone that this can in fact exist and they need to demand more. Sometimes its me getting the obstacles out of the way, even if its random shit like moving a single brick, or breaking into buildings for homeless people to sleep in, or putting a nail into someones tire.
So I was a bit gobstruck by this persons reaction. I forget that people don’t realize that sometimes destruction is necessary in the world to be able to have life happen. Beautiful tree falls, rots, becomes the home for new life. Yes, its sad that the tree fell. But 100 new lives stand in the place of its one sacrifice.
Cursing is a tricky thing. I don’t like them as a tool because even if they can be INCREDIBLY efficient, they usually leave a residue of their working on me. Law of attraction, right? I think about negativity only and negativity goes oh, there’s an open door! But sometimes that sacrifice is the right move. Ethics are a complex dance, and there is no one right and one wrong. But I would personally rather have someones energy flush down a toilet, and their life be full of the shit they wrought, then other easier options like death, which would be very easy indeed to make happen.
It was hard to refocus, to take a very complex thing that was rotting away in my cord and re-anchor it, smaller, into a focused point. For the first time in 18 years, I have not a single piece of metal or jewelry on my body. Its been almost 48 hours. Not a single one. Not since I was 10 years old and my grandmother, to spite mi Padre, took me to the mall and had my ears pierced after I’d asked for 4 years. No piercings, no rings, no collars, no necklaces. Nada. I will again, soon, but its been a very strange few days.
Must eat, then will come back and woo rant about Melek Ta-us *again*. Gah, 2 nights in a row.
28 February 2008
The Blue Child
Last night I shot a porn vid of myself, because I said I would. Afterwards I laid down to sleep, lights off, about 2am. I lay in bed, post sexual solo glow, and allowed myself to drift. As I did so I saw a path off to one side, and recognized it from the night before, and went to see.
I was back in my bed, but not, in an open glade, laying on my back. I sat up and got out of bed to wander around, and a young boy, perhaps 8, wandered up to me. He was blue (not paint), with thick dreadlocks and a design on his forehead in yellow and red. Tangled in the knots of his deep blue-green hair were peacock feathers, and he wore only a leather loincloth. As we talked without words, he held out his hand and his body morphed, to 3, then up to 12, then to a teenage boy. He showed me blue flames and a forest full of life, and I knew I could hear the heartbeat of the world.
Back in the glade, bed gone, I sat on the ground and he straddled me. Before as I had been penetrated, this time he pulled himself up onto me and called me into him. The universal wisdom that is all in the eyes of a young one pulled me in, and I dove, as he hit me with a smile that held knowledge of having been here a thousand times before. He told me that he had given to me and as he is in me, I am in him, and to give that to him.
Without hesitation our skin poured into one another, then he split into two of himself, two perfect mirrors, feathers in their hair. The second one of him held me then used my mouth, then held me again as I filled his brother, his twin, until I released inside him and as I did, his mouth opened up and light spilled out and enveloped us all. For what I gave was mine to receive back. For what I give is mine to receive back. And all I am is the worlds in turn.
He kissed my gills, two mouths healing wounds and letting me breathe deeply, and they became one again and bowed before me. They left me in the darkness and the light.
I found myself centered, focussed, and today am still both of these, if tender, open, feral in my strength and centeredness. Happy to give almost anything I have to give because I know I get it back and thats not about act for act, but intention for intention.
Today has been very good. *open more* is all I want to cry, to practice living and loving deeper, even if the fear stands there watching, waiting, and then it turns away. A gift of dark beauty was mine to bear witness to today, and it was good. I let go and gave in to truths.
His eyes echo, two then four, lips and gills. I’m not tired, I have to leave in a few hours for the airport, but my eyes keep trying to shut. I think I’m going to go listen to what tonight has to bring.
When this rope came into my life, I realized as soon as it hit my hands that it wasn’t like my other rope. It intensified intention, whatever that might be. It was the first batch of rope made in The Abbey by Monk after the fire- Phoenix from the ashes. It has bound horsing gods in place for flesh removal rituals, it has allowed another human to be horsed and fly, I’ve had people fall in love with me through it (take the ethics there as you will).
