Temple Oracle

On thanksgiving I stayed under the covers
Blue shroud
I walked into the mansion
and I was unexpected

Blue shroud
I stood before them
and was remembered with a smile
as Thanksgiving came beneath the covers

The night before Hunter had asked
when was the last time
I had pulled hooks from my flesh
and I remembered with a smile

I walked into the mansion
walked past the map
Blue shroud
and walked out of the mansion to the waves

Mermen and dolphins dive deep
I remembered with a smile
pulled hooks from my flesh
under a Blue shroud

***

http://yezida.livejournal.com/172513.html
Today T Thorn Coyle summed it up well in her note to herself…

Do not believe until you have swallowed the truth whole, digested it, and let it seep through your pores. Do not believe until the truth affects the way you walk, talk, sit, laugh, and dance. Do not believe until the truth has shattered and rebuilt your heart and resurfaced the landscape of your mind and soul.

I have a long way to go.

I have paths of personal practice that hone me, shine me. They walk with me and talk with me. I dance in them and scream as they tear me apart and fill me with bliss.

And I don’t do them enough.
I run from them with these things called busy.
Gods love finds me anyway.

Boddisatva of 3am ramblings.
Truths of Dogma replayed.
Peace reflected in turkey and Black Snake Moan.
Breathe… asthma inhaler and truth.
I AM.
Love.

***
29 huh?
I am blessed and baffled.
Still in my 20s? The world speaks in modernity of fearing 30 but I am baffled by not being there yet. But it gives me more time to learn.
And more than that- more time to incorporate, to absorb into my pores.

I woke up today, when I truly woke not the 5am waking screaming that I knew and warned would come with 4 hours of sleep to the smile of Nina H. Flashbacks to cabin laughter and long tales. I breathe in and am loved.

Some days its easier, and the word “ordeal path” slap me like a fish in the face. Its not always easy Lee, remember- its called PRACTICE for a reason.

Love. Love sheep, sheep of love, the laughter echoes.

***

People ask me what I did for my birthday:
I took photos in the sun.
I laughed.
I became a babboon, a badger, and a bra-headed boy.
Jokes erupted from my lips.
I yelled at a good woman.
Miscommunications were had.
I looked at not knowing
I drank uneventful Shiraz.
I watched some very funny TV shows (Big Bang Theory rocks, as does How I Met Your Mother)
I bled.
I felt joy.
Walking alone brought bliss to my face.
I curled up and smiled.
I visited an amazing home with concrete cassueries and winged seahorses
Small dogs were my friends.
Pigs conquered the earth.
I cried.
I took calls.
I thanked mi madre for giving birth to me.
I was challenged.
I stretched.
I tried to grow.

***

I close my eyes again.
I know what practice is.
And yet.
And yet.

15 October 2008
Receiving Puja

Receiving Puja

Its not often in my life that I have an opportunity to view myself in full power, grace and vulnerability, and yet I have been told I have had more of these moments than others do. I am told of people who walk through life blind. I meet souls who have never thought of their own power, grace or vulnerability, except perhaps in how others view them with these labels. I however, do. I wonder how I can pull down my walls and open up. I stay up at nights wondering if I carry myself in a way that puts my in the world I love in a way that allows me to dance with rather than steam roll over life and love. I pour myself a drink and debate whether I a doing enough. Do I live up to what I am meant to do.

But then the gift came.

Its not that simple. I can’t say I was given a gift because I deserved it, because it was meant to be. Two masses drawn to one another as magnets in this huge world. So huge. The world is not getting smaller, she said. It’s just as big as it’s always been. We however are drawn to others who are as big as we are, as ready as we are. And I was ready.

Saturday was the first time I’d received Puja, and the third time I’d invoked my god self. Oh, I’ve received hoochie puja before, taken from when HelasGythia said that she danced with fire and spoke with it, while others just did hoochie mama fire spinning. I raised my hand and confessed that I was a hoochie mama fire spinner. Oh, I’ve been to a few gatherings of tantric folks that they called pujas. But those were tainted. A lust in the air tasting like sweat and desperation. A need that cried out… if I show you how much the world loves you, will you show me? No, this taints it. This is not Puja.

