Year 2000-Last Quarter

 


Time:  7:30 am EST
Date: 
29 December 2000
Hearing: 
Chet Baker MP3'S
Reading:
  "I Will Not Die an Unlived Life" by Dawna Markova
Watching: 
Fargo
Inspiration: 
New Journal

Entry:  "Quoeth the Raven nevermore..."

I began a new physical journal yesterday.  I stayed home sick from work and cleaned a bit before settling into re-reading "Unlived Life."  I took a break and organized all of my magazine cut outs I had laying on the computer room floor, organized that entire closet, in fact.  All of my books are still in boxes.   Over a year, and I'm still not truly settled...that says something, for those of you paying attention.  I wasn't but half way through the last third of my old journal, but I needed the change.  I needed the inspiration of a fresh journal, blank pages yearning to be filled and curled with pressure of my pen's voice.  I set it up rather nicely, took from the old one what I would need, and sent it to be archived.   He will stay in good company, though he is the black sheep.  I had two years logged into that thing, two very uneventful years.  All his brothers and sisters have a year or less filling all three sections (FYI, I use a Five Star, three subject spiral notebook traditionally).  He was not getting any closer to full with the infrequency of my writing.  But a new journal always inspires me to fill it up.  That I will do.  I can keep this and still write.  I need the therapeutic release of handwriting. 

The last words in my old journal were, "Quoeth the Raven nevermore...," partly because my new journal is jett black, and also because I am vowing not to speak from my shadowed self any longer.  I spoke with my mother yesterday, where that legacy begins in myself.  I told her that I wanted her to stop blaming herself for every little thing, stop belittling herself, even in her own head.   I asked her to promise me that she would promote herself in the coming year, to own her every action, embrace it.  I am sending her and my father a copy of "Unlived Life," each for different reasons entirely.  I know my mother will get a lot out of it, because I am very similar to her when it comes to our bad habits.  The reason I asked her to promise me those things is because I know, and she has said as much, that she won't do it for herself.  That is where we differ.  I must do those things for myself, and soon.  I am falling away from my authentic self like so much birch bark, peeling and crumbling leaving the trunk of myself dormant.  NO!  I am going to burrow into myself like a termite, taste the sweet marrow of my soul and live.   I have compromised my dreams long enough.  I have put off school for three years now for excuses that, at the time, were reasonable.  Now that I look back on them, my lack of them, I see that they were wrapped up tightly in a package of denial and rationalization.  I could not see that I was sabotaging myself, setting myself up for the fall.  Then I could see and the blame came easily.  But it's not my fault in so much as my lack of dedication, my lack of aim. 

Always, Love has come to me in the shape of a boy leaving.  Always, I have seen that "leaving" and forsaken everything else to chase him down.  I am tired of running.  I am sick of "boys."  I need to re-discover that love I had in myself as a child, trusting and feeling everything as if for the first time, reveling in it.  I never needed anyone else, I could make anyone else up in my head when I needed companionship.  I won't take it that far.  But I would love to rely on myself for a change, knowing I will always be there.  I will have those touchstones along the way, friends and family.  And they may take the shape of men, even lovers.  But they will be friend or family first.  I want to know people as they seem to think they know me.  I want to see what others see in me that I just can't seem to find myself.  I will find that map, and I will see with the eyes that illuminate rather than desecrate.  Consider it a resolution.


Time:  7:27 am EST
Date: 
21 December 2000
Hearing:
  "Desert Rose" Sting/"Red Rain" Peter Gabriel
Reading:
"We're All Doing Time" by Bo Lozoff 
Watching: 
Scary Movie
Inspiration: 
Sad Songs

Entry:  Voice

Another prophetic dream, I think.  I was standing on stage, my stage, which is another dream in itself, with guitar in hand singing and playing for a huge group of people.  I was content, absolutely at peace.  The song I was singing sounded very much like an Indigo Girls song in style and structure...my voice too, singing in the Amy Ray lyrical style.  I cannot remember the words except for this one line, sung right before I woke up: "Oh, I live again."  You'd have to hear the melody, and there was harmony vocals a third higher in the background.  I knew I'd written this song, that was part of the satisfaction of singing it for these people who'd come to see me, to hear me.  That gave me this sense of achievement that I've never known.   It surged through me like a tsunami, and I smiled.

Been studying up on the mythology of Yule, it's traditions and meanings.   I am performing my rite on Friday.  It is going to be shorter, less involved than I had planned.  I will have to keep the spell I have been working on out of it until the next full moon.  I'm going to check if I can use the excuse of poor celestial timing, but alas, I believe it is just my lack of planning in general.  I think now that it may be more powerful a spell cast separately, more potent.  Not that it really needs more oomph, the wheel it would work on is already in steady motion forward.  I just want to cast a little insurance.

I wonder if it will snow for the holiday?  It's been bloody cold enough to.  The days have been crisp, cold, with that scent of winter, the scent of just before snow.  But there has been not even a flurry, as far as I know.  Not that I don't adore the clear, frozen days where the wind bites you through whatever barrier you throw up against it.  I hear that monologue from American Beauty...where Jane and Ricky are watching the most beautiful thing he's ever filmed...

"It was one of those days where it's a minute away from snowing, and there's this electricity in the air.  You could almost hear it, right?  And this bag was just dancing with me.  Like a little kid, begging me to play with it.   For fifteen minutes.  That's the day I realized that there was this entire life behind things.  And this incredibly benevolent force wanted me to know that there was no reason to be afraid.  Ever.  The video is a poor excuse, I know.   But it helps me remember.  I need to remember.  Sometimes there's o much beauty in the world.  I feel like I can't take it, and my heart is just going to cave in..."

I need to remember...

"I come to you with defenses down, with the trust of a child...It's so hard to lay down in all of this red rain coming down." 


Time:  7:50 am EST
Date: 
19 December 2000
Hearing: 
"Comfortably Numb" Pink Floyd
Reading: 
"We're All Doing Time" by Bo Lozoff
Watching: 
The Wall
Inspiration: 
Yuletide Season

Entry:  Giving

I wanted to share two links to sites that I try to visit every day, a simple way to give to someone in need.  The Hunger Site donates food to people in need around the world every day when you visit the site and click on the "donate food" button.  A sister site, which I just discovered recently, is The Breast Cancer Site.  Clicking on the pink button provides a free mammogram to a woman in need.  For each site, the sponsors providing the cost of these "free" contributions are listed on the page proceeding your "click."  These sites also contain interesting statistics about hunger and breast cancer and how they effect our world.  Spend some time there if you have any, check out the causes. 

Every year, I try to give either my time or money to a charity or cause of some kind.  Last year it was Saint Jude's Children's Research Hospital for Cancer Research.  The year before it was Amnesty International.  I am attempting to find a charity for this year.  I was thinking about the Human Kindness Foundation here in Durham, but that is not set in stone.  I have a particular pull towards human rights in these dark times.  So much infringes on those basic beliefs in our modern, "civilized" times.  I better end before I get on the soapbox...