But one of the things I noticed is that I started being able to see astral cords in the same way I have been able to see a tangled pile of rope. And using my Phoenix rope (and a set of pure white cotton and bleached white hemp), I’ve gotten to a point where I have been able to help a few people re-lay astral cords- in some cases cut cords, in others take a line and follow it out, find out where it lead, using rope bondage magic.
Now the debate of using this work for my own ties.
People change, move, grow, whatever- but oaths stay. I have at least 2 people in my life who have broken my heart into a thousand pieces, and yet, if they said a string of words to activate my promises to them, I would be there in a heartbeat. It has been tricky explaining this concept to people who break promises, even to gods, and say “its ok, they’ll understand.” No, Gods will NOT understand why you went ahead and broke a vow just because it was no longer convenient. If you promised your sexuality to a virgin goddess and then decide you really do want to have nookie, don’t come yelling down the road when it turns out you are sterile. Your bad, not the Goddesses, for you thinking “they’ll understand.”
A month ago a cord that was laid heavy, strengthened for specific magical purposes a number of years ago… the door on their end closed. I stared G in the eyes (I refuse to type that spirit/bastard’s name, well, ever if I can help it) as that doorway, and I knew he was right- that vow can not be fulfilled from them any more. But now I stare at this cord, this heavy piece between my gut and my heart. I stare at this cord and feel the weight of it closed on the other end.
The proposal from one was to take the cord, remove it, and store it. Um, no. Wow, now. I really don’t think they had any idea what they were talking about- one of the tricks with loving someone dearly who says they get spirit work but who thinks of Gods as archetypes. Yes, Gods can fuel and feed into archetypes. But Gods are real. Demons are not just things that keep us up at night as personifications of our dark places. They are their own creatures.
I said loudly that would be unethical. She was confused. They closed that door on their end- my vows still stand. But, but they broke it first, she emphatically stated. Not the point. Just because someone else breaks the law, does that mean its ok for you to as well?
So I sit with this cord. I will be talking to the human it involves later today, if they hold up their promise to be on the other end of the phone, something that has been hit or miss for the past year. 14 months actually. Since I fucked up due to NOT BEING USED TO DEAD PEOPLE using my fucking body. Gah, yeah, lets just say the locks are better on that door now, thank goodness. But I did not act in full integrity after that episode (I have been tempted to use the excuse that being stuck in a land of ash and gray for what felt like days leaves a guy disoriented, but it doesn’t excuse my behavior), and I am still paying for it. First with ending up almost dying from an allergic reaction, then the children, then… am I done yet? Can I be done yet?
So I sit with this cord, and weigh out ethics of the case before me.
27 February 2008
Peacock Dreaming
So, last night was.
I spent much of yesterday physically pulling myself, with the help of the service slut and Rose, out of the muck of my soul. It was nasty. By late night, I realized that I needed to spend some serious time in the center of *I*, to get some truths under my belt about how to move forward concerning two oaths I have sworn, and received in turn.
For those who don’t know, I have this ridiculously heavy ass collar that was forged for me by a spirit worker who I respect greatly. Its function- to keep the manifested spirit inside a body present and unable to harm anything in the physical realm. Not the body its manifesting inside, not anyone outside it either. Plus, to not be able to move from the circle where it was locked in place. This was originally forged to deal with one very specific being, and it served its purpose for that specific working to a T. It is an ensouled item, and thus has its own awareness which is amusing to live in a house with sometimes. Nothing like a different ensouled item that lives in my house, but that is not my tale to tell. Yes, this collar is in my will.
So, for the first time ever, I wore the collar myself last night. I had known since I received it that it would allow me to do what I did last night (force me to stay self-possessed until I took it off), and it was interesting to realize that for the first time last night, first time in years, I had no jewellery of any sort on as soon as the collar came off. None. I am still devoid of any jewellery. Everything I was wearing is now on my bedside table, and will stay there at least until tomorrow.
