The Prickings of Red and White String

brigid_2It’s about this time of year that I start wondering how Brigit snuck up on me. . . again. I don’t know why it does. I have been wearing a daily reminder since Yule on my wrist and seeing it on the wrists of some of my closest every day. That red and white string tied up with wishes for the first sign of spring waiting for the moment my eyes spot spring for the first time. In the back of my mind, I keep debating which tree will hold my spring wishes still. I guess it will be a thing I will know when I see it.

I think the cold keeps my thoughts moved toward the Auld Woman. I don’t begrudge Her her blanket of cold, it’s her thing. I’m just very vocal about my not liking being cold. I prefer to be flash frozen so I can’t feel it. I’m not sure I look forward to thawing, often times thawing is like the pin prick sensation you get when your foot has fallen asleep and blood begins to flow back in. You know its a good and healthy sign that vitality is returning ( I think I heard you cringe,) but the discomfort of the moment drives you to places you don’t really want to exist. Brigit is like that for me.

Brigit forces me to look at things in my life and ask: what do I need? It takes me to a time when my needs could not be filled, so I stopped asking. I suppose I forgot how to answer the question. What do I need? What do I want? What will make me thrive and grow?

universeMy sister visited over the Yule holiday season. I think me being satisfied with just being and breathing because I have to seriously annoys her. I think she remembers a person I don’t. I think she’s getting ready to send in the Marines and dig through the rubble to find her. Not a chore I want her to embark upon (she’ll not be nice ) so I had better let some of that permafrost sit in the sunshine for a while and endure the pin pricks of waking up from under the comfort of the Auld Woman’s cloak. My sister left one more gift for me after everything was unwrapped and doted over. I had come home from work with my mom was trying to hand me money. I rolled my eyes and declined. . . there is no way in the world I am taking money from my mom, no way in Hades was that going to happen. I was even more determined when she announced it was from my sister. My mom was having none of it and told me it wasn’t money, but a message. I looked closer, she was right. At first, I think I was rankled because of a hard conversation my sister and I had and annoyed she would sacrifice money to deliver this message. *pin pricks*

I have no idea how to be okay letting the permafrost slide into the warmth of light. I never feel okay with the prickings of waking and crawling out from the covers. I can hear my Mom say: baby steps. I think the first thing to do is to start breaking the silence with music. It’s been gone too long. Who knows, maybe I’ll accidentally dance.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pwB_m__qzzo

In the mean time, I know the rites by heart. Maybe the things I should be waking up this spring will finally answer the questions I have been dancing away from: what do I want? what do I need? I think I need to borrow Brigid’s fire. My little string of red and white still waits for a tree.martinitsi

Blessings of fire and light to you and yours this Brigit, most of you will call it Candlemas or Imbolc, but I am Feri. I can hear the Descent of Brigit roll through my mind and the striking of fire. . . I wonder when I’ll catch.

My MACUSA . . .

reolutionSo, Yule has come and gone with most of my magic chores checked in their boxes on my list. New Year came and went with out much ado and left me with questions about what it is I need to accomplish and pick back up. I have a long list of those things. . . it’s like a three year old flung all my toys throughout my house with out the courtesy of leaving a bin near by for easy clean up. Oh well. . . where’s that bin???

I have been deliberately paying close attention to me. I have carved out time for my sit time. This is where I get my inner workings all cleaned up. For the fist time in very long time all my lines on the iron pentacle are straight and strong. To me that is a vast improvement. I took a very visual route to get there. You know as they say, as within , so without. Mudras have taught me that the inverse is also true. You can effect what is going on from the outside in, in a productive manner. It started with the pentacle I made from iron nails. They were quite a find, by the way. They came from an old house and were used to nail down the wooden flooring. I figured my own flooring could use some nailing down figuratively. I cleaned them up and made a pentacle from them. . . perfect: iron pentacle I could hold in my hand and actually see. . . all lines and points perfectly aligned, a great way to imagine myself.I still keep it where I can see it everyday. It took lots of work, but check, my sit time has been paying off. Next: pearl pentacle. . . no worries, I have one of those too.