Time:  7:41 am EST
Date:
  18 December 2000
Hearing: 
Stevie Nicks
Reading: 
"We're All Doing Time" by Bo Lozoff
Watching: 
Practical Magic
Inspiration: 
"I wished for you, too."

Entry:  Week's end, Land's end

I live for the week's end.  I go out and see the world with another's eyes, eyes which are still acclimating to the world around them.  They take in the sights, the nuances of face and smile, they see on such a deeper level than many eyes I know.  They see like my own eyes see.  They are the eyes of a poet, one who knows where the land ends and the dream begins.  It opens my heart up so wide, making room for more love and admiration and inspiration than I'd ever thought possible before.   It was never possible before.

We had storms this weekend, fierce and wild winds slamming rain against the windows with enough force to wake me from the depths of sleep.  I looked out the windows at the water pouring down from the winter sky, how it played in the streetlight, shattered the calm finish of the puddles below...the gutters flooded and the rushing water made it's way up over the curbs and into the grass for a moment.  I was in awe of so much water.  Lightning and thunder raged in the sky, and rolled through the roiling blanket covering the light of the stars, calling to my heart.  Deep within me, I know that pull.  I feel the electricity of the bolt, the power of the boom, and it somehow calms me.  I know that I am not alone in this place.  Without power, without light, when I feel insignificant, I listen to the storm and I know I have kin there in the sky.

"Rhiannon rings like the breath of the night and wouldn't you love to love her.  Then she takes to the sky like a bird in flight, who will be her lover...she's like a cat in the dark and then she is the darkness..."


Time:  7:26 am EST
Date: 
15 December 2000
Hearing: 
"Price of Fire" by Capercaillie
Reading: 
Mary Summer Rain's Guide to Dream Symbols
Watching: 
Nothing
Inspiration: 
"From a dream I wake, just one wish I have to make..."

Entry:  This morning's dream

The dream went on quite a bit before this bit, but it was unimportant--just setting for the stage.  I was speaking to waffles of my own making, my own design.  They were wounded children coming to me bleeding with syrup and honey and asking about their pain, their wounds.  They wondered why I had made them with holes.  I said, "You should know now what your wounds are for..." I watched as the blueberry syrup spread over the top of one waffle's golden skin ever so slowly, "...to be filled up with hope."  I said this in a voice much like that of a teacher, though it was on the verge of evangelizing, calm with an undertone of divine light.   It was as though I knew it was Truth.  I was beaming as they bled before me.   They seemed confused.

I awoke.  I stared at the whiteness of the bedroom ceiling, knowing the Goddess had just visited with me.  The voice was not my own.  I am not so calm, so secure in Truth.  She was showing me who I needed to become, giving me a lesson.   The waffles are strange, but it needed to come in an image and a metaphor that I would easily comprehend.  That, and most food metaphors, make complete sense to me.   Food is a deep and soulful need, nourishment...She knows that about me, She knows everything about me.  So now I have the image of these perfect waffles, sweet and golden, pouring out syrupy liquid.  I associate blood with it, likely because I have connected syrup with waffles in such a way...one cannot survive without the other--life blood.  And all their little holes being filled up with syrup seeming so right (That used to be an obsession of mine, deliberately filling every nook with butter and syrup.   I couldn't eat a waffle unless all the holes were filled.), the knowledge that it was meant to be.  I was so certain in my speech to them, so confident.  As I spoke, I noticed that about my voice.  It was as though I were watching a miracle.

Mary Summer Rain gives this insight: Waffle- depicts indecision; vacillation; evasiveness.  Children- connote a stage of acceptance and innocence.  Student- connotes one who requires further learning experiences.  Syrup- portrays over-dramatization; flattery; false sincerity.  Honey- represents "sweet" benefits generated from one's personal efforts.  Blood- pertains to those aspects that equate to one's "life force" or driving motivation.  Wound- see welt (Welt- exposes an injury other than a physical one, such as a business event, an emotional hurt, etc.). Hole- usually refers to an opening; and opportunity.  Rarely will it represent a defect.  Surrounding dreamscape details will clarify which interpretation was meant for the dreamer.  Evangelist- characterizes a zealous personality; one who is strongly impassioned.  Baker- signifies an expanding scope of one's spiritual understanding and personal application.  

My interpretation is as follows:  It's funny how much Summer Rain and I agree on, probably why I bought the book (and thanks to Chris).  I make these things in my perfect image, my ideal personification.  And yet, I sabotage them, put holes in those dreams for whatever reason--escape, because I am petrified of perfection.   There is nothing to fix, nothing to do or change.  I worry that I would be bored. That, and I know I cannot be perfect.  It is a state I simply will never attain.  I am bitter about that.  I tried for a very long time, but I continually failed.  So, I don't try anymore.  That has transcended into other parts of my life...something I need to change.  It is my life blood pouring from these wounds of my own design, from the giving and giving and never receiving.  I need to fill those wounds with hope, with love, with goodness.  I need to stop sabotaging myself and just let myself have perfection, let myself be happy.  I will think on this some more...place my discoveries here.  "I am the waffle, coo-coo-ca-choo!"  


Time:  7:48 am EST
Date: 
14 December 2000
Hearing: 
Tapping the Vein
Reading:
Old letters
Watching: 
Scenes from Memory
Inspiration: 
"Feel the word, feel it...I could have.  I would have.  I could have flown, you know."

Entry:  Words

Have you ever felt a hand-written letter?  Have you ever run your hands over the page and felt the other person's words pressed, Braille-like, into the paper?  I get an entirely new perspective on how the person writing the letter felt as they translated thoughts to written words just by the depth of the word in the paper.   Certainly, these are things only I would obsess over.  Certainly these are things only a bored, lonely teenager would notice.  True, I did first notice these things in my adolescence, and have obsessed over them enough to carry them into my adulthood.  So what?  I already knew I as a freak.

I am thinking of the letters I am going to write for Christmas/Yuletide cards.  I am thinking of the letter my heart and soul must write to release itself from chains.  I am thinking of letters of recommendation that will warn the professors at UNC of my infectious laughter and tendency towards off the wall discussions about symbolism, metaphor, and characterization in Literature.  I am thinking about love letters I've written, all those words that poured out of me like blood, slowly, deliberately, painstakingly, and how they were cherished for a moment before being tossed into the fires of passion or the coals of neglect.  My words have blazed, smoldered, fizzled, sputtered and died on the page.  They have been pressed passionately onto paper, or absently jotted in a spidery whisper.  All those words even disregarded myself...not that I've received all that many love letters.  I used to memorize the words people said to me in the heat of passion...I've forgotten a lot of those too.   I wonder how much of that is recalled by former lovers.  I wonder how much of that could be used against me...even in the near future?  *sigh*


Time:  7:47 am EST
Date: 
13 December 2000
Hearing:
  Pink Floyd "Wish You Were Here"
Reading: 
"I Will Not Die an Unlived Life" by Dawna Markova
Watching: 
American Beauty
Inspiration: 
Interludes

Entry:  "The song remains..."