I needed to be bare. I need to be bare. I need to go into conversations today with an open heart and an open mind around oaths, and that includes removing items tied to oaths that are not inked into my flesh. And yes, oaths owed to a dead man- 2 months down, 10 to go. Oaths sworn to Bear very much in tact.
Back to me, rather than the universal *I*, I laid down to sleep. My sleep schedule had gone nocturnal, I had not eaten beyond a nibble a day, and had stopped doing much of anything. This stopped last night, breaking fast with tasty green beans and horseradish garlic mashed potatoes. I laid down to sleep at 1am, a shock as I’d only been up since 4pm.
Right hand masturbation is mine. Pleasure, simple, yum. I can not cum for fun with my left hand. Its reserved for magical working, which surprises me not one bit as I have this big ass tattoo on my left palm of a pentacle, 2 points towards the fingers, that faded physically as the ink rejected, but stayed elsewise. As I lay there, in that space between sleepfulness and waking, it came to me.
Peacock.
More accurately, Melek Ta’us, The Peacock Angel.
I’ve met other deities before, but this was, I’m not sure how to describe.
Have no idea what I am talking about?
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Melek_Taus
Also, a peek into this Feri stuff that keeps popping up in my universe over the past 2 years that is yanking harder:
http://www.feritradition.org/
(where the personification of god as youth, blue man, wears peacock feathers in his hair as connection to Melek Ta’us)
His claws dug into the heart of the planet, spinning gold, spinning iron. The tips of his eye-feathers dusted the heavens with a smile, for I could feel the heavens smiling and opening up their thighs. Its eyes were lit with blue flame behind black iridescence, cold, but inviting. He called me forward to masturbate upon him, and in time I did, after weighing the world out with the eyes on me, the waves on me, letting my gills breathe deep and know this was good.
When I stood afterwards before him, I was as tall as he was, and my claws dug into the heart of the planet, spinning gold, spinning iron. The tips of my fingers as I stretched dusted the heaven with a smile, and I could see the heavens laugh at this. But my eyes were my own, ocean gray, and I kissed Melek Ta’us on his cheek/side of his beak and left him to his ways. He bowed his head then stood taller then before, and I shrank back to my own size as I made my way back to my flesh that had been playing out this dance on its own terms, left hand to my twat, while I was gone but was still present.
My brandings are many symbols. They are 7 waves each, each time my body being pulled down, each time my hands always above the waves to pull me back up. Never unable to come up for air, but knowing that I can breathe underwater. Every 7 years I have had a breakdown, and last year was no exception, and in its magical numbering it is a reminder of this. Every 7 years we replace our cells, and mine reset. It is lined up with the 6th brand on my right arm, my 13 strikes towards manhood. Each wave has an eye in its crest, and the imagery was pulled from the artwork of Argus, the giant who slept as Io fled from Hera’s hold, whose thousand eyes were removed from him for having slept and put upon the peacock. To be always vigilant. Vigilance, awareness, and signal clarity. Hands above the waves, let my body see what I can not see, grant me 14 more eyes, let me know what needs to be known so that my work might be done.
Thus I am not surprised, 6 weeks later, to have peacocks at my door.
But I can feel that blue flame still, not inside, but just… near. And I think on this, and keep my eyes open.
23 February 2008
Deep funk leads to retrospection on Work
Someone dear to me in an email recently said that the universe makes me do all sorts of “crazy woo woo” shit, but that I love doing that stuff.
That is not true.
How do I explain to those who are not god/spirit bothered that having to wake up at 3 am, leave your body, and go do work that seems bloody well pointless all night long is taxing, annoying, and horrible. How do I explain that having to give away money to strangers sucks on my finances? That I have to take jobs I want to throw back in the face of organizers who deeply disrespect me, but that this stupid fucking universal good light goes off and tells me, no, I have to be there to change one specific life. That I have to get up and leave dinner sometimes to wander in a daze for miles to have to literally move one brick to a different pile of bricks then chat with a cat to have them help me break into a building, leave it unlocked, then go tell some homeless guys where the space is so that they can go crash there… and then come back to dinner?