The pearl pentacle is always a bit harder to wrap your head around. It’s more subtle than the straight, hard, and unbending lines that iron creates. It wraps around things and coats flaws, not necessarily a bad thing unless those flaws are creating imbalances. It also hides where things are joined sometimes disguising certain correlations ( sometimes good, sometimes bad. . . meh). The beauty of pearl makes flaws easier to overlook and say: I’ll fix you later. Sometimes that later becomes far too late and you have to break apart everything to get to the heart of the issue. . . ouch. Well it’s now I feel more comfortable working more with the pearl pentacle and ( check) it’s a work in progress. I plan on taking that same out to in process that worked for me with my iron.

This season I brewed up a mean batch of Sugar Plum Faery Vodka, my student helped set it to brew on Samhain and I strained it out on Yule. . . the spirits and ancestors seem to approve so it sits in its bottle by my altar for offerings of something boozey. I was super happy I was able to find mistletoe to hang with my Yule greens and instead of burning them at the end of the season, I helped the mistletoe back for later magic. . .yes, you heard poppets. The burning part was interesting as usual, the flames had lots to say about the year that past and things that may come to be. No warnings dire, just things that whispered: curiouser. . .

As usual the Land of Odd is always, well, odd. Odd enough for the non magical folk in my life to perk their ears and go whaaaaa? How did you. . . The answer of course is : vvitch. macusaAt which point, I usually look up at the sky like some crazy celestial thing just caught my attention, whistle, and walk away. One of the most interesting developments is that I have seemed to catch the attention of owls. Suddenly everyone thinks I need more owls. To date have an entire congress of owls, love each and everyone of them, I guess I can now honestly say I have my own MACUSA. Yes, Wizarding World people. . .I just said that.

There are things coming up for Brigid, candles to bless, a nice bowl to use as a well, hopefully, to manifest, but honestly, using my grandmother’s bowl would work just fine if I don’t find the perfect one in time. Seeds needs to be procured for the Garden of Odd, not that she’s lacking but, there are somethings I would like to grow, ya know, black snapdragons would be perfect. Those would make a perfect spirit ward! ( or match my soul, depending on who you ask.) I am hopping along from sabat to sabat and moon to moon; soon all will be right in Odd and all those toddler strewn toys will be be in the right bin. Of course, MACUSA is stupidvising. I’d say I’m in pretty good hands.

Dear Robin Artisson. . .

doorYou once wrote an open letter to a one such as me ( WordsfromRobinArtisson.) I thank you immensely. I keep that note in a place where I see it every day. It quietly performs its magic while it silently and slowly stitches up the sneaky wounds that surface and soothes over the scars.

I heard your voice for the first time last night while working in my bullet journal. I found your Crossroads Magistery. I can’t say that I had a preconceived idea of what your voice would have sounded like, or Caroline’s, but as you were talking about fetch work, your other words came to mind. . . “you are not broken”. . . and even stranger, as witching lives often are, I heard your voice say in addition to “you are not broken,” it added “your fetch has not fled you.” I spent some time “feeling” around inside myself for some verification of what I thought I heard you say in the twilight spaces of what was actually spoken. There was truth in there. . . He has just been very busy, understandably so.

I know you have reservations about keeping up with the podcast you started, I know you have been very busy with all the endeavors you began. I do most earnestly hope that you and Caroline find the time to continue the work you began with Crossroads Magistery. There is more magic afoot there than I think you guessed. . . after all you said it yourself: the gifts of darkness are full of riddles. This is one riddle I am curious to observe more of should you find the time to continue that little piece of mystery.altar1

Your open letter came at a time I most needed to “hear” those words. It was even more important to hear them from a male figure I had come to respect. Again, Thank you for that. I have not finished my way through the Devil’s Forest yet, but I can now hear voice to the print and there is glimmering of light ahead.

