To initiate is to begin
But now that the initiation ritual is passed, I read this and have an initial reaction that I haven’t really started anything. But then I stop and realize I am doing some things, and some meaningful things, mostly in the context of Mark Anthony’s class. It has been good. Where the initial reaction and frustration come in is with looking at the suggested study list for Minerval and having the usual reactions of intimidation for never getting it done coupled with lust for having it all done and perfected now. This will happen in its own due time with steady reasonable effort.
A few days ago I finished reading The Chicken Qabalah of Rabbi Lamed ben Clifford. Great book. The combination of humor, common terminology and metaphor really did the trick. Great book, and I’ll have to re-read it soon (and more slowly and carefully).
Thursday, January 27, 2005
Sunday, January 16, 2005
43 Skidoo & Gnostic Mass
In the immediate wake of my Minerval, my mind went blank - at least for writing in my journal. Then, starting a few nights ago, the thought started coming again. Fast, though not furious. I should have captured more of them, but life was just moving too fast and I never took the time. Nevertheless, here is a bit of what I remember.
An expected friend wasn’t at the Minerval, for all of her expressed excitement beforehand. It was a disappointment, but then my expectations wee misplaced.
Just after my Minerval, Mark Anthony announced the Thelemic Magick and Mysticism class to be taught weekly, every Thursday night at 7:00. So I rearranged my workout and work schedules and have been attending. So far so good. It has been a growing crowd, and only one loose wheel in the bunch (but a congenial and harmless loose wheel). Actually, I have given the loose wheel a ride home a few times and he’s a fit flaky, but then even as he acts the flake he’ll babble about a topic and have the most amazing information, both in quality and sheer quantity, roll out his mouth.
Once again, my initial impulse is to write something like ‘no big moments or revelations yet’, but then I have to stop and correct myself. It is true the heavens have not opened and, with the singing of the seraphic hosts, imparted to us secret wisdom in the voice of Metatron. But there have been some small things that, in thinking of them, may not really be that small.
First among these small things is writing an essay after the first week on “What is my Will”. It was good to have a formal writing assignment and clean the cobwebs from that part of my psyche. But this is also the first time I have taken on the task of formally defining my Will. For a supposed Thelemite, this is a profound indictment of The Wombat. Only after finishing the essay did I realize how vexing this omission was for me and how refreshing it is to have it corrected, even if the end result was the following:
I do not know what my True Will is
It is my will to find my True Will
It is my will to use the teachings, practices and brotherhood of the O.T.O. to find and realize my True Will
After the first class I had an interesting conversation about the situation with Kathleen and not having a lover, etc. It produced an interesting nudge in my outlook, albeit in a direction I was heading anyway. One of the things she ran by me was the “If you really had to” notion. “If you either had to get laid tonight or die (literally), you would be able to get laid, even if it was with Kathleen.” The point being, none of really needs the things we pine for. We get along just fine without them and obviously have some reason for choosing not to take the have to route and doing without instead.
Another good thing about the class is that we are all being encouraged (forced kicking and screaming) to begin a simple daily practice of Yoga. It has been educational and refreshing to get back into a daily practice. We have also been encouraged to record the results of our practices in a Magickal Journal, so that is where the details of my practice will be found (not cluttering up this narrative).
I attended Gnostic Mass last night at the shop above Jack’s Drum and Guitar. This was the second Mass I have attended with J.P. being the priest. The first time was over a year ago, and the man intimidated the hell out of me, as have others associated with the O.T.O. and The Mass. But this was totally different. As I helped set up for Mass, and as the ritual progressed, I felt myself the equal of each and every person there. I had no illusions that I was equal to them in knowledge or practice or accomplishment, but on the root level I felt no lower and no higher. We are all Men among Men (Women among Women). Since then, I have retained this feeling. I have also come to realize that my knowledge of Thelema and related ideas is on par with most of the people in the Oasis. I also have some small capital in experience, but not near so much as the others. But I have potential and I am working to realize this potential. It feels good to feel equal.
It was also interesting to watch Jeffery perform the Star Ruby in preparing for the ritual. Somewhat dramatic, but not the way I would have done it. I’ve seen other people do the ritual, and have made similar observations. This got me to thinking about rituals, and variations, and what it “right” or “wrong” in doing a common ritual. I have concluded that such variations are of little or no consequence - each mage does what resonates within the self. This doesn’t mean that you can depart wildly from the script without raising an eyebrow or two, or even having a short talk with the person in charge of an event (in the case of public ritual). But it does mean that, so long as there is a basic understanding of the core of the ritual, and so long as variations are reasonable, there is no right, no wrong, and no need to criticize. For example, at the beginning of the Star Ruby, is it said “So-Eeee” (the way I do it), or “So-Eye” (the way I’ve heard everyone else do it). I suppose I am “wrong” on this point, but it works for me, so I do it.