I thought I might tell the story of this song, "Wish You Were Here."  I had never heard it until November of 1997.  It was introduced to me by a lover, my aptly-named one month stand with Paul.  He came to live with me from Arkansas after we'd met online and started the affair which broke Jason and I up.   Paul used to play this song for me on the guitar, I think it was one of the only things he knew.  He had a band of friends back home, and started playing guitar because of them, perhaps in an attempt to get close to them again.  Sadly, I have forgotten the band's name, but they were good.  Paul would get very homesick at times.  In those times he would take to drinking and lamenting.  He took it out on me once.  That was all it took.  For all intents and purposes, I left the relationship.  He was gone the following Saturday.  I couldn't listen to "Wish You Were Here" without thinking about him.  And so, I didn't listen to the song.

That doesn't mean it is a bad piece of music, or that it doesn't evoke deep emotion from me, just, for a time, not the deep emotions I wanted to deal with.   It means something totally different to me now.  I can feel the pain in the lyrics, the attempt at understanding.  Now that I know why Waters and Gilmour wrote the song, I can see it from that point of view and be more content with the piece as a whole, the entire album even.  It is like wiping the slate clean, starting over.   And so, I am attributing an entirely different set of meanings to the song now...I can feel what they are saying.  I can filter that lamenting through my eyes and my heart and have a new song.  This is why I love music.  This song could take on a thousand more meanings before I leave this plane, and when I am gone, the song remains.   Oh, that my own music could be the same...


Time:  7:35 am EST
Date: 
11 December 2000
Hearing: 
Breath remembered
Reading:
  "I Will Not Die an Unlived Life" by Dawna Markova
Watching:
  High Fidelity
Inspiration: 
"Once you lose everything you will be free..."

Entry:  "Like lightning on the horizon at dusk..."

There is a place where there is no time.  Sometimes I can send myself there--very like astral projection--just by closing my eyes.   I have been carried there by certain things as well.  Once, the winter wind blew so sharply against me that I couldn't breath...for minutes.  I felt my head start to spin and I thought to myself, get out of here.  I opened my eyes and, though still walking down the street, clutching my coat tightly about me, I as elsewhere.  An elemental landscape, full of fire, and earth, clear, breezy air, and more water than I thought possible to imagine.  And the spirit, hanging in the air so thickly that one might pluck it out by hand, breath it into lungs, kinetic and shimmering, alive.  I could still see the street through my eyes, but only when I focused on it.  I was elsewhere...It is very rare indeed when someone you know recognizes that place, has been there as well.  Someone who can feel that energy in you and take a hold of it with their own, entwining souls, linking on a level so deep that it is even more rare when one realizes it.

He closed his eyes.  He was there, watching the symphony of light.

Last night, I dreamt of eyes.  No head, no face, just eyes.   They watched me in the rain, lightning dancing as I danced, swirling winds and autumn leaves clinging to me in the damp--they smiled.  They watched me impassioned, that raging river rushing through me as arched prow sliced the waves, moaning and giving way--they sought.  They watched me through tears of awe and joy at the birth of a child, and a disembodied hand brushed a stray strand of hair from my sweat soaked brow--they laughed.  They watched me frail and fragile in the last throughs of autumn, brittle as the leaves surrounding me, through the wrinkles and lines of time--they were content, satisfied, weary.  I know they will haunt me, pleasantly, until I leave this life.

I need to let go.  I need to release myself from these chains.   In hindsight, and if my mythology is correct, I must acknowledge that Andromeda did not free herself alone, she had help from Perseus.  I believe his heart broke upon seeing such a beautiful woman chained, at the mercy of the Kraken.  However she arrived there was of no consequence, all that remained was Perseus's limited sight, a tunnel vision which included nothing but The Chained Woman.  They lived happily ever after.  Of course, that is a myth...but perhaps not so far from reality.  Was she free?  Perhaps not in totality.  Perhaps she stayed with Perseus out of guilt and obligation.  But she no longer had her chains, she was no longer at the mercy of the beast.  She was free enough.  All I have to do is let go...


Time:  7:13 am EST
Date:
  08 December 2000
Hearing: 
"Fade Into You"/"Drive"
Reading:
"I Will Not Die an Unlived Life" by Dawna Markova
Watching:
  Friday tick away achingly slow
Inspiration:  Tambourine

Entry:  Moments

I have the above mp3's on loop as I write this, as they are a connection to something absent in me.  I don't know what it is about me and slow "love" songs, or obsession songs...they just hit me hard.  I know that if I listen to them long enough they will break me, and I will release what it is that holds me.  These two are particularly special to me just now...

I can remember the first time I heard each of them.  Isn't that crazy?  I don't remember where I was when war was declared on Iraq, or when John Lennon was shot, but I can remember when I hear songs.  Music moves me that much.   The first time I heard "Drive" I was getting high with a friend in her basement in jr. high school.  I know the song had been out a while, but this was the first time I'd heard it.  It was being played on one of those request love lines, late at night.  I remember thinking, "who's gonna drive ME home tonight?"   That totally in a drug sense, meaning "what will I take to oblivion tonight?"  After I was clean, I heard the song again and my mind flashed back to that night when I lay, passed out, or nearly, on the floor watching the ceiling spin and molt and flow into the walls.  I shuddered and the image shattered.  I wished I had listened to the words of a song back then.  "Who's gonna come around when you break?  You can't go on thinking nothing's wrong..."  I was lucky, so very lucky to have the friends that I did during that time.  So much more could have happened to me, I could have done so much more harm to myself.  I believe even then that the Goddess had bound me to her, scooped me up in her arms and protected me.  I surely didn't protect myself.  I merely numbed.

"Fade Into You."  I don't know what it is about the song that sends me into a semi-meditative state...perhaps the tambourine, or the bass line.   I was with Marisa and Travis in his parent's backyard.  I remember the smoke swirling around their heads and the joint being passed to me, but I refused.  This was the time I always refused, saying it made me sick.  Marisa knew the truth.   No one asked questions, we just sat in the dark, beneath the stars and listened to this song, staring at the sky.  I don't remember what we spoke about, it was likely deep, as they were both highly philosophical when they smoked up.  I interjected a few times, but was mostly content with listening to all calming voices, the laughter of the tambourine and my friends.  I remember sitting in the grass and petting the German Shepherd, whose name I have also forgotten.  I forgot my cares, became nothing that night.  It was the most peaceful thing I can recall from those times, high school.  I was always pining for something, for someone.  Never for myself.   I have never pined over myself.  I might have thought of that, as everyone else was doing it.  "You live your life as though in shadow, there'll come a time when you go black."  Amen.

