Breakfast (Brunch?) With Jack

Is it really breakfast still if it happens after noon? I woke up with my shoulders and back in spasm.  Today is the day the new washer arrives and the used, larger, dumber old school refrigerator.  So before my coffee was downed, I moved things on my bread making counter, got up atop it, and slipped down behind my current wide but shallow fridge; to push it straight out into the kitchen to clear the space for its replacement.    Something crunched alarmingly as I pushed it clear.  But, triumphant, I pushed it across the kitchen and plugged it back in on the other side.  Only five minutes later did my husband notice the bloody prints across the floor.

Apparently a piece of glass was the crunch and as I pushed the fridge, I stepped upon it and took a goodly chunk of skin and flesh off one toe.  :::sigh::: That kind of day?  We bandaged my toe and I dressed to go to lunch with the Germans anyway — delivery won’t be till afternoon.  By the time I arrived, my back was being a misery and my toe, inside my low boot, felt oddly squishy wet.  My appetizer was a shot of Jack Daniels to kill the pain and close surface capillaries.

But it is not the thing to quit.  Minor hassles are – well, minor.  Fuck them.  So, why, those of you here ask, the privacy of shut doors here at Steel Kachinas?  Because physical hassles are easy to see, feel, and address.  Here, we will be discussing more subtle hard-to-track and react sorts of hassles.  Here we will have to discuss things others might dismiss as mere shadows.  But even shadows have their effect, their beauty and elusive qualities measured only on the subtle human soul, don’t you think?

Shadows, reflections, and invisible things – that will be our workplace, our tools here.  It feels like we’ve overdosed on Harry Potter, perhaps?   I know that this blog has many followers that boggle my mind; they are Christians and some of them of the liberal philosophical sort, but others  are of the rather fanatic “suffer not a witch to live” mentality.  Sometimes I think they follow my blog as a sort of surveillance – tho’ saying that aloud in print makes me feel like paranoia is my middle name.  Mind you, my personal belief is that their nasty vengeful “only ME” “God” is but a well-fed thought-form being and no really deity at all and they couldn’t “prayer warrior” their way out of a wet paper bag.  I do not want to feel censored, or have any of my viewers and commenters feel that need to self-censor.  Thus, the privacy to openly discuss things that might not be squeaky logic, things that might be paranoia!

Only open discussion will allow us to weed the fears in the garden of our actions.  I tend to do this aggressively.  I too well recall all the spell beggars on AOHell going on and on and on about being hexed and they “knew it by the pimples on their little chins”.  For everything I’ve ever thought might be negative magic in my direction?  I’ve debunked it myself in 90% of the questionable cases.  But even non-magical (don’t say “muggle” or I will throw virtual cat litter bombs at you!) fanatical monotheists CAN cause mischief.  I believe this is because magic or whatever it’s proper name ought to be IS the inheritance of humanity.  So, while their conscious minds might flail and tell their god to do it for them, their unconscious minds might just let fly with something maliciously effective.  Thus, as Hekate Demeter has told on her blog, the need for psychic protective measures.  And non-psychic stuff like a privatized blog.

So, when I am not tossing furniture about like a Klingon girl in love?  I will come up with what we military sorts called the “SOP” — Standard Operating Procedures.  These are not only daily operating procedures, but trouble shooting guides to keep the normal going normally.  Yes, magic has results – both where the person wanted it (if lucky) but also, frequently within the sphere of the practitioner.  This does not mean the 3-fold law is operating, not to me.  Nor do I acknowledge karma.  I acknowledge exhaustion, lack of focus, lack of spell crafting precision.  And yes, I acknowledge attacks.  Most attackers, in my experience, expect the attack to be like a freaking A-bomb: they expect you to drop dead/out of action at once.  Slinging it back at them usually puts them on their ass in every sense of the word.  So, I want to come up with an SOP of what has worked for me since I began, once upon a tentative time in about 1986.