Puja is an offering. It is bowing, kissing, holding heart space. It is you are beautiful and you are perfect mixed in with the divinity of being acknowledged in what is before you. It is not I love you, but you are love. You are loveable is too simple. It is more that this. It is not the passing statement, but taking of your entire being to show the being before you how amazing they are. And it is one directional.

I tried to say Thank You afterwards, and she scooped up the words and handed them back to me nestled between her palms. Please do not taint this, she pleaded with her eyes, and I took the words back.

She told me a tale afterwards of offering Puja to a tree. My brain skipped a beat, words of T. Thorn Coyle and Orion Foxwood buzzing in my brain. The souls of trees. The worthiness of these amazing spirits. Full circle in under a year, as if time were somehow so simple. Louise, the woman in the cottage, lives past and future, smiles and laughs as I pick up this thread again lifetimes later.

8 months ago I first drew down my God Self. PantheaCon is one of those events that even though it takes place in a hotel, the brain lets that fact fade because the magic is so strong. The space becomes more than hotel, more than people, more than rituals- it becomes its own. And here I was surrounded by 200 or more folk in a ballroom, watching Thorn laugh and explain and place theory on the table then walk us into practice. Eyes shut, hands open, and breathe in. Pull in power and love. Breathe in and hold, and as I breathe out fill presence in the space and connect to my beingness there. Her words echo- “there is nothing excluded from the work of self possession.”

Breathe in again, deep breath and hold, and as I breathe out I fill the beingness of my animal soul, my lower cauldron, my lower chakras. Breathe in, fill and hold, and as I breathe out I fill myself and bring awareness to my middle chakras, my intellectual self, the trunk of my world tree and the self that analyzes it all. Finally on the fourth breath, aware of all before, space, animal and intellectual selves, I breathe in, hold, and breathe into my god self.

I breathed up and filled up my being, and as the I AM descended, and I knew it as the I AM, the truth of me, my greater purpose, my god self. Dharma is one of her faces. Purpose is one of his hands. Beingness is writ upon zir chest and Authenticity echoes in every pore. I breathed in I AM, and became the conduit for my eternal self to speak, to know, and in turn, empower me to do as I will. I. I AM.

It amazed me afterwards, and before we actually turned theory into practice, how many times I have let other beings ride me and use my form, when I had not ridden myself. A thousand reasons erupt from my tongue- second hand flesh, not my chosen journey, so many to serve, so little time… all excuses that fell away as I knew. Knew in my being. Knew my being.

Since that February evening, full of rose poems and Feri delight, I had only drawn myself down one other time- locked in a circle with a heavy metal circle locked around my neck and in the solace of solitude I spent forever in an hour with my God Self. I have tried other times in between and not truly succeeded. I have called I AM on the phone energetically speaking, and had me even visit during office hours… but the attempts at house calls have not worked. Oh, I certainly told myself it worked, or bathed in the high of the trying, but it was energetic wanking: calming, self loving, but not necessarily helpful for being fruitful and making life change. Fair, I could go on about the idea of masturbation as a tool for life and world change, but for now we’ll work with a standing metaphor.

She and I had been playing hard. Ropes and hands and hearts flying in a generic hotel room lit with the light of us. Switching at its best with both as Top, both as bottom, both all there. But those walls, right. Dive deep but come up for air my fear kept saying. They can’t handle it… an excuse for you can’t handle it.

But my gills itched and as we walked into the bathroom she caught my eye.
I would like to offer Puja to you…
Have you ever had Puja?

A wave of words that never crossed my lips. Oh, fuck, hoochie puja… oh no, she means it. I’m not worthy! Why am I not worthy? What do I need to do to deserve this? How can someone see me as perfect. She’s just being nice. Its not a big deal. This is a huge fucking deal. If divinity is tapping into universal love like being plugged into the source, is she using me to reach that source? Am I using her? Am I already plugged in? A I allowed to? Will I be allowed to stay? Can I do this? What if she starts and finds me unworthy once she looks? What if I find myself unworthy. What if I cry. Run. Breathe. BREATHE.