Since I'm on a roll...toad the wet sprocket, "Windmills."   These are all pieces that reflect my mood...sort of calm, introspective, sad in some ways, freeing in others.  "Windmills" was my theme song for a time.   High school again, I used to listen to it on my stereo and Discman on repeat.   One spring night, beneath the light of a full moon, I remember my brothers and I connecting so well.  I was listening to music and writing, sitting on the lawn in the backyard on a blanket, She-La, our dog, sitting beside me, alert.  My brother's came outside and we somehow agreed that the moon was so lovely that we just had to moon bathe.   So there my brothers and I were, dancing around naked in the yard, beneath the light of the full moon.  Cautions abandoned, bonds sealed in the blood and white of flesh and moonlight.  For this to mean anything you must understand that my family wasn't really touchy feely, we never said "I love you" growing up unless it was something serious being talked about.  And even then, saying it felt awkward.   Morality was a keystone in the foundation of our home life, and I believe this stifled our creativity and freedom just a bit.  But seeing white bodies slipping through deep shadow and starlight, climbing the trees of our youth, rediscovering that yard somehow, that was magnificent.  That was freedom.  I felt like a child, carefree, bold, full of courage and strength.  Perhaps because I knew no better, or perhaps because the thought of us being caught made me think I should make it worth while.   It was a half hour of the night.  It was one of the best half hours of my life. 

I spend too much time raiding windmills.
We go side by side, laugh until it's right...
There's something that you won't show
Waiting where the light goes...
Take the darkest hour, break it open.
Water to repair what we have broken.
Maybe any way the wind blows,
It's all worth waiting for.
Pull on the borders to lighten the load
Tell all the passengers we're going home
I spend too much time seeking shelter.
World without end couldn't hold her.
There's something that you won't show
Waiting where the light goes.
Maybe any way the wind blows,
It's all worth waiting for...
Any way the wind blows.


Time:  7:08 am EST
Date: 
06 December 2000
Hearing: 
Nothing
Reading: 
"I Will Not Die an Unlived Life" by Dawna Markova
Watching:
  Nothing
Inspiration: 
"More than my life..."

Entry:  Becoming

I used to think that the most wonderful thing that I could possibly say to someone to express the depth of my love was "I love you more than my life."   I used to say that all the time, to all sorts of people who, at the time, might or mightn't have fit the description.  I said it so much that I forgot what it meant, I didn't mean it anymore.  It became common, lost its power and lacking the depth of emotion which used to embody it.  It is only now, years later that I realize that I was cursing myself, in a sense.  By saying that I was, of course, saying that my own self, my life, was less important than their happiness, their life.  Each time I said it, it took a bit more of my own validity away.  I was no longer authentic to myself.   I was no longer important.

But I am important.  My life and its journey, its purpose, has been getting rather restless, unsettled.  I am moving, but not moving forward, upward towards my goal.  I have only recently re-discovered what that goal is, what my purpose is.  And here I am, still loving more than my life.  I need to start with the mindset that I love my life more than anything else.  It's okay to be selfish (mom!).  It's okay to be alone; I can still have momentum there.  It's okay to be lost, because life is the journey, not the necessarily the destination.  I have been destination bound, bound by my fear of experiencing, of feeling, of living.   I can't walk that shadowed path any longer.  I need to break these chains, the chains of my namesake, and move from the path.  If I take one step, I will take another, and another, until I am free, free from the prison of my own devise.  I can be who I want to be.  I can have everything that I think, finally, that I deserve in this world.  I can love myself and still love others.  I can love others and still love myself.  I can give and receive love gracefully.  I can take and hold and release the things that will move me, cherish me, and hurt me.  I can relish in the experience of those things and grow.  I can be.


Time:  6:44 am EST
Date: 
05 December 2000
Hearing: 
Mazzy Star "Fade Into You"
Reading: 
"I Will Not Die an Unlived Life" by Dawna Markova
Watching: 
Someone else's anniversary
Inspiration: 
This, the season of giving

Entry:  The Altar

I am beginning to change it out from Samhain dress into its dress for Yule.  I have a few plans, a few things to gather.  I have to figure out placement for some new items received as gifts from one heart to mine.  I have always been a pack rat, but I am now realizing that I cannot keep every wondrous leaf, rock or twig that catches my eye.  I should begin a nature journal and press them, or draw and paint them in their environment instead of collecting them up and making collages on my altar (or any other flat surface, for that matter).  I think I am going to attempt to find a Yule log to decorate.  The thing is that my altar is rather small, so space is an issue.  How positively material, I know.  Someday I'll break those habits...

"I wanna hold the hand inside you...I look to you to see the truth..." 


Time:  7:55 am EST
Date: 
04 December 2000
Hearing:
  A heart beat
Reading:
  "I Will Not Die an Unlived Life" by Dawna Markova
Watching: 
Nada
Inspiration: 
Renee

Entry:  The Christmas Spirit

I have it now, finally, and for that I thank you, Renee.  You have been there for me over the course of these few short months we have know each other like no one else.  We truly are sisters, I believe, brought together in our times of need.   You needed your heart opened up, so love could sprout and bloom there in the wild and fertile soil of your soul.  I needed my mind opened up to the possibilities that God still holds a place for me in His heart, and that all the paths to the Creator converge in the end.  I know that is not all we will be good for, that this is only the beginning.  But wherever these roads take us, we will be beside on and other for the duration.  Bright blessings to you and your family, may peace visit you, Sister.   Thank you.

So this Christmas Spirit of mine includes the urge to bake...to fill my apartment with the scents of home.  My mother's hearth is likely already filled with the scent of 5,000 Christmas cookies baking, prepared perfectly to be given as gifts to the neighbors, the mail carrier, the garbage man, her primary care physician...to be given.  I always wondered how she could put all that work into something, months of work, only to give it away.  Ah, but I do the same thing--not with baked goods, mind you--with love.  My heart just pours out love like a sieve, everywhere, unaware of it's stock.  I never thought one could run out of love.  Or perhaps my sieve has started to worry about self-preservation, conserving the sourcewaters.  When I think about it, I haven't run out, just shifted gears.  I feel it, I know it is happening, I don't want to stop it from running its course.


Time:  9:21 am EST
Date:
  03 December 2000
Hearing: 
Love Mp3's
Reading: 
"I Will Not Die an Unlived Life" by Dawna Markova
Watching: 
A dream made real
Inspiration: 
"The only air I need..."

Entry:  Drive

The heart I own is broken.  I shall break another in the coming months.  Until the second breaks, I break a third.  One longing, one shattered, one fulfilled, a prophecy in itself.  And there is no one to blame, no other cause but a scarred and tired heart that but sought.  How could the dream coming true be this way?   How can wish fulfillment end the dreams of another?  How could I?  How will I?  Can I live with that again, knowing that I shattered a heart?  It took me two years to deal with it last time, after I'd had my fun, after I'd been reckless, only then could I take responsibility for my actions and apologize.  For that, Jason, I am sorry.  I am sorry I was not mature, not adult about where I left "us," lying on the highway shoulder like so much road kill, without the courtesy to even give it a proper burial when they were my spinning wheels which left us for dead.   I am sorry I returned only to bones, decaying so much so that no miracle could bring life back to you, to what you will never feel for me.  We are fair-weather friends; it is my loss.