After that first class with Mark, I had an interesting conversation with Amber where we poked at the idea of desperation for companionship as opposed to dumping the desperation but placing the self in the path of possible companionship. In other words, just go do the things you love and don’t be surprised when you bump into that special someone. This isn’t a new idea for me, but I never seem to get off my ass and actually play the script to its logical ending. This was another nudge in the direction that I have been heading, and am mostly arrived at, that I just need to stop jonesing for sex. I’ve lived long enough without it, I’ll continue to live, so get over it. The more concrete result is that I’ve stopped obsessing on the young attractive wenches I encounter (A few members of the local O.T.O. and a fw more in the Provo pagan scene). Besides, as related, with at least Andrea there are plenty of reasons why anything with her could be real bad news.
On larger issues, I’ve been trying to find a balance between the two common extremes (at least for me) in my new association with the O.T.O.. On the one side I am resisting the urge to overdo the whole thing and spend every waking moment obsessing on it, surrounding myself in piles of books and grand numbered lists (after which I will collapse under the weight of it all and end up doing little or nothing). On the other side I need to overcome inertia, laziness and distractions. The deal is to find the sweet middle ground of a steady reasonable effort.
As a short random note, I’ve mentioned that the number 43 haunted my up to my Minerval. But 48 has also screwed with me - so what happens in 5 years?
An expected friend wasn’t at the Minerval, for all of her expressed excitement beforehand. It was a disappointment, but then my expectations wee misplaced.
Just after my Minerval, Mark Anthony announced the Thelemic Magick and Mysticism class to be taught weekly, every Thursday night at 7:00. So I rearranged my workout and work schedules and have been attending. So far so good. It has been a growing crowd, and only one loose wheel in the bunch (but a congenial and harmless loose wheel). Actually, I have given the loose wheel a ride home a few times and he’s a fit flaky, but then even as he acts the flake he’ll babble about a topic and have the most amazing information, both in quality and sheer quantity, roll out his mouth.
Once again, my initial impulse is to write something like ‘no big moments or revelations yet’, but then I have to stop and correct myself. It is true the heavens have not opened and, with the singing of the seraphic hosts, imparted to us secret wisdom in the voice of Metatron. But there have been some small things that, in thinking of them, may not really be that small.
First among these small things is writing an essay after the first week on “What is my Will”. It was good to have a formal writing assignment and clean the cobwebs from that part of my psyche. But this is also the first time I have taken on the task of formally defining my Will. For a supposed Thelemite, this is a profound indictment of The Wombat. Only after finishing the essay did I realize how vexing this omission was for me and how refreshing it is to have it corrected, even if the end result was the following:
I do not know what my True Will is
It is my will to find my True Will
It is my will to use the teachings, practices and brotherhood of the O.T.O. to find and realize my True Will
After the first class I had an interesting conversation about the situation with Kathleen and not having a lover, etc. It produced an interesting nudge in my outlook, albeit in a direction I was heading anyway. One of the things she ran by me was the “If you really had to” notion. “If you either had to get laid tonight or die (literally), you would be able to get laid, even if it was with Kathleen.” The point being, none of really needs the things we pine for. We get along just fine without them and obviously have some reason for choosing not to take the have to route and doing without instead.
Another good thing about the class is that we are all being encouraged (forced kicking and screaming) to begin a simple daily practice of Yoga. It has been educational and refreshing to get back into a daily practice. We have also been encouraged to record the results of our practices in a Magickal Journal, so that is where the details of my practice will be found (not cluttering up this narrative).
I attended Gnostic Mass last night at the shop above Jack’s Drum and Guitar. This was the second Mass I have attended with J.P. being the priest. The first time was over a year ago, and the man intimidated the hell out of me, as have others associated with the O.T.O. and The Mass. But this was totally different. As I helped set up for Mass, and as the ritual progressed, I felt myself the equal of each and every person there. I had no illusions that I was equal to them in knowledge or practice or accomplishment, but on the root level I felt no lower and no higher. We are all Men among Men (Women among Women). Since then, I have retained this feeling. I have also come to realize that my knowledge of Thelema and related ideas is on par with most of the people in the Oasis. I also have some small capital in experience, but not near so much as the others. But I have potential and I am working to realize this potential. It feels good to feel equal.
It was also interesting to watch Jeffery perform the Star Ruby in preparing for the ritual. Somewhat dramatic, but not the way I would have done it. I’ve seen other people do the ritual, and have made similar observations. This got me to thinking about rituals, and variations, and what it “right” or “wrong” in doing a common ritual. I have concluded that such variations are of little or no consequence - each mage does what resonates within the self. This doesn’t mean that you can depart wildly from the script without raising an eyebrow or two, or even having a short talk with the person in charge of an event (in the case of public ritual). But it does mean that, so long as there is a basic understanding of the core of the ritual, and so long as variations are reasonable, there is no right, no wrong, and no need to criticize. For example, at the beginning of the Star Ruby, is it said “So-Eeee” (the way I do it), or “So-Eye” (the way I’ve heard everyone else do it). I suppose I am “wrong” on this point, but it works for me, so I do it.