So I breathed. I nodded yes, and when she began, I breathed.

As she touched my feet and gave thanks to all I am, I let myself truly go there again. Go back into the truth of my being and open wide. Open to being there with every pore. Open to being primal with every pore. Open to being intellectual with every pore. And once I was there, truly there, I opened up wide and felt I AM descend.

I laughed. The damn burst and I laughed. I see her face and know my path. I feel his hand pulsing inside mine and can act on my purpose. I feel my chest rise and fall filled with the core of my beingness and my skin sings with the authenticity of all I AM. I AM. I.

I am worthy.
I am deserving.
I am beautiful.
I am perfect in this breath.
I am loved.
I am going the right way.
I am capable of all of my greatness.
I am magnificent.
I am.
I AM.

I laughed. And laughed. And glowed.

I breathed in my grace, power and vulnerability… and was not afraid.

And saw myself.

Its not often in my life that I have an opportunity to view myself fully, and yet I have been told I have had more of these moments than others do. I am told of people who walk through life blind. But I am not they. In each day I see and meditate on all I AM, my universal will, my power line to God, my God Self, the Cauldron of my Beingness, my Gaurdian Angel, my Higher Self, my Truth… I continue to have more opportunities to be blessed.

And I am blessed. Thank you world, thank you self, for showing me I was ready for this.

7 September 2008
Mastery, UPG, HOm, Leather

I was thinking today about the Master/slave conference I went to 5 weeks ago or so. Wow, its been a while, and I’ve been whirlwind since then, but I was thinking of it today as I went to Myspace and found a pic on my board from Master DVNT of Chicago. I’ve known DVNT in passing through ShibariCon for about 3 or 4 years now. He is deeply inspirational to me in his devotion to his faith (he is Buddhist), and the way he carries himself in the world. I almost cried when he gave me a piece of rope he made himself. I had no toys on me and he, his girl, ChrisM, his wife, and a hot male pro dom from NY were trying to convince me to go to the play party- but I had a conversation that NEEDED to happen with someone dear to me, even if it ended up hurting to have happen. But this simple gift- I thought he was just letting me see his work, I tried to give it back, he said no, it is for you, thank you for all you have shared with me… wow.

That weekend was a bit like a homecoming. I had chose to go last minute, pack a weekend small bag and just GO… and suddenly there I was surrounded by friends old and new, and peers and teachers I respect greatly. Master Gallad and slave kelly were some of the first I saw as I walked in the door, who I met at SW Leather this year and keep on bonding with more and more over the year. Wow. Suddenly I was surrounded by friends, at every turn. Watching Major’s face twist into the most beautiful smile as I introduced myself to him followed by a big bear hug. Getting this delicious smirk from Master Z (Dallas). Hanging out with the other Mr. Harrington of SF (will be a tad confusing if I move there).

I sat in a few Masters only panels, and looking around, breathing in their collected wisdom, I realized what felt strange.
I felt very very similar to how I did when I got off the boat in Manly.
I felt… home.

Thats intense to say.

I’m sitting here now, naked in my room, staring up at my Masters cap.

Home.
I almost typed Hm.
Add some Om…
HOm.

Bells jingle overhead, bear scull above, a compass.
Thats what a Masters cap is to me really.
A compass.
Just like my pelt.

Its funny, my spiritual path has been a challenging one for me because I keep wanting to go back to school, get ordained, so all these things I *already am* because I want to have someone else say “well done kid, here’s your members pin”- and yet when I walk into a circle of my peers as a shaman and occassionally as a priest as well, I am just that- a peer.

I’ve wanted to be gifted leather so badly. I wanted the process, the ordeal, the pat on the back- and instead stuff keeps getting handed to me with no pomp, no circumstance. My boys cap was already in my posession as a loan and naked in bed when on the verge of tears I was told to keep it, I know you deserve it. I wanted pomp,circumstance, formality… don’t get me wrong, I EARNED it, and the gloves too. I earned it in sweat and tears. I earned it memories and lessons. I earned it. But it wasn’t what I wanted.