I need to write a song.  I have the beginnings of one forming lyrically--it seems I always have something to say.  But the music won't form through my fingers.  And I am mute, speechless.  I am rarely that.  Perhaps in that moment when someone or something touches you so deeply that you catch your breath, that moment shared when you can see through time, all the way forward, all the way back, all the paths surrounding on every plane.  Perhaps I am in a perpetual moment like that, constantly catching my breath, constantly being awed to the point where I cannot possibly translate.   I am on the verge of what we Wiccans call "perfect love and perfect trust."  I have only felt this way one other time...when I recently re-dedicated to the Craft.  That moment when I felt the Goddess take me into her light and her grace again, like a child returning.  So overpowering was the feeling of unconditional love, pure light and peace, that I couldn't move.  I remained, blessedly immobile, feeling the honey of love making its way through my veins, covering my soul.  The feeling is something one cannot easily form words for, and I couldn't do it justice now.  Words came in my awe, my gratefulness, relief; they were the tears on my cheeks, glittering in the candlelight like precious things. 

I am feeling that way now, in arms meant, but not meant, to hold me.   I am making precious tears, watching them fall on dormant soil, seeing them sink into the parched ground and become new growth.  I am speechless.  I am seeing intangible things made real, things like freedom, peace, love, all unconditional.  I feel more than undeserving, more than humbled--I am being enlightened.  It is the most amazing thing when what you have wished for your entire life comes to you.  It is so humbling knowing that your wishes, prayers, screams, and whispers have all made their way to the ears of something greater.  To have them answered so precisely, so succinctly, is breathtaking.  I will say aloud that it is untimely, that I am unprepared.  But inside I know this is on schedule, that I couldn't stop it if I wanted to.  It is the lesson I am missing, the step forward and upwards, one more foothold my spirit gains.  I must know that.  Surely I know that...

"We can't go on thinking nothing's wrong...who's gonna drive you home tonight?"

We do not know we sing
We simply do
The song is within us
Is us
The song of the force creative

        --Chas Altvatar "The Song of the Force Creative"


Time:  7:38 am EST
Date:
  29 November 2000
Hearing: 
MP3's
Reading: 
"I Will Not Die an Unlived Life" by Dawna Markova
Watching: 
Modem lights a twinkling
Inspiration: 
Catching Fire

Entry:  "But watching stars without you, my soul cries..."

This little book I am reading had just encapsulated my life in a few brief lines.  The author, writing on a retreat in search of her passion for living after battling cancer, spoke to my soul last evening. 

"To explore what it would mean to live fully, sensually alive and passionately on purpose, I have to drop my preconceived ideas of who and what I am.   It is as if the salt of years is running free from me.  Like so many of us, my head has been stuffed full of knowledge, but something in me is still starving.  So here, I seek to empty it of the stories, explanations, and interpretations I am clutching in the fist of my mind.  When did it get so tightly closed that it became numb?   And what was it holding onto anyway?  I want it free.  I want my heart and should free.  Free of and free from.  Free of struggle, free from doubt in the canyons of my bones, free from running from the truth of knowing that something has been missing."

I broke down.  The other day at work, a co-worker told me that this place, where I am, is actually termed the Mid-Twenties Mid-Life.  Women my age just start freaking out, feeling time, knowing that something is missing.  Some get married, some have babies.  Others end long relationships, or return to school, needing to accomplish something, anything.  I am stuck in-between two possible futures, as I see it.  One of predictability, stability, comfort, and banality.   The other is work, the unknown, but self-reliance and independence are key skills I will need to rely on.  That last scares the shit out of me.  I have no faith in myself.  I don't know where it went, but sometime between high school and now, somewhere along that road through six years time, I lost my way, my passion.  I didn't even feel it, you know.  I thought something like that would make more sound than that.  Don't dreams scream when they die?  Or do they only whisper themselves hoarse, and perish silently against the busy backdrop of life?  I thought they would put up more of a fight.  I thought they were big enough to scream.   They didn't.  Doesn't mean they aren't still there, apparitions lingering in the catacombs of my mind, my heart. 

It's interesting to me, even a bit sad, but when I get into relationships, my heart retreats.  It's like it doesn't have to work anymore at getting love, it already has it.  Secure in that, it shuts down, closes like a fist around all that is precious to it, but instead, ends up squeezing all the life and love out of itself.   Then it is poised for attack, stressed to attack, to strike down the next love it finds and grab it up, repeating the process.  It is a cycle I want to end.  The resistance, the violence with which I let things go, the way I love.  Passion is one thing, but I have been a wrecking ball.  (Oh, that was a mixed metaphor!  I do need to return to class!)


Time:  7:52 am EST
Date:
  27 November 2000
Hearing:
  Tori Amos "Hey Jupiter (Dakota Version)"
Reading:
  "I Will Not Die an Unlived Life" by Dawna Markova
Watching: 
Napster download
Inspiration: 
Tori

Entry:  "Some things are melting now..."

I don't know what it is about Tori, but she makes me sad in the most wonderful way.   I get inspired, intimidated, get to feeling invincible all in one go.  I watched my recorded copy of VH1 Storytellers and The Video Collection last night and that sent my mind's wheels to turning.  I always want to write after her; she is like rain for me. 

I've felt myself thawing--strange as it hasn't been cold enough to freeze me solid yet.   So it is just this thick sheet of ice lying over my body, encasing me in cold that is melting.  It was my brief incubation on Saturday--it was the breath shared.   The moment was thick, and written inside was the map leading to my passion.   It is an old map, a bit tattered at the edges, but it rings true to me in that respect.  It has been my fuel for these many lifetimes, and finding it again proves to me that I am, and always have been, on the right path.  Everything leading to this moment was meant to be.  All the lessons, all the songs, all the pain, all the bliss...all part of the path.  There is another window to God...when you can look back over your life and see, undeniably, that the steps you have taken have been leading you to where you are, that they were planned for you before this life began.  Whether you believe in karma, or past lives, or fate, it is so. 

There is no such thing as free will, though there is will alone.  No act of willfulness is "free," there is always a price to be paid.  Sometimes it is a trifle, other times it rends and rips lives apart.  Everything we choose has repercussions, positive or negative.  That is why one must be careful when one is willful.  Will is the central driving force in magick, which is why knowing why you want what you want is very important to the Witch.  The slightest misinterpretations of self can cause disaster for the Witch or others around the Witch.  It is not something to be taken lightly, not something to dabble in.  I've a brief essay on this here, for those of you who haven't read it, or are interested in reading it again, or performing magick for the first time.  It is a practiced art, like a musical instrument, or any other art form.   It takes study.  (Sorry, I guess I got a little preachy there...It's the bloody holiday, I assure you.)        