And all of you here, intending to participate may toss in your own suggestions of course, or question mine.  I don’t DO “high priestess” except for the Dead.  So I don’t give commands to any of you any more than I do to them.  I “suggest” and occasionally make warning sounds.  A priestess SERVES.  I serve the dead, and I serve America for which they died.  We must raise a wall to counter the one Trumplethinskin wants to protect him from the brown people – a wall to protect what America was meant to be, what it has tried to be.  We must protect and serve the vulnerable, the powerless, the frightened.  Not with hostility and negative hate; but with an overarching love and compassion that will put itself like a shield betwixt the haters and the America-at-risk.

Make it so!

 

A Few Things Off My Chest

I’ve been troubled on so many levels since November 8th, that I feel a wee bit like Indiana Jones, dropped into the tomb full of snakes. But I like snakes better than I like the things disturbing me, to be honest, because snakes ARE more honest.  They kill to defend or to eat, not to be mean.  People can’t always say that.  I have tattoo’d snakes going up my left arm, and people sometimes shudder to see them.  Snakes don’t make me shudder, people DO!

These things that trouble me, things that marginalize and “liminalize” me, sap my energy.  These are things from my alleged “own side” that make me tilt my head, scrunch my eyes, step back in dismay.  To me, long a student of history and schooled in the ways of “the Red threat” — these are things I could safely categorize as “fifth columnists.”  Do the perpetrators of these troublesome bits KNOW they are a danger to their own side?  I rather doubt it.  They THINK they are helping to whip up the troops.

But they are whipping fears and divisions and hatreds.  They are fanning negative flames instead of building warming home-fires.  What do I mean?  I’m only going to hit a couple examples.

Well, for one thing, almost every day when I get the mail (and email), there is a plea to send money to this or that candidate in some other state.  This bothers the hell out of me.  To me, the people IN that state are the ones who should have the say in THEIR election.  Some years ago, here in Washington State, there was an effort to get through a bill about gun sales.  And oh, the OUTRAGE of the Democrats that the NRA and their many “civilian” supporters sent money from OUT of STATE to “interfere with OUR election!”  Well, pot meets kettle, don’t you think?  IF it is wrong for the Right to do it; why would it be right for the Left to do it?  Yes, I am big on the idea of fighting fire with fire — but you have to know when that fire is going wild to burn EVERYthing.  So hell no, my money will not go to other states even to support candidates for ‘my’ side; I think that is a political SIN to interfere in the sovereign voting rights of other citizens of my country.  . I think that is overstepping the bounds of political decency.

Then there is this little hate-clad thing about the wife of the Presidential Celebrity Apprentice (because ISN’T he an apprentice?). First there were snarky signs: “Melania, are you alright?”  That was semi-funny.  But also semi-sad; because when I looked at most of the photos, she actually looked tense, possibly frightened.  She looked like a woman doing an unwanted performance and she was largely ignored by her husband as she did it.  Then there were bloggers saying, “Well, first I felt a little sorry for her, but she married the jerk — so she can lie in that bed.”  Wow.  How fucking compassionate is THAT?

This woman was an immigrant.  Personally, having been hungry and desperate enough to want to run away from where I was in my life?  Had I actually run and an apparently rich and powerful man offered me marriage so I could stop worrying about hunger and a roof over my head?  I’d likely have taken him up on it, too.  And any of you out there sneering down your nose about now, saying “Fucking never!” – tell me how hungry you have been.  Tell me how much you struggled and for how long with NO help before you judge me OR her, ok?  Does she regret her choice now?   I don’t know; judging by his divorce record I’d say chances are she might.  I sort of wish that wasn’t true for her sake – because an unhappy marriage is such a hell that starvation doesn’t sound like such a bad way to go.

So, if it was shitty of the Republicans to trash Hillary, and her daughter?  If it was wrong to call First Lady Obama an “ape” — by what fucking fair play rules is it right to pick on a woman who still sounds like she struggles a bit with English and is just hoping to raise her son in peace?  Also, it is pretty shitty fucking feminism to blame a woman for her husband’s bad behavior; remember how you ALL said that when Trump blasted Hillary Clinton with Bill Clinton’s bad actions?  

