One last thing, before we leave…

I thought y’all might want to see the 2012 stats report for this blog, before we settle in fully at the new place. (Comments are still off here. Make sure to change your bookmarks to http://www.moragspinner.net/, because Innocence and Immanence is going to be gone soon.)

 

The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2012 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

600 people reached the top of Mt. Everest in 2012. This blog got about 11,000 views in 2012. If every person who reached the top of Mt. Everest viewed this blog, it would have taken 18 years to get that many views.

Click here to see the complete report.

A Holiday Note from Grumpy Cat

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Happy Solstice, Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, Boxing Day, Kwanzaa, Hanukkah, Festivus…whatever. 

I’ve decided to take this time to announce that I am moving house.

Not physically. Virtually.

Innocence and Immanence…is moving. And it’s no longer going to be Innocence and Immanence.

When I first started blogging here in February 2010, I never thought I’d be here for so long, or that I’d gain so many amazing readers. I really love all of you, and I’m grateful for your loyalty during these very strange times.

I hope that you’ll come with me over to my new home: MoragSpinner.net

New things to look forward to at the new site:

  • CommentLuv! I love CommentLuv, and I hope you do too.
  • You’ll be able to register as subscribers.
  • A wiki for the religion I’m creating, among other things. (It’s not really a wiki. I’m not using wiki software; I’m using WordPress. But, whatever. A subdomain for all my articles.)
  • Snazzy new theme.
  • an easy to remember domain name that is not superfragilisticespialadocious long.
  • Something a bit more professional-looking?
  • New default avatar for all commenters without a gravatar!
  • Possibly other awesome things that I’m forgetting/don’t know about.

Things we’re sacrificing:

  • No more chances to be on Freshly Pressed. Sad, I know, but. C’est la vie. (Also what were the fucking chances? Really slim. Or fat. Pick a metaphor.) 
  • Showcasing posts I “Like” on the sidebar. I’ll still have my WordPress.com account, and I’ll still like your posts — but they won’t show up on the new blog unless I make a post specifically pointing them out.
  • Reblogs.
  • “Follow” button at the top of the blog. That means if you wish to be subscribed, you’ll have to sign up for email subscriptions at the new site. (Luckily it’s super easy and quick to do!) This also means if you have an email subscription  you will have to subscribe again at the new site. Sorry.
  • Possibly something else. I’m not sure. Haven’t had coffee yet.

I’m really excited about the new site, however, and having my own domain name. (I chose .net because then it’s sort of like spinneret…ok, it is in my mind. Whatever. Leave me alone.)

Innocence and Immanence will stay up until January 6th. Or February 2nd. If it’s still up after the 6th, it’ll stay up till Imbolc.

You have either 12 days or five weeks to change your bookmarks! Go!

Comments here will be closed as of…now.

Happy holidays, and I’ll see y’all at the new site.

-Morag

PS: I’m still in the process of fixing hyperlinks and featured images for the posts at the new site. I’m hoping to have everything finished by the end of January.

PBP: Witch Skills

Since posting my guide to visualization, I’ve been thinking — having a series of posts on what I consider essential witch skills might be a good idea. I mean, I’ve been doing this sort of stuff long enough that I should have some basic idea of what I’m doing, right?

…right?

Eh. Maybe not so much. But I’m sure I know some things. I know my post on visualization was helpful to some folk, at least. I’m sure I could be helpful in other areas.

Of course, first I have to figure out just what I consider to be essential Witch Skills.

Take this post as a rambling exercise — I’m thinking out loud, using y’all as my sounding board. Nothing I list here is permanent; this entire list is just to give me a jumping off point. In fact this entire post is basically an excuse to get another W done for the Pagan Blog Project.

Also, I’m not talking about skills like herbalism, or mead-making, or carving, or salve-making, or anything like that. Those are good skills, yes, but they’re not for everybody, and I’m not about to suggest any of them are essential to being a witch. I’m talking about the kind of skills that give you the basis for good magic work. Skills that, once you have them, are passive — to use gamer parlance — at your fingertips without you needing to think too much about them. Things that should become automatic.

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Heilig Avondmaal 2012: Bringing the Dead Home (again)

Ms. Dirty of Graveyard Dirt has issued her Holy Supper challenge again this year, and I’ll be participating. (There is a lot of swearing at her blog, fair warning.)

Today I realized it’s Sinterklaas Day, or the Dutch Christmas. We celebrated it when I was a little kid, and continued to into my adolescence. It’s a holiday that has strong emotional connections with my relationship with Oma.