Time:  9:53 am EST
Date: 
26 November 2000
Hearing:
  David Arkenstone MP3's
Reading:
  "I Will Not Die an Unlived Life" by Dawna Markova
Watching: 
Heat
Inspiration: 
Steam

Entry:  Windows to God

Found in the most curious of places, there are windows to God.  This was touched on in American Beauty, and was reiterated to me again yesterday in a car, of all places.  I looked, closely, and there was the entirety of the universe reflected back at me...my purpose, my heart, my direction, my faith, my love...all of it before my eyes.  That is so humbling, so freeing.  It is what I have been hunting all this time, never knowing.  I find it now, in an oasis of blue.  It is there my happiness resides.  And so will I, soon.  It will be as promised.

I have found myself enraptured by steam.  My breath in the air on chill mornings...I called it "the heat of the soul misting the sky" in the song Krythe, and I still feel that pull.  What fascinates me even more is the visibility of another's breath.   Breath is sacred to me, shouldn't be wasted, should be used sparingly--"every breath brings me one less to my last"-Dream Theatre.  Seeing someone else's hanging there in the air makes me want to capture it in a jar, preserving it, as it is a precious thing.  Even more entrancing is the steam rising from bodies of water warmer than their air, how a lake steams, how it fogs the senses of the land like a laudanum blanket.  Liquid to air, mist to sky, cloud to sea.  The cycle of water. 

"Give me life, give me pain, give me myself again..." -Tori Amos


Time:  11:03 am EST
Date:
  23 November 2000
Hearing: 
Celtic MP3's
Reading:
"I Will Not Die an Unlived Life" by Dawna Markova
Watching: 
American Beauty
Inspiration:
  All the love in my life

Entry:  Blessings

It's the most wonderful time of the year for some, but for myself, it is Samhain, the time when I reflect on my life, my studies, myself and see the results of past resolutions, or their failures, and make amends.  Samhain is the Celtic new year, the time when the Lord dies (the Sun) and the world is dark until His re-birth in the Spring (Beltain).  It is a very introspective time for the witch, a continual time of emotional harvest, finding my crops and my fallows and acting accordingly.   This year, as in many years before, there are more fallows than crops.  I am going to change this.  Now, as with New Year's resolutions, these are promises made to self; these are promises often broken.  This year, this dawning of a new millenium, I am making a vow to self, a vow to change the stagnating patterns and free myself from chains which have bound my soul for five years time.  I have been inspired to hunt down my freedom, to seek out happiness, love, trust, faith.  These words are intangibles, and, therefore, my mind has thought them unattainable.  My heart and soul know better.  They have hungered, and now they will feast or perish.   I still have will enough to take on the challenge of the hunt, to make my life better.  With the vow I will bind it too myself, weld it to my soul with a fire hot enough to make metal liquid, re-shaping self in my image.  I need this.  So mote it be!

Each year I make a list of what I am thankful for, what things have set themselves apart in twelve months time in my mind and my heart's eye.  Here are a few of them. 

I am most thankful for:

The blessings the Goddess and God have chosen to bestow on me, my new eyes, my full heart, my search for knowledge
Snow diamonds, crystals of dry snow that blow through the air on the wind, glittering and shimmering in the sun
Leaves which do much the same thing in a shower of gold, russet, cadmium, and ruby
Friends who know just what to say and how to say it
Sharing food with those people
Giving time and energy to those people less fortunate, those who hunger so much that a simple bowl of soup is a feast
Christmas carolers
Children's eyes, how they light up when one lights up the Christmas tree
Awe
Being humbled
Moments of peace, proving that it is still possible
Naps
Cinnamon
Family feeling the genuine gravity of their kin, not out of obligation, but out of want
Long distance telephone service
Passion, Inspiration, Love
Coming home to a warm house after work
Eating out
Cats purring at your arrival, the purest instance of unconditional love...dogs do it too
Music, being able to make music
Being able to read, and understand, feeling an image, poetry, fiction, science, philosophy, religion--books
Creating images out of words, simple arrangements of letters that can communicate thought, love, wonderment, detail, hope
Complications, letting me know I am still alive
Breathing, seeing breath as a tangible entity on a frosty morning
Sunrise, sunset, stars, and other celestial phenomenon
Making connections with people, touchstones, illuminating dark recesses with love's light
Knowing someone inside and out, having someone who knows you that well
Counting blessings, and having enough to know that I could keep on counting

Have a blessed holiday.


Time:  7:49 am EST
Date: 
21 November 2000
Hearing: 
Forced air heater rattling the vent above my head/"Hey Jupiter" by Tori Amos
Reading: 
"I Will Not Die an Unlived Life" by Dawna Markova
Watching:
  Sunrise
Inspiration: 
"The most important thing to the songwriter is the breath.  The most important thing I could say to someone is 'sometimes I just breathe you in...'"  -Tori Amos

Entry:  Breathing

In this world, these new lungs inhale deeply, taking in the rich scent of earth, the surrounding trees, the ardent woodsmoke wafting from fireplaces, and the crisp air of a November morning.  They inhale so deeply that they can hold no more, and I find myself coughing, likely due to the fact that I am recovering from a cold.  But perhaps it is very like a child's reaction to their first breath from the womb, the transition from fluid to air, the purging of the old to make way for the new.   Perhaps.

Last night, I felt something change in me.  I literally felt the switch click off as I inhaled upon the small island of calm I sometimes find at work, of all places.  Things are shaping up for me there rather nicely, and I am being placed in a prime position for advancement in the coming months.  I will soak that up while I can, as who knows what will happen once I am in school.  It is likely that I won't care for much of anything but school once enrolled.  I am a diligent student when it comes to my studies.  There is a passion and a drive there that is found in few areas of my life, the others being my music and my writing, and often, affairs of the heart.   I seem to pour myself into these things like so much water.  I tend to over-estimate my cups with love sometimes, nearly drowning the other person, overflowing and overextending myself, over-rating the willingness of others to give as well.   This doesn't happen all the time, mind you, I'd say about 50% of the time.   But those times remain in my memory, bittersweet.  I have been blessed to have loved deeply in my past, blessed to have received some reciprocation from those little cups at all.  My problem is with my own cup, as it seems to be dry, or perhaps merely moist.  I still have my floodgates open, spilling out life's blood, love.  But from one particular cup, I feel I receive nothing in return, nothing that fills my own cup, at least.  And now the opportunity poses itself for my cup to be flooded, every day, every night, for however long I wish, and I must choose.  But how does one halt a river in motion?  How does one stop giving, divert the flow without upturning the cup?  This is a curious metaphor, alack.  And that's what I have, a lack.   A lack of foresight (although I have plenty of hindsight), a lack of passion in my cup.  A life without passion is like a songwriter without breath, winter without cold, rain without wet.  It is a void.  It is there I float, without orbit, between two passionate bodies vying for my passion.  *sigh*   

"Sometimes I breathe you in, and I know you know."