I do not love doing this stuff.
Yes, at times it is nice to have proof that I am changing the world.
But 50% of the time, when the duty light goes off, I do NOT get proof of anything. I feel like a raving lunatic, a madman, a fool. I find myself angry and pissed off, and then I let it go because its part of being collared to Her.
And I love Her.
I love Mama Bear.
I am deeply devoted to her, and its curious, I can have verging on sexual/sensual relationships with other deities and spirits- but not her. Never. I’ve tried going there a few times, with other bear workers… but its not right. My own inner aspect of Bear as a totem and shapeshifting work is one thing, but Her- no. Its strange- I’ve even had a lover who was also a Bear shaman, and we can’t do magic of any sort between us if there is a charge of sexuality in the air that involves Her.
She’s my mother, and like my biological mother, I just won’t go there- but I would drop everything if she were in need. For those who know the “no, thats my MUUUUTHER” story, feel free to laugh.
I do this work because it is important. Because I must.
Because I must.
Like Orion Foxwood so eloquently reminded me last weekend, “The Spirit World is NOT democratic. .. your spiritual work is not volunteer.”
How else do I explain it without seeming mad?
This is my path.
I walk it.
Because I must.
I find glimpses of joy, and deeper truths than I had thought possible, but I did not choose this. Those who believe deeply in the law of attraction, who believe we attract all we have in our lives, even the worst of our pain, might disagree. But you believe deeply in a spiritual self journey setting, and I know in my core that this time around, I have work to do. I can control the hours I work sometimes, but this work- I can’t quit.
Or perhaps I am mad, its always a possibility.
11 October 2007
Listening to our Masturbations
I’m trying to listen to my masturbations again.
For me masturbation can be a lot of things:
mechanical release
sexual connection with a partner
a way to relax
connection with self
feels good
meditation
sensory experience
trance
opening up to the divine to receive messages
magical tool for putting desires out to the universe (or other magical stuff)
checking in with self
and more…
But I was recently attending Spirit of the Islands, an amazing event in Hawaii, and was able to do tech work for Femcar’s Huminiation and Objectification class. She has a brain I drool over, love, adore. I am often torn up about other aspects of this amazing complex creature, but her brain astounds me. In a spoken word piece that was read by someone else while I projected images of her being objectified and humiliated, she spoke of opening up to the universe using her cunt. When the spoken word piece ended and she just spoke to all the folks gathered, her voice was so strong and powerful, resonating a deep truth- that the universe speaks to her through her masturbations.
She does things she does not understand she says.
She does things because she must.
And the things she does change lives.
People may not agree with what she does, but they do make you think.
So since that trip to Hawai’i, a trip I know has changed my life forever because of some of the amazing spiritual teachings I came it touch with plus finding my financial guru… I’ve had this concept in the back of my scull.
Masturbating today it hit me hard. When I stop censoring my fantasies and let them just exist, I learn so much about myself and my place in the world. What we do in our fantasy lives does not have to reflect what we do outside, but it can inspire. We can be what we never could be. We can do what we never could do. We can remember what may never be ours again.
We can touch on what we need. We can feed our dreams. We can put out a cry to the universe towards the longing of our soul.
Or I can just wank.
It all works out.
But it is something to consider… what do our Masturbations show us?
Where will they take us next?
What lives will we change?
18 September 2007
Dark Odyssey 2007- rambles from my flight to SF
My first few days of Dark Odyssey were stressful. Not because of the event, or hell, the people who as always light me up- but because of the stress surrounding my NYC housing situation. Finally after being unable to reach my sublet, Spencer finally tried calling them for me after ordering me to let him take care of it- and he did just that. The guy had stopped picking up 503 area code calls, but did pick up for a Canadian number- sigh… but the stress had led to it showing on my face, which led to a friend of mine, BBJim, asking what was up. I told him, and before I even finished the tale he’d offered to let me stay at his place in New Jersey. I cancelled the stomach-stressing sublet, and literally within an hour my spirit was lighter and a mood that had been punctuated by extreme feelings of loneliness was transformed into being present again.