And, you know, she’s been gone two years and I just realized today that it’s Sinterklaas Day. I should have put my clogs by the fire last night, waiting for the casual racism of my forebears to bring me the wrong gifts. But I didn’t, and I forgot.

It sort of hit home when I went to check the mail. Everything was for her and Opa. (Most surreal: addressed to Opa, a donation drive letter from the hospice that saw Oma’s last days. I guess they didn’t get the memo that he died last Christmas.)

I’m picking up mail for dead people. What is that, if not a definition of witch?

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PBP: Going the Distance

Proper posture hurts.

When I align my spine correctly, I have to brace myself against a wall with my hands. My breathing comes short and I get dizzy. Sweat breaks out on my brow. Tears spring to my eyes. I can’t hold it for long.

I know I must hold proper posture. It is not relaxing for me, however. It is painful. It hurts to change my body from what it’s used to.

My spine curves to the right. If you look at how I stand in resting position, you’ll notice my right hip and my right shoulder bend towards each other, like lovers longing to touch. I’m twisted and gnarled like a wind-worn tree.

My hips are twisted the other way, too; not only up and down but front and back – they jut out on the right, pull back on the left. So standing correctly is not just a matter of separating my star-crossed shoulder and hip, making them learn the appropriate distance from each other, but it is also a matter of making my hips see my feet eye to eye — if they had eyes. Making them line up with the strong, straight legs that are among my best features.

I have had this incorrect posture since high school, I’m sure, though I’ve never really noticed it till this year, when my physiotherapist pointed it out to me. But for four years in high school I didn’t use a backpack. I used a shoulder bag that I carried on my left shoulder, and I hitched that shoulder up, to better carry the bag. I still carry bags on my left shoulder. I cannot carry them on my right. They slip off.

Now my spine has compressed; shrunk down in on itself, trying to make me smaller. To stretch it out again — to regain function in my crippled, gnarled body — I must maintain proper posture. I must re-learn, I must teach my flesh to change itself. I must breathe. I must regain muscle tone in my abdomen. I must focus, I must do this, or I will be a gnarled, bent tree forever.

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Losing Time; Gaining Inspiration

Where did November go? I swear I just started it.

This is a huge problem for me, quite often. I just…lose time. It’s like being abducted by aliens. I look at the clock and it’s two; I look again and it’s ten. I’ve lost eight hours to…I don’t even know.

And it stretches on, into months. I swear it was November 1st only yesterday. My poison incident? Surely that was only a few days ago. No, really, Thanksgiving was just a few hours past, it can’t have been longer ago than that.

But no, it’s only my faulty memory; time has gone, and I stand wondering what on earth I did with it.

Well, I know I wrote 61,000 words in NaNoWriMo. I didn’t actually finish the novel, for reasons that will go un-ranted about for now. But I did win NaNo, and my winner’s shirt is on its way to me.

I also caught up on my reading. Blogs, that is. Those of you I follow may notice a bunch of new likes from me on your months-old posts. Sorry. I’m a slow-ass.

Catching up on blog reading has left me open to reading new posts as they crop up, and I wanted to share one with you that…I don’t know. It touched me. In a good way.

It’s a poem by Magaly Guerrero of Pagan Culture, and I can’t get it out of my head. It’s sweet and spicy; it’s like a warm cup of coffee with cinnamon and nutmeg in it, steaming upwards on a crisp fall day.

And I find it inspires me. Maybe it will inspire you, too.

Rice and Coffee Poesy.

-M.

Pagan Blog Project: X, or the Gift of Poison

Someone on TC suggested that one could do Gebo, the X-shaped rune for the Pagan Blog Project (like most of you, I’m sure, many of us were scratching our skulls a bit over what on earth we could write about). Gebo means gift or partnership, according to my copy of The Book of Runes, by Ralph Blum.

From my rune set.

I want to talk about gifts.

For those of you who have been here a while, do you remember when I was trying to choose my new last name? I eventually settled on Spinner, but for a while I was toying with a few words that had “gift” or “vergift” in them.

Those words, in Dutch, mean poison.

Two weeks ago (gods, has it already been so long?) I tried a flying ointment with several different poisons in it. The spirit of Belladonna made it clear that she is not the poison for me on the physical plane. She also gave me a gift: the gift of life.

She helped me realize that I want to live. When I thought I was going to die, I realized that terrified me. 