Time:  7:47 am EST
Date:
  20 November 2000
Hearing:
  "Missing You" by Jon Waite
Reading:
  "I Will Not Die an Unlived Life" by Dawna Markova
Watching: 
The cinema of my mind; wishful thinking
Inspiration:
  Yesterday's Snowfall

Entry:  "Touchstones to who we were..."   Birth Pangs

It snowed yesterday.  Big fat flakes all day, and it even stuck!   Of course, coming back from Raleigh after breakfast, these southern drivers were slow as molasses, and there were accidents every mile or so.  I mean, it was slush, you don't drive 80 mph on slush, people.  Good grief!  And I am going to drive with them?  Yes, if I must.

I spoke with my father in the early afternoon, before venturing out to Raleigh.  I haven't spoken to him in a while, not for lack of want.  He called to inform me on the factual status of the divorce and to listen to my ideas on this life transformation I am taking on.  We are such kindred souls, sometimes I hate that, others, I find it so refreshing that he knows me as well as I know myself.  I never really have to explain things to him, he understands.  I was mentioning that I didn't know where I was going to be over the next six months time except for preparing for school in the fall, overcoming a driving phobia, and becoming my own, independent woman.  He laughed, I could feel the smile down the miles of spiraled telephone line.  I wondered aloud what was so amusing.  He said, It is one thing to let your daughter go, it is entirely another to watch her grow up.  This is the truth.  I have taken my sweet time; how southern of me.  We also spoke of a possible visit, either my journeying to Colorado or his visit to North Carolina.  Either will be good since the holidays will be void of much in the way of family.  (I am still in shock that Thanksgiving is Thursday!)  I spoke of new friendships I have made, one in particular, and he made a wonderful statement.  He said that our good friendships from the past are always going to be touchstones to who we were, new friendships are then touchstones to who we are, or want to be.  I am still clinging tentatively to those of the past, still touching who I was.  And yet, I have a hand and foot on the rock that will lead me to who I want to be, that friendship that will support my climb, inspire my journey.   It is a precarious position.  I will make it out with nothing but my will.  

I am being re-born in so many ways.  And this new world is unfamiliar to me in reality.  I have dreamed for many years what it would look like, what it would feel like against my co-dependent skin, how I would manage without a crutch.  I am not so much afraid as I am overwhelmed.  Certainly I have the fear of failure, the fear of losing my grip, my security, my sanity...but those things are fleeting anyway.   This rock is ever changing and transforming around me.  If I don't keep moving I will get trapped in the next rock slide, or wedged between two immovable slabs of granite, forever regretful.  I guess I will just have to try, for once.  If I fall, I can fall with the knowledge of where I mis-stepped, knowing for next time.   These birth pangs are too strong to keep me in gestation any longer.  Soon the water will break and I will be released in a flood of love and hope and with such force that I can't be stopped.  Soon there will be nowhere to grow but up.  Wish me luck!

"Every time I think of you, I always catch my breath...I spend my time thinking about, and I'm almost loosing my mind..."


Time:  8:11am EST
Date: 
15 November 2000
Hearing: 
My mind racing
Reading: 
"I Will Not Die an Unlived Life" by Dawna Markova
Watching:
Nada
Inspiration:
  Movement

Entry:  Last Night's Tarot Spread

I should talk about the deck first.  It is published by Llewellyn, my favorite new age and occult publishing house based out of St. Paul, MN, titled The Sacred Circle Tarot: A Celtic Pagan Journey by Anna Franklin and Paul Mason.  Lovely deck with CGI enhanced photography.  It gives me the feeling that it is blending the old, nature photography and ancient figures, with the new, computer graphics and colonization.   That is just how I feel, Lost In Time.  When I first saw the deck at Celebration--the absolute best new age, occult, and spirituality store in Colorado Springs--I fell in love with it.  It was finally purchased for me (because you should never buy your own tarot deck, bad energy) for my birthday this year and I have been very pleased with my readings.  Now that I have grown into it, and it has become accustomed to my style of reading and my own energy, the readings are bloody accurate, frighteningly so at times.

Such was the reading last night.  The entire spread would take up too much space here, so I will place a link to it once I post the results in my Book of Shadows page, Threshold.  But I will share the basics here.  Spread used: the Traditional Celtic Cross, a favorite.  Question pondered: "What do I do to become who I need to be?" Vague, but that is when the cards steer me true.  This is really a more specific question when you know my heart.  So, with that thought the only thing in my mind, I lay the spread, opened the book, and began finding the answer.   Card one, position one, which pertains to the querent, myself, my personality and attitude towards the question at hand, said it all.  Card: The Green Man, The Fool in most decks, reversed.  Meaning:  "You are afraid to take risks, preferring to cling to what you know, whether it makes you happy or not.  Your life may be boring, but you are too cautious to make a change, instead you settle down into a drab existence while things pass you by.  Remember, it is not what you do in life that you will regret, but what you don't do--the opportunities you missed.  Do you really want to let life pass you by?  Nothing is gained without risk.  A risk is a risk, and you might fail, but at least you will have tried, you will have experienced, you will have learned from it."  The overall theme was that fear has me bound to this position in my life, where I stagnate.  I need to assess my current situation, let go of fear, and experience, changing fear into motivation.  Card one says it all.


Time: 8:09 am EST
Date:
  13 November 2000
Hearing: 
Cars go by
Reading: 
"Do What Thou Wilt: A life of Aelister Crowley" by Lawrence Sutin
Watching: 
Nada
Inspiration: 
Hunter's Moon

Entry:  Moon on Water

There you were, as we drove over the Eno, crossing that bridge in the dark, I felt you there.  And as I looked out the window at the moonlit scene, the silver and the shadows on the flowing river, the moon hanging full and heavy in the sky, you entered me again, taking my breath away.  And it is thus that I hold you, in a tight but gentle grip like a rose bud holding its precious nectar.  The sweetness in me comes from you.

And so I become the Hunter.  Seeking and searching out my self, my hope, my happiness.  I have become more determined than one could know just by looking.  The wheel is turning, slowly, but turning none the less.  I may soon be somewhere completely different, without even knowing I've moved.  Or I may just receive a little shove, though in what direction I am unaware.  I have a paragon, I have seen my soul light up, shimmering like the moonlight on the river.  There lies the inspiration, there the desire to continue on.  My heart has released the breath it had been holding for months, and when I inhaled, I breathed you in, taking a piece of your spirit, your determination, with me.  I have been so blessed.  Thank you.