After that first class with Mark, I had an interesting conversation with Amber where we poked at the idea of desperation for companionship as opposed to dumping the desperation but placing the self in the path of possible companionship. In other words, just go do the things you love and don’t be surprised when you bump into that special someone. This isn’t a new idea for me, but I never seem to get off my ass and actually play the script to its logical ending. This was another nudge in the direction that I have been heading, and am mostly arrived at, that I just need to stop jonesing for sex. I’ve lived long enough without it, I’ll continue to live, so get over it. The more concrete result is that I’ve stopped obsessing on the young attractive wenches I encounter (A few members of the local O.T.O. and a fw more in the Provo pagan scene). Besides, as related, with at least Andrea there are plenty of reasons why anything with her could be real bad news.
On larger issues, I’ve been trying to find a balance between the two common extremes (at least for me) in my new association with the O.T.O.. On the one side I am resisting the urge to overdo the whole thing and spend every waking moment obsessing on it, surrounding myself in piles of books and grand numbered lists (after which I will collapse under the weight of it all and end up doing little or nothing). On the other side I need to overcome inertia, laziness and distractions. The deal is to find the sweet middle ground of a steady reasonable effort.
As a short random note, I’ve mentioned that the number 43 haunted my up to my Minerval. But 48 has also screwed with me - so what happens in 5 years?
Saturday, January 08, 2005
Minerval
Existential angst tour 2005. 5:20 PM at Steamers. I took out my Minerval initiation today. It was at D.H.'s place, with D. officiating. True to my previous journal entry, I studiously avoided doing anything to prepare. To initiate is to begin. So I knew that the ritual was the time to begin. So I didn’t begin before the beginning. It was interesting, but if I write anything at all about it, it will be after I’ve had some time to digest the events.
Driving home, as I hit the freeway entrance, I was thinking to myself that I sure didn’t feel any different. But then I realized that...it was a beginning. Not the end. So I wasn’t supposed to feel different or changed or complete or anything. I was supposed to begin. Actually, we had a conversation earlier that rituals do that - they leave you feeling like, “So what?” Then the next morning you wake up in a totally different world. But as of now, I’m just the same old guy, with the same old ache in the pit of my stomach on the drive home, the same doubts, etc.
Before going home I headed north to the cemetery to pay homage to my dad. Then, I allowed my car to drive me to Golden Braid. Lo and behold, there was Bill, formerly of the O.T.O.. (He does tarot reads there). It was an uncomfortable conversation for the first bit. At first I didn’t want to mention the Minerval, but when I did it actually brightened him up a bit. Somewhere in there I said thank you to him “for all he had done.” His brows knit in question marks. Then I told him I understood his questioning, but he really had done something for me. What I didn’t tell him was that the conversation at Pagan Pride Day, and helping with the mass, really made up my mind to take this path.
Driving home, as I hit the freeway entrance, I was thinking to myself that I sure didn’t feel any different. But then I realized that...it was a beginning. Not the end. So I wasn’t supposed to feel different or changed or complete or anything. I was supposed to begin. Actually, we had a conversation earlier that rituals do that - they leave you feeling like, “So what?” Then the next morning you wake up in a totally different world. But as of now, I’m just the same old guy, with the same old ache in the pit of my stomach on the drive home, the same doubts, etc.
Before going home I headed north to the cemetery to pay homage to my dad. Then, I allowed my car to drive me to Golden Braid. Lo and behold, there was Bill, formerly of the O.T.O.. (He does tarot reads there). It was an uncomfortable conversation for the first bit. At first I didn’t want to mention the Minerval, but when I did it actually brightened him up a bit. Somewhere in there I said thank you to him “for all he had done.” His brows knit in question marks. Then I told him I understood his questioning, but he really had done something for me. What I didn’t tell him was that the conversation at Pagan Pride Day, and helping with the mass, really made up my mind to take this path.
Friday, January 07, 2005
Small Sacrifices
In her novel The Sea Priestess, Dione Fortune stated that any true temple demands a sacrifice. In this story the sacrifice was the retarded son of one of the workman constructing the edifice. In Kate's life, this was her cat "Soji" who died the week before she opened her shop A Different Path. Earlier this evening, Kathleen and I buried Smudge, out beloved cat, a Siamese/Calico mix, just to the west of the circle in our back yard. Tomorrow, my 43rd birthday, I will take out my Minerval initiation into the O.T.O..
All of my life, since puberty(?!?), the number 43 has dogged me - not always nipping at my heels, but waiting for the moment that I would barely forget it, then rising up and giving me a friendly bite on the ass, thus restoring its small place in my psyche: Scout Troop 43, route 43 for the Daily Herald (my first job), numbers assigned to me in school and such. I had intended to take my Minerval at least a year earlier, but things conspired against me. First there was stuff with Kathleen (such as nursing he when she hurt her shoulder, time spent out of the country, etc.), then trying to set it up with Bill and having that fall apart. Then things turned around when I found out about Mass at Pam’s (which was actually intended to be a members only event). I got the papers there (as recounted above) and everything just fell into place for the 8th. Shazam.