Loneliness? Yeah, its painfully lonely to be at any event where you’re sleeping alone surrounded by cuddling couples, sitting by yourself contemplating life when your neighbors are fucking. Its strange, there are times when these things really don’t bother me- I get my voyeuristic needs met (being an ethical psy-vamp), or I engage in fabulous discussions, humor and theoretical dialogue… but the first 2 days of Dark Odyssey this year were hard on me. I was actually getting concerned about my obsessive melancholy surrounding Hunter and Spencer… and with Coral in Ireland for vacation, having all of my partners out of the country was wearing hard on me. My hand glued to my phone, hoping, needing, was really worrying me.
It hasn’t all left. Actually, its being strange to have a partner in my life (Spencer) who I am being so obsessive about. I don’t do this, not this need, literally down to the bone need to hear a lovers voice every day. It scares me a bit, but I’ve chosen (with Hunter’s help) to not let it worry me. It scares me because it is not my standard modus operandi. I am not usually that guy. I am free spirited, and yes, I love hearing from my partners, but unless I know something hard has been happening in their voice, I don’t stress even after 2 days or in some cases a week or more without hearing from them. I have been finding myself chomping at the bit to hear his voice after only 24 hours, sometimes less, and it is a strange and unfamiliar sensation. To miss his skin after only a week. Not that immediate missing, like I have after had a delirious series of days with a lover, their sweat still etched upon my brow. Not that need to feel them curled up behind me one night later. No, that desire to wake eye to eye and smile. Part of me wonders if NRE (New relationship energy) is parsing different with hormones in my system. Other parts of me debate other possibilities.
But, in fairness and joy, the stress did lead to me getting to have some great bonding time with Del that lasted well past when the stress lifted. She and I became the two old guys from the Muppets, sitting in our lounge chairs outside our cabins commenting at the world as it went by. While others at camp were learning to find their G-spots and spin fire, I learned at her side how to balance a gummi bear on my nose then toss it up and catch it in my mouth.
Friday night, with the stress lifted, I transformed. How people approached me changed dramatically, as I became me again. Became me for the first time around a lot of these folks. Old acquaintances looked at me with a sense of awe as I heard over and over again that I looked happy, calm, centered. I am. Flirtation finally found my ears, and damn it was good. And my mojo came back, and together Del, Whittney and I led a cathartic release ritual where my screams at the attendees was apparently audible by others down at the Pavillion half a camp away. This year the rituals were very small, quiet, but potent. I was happy to have touched lives on a more intimate level.
Touched lives. Fuck, that thought is so good to me. As I froze under the flames I felt the pain of past fears hit me hard, but wrapped up in plastic and bear hugs afterwards his voice echoed- too late, you’ve already changed lives, left your mark, mattered in this world. Too late. Thank the gods.
Of my 4 classes, I was happiest with the results of my fiber magic class and my rituals for D/s class. Mind you, I got sunburned while teaching fiber magic, because I chose not to teach in the cramped and dark make out room, and decided instead to convene under the big blue sky. But I was so happy with the turnout and the interest in a storytelling, history, mythlore and application of magic class at an event like Dark Odyssey. Del and I kept joking that it was hard to be doing all intellectual and spiritual classes (I did NO hands on classes this year), when people could be learning how to have better orgasms or throw a punch. Or as she phrased it “Why would someone want to discuss theory in a dark room when they could be sticking fingers in each others pussies?” But they did, and wow, it was good. My did my modern re-rendition of the tale of Grandmother Spider weaving the heavens, and it was so delicious. And at rituals for D/s, an attendee was directly NOT listening to what I was saying, and I hit my groove and got to compare his comment to attending DragonCon and seeking kids in Hot Topic collars, and to see that shift of confrontation turn into a laughing smile made my day as an educator.