Nalaya Oddly

 

Hekate’s Night

hekateIt was raining before I even began, bucket loads. By the time I dashed the five or so feet to get to my car to retrieve my Hekate Oddling from my car and dashed back into the cover of the patio I was dripping. It was a spectacular show of rolling thunder and flashing clouds. Usually the thunder here crashes like giant pots and pans have fallen from the counter. This was a little different. It rolled and echoed. A sound I had gotten used to being internal.

Most of the time my altars go up quickly and linger for days as the energy of the rite’s moment permeates my thoughts and life. I had nothing to say so I kept to the ritualistic words I knew by heart. I read Her the Bacchic Hymn, I spoke the Ephisian Letters and saluted Her letting ritual “muscle memory” carry me through while everything in me felt silent and still inside. I was almost certain She was insulted.

I can’t begin to admit over the last few years the amount of 29th’s I have missed because I was too tired, too anxious, too busy, too unworthy, blah blah blah. . . mostly because I have lost count. I sat there in silence listening so hard my ears probably actually perked forward. As soon as my eyes closed, She was there, as large as you could expect any Titaness to be. She was dark, then light then dark again as she came closer. I caught sight of serpentine skin wrapped around her as the light flickered in and out around her in, what only later, did I realize was torch light. A very large constrictor serpent was wrapped around her shoulders and torso. Smaller snakes wrapped around her head in a living crown.

She reached out and handed me something. Something I can not remember and could not remember as soon as the moment happened. It was as if I needed something, was given something but it was something to keep hidden. Or something that could not yet be revealed about a thing about to happen or you could inadvertantly prevent it from happening It was like getting that “shut the hell up card” in a tarot reading. You know the one. That horrible blank card in older tarot decks. The one you know is there but only ever so rarely actually breaks into the reading and always really means “NEVER YOU MIND THIS!” Frustrating piece of work that is. And, as always, curiouser and curiouser. hekate night

I tried to just let the moment go and just accept the fact I had been handed something I could not remember receiving. I took both Oddlings to work with me and as usual they got lots of love from my friends and co workers. The Hecate Oddling got a new hair styling. Something that reminds me of something from the old world. Something almost ritualistic and certainly befitting a goddess. Something that reminded me of a priestess hair style. We know they exist, at least one of them has been recreated and demonstrated. I have a feeling that what ever that was last night, it’s true weight can only be demonstrated in the future as things unfold.

Dress up and show up.

devotionI hear most people tend to lose devotion to their beliefs when things are good for them and only turn to their religion in troubled times. Not sure what is wrong with me then, because when things get rough for me, I don’t turn to Them. My gods and spirit guides tend to have to nudge at me to get me to respond. They seem to make ridiculous efforts to catch my attention and make me ask for what I need. Truth be known, I don’t know what to ask them for. I know they can’t take away emotional pain. I know that the “God in a basket” thing is only for mythology. I know that tough situations sometimes remain just that, tough and unreasonable people generally remain just that, unreasonable. So what is there left to ask of the Unseen? Revenge??? Well, I have never been one to believe that revenge really fixes anything. Most people who engage in revenge may as well dig a grave for themselves along side those they plot against.  There’s a big world of nope I can pass on.

So, what is it about hard times that makes me silent toward my otherworldly family? Is it pride that seals my mouth? Pride that if I had just listened to my gut I wouldn’t be in this fix? Pride damaged because I couldn’t fix it or salvage the situation myself? Is it a sense of abandonment or maybe that I didn’t make the correct offering or the offering just wasn’t good enough or I am not good enough for the gods to bother with? None of these things are true. All of these thoughts well, they are me. They are my anxiety, my fears, my demons dancing  in my head and making a fine mess of it as they party along.demon

In Feri, we are taught demon work is a life long process. True story. The hardest part of demon work is identifying them. Slippery little devils they are. No one likes looking at themselves and admitting they have issues that tissues won’t fix. Yes, internal demons are often times the result of  someone else’s blazing personality disorder. I have learned that if you don’t address your little imps, regardless of source, you have a strong possibility of becoming your aggressor without realizing it.