The one thing that bothers me in this script - the one thing I can't quantify, figure out, and place a measure to - is the fact that it wasn’t my cat that was the sacrifice, but Kathleen’s, or better still Shannon’s. Why would some one else sacrifice for my temple? But then, in the novel, it was the son of the workman, not of the priestess, that was let go.
All of my life, since puberty(?!?), the number 43 has dogged me - not always nipping at my heels, but waiting for the moment that I would barely forget it, then rising up and giving me a friendly bite on the ass, thus restoring its small place in my psyche: Scout Troop 43, route 43 for the Daily Herald (my first job), numbers assigned to me in school and such. I had intended to take my Minerval at least a year earlier, but things conspired against me. First there was stuff with Kathleen (such as nursing he when she hurt her shoulder, time spent out of the country, etc.), then trying to set it up with Bill and having that fall apart. Then things turned around when I found out about Mass at Pam’s (which was actually intended to be a members only event). I got the papers there (as recounted above) and everything just fell into place for the 8th. Shazam.
The one thing that bothers me in this script - the one thing I can't quantify, figure out, and place a measure to - is the fact that it wasn’t my cat that was the sacrifice, but Kathleen’s, or better still Shannon’s. Why would some one else sacrifice for my temple? But then, in the novel, it was the son of the workman, not of the priestess, that was let go.
Sunday, January 02, 2005
Tits on a Platter Vs. Kenya Dark
Yesterday was another Saturday without mail delivery. The family stayed up to ring in the new year. I went to bed an hour early, having lost a battle to the effects of swilling down an entire bottle of Champagne (extra dry). This morning's missive is being written at Juice and Java. I've given up on Steamers, for a little while at least, as being a bad place to try to write or read. They also don't open early enough on Sundays. I sort of hate to admit it, but the people at Steamers are (how do a say this) a bit below what would prefer to associate with. I speak this mainly in terms of conduct and motivation. If I have to look at the barista's 'tits on a platter' show one more time, I'll lose all self control and say something she will regret. Perhaps I will someday tell the other barista to just shut up and stop being the Universal Instant Expert.
Bonus - I just discovered, to my delight, that the Kenya Dark they serve here at J&J has a real punch to it.
Last week was a short one at work, with one day trimmed off the front for Christmas, and another off the end for New Years Eve. I'm really getting sick of time off. I don't get enough done at work and I don't have anything lined up at home to make my time there worthwhile. Wait. I misstate. I have plenty to do at home, this being proved by the list on the computer that I just took a peek at. The real problem is that I allow myself to get waylaid by the diversions and distractions. It will be good to return to work for a long string of full work weeks. Much to do, and for once it is the right stuff (not fruitless diversions) and only a bit behind schedule.
Last Wednesday was a class at the Sprague Branch Library, put on by the O.T.O.. The original plan was for Gretchen to present on the Mystic Rose, but she had to cancel. Too bad, because a part of me was curious to see if our previous conversation would come up and continue itself. But the class we did get was well worth the time. Thomas did a presentation on Vibrating Holy Names. It had a lot of overlap with the CM presentation in Phoenix. It confirmed some things from that class, then complemented and expanded others. It was good.
Thursday on the way home for my extended weekend, I purchased a copy of The Chicken Qabalah of Rabbi Lamed Ben Clifford by Lon Milo DuQuette. I had seen the book and would have dismissed it if not for the author. Then it was recommended by Thomas, then I learned that another of DuQuette's books, The Magick of Aleister Crowley, is recommended on the O.T.O. main web page as a better beginner's manual for the fledgling Thelemite than Magick in Theory and Practice (which is said to be better suited to more advanced students). So...... I bought it. So far I am still in the first few chapters, so it is all about laying the paving stones and not yet about traveling the path, but it has offered some good insights and some better laughs. It looks like money well spent.
As to The Magick of Aleister Crowley, I have two copies on the way from Amazon - one for me and one for Kate. She wanted me to send her a book that would let her know what is going on with these crazy Thelemites (or something like that). I phrased it in terms of wanting to know what is going on with the Andy, but she said that was wrong - that is was the O.T.O. and CM thing. This didn't really ring true to me, but then I think between conversations with me and other recent exposures to the CM/O.T.O. gestalt, she may have concluded that she really doesn't know what is going on with the whole thing. Or as an alternate theory, I think she took one sliver of Ceremonial Magick and assumed it applies to every person who chooses to wear the CM label - sort of like meeting a fringe member of the Mormon church (as portrayed in any of a hundred Pat Bagley cartoons) and assuming all Mormons are like this. It could be fun reading the books in tandem and having a few good conversations.