So if you want to be spoken to civilly by ME?  Knock that classless shit OFF.  STAY on the message instead of engaging in cruel, useless ad-hominem attacks on wives of ANYone.    About now, I’m sure someone wonders why this largely political post is here on my “spiritual blog”?  Well, because if a person believes in attempting magic?  They need to know something about the energy the practitioner  is going to be trying to throw about, ok?

IF the witch/magician/sorcerer/shaman/priest/priestess is polluted with hate, anger of the wrong sort, etc?  Then their magical energetic aim is NOT coming from a premier source and it damages the effectiveness of the working.  This was clear in Dion Fortune’s letters, as I recall.  She told her groups to keep working positive — to focus not on attacks, but protections; not on tearing down, but on building up.  And that resonates for me with political action.  We can resist all the horror we want, but if ALL we do is react to dreadful things and fear?  We are not building something effective in which to survive and live.  That counts politically and magically.

So, as this blog will soon go private, and I will send invites and accept emails asking for invites — let it be known, if you do NOT clean up your own act first, you will not be part of this virtual circle.  Trust me, it’s not easy.  I know.  I am a bite and smite special, myself; but I know when I have to bank the fires of anger to keep the warmth and avoid the melt-down.  I have to MAKE myself look to what makes it better.  IF this post gets you all riled up and righteous about “who the hell does she think she is?”  Well, then I am almost certainly talking to you.

Don’t just get scared by the world that needs fighting, get righteously angry at the wrongs being done.  But don’t just get angry – get rationally and constructively engaged.  To do that from a place of pure flowing energy means you can’t pour emotional/political poisons into the fucking cauldron!

A Tale of Two Dreams, Horror and Warning….(trigger warning)

2016-11-19-0001I dream vividly, in great detail and full color. Thus, when I have the very rare nightmare; these, too, are not sparing in detail. I’ve been sick for over three weeks and that makes my dreams even more wild it seems. I had a real doozy last night, the kind of thing you wake from, in a sickening sweat and shaking.

A President sits in the White House – a proven liar, a sexist, a sexual predator, a misogynist, a con man, a cheat, and possibly a traitor in debt to Russians.  This and being sick is not a great combination.  No wonder I had a horrid dream, I told myself, arms around my own knees at 0400 this morning.  But the revulsion still has me feeling nausea – I regret my breakfast attempts.

So, I must put it down on paper, I must pull it out of my head and see it on black and white.  If you are reading it, I found the courage to hit “publish”!  If you are a sexual abuse victim, I warn you not to read further. I am NOT being silly or politically correct — this dream shook ME.

In my dream, I had company – a friend I almost never see as she lives far away.  She had come to visit and brought a woman friend of hers to meet me.  We were having coffee when the doorbell rang.  At the door was an incredible sight, which was rolled into my family room.  The man pushing this wheeled contraption unfurled a paper scroll like some prop from an old “tyrant king” flick — something John of England would have read aloud by minions just before peasants got abused.  He read this absurd looking scroll to us.

It announced that the government had a new crime prevention strategy, since public executions had not drawn the crowds expected.  They wanted ordinary citizens – men and women – to SEE the punishments of crime, so as to properly understand deterrence.  Now, I must describe the horrible thing he rolled into my home.

It had a flat bed atop six or eight wheels.  On it was a nude woman, on her hands and knees – as if she was getting ready to do a yoga pose like “the cat”.  But her knees were strapped in place in a very wide stance, as were her ankles.  Around her waist was another large band tying her to a horizontal cross bar above her back. She could drop her elbows and sag forward, for instance, but her body was more or less locked in the sexual position called “doggy style”.  Behind her was a kneeling pad, as if she was the most obscene prie-dieu ever devised.