I’ve had people in service to me, submission to me, in leather and kink, on and off for almost 15 years now. I wanted someone to do what I read of in books, what I heard from friends in their tales. And now I’m being offered a back patch for a group I don’t feel I can wear their colors with pride… and with no ceremony- GAH!

But then I walked in that room, and it was like walking in at Keepers Crossing in many way. Peer recognition. I was meant to be there.

And not just that, but this feeling of air on my face and sand in my toes- it was right.

I have a love-hate relationship with UPG. Unverified Personal Gnosis. Its a term that has been actively been bantered abut parts of the spirit worker community for a while. It refers to (in a nutshell) things that a human learns about the nature of the divine, or a diety, or spirit, or some other cosmic force, through their own experience- but its not in any anthropological texts that anyone knows of, or there is no other way of “verifying” that knowledge when it first comes in. Many people’s UPG has turned into VPG (Verified Personal Gnosis) when either a handful of other folks say “yup, I got that info too,” or a rare book is found that says yup, people in ancient siberia wore bells on their belts too.

A LOT of the work I do is UPG and VPG. It is not textbook, it is hard to cite exact pages and numbers. Its hard to back up. But I know it is true. And the VPG side tells me others know it to be true as well.

My path towards Mastery feels a lot like UPG. I look at books about Mastery and slavery and go “but that is not the face of Mastery I am!” It makes me wonder if Mastery (like God) is something I can interface with. I look at people following a specific path of Mastery, and go wow, if thats Mastery, its not for me. Just like looking at certain followers of Christ and saying wow, if thats what loving Christ is about, its not for me.

But a thousand faces of Christianity, with its own infighting all on a route towards loving God… why can’t Mastery have a thousand faces, all on a route towards finding Core?

Raven Kaldera said it before and I will say it again- Mastery is like mastering a fine instrument. If I beat my Stratavarius, while it play sweeter music?

Mastery is about Mastery of the self, with the slave, slut, submissive, property, pet, or other human as a reflection or projection towards our own journey. It is a kata, a daily practice, a DISCIPLINE. This is my VPG around the issue :).

So I’m looking at this cap, 3 feet above my head, that is sitting on top of a one of a kind ceramic bowl used for intentional magical working. It sits, and waits, because Mastery is my journey, and only I can grab the ring.

Crap. That means only I can grab the ring. To quote Master Archer of Atlanta, I must re-earn the cap every time I put it on. I must do my leather proud. Well fuck, thats a lot of work. Ok breathe, absorb, love… that means love me.

Do I get to scream yet?

So I close my eyes and look back around the 2 Masters only discussions I was part of… one by Master Burt (who warms me with every smile) and one by Master Z (whose words deeply changed the way I look at relationship in St.Louis, who I love but do not know well)… and I look at the faces of Mastery. I see young and old, male and female, straight and queer, firm and soft- all striving towards personal Mastery using the tools of erotic and relationship as a tool on that journey. I look around and see fellow adventurers, and more true, fellow disciples. I close my eyes and see saffron robes, see black habits, see head scarves, see tall hats and bald heads. I see prayer beads and dancing under the stars. I see a path to God.

Ok, so thats my vision. I had this breath of HOm, and then when the rest of the world came back as I stepped out of that sacred space, my 2-footed self wondered what that was all about. Then I walked into Master Skip Chasey.

I am blessed that I count Master Skip as one of my Teachers. Along with T.Thorne Coyle, Dennis Merrill, Jay Yernell, and Mary Condren. There are more, people who come and go from my life and leave messages- books that reach out through the sands of time, words that changed my life in the hearing, bright souls that transform me… but Master Skip like the others listed are returning reoccurring forces in my world. And Master Skip was there- hell, he was the keynote speech. And in his eyes and words this vision went from UPG to VPG- espeially as he taught “Priest in Black Leather.”