You see, some behaviors are contagious. Including the idea that you have to be perfect before you present yourself to the Gods. No god is asking you to be the unblemished bull. You are not a sacrifice. Okay, maybe, they are requiring you to be an adult. Being an adult sometimes entails that you ask an adultier adult than you for help. So getting back to the ” I don’t know what to ask for” thing. Still don’t know what I am asking for, maybe I should be asking for the compass to stop spinning. True North these days seems to be a mystery, but hey, I am a witch and the road has always been called a crooked one so maybe it shouldn’t matter.

spinning compasAll I know is  that I need to find more time at the altar, maybe I don’t need to be the one speaking. . . you know what they say, dress up and show up. I have a date to keep… and the 29th comes quickly. I feel like I have been blind folded on the crooked path with briars in the ditches. Maybe I should turn myself into a hare; hares know what to do with briar. Maybe what I really need to do is call upon Cora and Victor and ask for a new compass. . .  maybe a road map as well.

Look up

look up

I was sitting out on the patio staring out at the moon realizing it was full. My cigarette burning pointlessly. I took note of the shadows and light playing across its face as the light reflected off it casting a silver blue light upon the landscape before me. I could not take my eyes from the sky, even as words were being spoken to me. A different language from that of the sky and stars, I heard those words and distantly acknowledged them, but my attention was raptly focused on the sky and an experience I had many years ago while training. There was nothing but me and the deep well of space. The stars were not very visible that night. but the loud clatter of streets and light in the sky could not separate me from the world of the deep void and the unstruck sound of star fire and moonshine.

While I was training, I was introduced to a Feri Goddess in the same fashion we all are. You are brought in to meditation. She is called, God Herself, and you are left to your experience of Her and guided home. She was immense in both size and spirit, most would call the experience intimidating, if they were to have it, just with Her appearance. Mostly she doesn’t speak, She just shows you things and leaves you to your interpretation. I remember having a bit of a different experience, I asked her to show me the star I came from remembering my Father tell me repeatedly as a child that we were made from the stars. I have no idea what the hexes possessed me to ask such a question, but I remember asking it and, more surprisingly, getting an answer.

stars

This experience was brought to mind recently after coming to the clear realization that here is much lore and poetry about magic being irrevocably bound to star forms. For example Daniel Schulke’s invocation in the Ars Philtron: ” Star-unto-well , By night I seek the relicit flame of the antient exiled sun. . . Eye within eye, I behold the new dawn, face within face, and form within form, Etched in the veiled black-seals of void.” In my minds eye, I can see stars turn in accordance to the magic called upon. I have come to the conclusion that there are many who also call upon the magic of stars. I recall, in my mind’s eye, always tilting my head and vision to the sky when casting and invoking as though I expect the stars above to hear me and catch the energy of my intent and move it in the direction I need while pouring my soul forth to the gods. I point to the stars while I sending the cone to honor my command. I look to the stars while working through a vexing moment. I remember, once, being asked to name how many stars were in a constellation, closing my eyes seeing it and counting what was there and getting the correct answer.

While she, the mistress, the lantern of our planet’s nightfall, catches my attention while in this urban existence the stars are never far from my attention, in spite of the fact there is much light and life interference. I am however, consistently consumed by the attention given by other occultist to the stars. Not just in their precise motions in the sky, but by the acknowledgement that we and our magic may be connected, drawn forth, and guided by their presence even though they are mostly veiled by the existence of out urban lives. The stars seem to to sing through the void, the light noise and clinging clatter of the modern era. Staring up has become a ritual for me. I may not see all the points of light streaming through the ether, but it sees me and you and everyone else and moves us internally in manners beyond expectation and comprehension.