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Pursuing Joy

T. Thorn Coyle linked this article on either Google+ or Facebook (or perhaps both), with the message that activists, caretakers, etc, shouldn’t forget our own happiness.

We do burn out. We become lost in hopelessness and despair. We forget to take care of ourselves because we feel so small in the face of the overwhelming odds that threaten to keep us oppressed, that threaten to keep our brothers, sisters, and sithers oppressed. The whole human race is in serious trouble the world over, and activists know it, and we work to stop it.

We forget self-care.

We forget that self-care is activism. 

I forget it often, and I’m a huge proponent of self-care being every bit as important as marching, or blogging, or writing letters, or getting thrown into jail with your fellow activists.

We forget to pursue our joy, because we feel guilty for being happy.

I know. I’ve been there. I’m still there. Being an activist is hard work, and it tends to wear down even the most resilient of people. The more crap you see in your quest for justice, the worse you feel for the happinesses you have. What is the point of your own happiness, you ask, if others are still oppressed?

It doesn’t help that there are so many examples of privilegefail where people say “Well I’ve never dealt with this problem, and I’m happy, so it must not exist; why can’t you just be happy? Stop looking for reasons to be angry!” We start to equate being happy with that brand of privilegefail; we start to avoid being happy, as if the only way we can keep our heads in the game is to be miserable. 

Well, to hel with that.

Since discovering I want to live, I don’t want to be unhappy anymore. I want to live. I want to embrace life to the fullest; I want to truly be alive. I want my heart to burst with the joy it carries. I want my joy to be as strong as my anger.

Assessment time: what brings me into the present moment? What energizes me? What motivates me? What keeps me alive? 

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PBP: Visualization: what it is and how to do it. A guide for everyone — yes, even you.

Visualization has always been easy to me. I don’t say that to brag; it’s just a statement of fact. It’s so second-nature to me that sometimes I’ll be talking about the things I do as a Witch, and someone will ask me “Well, how do you do that?” and surprised, I’ll say “I just visualize it.”

Simple. Easy. Done.

But it’s not, for others. A lot of people I talk to say they have troubles visualizing.

Let me ask you a question: do you enjoy reading fiction? Of any kind?

If you enjoy reading (I include audiobooks here) fiction, then how do you experience what’s happening in the story? Do you see it clearly in your mind, or do you smell it, or do you hear it, or do you feel it?

That’s visualization. Period.

The word itself is problematic, I know, and is probably what gets most people hung up on the idea that they can’t do it. Visualization. It seems to focus on sight.

It’s really just shorthand for a collection of ways to imagine things. If you can imagine something in your own preferred way, that’s visualization.

Perhaps we should use imagination instead of visualization? Only problem being the connotations between imagination and fiction. And we want our magic to be real, don’t we?

Fiction is real. It appeals to our sense of wonder, to our Younger Selves/Sticky Ones. That’s where magic happens. You can change more minds with a heart-wrenching piece of fiction than you can with a years-old blog archive full of fact-ridden, hard-hitting posts. Truth.

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He, Zir, Ey, Xyrs, What?

Reblogged from Awaken In Light:

All this time I’ve been verbally referring to Lu as ‘he’, but that isn’t entirely accurate. I’ve been bouncing around the idea of using gender-neutral terms when speaking about Lu, partly because it serves as a reminder to myself that ze does not fit into any neat little gender role, even though I first perceived him to be male. The other part of it is that if this blog is meant to dispel misconceptions regarding Lu, zir’s assumed static masculinity is something that should be done away with.

Read more… 277 more words

I've been having the same thoughts about m'Lady Morrigan, to be honest. I definitely see Her as genderqueer/non-binary, though I refer to Her as a Goddess and use female pronouns. I've also been looking for a word instead of Lady or Lord, to fit with the Lady of the Stars, Lord of the Deeps, Ladybro? of the Blooded Land. Finding pronouns will probably be easier. I could always use Zie/Zir. Hmmmm. *ponders*

PBP: Restlessness and Ramblings

If you’re visiting the blog itself and not reading from a feed or email, you probably notice something different.

As in, the entire theme.

I get bored easily. I’m a creature of change. I like flame because it’s never static. I need earth in my life just to centre me and ground me long enough so I’m not constantly shooting into space, dying and being reborn. (Read: why I’m going to marry my Virgo Ogre. He keeps me grounded.)

I decided that it was time to change my blog’s look.