I also say an event like Dark Odyssey, because its an odd mix of existence. They SAY they want to have it be a spirituality included BDSM and sexuality/sensuality event, but the awards ceremony drove it home for me. They had never asked ANYONE on pagan staff who they thought should get the award for most Devout camper. They gave it to someone who did a flashy religious themed scene. Very flashy. But there had been one camper who shone like a star, a silent star but a star nonetheless, who had attended every spirituality class and every ritual he could get his hands on, hung out all the time at the shaman cabin and asked pointed and intelligent conversations when he needed info about an overheard comment… and to have these silent stars ignored was hard for me. If its going to have sacred spirituality at an event, it should be uplifted, supported- not just be relegated to the barn or a hook pull behind that same barn and given space. I feel that it should be supported- but that is hard when the advocates for such things are having to work from outside the inner circle of planning. [gripe over]
I managed to bruise my nose on someone’s belt buckle sucking cock in the night cruising down at the obstacle course. Doh. I have to laugh. But wow that night was stunning. Wandering with a friend down around the back side of the lake, where the geese were missing this year, the rain had landed on fireflies that had under the pressure fallen to the ground. The wet grass was covered in a sea of stars that lit our way through the dark.
I turn, growl, and a hand grabs me hard. Fur to fur, feral noises and grunting groans in the dark. Breath to breath he breathes me in and I pull it back out of the energy pulsing along his veins, tasting sweat and skin, and his blood on my lips without a drop of crimson leaving his body. Firm hands, and I can hear it echoing down to my belly- down to my core as he tells me how hot of a man I am.
Not how hot I will be.
Not that he can see the man inside me.
But how hot of a man I am.
And he means it.
Inside I crumble. Outside I moan and cum in my pants, my cock in his hand. Probably helps that he had his mouth on my neck and is a damn find hand job artist.
It was good to connect with Reid and Marcia from the cuddle party movement. I adore them both, and barely got to connect with them at the ill fated never aired Tyra Banks show episode. We laughed about it together, and I got to join the “damn Reid is a damn good kisser” camp. Time with Marcia, my yearly Sunday date, the hot neighbor, and a Baltimore dildo distributor turned into an enthusiastic discussion about the current state of the electoral college in American politics- who says that civics can’t be a fetish. We are joking/discussing having a nerd cabin next year maybe… but the shamans cabin was a really lovely group of folks.
I spun fire and got to watch friends and lovers flesh under firelight. I spent an hour alone on the shore of the beach one afternoon, and one night lost track of myself in the double firelight of torches as the wind caught in my fur. I slept each night under a bear pelt.
Packing my bags and arranging rides for friends and myself (when my fell through at last minute for serious reasons, sending them good thoughts, thank you Whittney for saving my sanity and more) turned into hot neighbor action and moans under duress. Sometimes I am not as ethical of a psy-vamp, I must admit, and I fucked up that night, going for a vein as it were when I could have drunk a lot longer if I’d waited. When one is in hungry desperation, one does not always think straight (ha) as it were. But, it was decided there will be a party to make up for it :)
Cock buried inside his body, I moan, rock, and try not to scream when I hear that we have 5 minutes left.
The dream catcher hung outdoors for a full turning of the day. Lives touched, all but one who was there in spirit walked in silence down to the fire. Hemp burns slowly. I saw Nephtys in the flames, and remember.
I collect another death mage into my life and find myself blessed once more. I get a bit of flirting in with Steve the Moon Monster.
Corn fritters are damn tasty. Having someone who is a Kinsey 6 on the scale lay their lips on mine is even tastier, an affirmation of truths. Armed with his kiss I manage to survive my period showing up again.
A long standing crush finally kissed me, then informed me to take his card. Um, I have all your info darling (hell, you’re on my top friends on MYSpace!) Ah, but do you have my out-of country direct number? Fine, message received, I’ll stay in touch better, ha ha.