The big news came last night. About 10:00 PM I got a call from Pam. My Minerval is scheduled for noon next Saturday. It will be at Dave's place.
While out walking yesterday I was wondering how to prepare for the Minerval. Then I realized that the Minerval is not 'to be prepared for'. It marks the beginning of the time of preparation, with the first degree ritual being the object of preparations. So I smiled inwardly and determined to just live life and not do anything special to prepare. Just make sure I am sober and rested and in the right place at the right time. Wait for the books to come in from Amazon. Read the Chicken Qabalah. Get the UNIX docs wrapped up from work. Normal life.
The same problem, but on a lower plane, is with the new year. I was tempted to mark the new year with some sort of 'must do something' reaction, then had to remind myself that my year begins on the eighth. I don't have any plans for the Existential Angst Tour, and I don't think plans are needed. For Saturday, my hands will be full with the Minerval. For Sunday, that is when I will plan the next year. No matter where I go, there I am. So the planning (or The Tour) might take place at home - no....not at home... - in one or more coffee shops, a Denny's, the Mall, a local park, or something like that. Just find a place where Andy can have a private conversation with Andy.
Bonus - I just discovered, to my delight, that the Kenya Dark they serve here at J&J has a real punch to it.
Last week was a short one at work, with one day trimmed off the front for Christmas, and another off the end for New Years Eve. I'm really getting sick of time off. I don't get enough done at work and I don't have anything lined up at home to make my time there worthwhile. Wait. I misstate. I have plenty to do at home, this being proved by the list on the computer that I just took a peek at. The real problem is that I allow myself to get waylaid by the diversions and distractions. It will be good to return to work for a long string of full work weeks. Much to do, and for once it is the right stuff (not fruitless diversions) and only a bit behind schedule.
Last Wednesday was a class at the Sprague Branch Library, put on by the O.T.O.. The original plan was for Gretchen to present on the Mystic Rose, but she had to cancel. Too bad, because a part of me was curious to see if our previous conversation would come up and continue itself. But the class we did get was well worth the time. Thomas did a presentation on Vibrating Holy Names. It had a lot of overlap with the CM presentation in Phoenix. It confirmed some things from that class, then complemented and expanded others. It was good.
Thursday on the way home for my extended weekend, I purchased a copy of The Chicken Qabalah of Rabbi Lamed Ben Clifford by Lon Milo DuQuette. I had seen the book and would have dismissed it if not for the author. Then it was recommended by Thomas, then I learned that another of DuQuette's books, The Magick of Aleister Crowley, is recommended on the O.T.O. main web page as a better beginner's manual for the fledgling Thelemite than Magick in Theory and Practice (which is said to be better suited to more advanced students). So...... I bought it. So far I am still in the first few chapters, so it is all about laying the paving stones and not yet about traveling the path, but it has offered some good insights and some better laughs. It looks like money well spent.
As to The Magick of Aleister Crowley, I have two copies on the way from Amazon - one for me and one for Kate. She wanted me to send her a book that would let her know what is going on with these crazy Thelemites (or something like that). I phrased it in terms of wanting to know what is going on with the Andy, but she said that was wrong - that is was the O.T.O. and CM thing. This didn't really ring true to me, but then I think between conversations with me and other recent exposures to the CM/O.T.O. gestalt, she may have concluded that she really doesn't know what is going on with the whole thing. Or as an alternate theory, I think she took one sliver of Ceremonial Magick and assumed it applies to every person who chooses to wear the CM label - sort of like meeting a fringe member of the Mormon church (as portrayed in any of a hundred Pat Bagley cartoons) and assuming all Mormons are like this. It could be fun reading the books in tandem and having a few good conversations.
The big news came last night. About 10:00 PM I got a call from Pam. My Minerval is scheduled for noon next Saturday. It will be at Dave's place.
While out walking yesterday I was wondering how to prepare for the Minerval. Then I realized that the Minerval is not 'to be prepared for'. It marks the beginning of the time of preparation, with the first degree ritual being the object of preparations. So I smiled inwardly and determined to just live life and not do anything special to prepare. Just make sure I am sober and rested and in the right place at the right time. Wait for the books to come in from Amazon. Read the Chicken Qabalah. Get the UNIX docs wrapped up from work. Normal life.
The same problem, but on a lower plane, is with the new year. I was tempted to mark the new year with some sort of 'must do something' reaction, then had to remind myself that my year begins on the eighth. I don't have any plans for the Existential Angst Tour, and I don't think plans are needed. For Saturday, my hands will be full with the Minerval. For Sunday, that is when I will plan the next year. No matter where I go, there I am. So the planning (or The Tour) might take place at home - no....not at home... - in one or more coffee shops, a Denny's, the Mall, a local park, or something like that. Just find a place where Andy can have a private conversation with Andy.