This world of kink, this world of Leather, this world of Mastery and slavery… it is one of my disciplines on my path of enlightenment. Its not a path towards enlightenment, that infers that enlightenment is the final step. Its not. What you DO with enlightenment is what matters, as I brush with Nirvana and dance back to a hotel conference room and smile, breathe in the greatness around me and in me, and love.

29 July 2008
Journeying Raindeer

I stand on a plain, looking out over a herd of buffalo in the distance, thick across the plain, but far away. As I ride forward, I watch as the buffalo are actually Reindeer, and the plain is cold, but thick with them. I start to count them but am distracted by something passing over the moon, a raven as large as the moon from where I am seated on my horse.

As the sky goes black I blink my eyes and I am sitting at a communal fireside, with a shaman whirling about in circles, or some other holy man of some sort, as all are watching him as he spins and whirls around. He is dancing in a trance, with a long skirt made of pages from fashion magazines like Vogue, a heavy coat/cloak made of more pages, and a tight hat with tendrils that fall down from it (reminded me of a mask of a thousand faces that my friend Raven made), but instead of keys or bells or whatnot at the end of each tendril, it is all beauty supplies- tweezers, lipstick, eyeshadow, eyelash curlers, etc.

He spins as everyone watches, knowing he has something important he will find in his trance. He spins as I watch, and he begins tearing off pages from the outfit, page at a time, in a trance fueled with a holy rage. He spins and tears off pages, and I begin to see some of his, or now I realize maybe her, flesh underneath.

As he/she spins, a raven lands on their head, and begins to peck out an eye, eating it as the shaman still spins, but does not notice the bird- tearing away the pages seems to matter more.

I turn away from the fire and look into the village. A woman who was about your build but with darker hair, pinned up, and heavier lips and a slightly rounder face smiles at me, a raven on her shoulder, as she walks away through a beaded/draperie curtain, that seems to have some sort of playing cards it is also made out of. I am drawn to follow, but she somehow though a single smile tell me no, it is a place of women’s mysteries, behind the curtain.

The raven flies off her shoulder as she goes through the curtain, grabs a card, and drops it on the ground. I look down at it, and it is a card that has a single large cup/chalice in the center, 3 smaller above and 3 smaller below, with a huge moon above and another below the smaller cups. The chalices are white/silver, the moons white/silver, and the card background is blue with a yellow border.

I smell spices in the air, exotic cooking. Eyes smirk out from behind the curtain to the land of women’s rites, and I smell herbs in the air.

I blink again and I am back on the plain.
The woman, or maybe its you, I can’t tell… she’s sitting side saddle on a single reindeer on the plain. She then lets out a slight laugh, once she looks around (to see if no one is there?) and throws her leg over the reindeer, riding now strong and proud and normal (not having to keep up appearances). She was wearing a heavy cloak, and takes it off, and I see that the inside of the heavy cloak was all made of fashion magazines. She laughs, shakes her head, and her hair falls down. She is wearing clothes that cover her and keep her warm, but are of her choosing (no idea how I know that), but are also culturally right (again, no idea). She is carrying a fan of raven feathers and a cup, like the ones from the cards. She rides away and leaves the cloak of fashion magazines, which start to dissolve into the dirt.

I blink, and am back in my tent.

22 July 2008
Poetry For Hera – Spread Wide

Spread Wide

I close my eyes to the beat
Beneath me his wings are spread
Spread beneath me
Spread wide
And we are off
Wind
Breeze
My hair blowing
As his wings are spread beneath me

Her arms are wide
Heavy with burdens
A wry smile knowing
Knowing me
She hands me one of her burdens
Return this for me
And get yourself something nice
Followed up with another one of her knowing smiles
And a wicked comment about the sun

She leaves me flustered at her charm
Brown black curls pinned back
Prada sunglasses
Her proud nose
The wry smile knowing me so well

I close my eyes to the beat
Carrying the burden on spread wings
And wind my way back
To flying 10,000 feet above the west

1 June 2008
Tonights Work

He asked me to carry his name to the spirits, ask them his questions.

I headed to my home, those of my staff not expecting me home so soon, but asking to see how I could help. I showed them the note in my hand, and they understood, let me go.