I found the theme “Monster” and immediately knew it had to be I&I’s new look. It’s so cute. And witchy/Halloweeny. And it has the option to have a member of the latrodectus family in the monster-spot, though drawn in an abstract enough way to not trigger my aracnophobia. (If it triggers yours, I apologize.)

Only thing I wish I could do with this theme is change the accent color — green — to purple. But as I like green just fine, I will live.

More on topic: I’m also feeling restless in my religious life, truth be told. Specifically, ADF. 

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PBP: Reclaiming Bodily Sovereignty

Between the ages of 19 and 21 I was in my first ever relationship, shortly after having sex for the first time ever (and kissing someone in that way for the first time ever — happened the same night I had sex for the first time, which I do not at all regret: go big or go home).

He was the same sort of guy that I have ended up dating for the past seven years since my dating life began: cis, heterosexual, geeky and/or nerdy. He was also my introduction to kink — you can read more about that aspect of my relationship with Victor in this post.

Something it took me a while to realize and express, after our relationship ended, was that I never asserted my boundaries firmly with him, and he took that as an invitation to run roughshod over my wishes. I wouldn’t classify him as an abuser as I would some of my other exes, but I would say the relationship was abusive and toxic — for both of us, probably, though I daresay the effects on me have lingered far longer.

One of the biggest things that happened during those two years was me giving up my bodily sovereignty for him. I’m not talking about just having sex; I’m talking about having sex when I didn’t really want to. Engaging in sex acts that I didn’t really enjoy. Engaging in kink practices that were contrary to my nature, to the point where I convinced myself for years that I was submissive. Convincing myself to do things that would please him, even they were things I really didn’t want to do — namely, two piercings.  (If piercings squick you out, you may not want to read the rest of this post. I’m not terribly graphic, but I do mention them.)

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A Pagan Response to Savita’s Death, and the ongoing fight for reproductive justice worldwide

After my last post about Savita, I emailed T. Thorn Coyle to ask for her help in finding ways to respond to this tragedy. I felt that something needed to be done, besides writing and prayer, but I didn’t know what.

She had some really good suggestions for organizing a response.

One was to lobby at the local Irish Consulate for changes in Ireland’s legislation regarding abortion. (You can find a list of Irish embassies and consulates abroad here.) There is an Honourary Consul in my town, so I’m going to see if I can make an appointment to speak directly to him. I will also be sending the letter below, which you may take, tweak, and send to your own Irish Consul. (You may want to do a lot of tweaking, as my letter is specific to Canada and me — there is a fact sheet about U.S. relations with Ireland here. But the letter below should give you some inspiration at least.)

Dear Mr. Cheevers:

Canada and Ireland have had friendly relations for years, and many Canadians think kindly of Ireland. However, with the news of Savita Halappanavar’s death, a wake up call has sounded across the nation.

I, like many Canadians, had no idea that abortion was illegal in Ireland. I suppose for me it was a personal oversight — I’m of Irish descent and I worship Irish gods, and had planned for a long time to make both a personal and a religious pilgrimage to Éire. I never imagined that the place I’d been fantasizing about visiting for so long, the place that looked so heavenly to me, would have such disregard for the lives of women, trans men, and genderqueer assigned-female-at-birth folk.

I will not be visiting Ireland until the law is changed. Not only can I not do so in good conscience, but I must think about my own physical safety — and visiting a country that does not believe in my right to my own body is putting myself in danger of serious illness or, worse, death.

I urge you to speak with the Taoiseach and the members of Oireachtas and tell them — this needs to change. Abortion must be made legal in Ireland. Don’t let Savita Halappanavar’s death become a senseless tragedy. Ireland looks very bad on the world stage right now because of this. That can change, but it starts with you.

Justice for Savita — change the abortion laws.

Sincerely,

Morag Spinner

The other idea Thorn gave me was to let Irish tourism boards know that I wouldn’t be visiting Ireland until a change was made, and that I’d be organizing my friends around that.

Here is the letter I’ve drafted to the Irish tourism boards. Feel free to take it, tweak it, and send it off yourself. (Make sure to choose one of the boards to address it to; don’t sent it off with the slash. That’s only there to indicate whom you should address each letter to.)

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The Winter Witch

Zie withdraws
coiled like a snake

It’s winter
Zir bones shake

But zie loves the snow
and despite the pain
welcomes the cold

Zie buries zir face in it
and lies on the ground

The stars above zir wondering eyes
work as mirrors
zie sees zirself in the skies. 