Sunday, December 26, 2004
Saturday Without Mail Delivery
Yesterday was, as I was gleefully telling myself, not Christmas. It was "Saturday without mail delivery". There was the usual up early and open gifts, but then the house emptied at 8:30 and I was alone for nearly 12 hours. The wife and kids started with a breakfast at Heather's then moved on to spend that day with Kathleen's mother. This left me blissfully alone. It ended up being a good day. I ditched my lists and just did what I felt like, lots of computer time, burned a few yiff discs, dressed up some documents for work, worked out, walked, and drank a fairly nice bottle of Australian Shiraz. About mid day I took my brain out for a walk, and was thinking to myself that there are people who would feel sorry for me, spending the day alone. So I stopped and asked myself how I was doing. I realized that I really WAS enjoying the day. It was great. The was also when I decided that it was Saturday Without Mail Delivery.
Sunday, December 12, 2004
Ziggy Stardust and Mack the Knife
What did the church fathers said about the 35th birthday? That you will be JUST LIKE THIS in the resurrection. Today would have been Rick's 35th. If he was still around, I am sure that I would be forcing him to endure the horrors of a party, and a central theme would be to list everything wrong with him and inform him that he was stuck with this for ALL OF ETERNITY. Buwah-ha-ha-ha. I guess I could go on about it, but it all boils down to one thing - I miss the asshole.
One small note - it seems that Rick shares a birthday with Frank Sinatra, just like I share with Elvis and Ziggy Stardust. It seems very fitting.
Last week I quit the Coven here in Provo. We were supposed to meet last Sunday at Steamers. I showed up and found out the hard way that there really wasn't a meeting. I then spent a half hour listening to one member (and employee of the shop) complain about life in general and the coven leader in particular. Then Thursday rolled around and I was looking at coven meeting that night. I realized that I really wasn't looking forward to it, and that if I wasn't looking forward to it then I shouldn't be going. I spent a while thinking it over, especially comparing to my feelings about the O.T.O., where I always looked forward to the meetings. On top of that was the realization that I wouldn't have the time in my schedule to handle both the Coven and the O.T.O.. So I headed over to Steamers and told the woman who was doing the complaining of my decision and to pass the message along to the fearless leader.
In the theatre of the mind, I imagined the leader might put me to some sort of grilling and try to find out what was 'wrong' or what 'the cause' was for me quitting. I determined to tell her that it just wasn't a good fit, nothing wrong with them, but it didn't resonate with me, and that was all. Last night she called to give me her new phone number then asked why I quit. Much to my delight, she accepted my well rehearsed explanation with grace and kindness, and all was good.
Once again I find myself at the end of the year with unused vacation days on my schedule at work. So I am taking Fridays off work again. In some ways it is nice, in others it isn't working put as well as it has in the past. Instead of using the time to play, I've been trying to get things done. Even things from work. For example, on the first Friday (last weekend) I completed some training I had committed to at work. But it went slower than it should have, and most of the time I had Kathleen over my left shoulder at her desk. I don't know what bothered me worse about that: Feeling like she was spying on me, or noticing that she was doing nothing but playing games or screwing around with e-mails. She wasn't DOING anything - just vegetating. How can a person live that way (says the kettle in reference to the pot).
This weekend was more of the same. I had a list of things to do. While I made good progress on it, when taking the weekend as a whole, the Friday portion seemed to be mired.
My one salvation in this has been the work I have been doing with focus. "Focus" is a factor that I chose to invoke into my life about a month ago. Invoking is fine, but you need to do more than just clench your teeth and spit out the pained words..."m-u-s-t - - - f-o-c-u-s". So I did two things, and they seem to combine to do the trick. The first is to make sure I go into the evening or the weekend with a prioritized list. Then during daily Gnosis, there has been a bit of a change to what is recited. The additions are, "I will work the list. I will do it in the order listed. I will not allow distractions." Simple as that. But this brings the observation that one of the easiest and hardest things to do is to identify the problem, then say to yourself, "I will do this. I will not do that." But once the words are spoken, it seems to add force to will, and the job gets done. Today, for example, I really wanted to waste time instead of writing in my journal. But the larger part of me wants to get some thoughts down before they fly. So I remembered what I had invoked, and I sat my ass down and wrote. It felt good. Earlier in the day, I wanted to take some work in the back yard and push it to next weekend. Easy enough. But then I remembered that it was next on the list, and that I told myself I would take things in the order I had initially listed. So I did it. And it felt good. Getting the wood stacked, as on the list, was no big deal. But sticking with my commitment to myself and staying true to my word, that was another.
Ye Gods - I look back on that last paragraph and part of me is appalled that it is written by a 42 year old man and not a teenager. Eek.
One small note - it seems that Rick shares a birthday with Frank Sinatra, just like I share with Elvis and Ziggy Stardust. It seems very fitting.