I went out to the forest, and met a spirit I knew well there. We climbed. We spoke at length with no words about caves and darkness, about light and fear, about climbing higher than needed, about how higher was not where I needed to climb for this answer- and the sky fell away.

Blackness and a sea of stars. Simplicity, her starry voice echoes.
Compassion, her starry voice echoes, a breast emerging in the sea, a smile, a cosmic smirk in the black.
If he can not have compassion for his needs, how can he expect to carry others?
She holds me in her arms, and the letter floats away on fingertips as she holds up the mirror, her mirror of reflection, of love, of self love. She takes the letter and places it between her lips, and drinks it down with a moan, a sigh, a smirk. She looks back at her mirror, and he, the petitioner, is smiling back at her laughing and shaking his head. He looks older than I know him. He holds out his hand through the mirror and shakes it laughing, like a student does his professor once he himself is now a professor. His skin is translucent, starry, and he fades laughing at the inside joke between the two of them of shared experience.

She holds me, then lets me float off again, blackness with white stars, blinding brilliance, beauty, black, and a sea embrace me.

I open my eyes.

This weekend Cat and Dmitri looked at me and went, Hera, really? You have something dedicated to Hera on your flesh? They couldn’t think of anyone else with something dedicated to her, but the piece is only nominally for her to be honest… but there is a link. A heavy one.

When I was young I nearly fainted when I read the myth of Io and the Tsetse Fly. Its a simple enough story- Zeus is on his standard prowl, falls for Io, priestess of Hera. To hide the affair, Zeus turns Io into a white cow, but being no fool, Hera asks Zeus for the beautiful white cow as a gift. Hera asks Argus, the 100 eyed guardian, to guard the cow, and he does so with ease until Zeus sends Hermes to lull Argus to sleep. Once asleep, Hermes decapitates Argus, and sets Io (pregnant with Epaphus) free. Hera shows up, and deeply upset, takes all of Argus’ eyes and places them on the feathers of the peacock. She sents the Tsetse Fly after Io, who runs off to Egypt, gives birth, etc.

My brandings that Elwood did for me are 2 very separate concepts woven into one. The first is a set of waves coming at me, waves rolling in, with my hands above the waves no matter how high they come.

The second symbol is eyes, 7 on each side. For watchfulness in all things. For my eyes not being closed for the work I do for the divine. And yes, these were the eyes of Argus I called to.

During my core shamanism weekend thingy, one of the things we had to do was upper world work. I have a LOT of history doing lower world work, and open space work, but to be honest I haven’t done a lot of upper world work. My arms grew powerful and long as a Gorilla, and I scaled the forest’s tallest trees until I reached the heavens, broke through, and found myself on Rodeo Drive. This would be the WTF moment. Or some similar shopping place with high end cars passing. The exercise had been to look for a teacher we were needing to work with… I had theories of who it would be. I was wrong. The WTF moment…

as I recognized her.
Ok, she was dressed in Chanel sunglasses, strong greek nose, wavy hair, very houswives of Orange County… but it was Hera. I was me but in higher end designer jeans, same haircut with a single blue highlight in the front, expensive tee shirt and button down over the top. She wore something with a wrap-cross clevage area, romantic cut shirt over a knee-length skirt and 2″ heels. She handed off her bags and hat boxes to me, and without missing a beat said “If you want to work with me you have to keep up with me.” as she continued on to the next shop.

She asked if I had any questions, and I gave her the two I’d “brought with me.” She paused for a single second, dropped the sunglasses down, and with a thick greek princess accent said “don’t waste my time on things you know already.” Pushing her glasses back up she walked on and I chased after her in silence. A few minutes later she turned back, four shopping and conversation stops later, and said “You really do have an issue with pantheon work don’t you. Ha!” laughed, and walked on. We stopped at her car, and I loaded everything into her blood red convertible. She fingered the brands on my arms, pinched me on the cheek, and went on to tell me another paragraph or two of info. Then I asked one more question, shook her head, then said that yes, if I could get over my pantheon issue, she’d be here to hear my call and questions. She got into her car, reminded me she had bigger business than me to take care of, and drove off blowing me a kiss. I stood there like an idiot on the sidewalk watching her car drive away (I never got the license plate name, but it was a snob plate), with random rich folks trying to push me out of the way, my brain vaguely registering that some of them only had one eye, or were carrying toy-sized snakes instead of poodles.