I hope you look up in wonder and awe. I hope magic moves you through that which you may not quite see and comprehend. I hope great and profound whisperings that only stones and trees can properly pronounce. Look up. Look up and allow your eyes to be filled.

That Which is Remembered Lives

catlicking

The cat is licking my computer again. . . It’s been a long time since I have posted here, but still the tradition of the cat having to have her say continues, much like leaving an offering for my ancestors before I speak of them.

I have lain fallow and silent for a long time. On purpose. Everything in me has been drained out like a tainted well, I have let myself completely drain out and dry out to purge the poison. Things have been rather magically silent and like being put in a witches cradle all I have had to hear is the sound of my own heart and creaking bones. Then things shifted. Night mares faded and dreams slipped in with figures of my own ancestry speaking languages that I know and recognize but the actual words escape me. Russian, Romanian, Gaelic. . . words I should not know have been seared into my mind with equally haunting themes and images. Reindeer and knives, crows and branches and owls have all made themselves prominent figures. But most of all there are several figures speaking through my dreams: my grandparents both of Slavic descent and one figure I have no genetic relation to but another inheritance entirely. It’s like time in a bottle has been uncorked and spilled out all over my life.

I have been asked, poked and prodded from all corners of the universe to wake up, to get up, to pick up. . . it wont stop , I suspect, until I do. I don’t know where this is leading me or even what I supposed to be accomplishing anymore.

Our ancestors are always with us, they live in our very veins, the beat of our hearts, the heat in our tears. . .They wait for us to speak to them directly. They are hungry and wait for our offerings of bread and wine. They stare out at us in photos. . . waiting to be allowed room in our lives. To mysteriously move something to aid our path and they will not budge to do so until we ask. As pagans most of us set up an altar of our ancestors just for the season and take it down as the season wraps up. I have one set up all year round. Every holiday something is left for them. Every celebration they are honored. I cry before their altar when begging for help, I share the day or night’s vexing dream. I leave random offerings of flowers, sweets and something boozy. To me, my ancestors are very real creatures and after being buried like a seed for so long and remaining silent, their pokes and prods have become very potent. They scream: WAKE CHILD, WAKE!!!!

Our most potent and our closest magical assistants are our beloved dead. An entire magical lineage is available to us in a drop of blood. Who you are magically does not depend on knowing whether you are Irish, Scot, Slavic, or Hispanic. It doesn’t matter if you can recite your ancestry.com litany or not. It is the relationship you had with your Mother who has passed or the Grandmother who doted on you. It is the memory of candied oranges on your Grandmother’s counter and the questions asked of the questions you asked your Grandfather. It is the memory of suits and ties worn while mowing the lawn and the goofy grin after seeing a whale off shore for the first time. It is the heat of an argument and tears of reconcilliation, It’s the stories told of narrow escapes and fool hardy errands,  it is the passage of time you shared and continue to share with your ancestors that creates your magical lineage. It is the drop of blood you shed to call them forth and truth you offer them when you speak to their shade. Make the call. . . they are waiting for you to ask. That which is remembered lives.

Now if I can only get the cat to stop licking the screen. . . that would be great.

The War is Upon Us.

Mort_de_la_philosophe_Hypatie

For centuries those who hold power in society have been persecuting and executing our genius minds in the name of heresy and crimes against the church. Galileo, the Italian philosopher, mathematician, engineer, and astronomer figured out that the sun did not go around the planet. He was punished for revealing this scientific fact with house arrest where he continued to write about his findings. He was lucky. He was not committed to the pyre as so many others were. He was lucky. He was not female. Hypatia, in earlier days, was also these things that Galileo was and was murdered by a Christian mob accused of what most females are accused of in those days- creating conflict. I suspect there was far more to her murder than just the fact she was controversial.

