Journaling: Week One

shift

The sun rose in the East, and Monday tagged along for the ride. We repeat the same tasks and expect a different outcome, this is insanity. A 591, coffee, and a really odd man all pass by in a blur. In the end, we are but matches in the wind.

step

Monday, the remix, brings more of the same, lacking enthusiasm but packing fuckery. The day grows long and grey, the turning clock building anxiety for the conversations had and about to occur.

pivot

The hardest of conversations happened, my heart bare and open. Bleeding on the floor, I was met with empathy and compassion, lifted by understanding – pity and shame have no place here. Get thee back, Satan, today is not your day.

pivot

Dinner and shoes, correlation does not equal causation, but causation does have correlation. Root cause identified, plans formulated, this is a turning point.

step

There was no Grey Wanderer nor long-haired hippy crying my name in the wilderness. New friends and unexpected joy, I marched on leaving no trace save to my wallet and memory. This was a good day.

step

On the fourth day, she descended into the underworld. The sky grew leaden with purpose, and declarations were made. A conversation: I am not crazy, I am medicated, and I am not alone. More new connections bring greater awareness of just how tiny the world is; circles within circles within circles. Tree rings we all are, growing and expanding.

step

See in the here and now how she rises on the fifth day; see here her joy as she arrives  before the Gates of Valhalla, she is judged and found worthy. Comes now the night, the heavens weep in our presence, and the blessed release of sleep arrives early and stays late.

shift

Resting and renewing, the riddle of surgical steel is answered with a baptism of blood. No good deed goes unpunished, and I learn that combining corsets and pantyhose is a bad idea. Much conversation, some whiskey, and a gift from a friend bring this planetary rotation to a satisfactory close.

shift

Matters of the heart are attended to, the spirit is nourished and refreshed. Companionship is good, and I take comfort in the confidence of others. “To the chariot” we cry, and journey forth to see a beautifully horrible Idea. The body is refueled, remembrances made as we reflect that conversations can never be truly over if we don’t want them to be – even when one party is beyond the veil.

pivot

Relaxing, thoughts turn ahead. The Veil grows thinner day by day, and Samhain draws near. I hear my kinfolk lifting me, holding me, and my grandparents smile at the woman I have become. I check a roar; placing a single red rose on the alter where a white candle burns, solitary. It burns for me, it burns for those that will come after me, and it burns for those that came before me. The center holds, and the circle is unbroken.

pivot

Hail the Ancestors, and hail the honoured dead. Hail my brothers and my sisters, my fathers and my mothers, hail the line of my many peoples that stretch back to the beginning, lift the veil and let it fall, rejoice, rejoice, rejoice.

cue

fin