The drums called me back.

I really have been very aloof about the fact that I don’t do pantheon work. Attending pagan events I have a habit of trying to separate myself (not conciously, but I am concious now) from other shamans and spirit workers by saying stuff like “I swear I’m the only non norther-tradition worker here” or “at least you have the ability to turn to lore for answers.” In following a paleolithic deity with her paws in every culture that has bears in its folklore and mythology, I keep insisting that I walk between. Like I keep saying I am a person between social circles, that I have no leather family of my own and instead am every leather family’s cousin. Like I have insisted since childhood that I would be the person that I would be the social tie between social groups but be at home in none of them.

Its really not being healthy for me not to have a home of he heart.
To draw these artificial lines in the sand between me and others.
To make myself alone on purpose.

Some of it is a blessing. Embrace the blessings.
But the false lines that separate me from the world- its not healthy for me, and I have to deal with my prejudices around being part of, well, anything.

So, here I will now cope. So that I can eventually embrace.

Cope Lee- you do work with the Greek pantheon (via Argus, Hera and Artemis, and that bastard Pan).
Cope Lee- you do work with the Mesopotamian pantheon (with crossovers into Babylonian, Sumerian and Akkadian in the face of Enki and Ea as well as Nergal/Neti who I have horsed for, as well as having done working with Enkidu).
Cope Lee- you do work with the Egyptian pantheon (via Nephtys and Set).
Cope Lee- you do work with the Christian pantheon (via Mary and Mary, and Saint Christopher and Saint Bridget via Catholicism).
Cope Lee- you do work with the Celtic pantheon (via Brigid).
Cope Lee- you do work with the Hopi pantheon (via Spider Woman).
Cope Lee- you do work with the Hindu pantheon (via Shiva, Lakshmi, Ganesha, Saraswati and Shakti).
Cope Lee- you do work with the Polynesian pantheon (via the Hiiaka).
Cope Lee- you do work with the Shinto pantheon (via Ameratsu).
Cope Lee- you do work with other pantheons as well (Feri, Daem’, Yoruba…).

Ok.
Fine.

And ya know what- I do have a leather family.
And I do have MY friends.
And I do have MY congregation, MY acolytes.

So yeah, Cat & Dmitri, I work with Hera. And why should I have been surprised that I saw her on Rodeo Drive- she always did love broad streets strewn with riches. How could I not have awe for Eris’ mighty mother? She who was seen not only as matron/mother, but also had a following as a virgin and also as a divorced woman?

However, now I’m chewing on the business around Tiresias. Hm.

8 May 2008
He Dances

He dances
wings wide
spinning in the circles
of my footsteps
dancing wide
spinning me

I breathe in
dance as he opens me
wide in the circles
of his wings
spinning footsteps
of my dance

My spine is heavy back here on earth
my spine is heavy as I settle back into my flesh
and out of his
fiery claws no longer beneath me
blue reaching out to her starry belly

20 April 2008
Drum Dust

You’ll need a rock
the size of a grapefruit
he says, and a drum

I wander past
forest of fallen pick-ups
find myself two stones

One the size of a satsuma
smooth creamy
one ashen, dark, heavy
nature’s own brick

Look here
two rocks and a drum
beating as one

Cream and ash
pound in time
with hide and wood

looking down
to find ash
and playa
dust of a journey
gone before

laughter
stone breaker
drum dust
in my boots

15 April 2008
Of Faith and Collars

My brain seems to be gearing up for this weekends Core Shamanism courses. The Classical Shamans on the reading list may be rolling their eyes, but I am a firm believer that I have yet to find a single educational tool I have not gained something from.

Almost 2 years ago, I had my bear paws done. May 21st, 2006. The same day Hunter took on my ink. Two acts of dedication cast into flesh by one artist, Matto at Skin Deep in Sydney.