Reading documents from those who fanned the witch hunts and Spanish inquisition reveals some very interesting things to me. It’s not necessarily about the Church, the Church is just a means of acquiring power and control. I don’t know about everyone else, but I know that I am left amazed and horrified by the levels of misogyny still present in the modern era and left wondering where it came from. Turns out most of it comes from those who built their empires in the Church. They created doctrine solely aimed at the degradation and defamation of an entire gender, not just witchcraft, that can be practiced by both genders, but women.

Within the Malleus Maleficarum things like Eccleisiasticus is brought up with care to not only point out wicked women, which there surely are, and suggests that there is a specific kind of wickedness that goes along with being a woman. Cicero is mentioned as saying in his writings entitled The Rhetorics- men are led into all sins through the lust of women. Seneca, yes fiction here is used in the complaints against and hunts for ‘witches’, says that when a woman thinks alone, she thinks evil. Within this text and others of the same few centuries it is made clear the agenda to create a vision of the female gender as nothing more than a necessity that is dangerous and evil- a weak-minded, vile creature that you must punish yourself with in order to create sons.

man on a broomThese thought forms were held in place for not just a few generations, but for centuries. The words witch, woman and evil- to this day- are associated with each other. Really think about that- let that sink in. It is just recently in my memory that men have been very vocal about their place in witchcraft and openly declaring that men have the right to bear the title witch as well. I remember how I felt the first time I saw a piece art of a man riding broom. It brought a sly smile to my lips and a great big huzzah went up in my heart.

I ran across an article on Face Book  about an interview with a retired priest and his ideas on how Hell isn’t real, but instead a means to control people with guilt and fear. ( Sounds like an abusive relationship to me) He goes on to speak about how becoming ‘born again’ enforces the mental attitude of being a child- because true adults cannot be controlled. Why is it that an entity like the church requires such a drastic amount of control? Why is it that women threaten that control? That is what it is. . . the first thing you need to do in order to dis-empower any one and seize their control is to demonize them. To this day men, under the influence of a power drunk entity we know the Church to have become, feel the need to not only control women and their bodies, but to make sure their representation in power is completely inequitable. Don’t believe me??? Look here.

Within the text The Summa Theologica by St. Thomas Aquinas he speaks of the powers of demons. He says thusly:

“The assault itself is due to the malice of the demons, who through envy endeavour to hinder man’s progress; and through pride usurp a semblance of divine power, by debuting certain ministers to assail man, as the angels of God in their various offices minister to man’s salvation.”

If it is demons who seek to hinder man’s progress, how is it that it is actually the Church and it’s doctrine created by its clergymen that are actually the ones who have hindered our progress and refused to let mankind grow up as it should? Maybe it’s the Church and her men who are possessed by demons. Even within these texts it is theorized that demons and witchcraft can not abide without God’s permission. Within these texts it is also pointed out that to not believe in witchcraft and witches is heresy. Within these texts it is pointed out that it is women who are weak and most likely to turn to witchcraft for vindication. ( I would like to point out here: what did these men do to deserve being worked against. . . sorry have to ask.) This era of men in power went to great lengths to create entire libraries of demon classes who and why they can assault mankind and then whipped up a frightful frenzy- of course, it was also only they who were qualified to identify,  judge, persecute and execute those who consorted with them.

The point is this: why are we allowing doctrine from 400 still hold sway in the 21st century? This is not a woman’s issue or a witches’ issue. This is a human issue. We need to begin to acknowledge that there are centuries of ingrained malicious doctrines that are preventing us from self-determination as a species, preventing mankind from advancing spiritually, technologically, emotionally: we are being manipulated by a group of power-hungry misogynists who are long since dead ( and potentially empowering a current group of men who may be infested with demons themselves while they point at everyone else and scream evil! and demon!- call the Winchesters *insert dripping sarcasm here*.)