I withdraw in winter, and write bad poetry. It’s the time of the year I grow quiet, cold, passive. I look within myself, and find things I didn’t know. Sometimes I find nothing.

Winters are not always spiritually productive for me. Sometimes they’re the time for me to regroup before summer, when the Work makes me busier than Brighid’s bees.

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The Beautiful Lady doesn’t pull any punches when she’s teaching you a lesson

English: The flowers of Atropa belladonna

English: The flowers of Atropa belladonna (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I don’t blog much about using entheogens in my practice, but it is something that I’ve been doing more of recently.  Specifically, flying ointments. I own three jars of different flying ointments, all made by Sarah Lawless (The Witch of Forest Grove) and sold at her store, the Poisoner’s Apothecary.

I’ve used the Witches’ Ointment and the Mandrake Ointment with no ill-effects. Last night I decided to try Porta’s Ointment, which contains belladonna, datura, and henbane (as well as mandrake).

I put on a vinyl glove before using my finger to apply a very small amount to the inside of my left arm. The only medication I’m on right now is Zoloft, and so far as my research tells me there are no adverse interactions between Zoloft and the active chemicals in belladonna, datura, henbane, or mandrake.

I sat on my bed and got out my journal and started recording my experiences as they happened. I’ll relate the ones that are legible for you below (verbatim).

  • instant sort of dry, desert lime/eucalyptus/mentol feel in back of throat
  • warm at application spot
  • taste chocolate on tongue tip
  • tingling in feet
  • tasted mint? 
  • PARANOIA
  • i can hear all my body’s processes; or see them; or just — know
  • hearbeat slowed? or more paranoia?

Sometime soon after that I fell asleep. Possibly not the smartest thing I’ve ever done, but I was exhausted and I’d fallen asleep before while under the effects of the Mandrake Ointment, with no problems. What, as they say, was the worst that could happen?

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A Call from Brighid & Morrigan: Justice for Savita

My entire path is about activism.

I’d be lying if I said otherwise.

Morrigan and Brighid want me to do Their work, and They want it done everyday. They want me to be a witch, and They have been very clear that to be a witch — to do Their work — I must also be involved in social justice work.

Witchcraft is not just lighting candles and waving wands; witchcraft is blogging and writing and picking up litter; it’s remembering what’s in my bones; it’s helping others. There’s no such thing as being solitary because my every move should be about making the world a better place for people of all species.

Witchcraft is activism. And I’m a witch. I need to be a witch all the time.

It’s not all woo. It’s practical and real and earthy and it’s changing the world. Witchcraft is the act of crafting a new world. Of crafting reality.

That is not limited to magic, to woo, to crystals and fucking glitter. And there is nothing mundane about what I do with my own two corporeal hands; there is nothing mundane about getting dirty in the pursuit of justice.

Somedays I lose hope. Somedays I want to watch the whole world burn, because I come to believe that the only way we’re going to make any fucking progress is to destroy everything and start from scratch.

Today’s one of those days.

But I’m being told to shelve those feelings. I’m being told to grow some ovaries, genderqueer up, and keep fighting.

When the really ironic thing is, in regard to this particular story, this death that has me feeling so upset, I feel there is not much I can do, concretely. I feel rather helpless to do something in Savita’s memory, to do something to help Ireland’s pro-choice movement, and yet that is exactly what Brighid and Morrigan are calling me to do.

Do the work, They say. That is all They say, today. Do the work.

Savita deserves justice. My love urges me to take action.

I will start with prayer. I will start by writing about this. I will start by refusing to shut up. I will start by reaching out to other activists, asking for their help.

Tonight, I will keep the flame in Brighid’s name, for Savita and for Ireland. I will lend the pro-choice movement there my spiritual strength.

Today, and tomorrow, and for as long as it takes, I will work towards justice for Savita. For all cis women, trans men, and genderqueer afab people in Ireland.

Will you join me?

PBP: Samhain, part 2: Embracing God the Father

Remember when I said Manannan wasn’t a thwap?

I’m thinking perhaps I was wrong.

He’s been very clear, the past month, what He wants from me this Samhain. He wants me to to do a ritual in which I accept His foster-fatherhood over me, and renounce my biological sire for good.