They are simple enough- miniature versions of black bear paws (yes, black bears have 5 claws, I have the pelt of one hanging 3 feet above my head right now to look at daily), positioned in suck as way as if Mama were grabbing the back of my head in case she needed to slam it into a wall for not listening. Thus the comment on the icon. I had originally planned on having life size prints on my back, on each side above my protection against the evil eye ink across my shoulders, but I was informed they had to be visible. At all times. So hands, wrists, neck, or head. And the reality is, I am not trampled beneath Her.

So I took my ink. I have sworn to Her by ink. by pelt. by hook. by blood. by tears. by snot. by sweat. I have not sworn to Her by cum because that is not our relationship. I enjoy familial roles, but the reality is that I will not have sex with my mother- or my Mama.

When Hunter wore my collar locked at all times, I wore a collar of my own in return- a key dangling on heavy chain. Only fair, as I tend to wear a lot of keys. More astrally than physically. Again, its part of what I DO. When the exchange came, and I took on my few-month tenure as his Boy, a step I needed to take in my core to be able to walk into manhood with pride and guidance, we exchanged lock and key. When that lock had to come off, contract almost up and life transformations being acknowledged, the collar was removed.

A month later, I was at Keeper’s Crossing, a spirit workers gathering I attend, and in the middle of the woods, flesh morphed to bears flesh, feeling the air as I pissed, Mama talked to me. That is a misnomer. Mama Bear does not talk to me. There is no english. It is more of a clear download of information as she pours herself through my spine and growls her way into my soul. She pushes me open or rips me wide, depending on the need. But she talked in this way, wordless. She said that I was wild one. That I was Hers. That I was already collared, and I seemed to forget this. That my place was road walker, that even if I had a home, I needed to keep one paw on the pulse of the road.

A few days later I told one of my partners of my revelations and twists that weekend. Some in my opinion much bigger than the collar one. But when I told him that Mama reminded me I was already collared, and why was I so addicted to that act of collar anyway, that that wasn’t mine to have any more… he broke down crying. Why does She hate me? he responded. I was baffled, and in pain. I had shared such depth with him, and this was the response. That it was personal against him. And worse, the underlying idea he asked of why won’t you go to bat for me. As if I had a choice.

Now, there are choices. Always. But what does begging get me? I can always fight for something, have choices, but there are often reasons for what She asks of me- and honestly, it has all been worth it. But it is hard to explain how many spoons it takes to argue for something in my case. If you don’t know the Spoon Theory, its a very useful one concerning energy stores in the human form.

It had nothing to do with him. But it was a very illuminating piece around us as a relationship, and it made other things that came to pass less of a surprise.

Mama took away my ability to wear a collar. To be collared. But, being the guy I am, I had to test it out anyway.

BodyBound weekend, Rose and I were playing and he asked if he could put a “play” posture collar on me. I told him Mama had taken away my collars, but he asked again. I said yes, because it got my cock hard. I’m honest, what can I say.

Red and black, heavy and still, and as the buckle clicked, I went away. I went away. Not sub space. Not floating. I as a conscious human being can not be present when a collar is around my neck. When he finally took it off of me, I had no memory of what had come to pass.

No collars.

In fact, it seems, no jewelery for more than a day at a time. If that. A month and a half ago my last daily jewelery came off- the firs time in 18 years I did not have metal somewhere on my body. No piercings, no necklaces, no rings, no collars. No metal, no leather. Nothing. Nude. For the first time in 18 years. I can wear a watch, a necklace, a belt, body piercings, etc- but if I wear them for more than a day in a row, I start feeling like they are ripping through my flesh and are horrible pain. I wonder sometimes if she will take away my non-work stuff… but so far I am still able to wear my lock for scenes (an 8g lock in my nose) but it drops me into receptive space FAST and if my wards are not solid, I’m easy to have be Ridden.

The exception to the collar rule it seems is specifically WORK related. That has happened only once, and it broke me apart and built me back up from the center.

But I am finding it fascinating.

I am collared. And I am blessed.