Last week I quit the Coven here in Provo. We were supposed to meet last Sunday at Steamers. I showed up and found out the hard way that there really wasn't a meeting. I then spent a half hour listening to one member (and employee of the shop) complain about life in general and the coven leader in particular. Then Thursday rolled around and I was looking at coven meeting that night. I realized that I really wasn't looking forward to it, and that if I wasn't looking forward to it then I shouldn't be going. I spent a while thinking it over, especially comparing to my feelings about the O.T.O., where I always looked forward to the meetings. On top of that was the realization that I wouldn't have the time in my schedule to handle both the Coven and the O.T.O.. So I headed over to Steamers and told the woman who was doing the complaining of my decision and to pass the message along to the fearless leader.
In the theatre of the mind, I imagined the leader might put me to some sort of grilling and try to find out what was 'wrong' or what 'the cause' was for me quitting. I determined to tell her that it just wasn't a good fit, nothing wrong with them, but it didn't resonate with me, and that was all. Last night she called to give me her new phone number then asked why I quit. Much to my delight, she accepted my well rehearsed explanation with grace and kindness, and all was good.
Once again I find myself at the end of the year with unused vacation days on my schedule at work. So I am taking Fridays off work again. In some ways it is nice, in others it isn't working put as well as it has in the past. Instead of using the time to play, I've been trying to get things done. Even things from work. For example, on the first Friday (last weekend) I completed some training I had committed to at work. But it went slower than it should have, and most of the time I had Kathleen over my left shoulder at her desk. I don't know what bothered me worse about that: Feeling like she was spying on me, or noticing that she was doing nothing but playing games or screwing around with e-mails. She wasn't DOING anything - just vegetating. How can a person live that way (says the kettle in reference to the pot).
This weekend was more of the same. I had a list of things to do. While I made good progress on it, when taking the weekend as a whole, the Friday portion seemed to be mired.
My one salvation in this has been the work I have been doing with focus. "Focus" is a factor that I chose to invoke into my life about a month ago. Invoking is fine, but you need to do more than just clench your teeth and spit out the pained words..."m-u-s-t - - - f-o-c-u-s". So I did two things, and they seem to combine to do the trick. The first is to make sure I go into the evening or the weekend with a prioritized list. Then during daily Gnosis, there has been a bit of a change to what is recited. The additions are, "I will work the list. I will do it in the order listed. I will not allow distractions." Simple as that. But this brings the observation that one of the easiest and hardest things to do is to identify the problem, then say to yourself, "I will do this. I will not do that." But once the words are spoken, it seems to add force to will, and the job gets done. Today, for example, I really wanted to waste time instead of writing in my journal. But the larger part of me wants to get some thoughts down before they fly. So I remembered what I had invoked, and I sat my ass down and wrote. It felt good. Earlier in the day, I wanted to take some work in the back yard and push it to next weekend. Easy enough. But then I remembered that it was next on the list, and that I told myself I would take things in the order I had initially listed. So I did it. And it felt good. Getting the wood stacked, as on the list, was no big deal. But sticking with my commitment to myself and staying true to my word, that was another.
Ye Gods - I look back on that last paragraph and part of me is appalled that it is written by a 42 year old man and not a teenager. Eek.
Saturday, December 04, 2004
Beastalon!!!!!!!
Last night was the Beastalon fundraising dinner at the Sun and Moon café up Emigration Canyon. Fun party. The after party party was pretty good too.
I was the first to arrive - of course - and had to wait a while for the crew to show up. Dave showed up with his mother. I invited her to sit with me and share a bit of wine. Then she ended up spending the entire dinner with me, and we had a fabulous conversation. I really don't think the dinner could have turned out much better for me. I also had Dave pull me aside and extend a thank-you. He feared his mom wouldn't find anyone to connect with and would spend the evening being the odd person out. I saved her from that fate, and Dave was grateful. From what Jesse had to say, she thought the whole thing turned out pretty nice herself. But looking at it from the view of the cynic, I would wryly observe that is was very convenient to have the old people off in a corner, taking care of themselves, and not bothering the youngsters.
As the evening wound down, I got sucked into a conversation with a few folk. It was pretty good. Eventually, they decided to take the conversation to one of their homes (can't remember the name of the couple). I accepted and presently found myself in a second story flat above the capitol with a gorgeous view of the valley. In short order the conversation divided into the bedroom gathering and the living room gathering. The former got off to a good (?) start by pulling up a bestiality web site and taking a few hits of the sweet stuff. They later devolved into a Terrence McKenna video, strobe lights and the computer having a screen saver that was a slideshow of naughty pictures of the Lady of the House. It was a bit disconcerting to view soft porn while sitting next to the model.
The living room conversation was more to my liking and that is where I ended up. Our drug of choice was wine and the conversation was over Nuit and the idea of there being None, then Two, but no such thing as the One. Once there is something to define itself as the One, then everything outside of the One must be Other, therefore Two. "For I am divided for Love's sake, for the chance of Union."
But, alas, the living room crowd dissolved when a few key people went home. After a while with the Bedroom crowd, sobering up, I went home. But even with the bedroom crowd, it was a fun evening all around. Once again, I felt like I belonged, like I didn't have to force anything or make pretenses or put up fronts.