So witches, here it is: the war is upon us. How do we respond? With magic of course. For a long time I have kept a type of working secret. Mostly because I was afraid to raise the ire of those in power and give them a reason to point and scream: WITCH!!!! EVIL DOER!!! Some of you who know and follow me on social media know this work already and have been a participant in such workings ( Thank you for that. . . ) Yes, Peter Grey is right. . . the war is upon us. I will add that if we do nothing, we will ‘burn.’ I will be posting a page on this blog for this work I have endeavoured in. . . some of you may not approve, some of you who don’t care about approval may join in. This page will be a venue for others who feel that to free all of man kind, men must be free from the need to control ‘ their women’ as imposed upon them centuries ago by men who wished a population of children to manipulate. It’s time for humanity to grow up and start doing the right things for the right reasons (including getting off our butts about getting off this planet so we can save it and ourselves.)

Silence.

silence

 

When I was a younger witch, it used to annoy me when those outside the craft would ask off the wall questions about what witches do.

” Do you have any ‘special’ powers??? Do you sacrifice kittens and small children? Do you worship Satan? Do you really fly on a broom?”

Ok yes, those are inane questions based upon an idea of witchcraft that defies the laws of physics ( thank you. Hollywood), but it’s not really a reflection of me or my craft. It’s a reflection of those who are speaking and their fear based lives. It actually makes me giggle. Do strange things happen in a crafter’s life? Uhm yes. It’s just how that is when you keep company with the Unseen. And there is much in this world we call earth that is unseen. Most of the time we have some very clever fellow humans who have figured out some way or another to measure that unseen thing with technology high and low.

The problem with all of this is when these people with the inane ideas of witchcraft deliberately decide that there is enough to fear ( probably because they have done something to earn retribution) that a smear campaign ensues. It’s not generally something done to smear the religion itself, its a using of the craft as means to smear the person and to demonstrate how unstable and evil this person is to someone they perceive as a higher authority. I mean, how stable can you be if you speak to being who is unseen while lighting candles and incense in their honor? And certainly you must be evil if you decide that those you love should be defended against their attackers in a non-violent way. I mean really how dare you defend yourself and those you love!

birdsThe goal of this smear campaign is generally to silence you. To strike fear and make you back down. Those that do this generally have something they want to remain hidden and the only way they will get away with what they have done is for those they have committed crimes against to remain silent. Okay, silence is something we are good at; so be silent about the magic you have done to protect yourself and your kin, but do NOT remain silent about what the person has done. DO be wise and choose your ears well. Silence like that is harmful. It allows the profane to walk openly and continue to commit evil in the name of their desire while trying to look good. Your silence only emboldens the predator.

I think I have found an answer to that inane question: ” so, do you have any ‘special’ powers?” ( insert wiggly quotation mark fingers here) The answer is:

“Yes, I can spot an abusive, ignorant demagogue 100% of the time, with only a few words spoken.”

The real question is whether I’ll tell you I see you or not.

That which sits at the center

Forests-of-the-World-Collection-Wallpapers-08

My Father and I were having a discussion on the nature of power and those who pursue it. I won’t bore you with how we got there, but the real discussion was more about the difference between power that comes from within and power exerted over and the kinds of people power attracts. We came to the conclusion that there really needs to be a more defining word for power. . yes, I know another box. Turns out, boxes have their uses.

We tried on several shoes and found that they don’t really fit the enormity of the discussion we were trying to have. We tried abuse, control, authority, spirituality, religion. . . None of these words really fit our feet. We kept getting sand and rocks in our shoes as we were walking down the path of this discussion.