Mind, I did do a ritual to renounce my biological sire (and I told him to get the frack out of my life). But it’s not that simple. Twenty-six years with an abuser means that a few months later and I’m still having thoughts of “Maybe I hurt him. Maybe I should apologize. Maybe I should allow him to be my father again; he doesn’t have much time on this earth left. He’s my father; he’s the only one I have. We do get along…sometimes….

He was very good at getting me to forgive him for everything he did to me. That sort of emotional manipulation doesn’t go away just like that.

Shouldn’t I do more severance rituals first, to cut away his cords from me, before I formally ‘adopt’ You? I asked Manannan today, after doing my first severance ritual.

You cleared away three years of good relationship and a few months of heartache with this one ritual today, He replied. Clearing away your father’s crap will take much longer. I will help you, but first you must do this ritual. For me.

I don’t understand, sometimes, why He cares so much for me. Why I am loved so much by Him. I don’t know why He wants to adopt me.

For now, the why doesn’t matter. I’m loved by the rain and that’s what matters.

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Pagan Blog Project: The Severance

I winged the ritual.

It actually turned out better that way. I was in no state earlier today to write anything coherent or useful — I’d been up all night. I finally crashed at 5:30pm and woke up at midnight so I could do the ritual.

Two candles, one for Persephone and one for Morrigan. Two cups of tea as offering — pomegranate rooibos and yerba mate. Tools for severing connections. The spider-web is to hide the identity of the person in the photograph.

This ritual was to sever astral connections between me and my ex. I’ve had a really shitty month, healthwise, and I’m sure it’s related to my dogged avoidance of any sort of spiritual work. October is my favourite month, but it hasn’t been this year.

The cutting of astral cords was the lightbulb that got flung my way yesterday. In a thread on TC, SkySamuelle mentioned the Morrigan and cutting away lingering energetic cords. This was sort of a duh moment for me — I’ve long known that one of Her mysteries is that of cutting away what doesn’t belong – the attitude of the knife. I just never put two and two together and realized that I’d need Her as well as Persephone for this ritual.

I brewed the tea and lit the candles, and tried to get the charcoal to light so I could burn some of Persephone’s incense. I couldn’t get the damn thing to work so eventually I just gave up and lit the incense itself on fire. I will tackle the Mystery of the Charcoal Brick at some point, I swear.

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The Guilt Cycle

I have done nothing this month. Somehow the entire month is gone already, and I have done nothing. (Spiritually. I’ve been busy in other areas. Very busy.)

The severance ritual has been postponed to…tonight? Is the current plan. Probably a good thing, as I had a lightbulb moment about it that happened today. But on the other hand, I’m now planning on asking both Persephone and the Morrigan for help during this ritual.

And I’ve gone all month without doing anything spiritual. I feel like I need to write some really amazing fantastic ritual that will make up for that.

But my brain is dead and my recovery from con crud and lycanthropy* is slow. I try to think about how to do the ritual and come up with…nothing.

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When you have wounds on the astral body….

This post is more rambling and looking for answers than a solid, coherent piece of writing. Also I talk about maggots and worms and crap (not actual crap; crap used as a substitute for stuff) and it’s pretty gross, so if it creeps you out the way it creeps me out you may not want to read.

Just…be forewarned.

So, I’m sick right now. And it’s weird, because I haven’t really be interacting with people that much in meatspace recently. Basically I’ve been a shut-in.

Also there’s a strange culmination of it and other stuff. Last night I reorganized my yarn boxes and put them all back on the shelf they were on, which was above part of my closet. And then that entire portion of the closet fell down and went boom a little while later, while I was sitting on the couch watching Torchwood.

Over the past two days there have been two spiders in my house — one on the wall, and one in the bathtub — which normally I’d see as normal because normally I live in basement suites. I don’t now, however; I live in an apartment which used to belong to my grandma, and in all the time this place has been in our family (twenty years) I’ve never seen one single spider until this week.

I’ve been having nightmares, which is strange in itself because they’ve been really vivid, and really fucked up, and I’m back on my Zoloft — when I was on the first month of Zoloft I didn’t have any vivid, fucked up nightmares. I had a few mild ones, but nothing like normal. I went off it for a week because I ran out of pills, and now I’m on my new prescription and…the nightmares have intensified. (I realize this could just be delayed withdrawal, and I’m hoping that’s it. But it could also mean something, and I’m not eliminating that as a possibility.)

And then there are the maggots. I’ve kept this place super clean. I’ve been religious about it. And yet, twice in the past week I’ve found a maggot. Once in the bathroom, on the wall, and now in the kitchen, on the wall by the door.

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