The man, rolling up his scroll, announced that he wanted to park this somewhere where all three of us could sit in a row where we could see him and he could see us.  This monstrous thing was too large to turn into my living room, he pushed it through into the den, where a platform bed is a nook in the wall and ordered us to sit on the bed.  He was armed, so we obeyed – dead silent and utterly shocked.

This woman, he told us, was arrested for prostitution.  She needed to be taught better ways and the government was merciful once she had learned, he said.  After all, he said in a confiding, oily sort of voice – he himself had done time for rape, but now was forgiven and given a place in “law enforcement.”  He locked a break on the wheeled hellish “prie-dieu” made of a bound woman’s body and stepped onto it.  “If she wants to fuck outside of proper marriage, she will now BE fucked!” he announced, suddenly undoing his belt and zipper and dropping his pants.  (And his gun belt, as it happens.)  He dropped to his knees and began raping the woman in front of us.  She sagged in her bindings, weeping.

I felt a terrible paralysis.  My friend put her arm around her younger friend, who was whimpering.  I tried to reach for her hand and found I could not move.  I could feel tears on my face, my teeth were clenched and I could taste blood and then my fingers suddenly unfroze and I clenched my friend’s hand briefly.  I couldn’t bear this.   I drew my knees up to my chest, which made the law enforcement rapist turn his head sharply to look at me.  I put my arms round my knees and put my head atop them — this expression of proper fear pacified the rapist and he looked back to his work, grabbed the woman’s hips and pounded on.

Another five seconds passed.  He didn’t look at me again, as I released my clenched fingers and brought both my booted feet forward hard, directly into his hip joint.  He flew off his prie-dieu and bounced off the large heavy brewing table on the other side of the room.  I leapt to my feet, as did my friends.  Before another thing happened, however, I woke – upright and shaking in my bed.  There was blood in my mouth, tears on my face.

DO I expect something so horrific from the Trump Administration?  Is that even sane?  I could never have even envisioned such a thing in my waking life!  It is enough that such a horrible vision could even be suggested; such fear unbound, unleashed, and loose in my head.  My dream, for me, is recognition of the threat embodied by the type of mentalities behind Trump.  My dream warns me not to think there is a low this new President would not sink to, to achieve his own idea of winning.

More than eight years ago, while Bush the Simply Stupid was President, I had a similarly scary dream.  In retrospect, it was so prettily framed compared to my latest nightmare.

I was one of many peasants, harvesting a golden field of grain, by hand.  In the distance there was a golden dais, complete with billowing golden draperies moving in the summer wind.  The huge thing was empty, which in the dream felt reassuring for some odd reason.  Then a sound began, a terrible bellowing, trumpeting with the attendant sounds of screams and crashings.  People dropped their sickles, scythes and other tools and began to run.  I was frozen in place, and into my most distant field of view came a giant elephant, magnificently caparisoned in gold cloth and jewels.  The tusks were ringed with shining brass.  It was rogue and maddened – swinging the massive head and tossing humans, animals, and furnishings before it.  I looked once more and ran, and running, woke.

I thought my imagination had finally just gone nuts; what the fuck does that kind of thing even mean?  The GOP rampant and mad?  Well, hell, they had been there for a while – then calling what was once called “the loyal opposition” treacherous and disloyal for even disagreeing with them.  Now, looking back — I have to wonder with a superstitious chill of the spine, if I saw the Donald; he of gold curtains and an unmitigated ego?

I don’t want to believe in dreams.  But then, I didn’t want to believe Donald Trump would ever inhabit the White House either, did I?

Birthday Month – Yes I AM Still…

I continue to run down the Huff Post article –

6. “You are still ….”

As the article says, this statements makes clear that being old is bad.  But more?  I think it makes the ones clinging to youth like a poodle to a drunk guy’s ankle feel safe from what they fear age IS.

And yes,  be afraid.  Because yes, I am still a:

Sexy

Sexual

Mouthy

Nervy

Assertive

Bossy

Pushy

Strong

Powerful

Irreverent

Sarcastic

Opinionated

Courageous

Ass-kicking, name-taking Woman!