Time:  9:20 pm EST
Date: 
09 November 2000
Hearing: 
MP3's
Reading: 
Chat/"Do What Thou Wilt: A life of Aelister Crowley" by Lawrence Sutin
Watching: 
IM
Inspiration: 
"Beautiful" by Tapping the Vein

Entry:  Broken

Oh this life.  This life that plays at being simple and easy, how it drives me into the ground.  I see through the shiny paint job.  I can peel back that grained veneer and see the pitted wood beneath.  It thinks to fool me, but I know myself.  I know that I am what I am and no decorations, no ornaments can change the core of me.  And that pitted wood is a part of me, the rusty frame beneath the paint.  The broken soul of a girl, lost and wandering, in search of her light switch.  And there is someone in the fog with me, someone calling to my tattered soul with a voice like a river coming to the sea.  And I am waiting, with open arms, but it seems to come no closer.  Will it ever find me?  Will I ever feel that embrace, that sigh of water meeting tide?  And what of the rush, the all consuming feeling of peace closing over me as I submerge in sea and sand?  I have lost direction.  I am bobbing aimlessly like a buoy, up and down on the same waves, the same motion...never forward.  Gods, never forward.  Give me a push, or a pull, a great swell of something that will magnetize me and draw me to its source, to something other than this stagnation.  I'm begging.

But I know that only I am capable of that motion.  I must catch the wind of change and let it take me where it will.  But the fear of the unknown is overwhelming.  What if I end up worse off, suffer some unimaginable fate...what if I fail?  Aren't I then in the same maelstrom, being sucked down in the depths, left without control?  I need to take the lines, draw tight the sails and move.   Laterally?  Backwards?  Forward.  They are all forward depending on how you look at it.  Unfortunately, I am viewing with a tainted lens, smudged with negativity and fear.  No confidence, not even faith, can change that.  And so, I continue to drift, because I lack the belief in myself.  And I am shamed...

I may attempt a change this weekend, bear a few veins to hungry wolves.   Maybe they can rend something from me, the complacency, the faithlessness.  I may even go so far as to rock the little boat I am in, get some of that water up inside.   I'll keep a bucket nearby, just in case I need to do some bailing.

   


Time:  9:12 pm EST
Date: 
08 November 2000
Hearing: 
Quiet
Reading: 
"Do What Thou Wilt: A life of Aelister Crowley" by Lawrence Sutin
Watching: 
Witch's Voice Voting Update
Inspiration: 
Cape Bretton Autumn

Entry:  Return

Seven days without an ounce of sunshine.  My holiday was pure Bretton autumn, soggy and bleak.  I adored it.  It rather suited my mood.  It rained from my eyes as much as it did the sky.  And I was blanketed in my thoughts, thick and misty, deep and cool.  They kept me for much of my days and hours separated and solitary even in the midst of laughter.  Such a solemn girl I was.  And assuredly so, my hearts only friend in the cold white North.  I do believe I made friends for life with all the Newfoundlanders at UCCB.  Thank you all for making my holiday fun, warm, and for welcoming me into your arms and homes.  If I can ever do the same for you, I will.  I will see you all again.  Brightest blessings to you all.  Safe passage.

 


Time:  1:06 am EST
Date: 
01 November 2000
Hearing: 
Computer keys, whir of hard drive fan
Reading: 
"Do What Thou Wilt: A life of Aelister Crowley" by Lawrence Sutin
Watching: 
Hallowe'en traffic
Inspiration: 
6'5"

Entry:  Pre-flight

I leave in six hours.  I never sleep the night before I take a flight out.  I don't know whether it's nerves or anxiousness, but I can't do it.  I've tried every trick in the book, because I can rarely sleep on the plane either.  But we'll see.  Will try to catch winks after this entry.

To solve the costume quandary, I used the old fall back of "Goth."  I toyed with going as "Death" from the Sandman comics...but I wouldn't try to pull it off without black hair, it's just not right.   I did wear the ankh N. gave to me as a gift and heavy eye makeup...no swirl.   Maybe next year.  I was disappointed with folks at work as maybe five people came in costume.  I will always dress up for Hallowe'en.  I will never be too old, never be to conservative to have fun on at least one day a year.  When else will you get the chance to be what your imagination makes you?  Unless you perform, I say those times are few and far between.  I even perform, and they are so for me. 

So, needless to say, I probably won't update until I return from Canada.   That will be a lengthy entry, I imagine, to make up for lost time and to inform those who read this.  Those blessed few.  Until the veils part again, merry meet, merry part, and merry meet again!

 


Time:  7:15 am EST
Date: 
30 October 2000
Hearing: 
Blessed silence
Reading: 
"Do What Thou Wilt: A life of Aelister Crowley" by Lawrence Sutin
Watching: 
Sunrise
Inspiration: 
Re-born again

Entry:  Inaugural

My initiation into the Craft went off without a hitch.  I felt like I had returned to the place of my youth, old friends and family members welcoming my return.   All is full of love.  And the veils are thin this Samhain, I feel it now more than ever before.  My grandfather visited me during my communion, and many others.   Thank you for that.  All your prayers and well wishes were felt on so many levels.  I am truly blessed.  Last night was the most beautiful thing I have done with my life thus far.  And the wheels of change have begun to turn.   Already I feel invigorated, even giddy.  I am high on what my heightened senses bring me.  This morning I watched the sunrise.  Since the time changed, I woke up at what would have been seven o' clock and couldn't get back to sleep.  So I joined the birds and watched the sky turn from deep purple to brilliant blue.  The sun rising on my new life, seen with new eyes.  It was amazing.  When you are re-born, into any religion, I think you realize that there are so many things you had previously taken for granted.  I can truly see the energies surrounding even the most mundane things.  They are all expressions of the same life energy, all connected to me, and to the Goddess.  What a relief.  All this time I thought they were fighting against me.  How silly. 

I leave for Canada Wednesday morning, around seven am.  I think it is just starting to hit me how unprepared I am.  So the next two days will be me rushing around to not forget anything in my packing, and of course, I will forget something.   So long as it isn't my tickets or birth certificate, all is well.  I cannot wait to get to the island.  So much sea.  I know, I am living in a coastal state, nine months now, and I still haven't been to the ocean.  I get my fix locally from Jordan Lake or, most recently, the Eno River.  But they are balms to the real need for the expanse, the gaping holes of the earth filled with water--life.  I need rushing tide.  I need to be out in it, on it, submerged.  I need to feel that.   My heart cries for it.  The last visit to the ocean was to the Pacific, in 1994 on a visit to my grandmother's.  Shameful.  I hope to get a fix in Nova Scotia and the Bretons.

All Hallow's Eve is tomorrow.  I have nothing to wear.  I dyed my hair and the suggestion of Poison Ivy came to mind.  I don't know how appropriate that is for work, but I can't be myself this year.  Not again.  I had toyed with the idea of being Jessica Rabbit, but talk about impractical for my work environment!   Ah, but those eyes on me...*sigh*  I think it will be Ivy.  We'll see what Wally Mart has in store for me and a potential Batman villain.   Anything but myself.


 

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