Cigar smoke curls around good friends. Tears well up in eyes. I touch a heart and someones understanding of me changes. My understanding of me changes. I cry about children never had, actually face it. Face anger and pain about not getting to go places with my humiliation and edge play that I miss so dearly in my life, places that Hunter went hard with as my Daddy. I need them so badly, but because of the culture around humiliation play that has evolved in the wake of other players with similar physical tastes (but different energetic tastes), I feel I can’t go there at most events. I go back into the humiliation closet, echoes of masks in the tub and a heavy branch across my belly turning in me to come out.
But I don’t burn. Sunday night I freeze under the flame of his wand. I feel the fire and yet I chill. He can’t get fire to light on my legs. I’m not grounded. I’m burning up inside. He sees it having to do with my transitions. He’s right, but its not about gender. He jumps for the easy reading, but I soak it in and dream of dishwear and facing the need to TRUST in the gods. Trust that Mama will take care of me. But it was a hard ride through the flames I’ve refused to touch since Furry and I last went there. I didn’t burn, but oh how I look forward to not freezing.
Singing duet with Nina Hartley. Unplanned cabin strip shows. Delightful service. My firs massage ever that didn’t hurt in some way (actual massage with lotion, me building on Coral rubbing my back in a sun beam a few weeks ago). Kissing my way up Dossie’s ear. Feeling so amazingly loved by Barbara C. saying she will be there in the waiting room with Spencer for my surgery. By Barbara Nitke being able to take pornumentary pics for me. By a voice on the phone reminding me I am loved, so amazing loved. Somewhere across one ocean my girlfriend is having adventures on an isle I miss in my pores from almost a decade ago, Across the other ocean my partner finds his way back towards me energetically a day at a time, and I wait and have faith. But stuck in America, I feel blessed for the friends I have, but look forward to not sleeping alone.
Dark Odyssey, as always, is one of the only events internationally I refuse to miss. For good or ill, it is always different, and always what I need. It was what I needed.
31 July 2007
Prayer to Deep Ocean
I shot a video at midnight on Saturday night, full moon obscured by cloud cover. The waves lapped up over pebbles, driftwood, a 100+ year old coal unloader. 2 nights before I had sat on the beach and a version of this prayer had come out of my mouth that lasted 10-15 minutes- this one only lasts 2.5. As I prayed on Thursday night I sunk into a trance and danced, then at some point collapsed on the beach with a tin silver key in my hand and descended into the waves of darkness and had a much needed conversation. Ocean wash me clean just as my work for Bear lets me wash others clean. Nothing is pure, hooks still wedged in my gills, but an understanding of clear water against the darkness. 2 nights later I came back to the same beach and recorded a piece, knowing someone needs to see it, will understand.
From a merman in service to Bear.
25 June 2007
Shamballa Accepts another Light Healer
Walking up the hill in the heat of the Hawaii summer sun today, I called mi madre to see if a check had arrived that is my deposit $ for my chest surgery. She said no, but asked if I had a moment. Sure. I’m sorry I didn’t call sooner, but Louise passed away late last week.
Apparently on Wednesday she went to work (as an in home hospice care provider) as normal. She called work at the end of the shift and let them know she wouldn’t be in tomorrow. She went home, and some time that night or the next morning, did not wake up.
On Monday or Tuesday she had called my mother to talk. In a conversation about resurrection, mi madre laughed that she wasn’t sure what she herself would end up as. Louise said that she used to think she’d come back as a fish or something, but not now. She’s done enough work here. She planned on going on and becoming a light healer with Dr. Laura. Oh, ok mom, mi madre said.
By today, the apartment had been cleared up, she has been cremated, and is being taken off to the ocean.
After mi madre hung up, I cried. I screamed. I yelled about how fucking mad I was, how upset, how much at that moment I wished I’d gotten to see her again. I yelled about light healers and all the woo woo shit of the world.
And I looked down.
At a spiral.
Of silver.
With a huge cut crystal at the center.
Laughed.
Picked it up.
And put it in my ear.
Keep up the good work Louise, we need you down here.
© 2024 Temple Oracle
Wordpress themes