I tried on the word control. It works but it’s not quite the right fit for the concept put before me. Really, what I come up with is the power of control. When we look at the nature of control it is actually a statement about someone who is looking to hold together the very fabric of nature into a static position or manipulate something into a specific shape. Nature is fleeting and tenuous. She always finds a way to escape control. We can observe this by noticing that weed or random flower growing out of that crack in the sidewalk; not just growing, but thriving and breaking the foundation laid over it. We can see this control being subverted by nature when we see over grown abandoned buildings and trees growing and consuming things like cars, bicycles, and fences. We see it in the storm that rages through, the tsunami that clear cuts over the land, the quake that tears the earth asunder, the lightning that strikes at will and sets fire to its target. We tend to stop and look at these things with awe.

When we talk about a person who is trying to exert control over people or a thing we are talking about a person who is expressing one of the most basic of fears. Fear of the unknown path or fear of exposure. This person (or group of them) has to carefully manipulate their world as to not have their perception of it disrupted and must groom the people who around them to fit into that world or be violently exorcised from it in fear of exposure or having to face the possible reality that they could be wrong. Maybe even both. So really when we look at this idea of control we are looking at the person using this power to handle their own insecurities and create a safe zone for their own delusions. We see this in the virolent opposition some people have had toward the enforcing of equality for the third gender.

We tried the word abuse. That word really boils down to power and control of a thing or person to the point of oppression and destruction. Once again, we hit the stumbling block of power holding its own station within the thing we were trying to describe. We went from abuse to the difference between religion and spirituality. Again, we ran into the wall. Religion has rules that control and manipulate behaviors and emotions. It has a tendency to abuse power to enforce their theology. Spirituality tends to lean toward the discovery of oneself and promotes belief in one’s abilities to exert their own authority to create a space for themselves and hold their own power in this place. Again, power is a satellite.

So now, I sit here left with the thought of: let’s go get the dictionary! Let us see what this word is defined as and where it comes from.

Power:[ Me pouer<OFr. poeir< poeir, to be able<Lat. *potere< potis, able.] 1. the ability or capacity to to act or perform effectively. 2. often powers A specific capacity, faculty, or aptitude < strong decisive powers> 3. Strength or force exerted or capable of being exerted; MIGHT. 4. The ability or official capacity to exercise control over others. 5. A group, person or nation having great influence over others. 6. The might of a nation, political organization or other similar group. 7. Effectiveness; forcefulness< a film of extraordinary power> 8. Regional: A large number or amount. 9. Physics. The rate at which work is performed, mathematically expressed as the first derivitive of work with respect to time and commonly measured units such as the watt or horsepower. syn. POWER, AUTHORITY, CLOUT, CONTROL

Really??? The dictionary using power as its own synonym? The word power seems to be its own satellite. At this point I am beginning to wonder if I am looking at one of those signs asking if we have seen this lost wormhole. A picture of an open doorway within its own doorway stretching back into a vast unseen dimension of being. Maybe that’s what it really is. This vast unknown within that we stretch into as we walk this place constantly reaching within to create a thing of our imagining or grabbing externally to apply force upon others in dominance. Neither of these things are necessarily bad. Both have the potential to be either creative or destructive and even creation and destruction can be neutral. You can just as easily create a weapon of mass destruction as you can destroy an enemy. You can inversely create a work of beauty or destroy yourself. Power not only appears to be a satellite, but a neutral one. We are the keys to engaging the power put before us; how we use it defines what it does. Just like in the Fifth Element, that which you put at the center of all the earthly elements determines whether or not life thrives or crumbles around you.

So, what is it about the sort mankind that pursues power to the point of destroying everyone and everything around them? Is it short-sightedness? Desperation? Greed? And how do you weed out this sort from the race to power? Is it a sort of thing that is already present as this person begins their road to power or is it a thing that happens and becomes corrupted along the way? How am I using my power? All these things run through my head as I consider life, love, everything, and the candidates vying for the position of POTUS.

I think the most important question in all of this for anyone to ask is simply this: what is the source of my power and do I honor that source well? As for that more defining word for power. . . I think it may be a word only the Unseen know and can pronounce.