I was the first to arrive - of course - and had to wait a while for the crew to show up. Dave showed up with his mother. I invited her to sit with me and share a bit of wine. Then she ended up spending the entire dinner with me, and we had a fabulous conversation. I really don't think the dinner could have turned out much better for me. I also had Dave pull me aside and extend a thank-you. He feared his mom wouldn't find anyone to connect with and would spend the evening being the odd person out. I saved her from that fate, and Dave was grateful. From what Jesse had to say, she thought the whole thing turned out pretty nice herself. But looking at it from the view of the cynic, I would wryly observe that is was very convenient to have the old people off in a corner, taking care of themselves, and not bothering the youngsters.
As the evening wound down, I got sucked into a conversation with a few folk. It was pretty good. Eventually, they decided to take the conversation to one of their homes (can't remember the name of the couple). I accepted and presently found myself in a second story flat above the capitol with a gorgeous view of the valley. In short order the conversation divided into the bedroom gathering and the living room gathering. The former got off to a good (?) start by pulling up a bestiality web site and taking a few hits of the sweet stuff. They later devolved into a Terrence McKenna video, strobe lights and the computer having a screen saver that was a slideshow of naughty pictures of the Lady of the House. It was a bit disconcerting to view soft porn while sitting next to the model.
The living room conversation was more to my liking and that is where I ended up. Our drug of choice was wine and the conversation was over Nuit and the idea of there being None, then Two, but no such thing as the One. Once there is something to define itself as the One, then everything outside of the One must be Other, therefore Two. "For I am divided for Love's sake, for the chance of Union."
But, alas, the living room crowd dissolved when a few key people went home. After a while with the Bedroom crowd, sobering up, I went home. But even with the bedroom crowd, it was a fun evening all around. Once again, I felt like I belonged, like I didn't have to force anything or make pretenses or put up fronts.
Wednesday, December 01, 2004
Schmucks in Love
The wheels are in motion. Yesterday I handed over the paperwork for my Minerval initiation. An interesting conversation accompanied this, but it has been redacted. Suffice it to say that, in the time between getting my paperwork and handing it back in, the Oasis suffered scandal and has a new (returning) body master.
My initiation has been a long time coming. In fact is has been years in the making. But it is finally time. Pam replaced the deposed Body Master. I am assuming that mine will be her first initiation since taking the office. When I stop and think, I realize that this is something of a burden. I'm sure everyone already has enough to do without me coming along and asking for a chunk of their time and energy. But that is actually a secondary reaction. My initial reaction before that is the time has come for me to pitch in and help. I know it will be a while for me to advance far enough to make a real contribution, but my time will come. It will be interesting to see how things stand a year from now, or even five years down the road.
It also feels like it is time for me to take my place in the lodge. It is a "gut feeling" thing. I belong. It is meant for me, and I am meant for it. I can't explain it any better than that.
Then, of course, there is the number 43. The way things worked out, pretty much without planning it that way, the best logical date for my initiation turned out to be January 8, 2005. My 43'rd birthday. Then I realized that the number 43 has followed me around for years, since I was a teenager. So maybe this is why I've been followed by 43? Does it all point to birthday 43 as being a turning point? It this a sign post, telling me that I am on course? Maybe. I would like to think so. We'll see.
In other observations, I've been more faithful at doing the adorations of Liber Resh. It has improved my mood and my focus. I'm getting shit done and feeling better. This is a good thing. Even the "Kathleen thing" has improved. I've known for I while that I'm screwing up in the way I treat her. But the combination of inertia, pride and just plain not knowing what else to do has kept me from changing. But after the Karma discussion with A.M. last week, the change has been small (that is one really tough wall to climb, and I'm not ready to climb it yet.)
I'm also picking up that Kate is pissed off about the O.T.O. thing. She will deny this. Maybe she is right - but then maybe not. She sees it as way to structured and anal and heaven knows what else. She has now taken the tack of saying things like, "You follow your heart. You do what calls to you. Good for you. I'm sure you'll love it. Blah, blah, blah." But I've heard the words and the tone of voice before, usually when talking about Barry and his fuck-ups (real or perceived). So what she is really telling me is, "Don't say I didn't warn you. You'll be sorry. Don't come crying to me. You made your bed, now sleep in it. Been nice knowing you." Sigh. I guess I'll just have to prove her wrong.
But then Kate is also getting a taste of come-uppance from the universe. The circle she is in drew lots to see who would take charge and set the agenda for the next year. The deal was to use the tradition the 'winner' was "first trained in." So, who is the person in the circle who most tweaks Kate? Rowan. Why? Because she comes from the most regimented tradition of all the people in the circle. Kate has done a bit of complaining about her. So who won the lottery? Rowan. It gets better - Rowan has asked Kate to be Crone for the year (snigger). Oh yeah - and the Priest (only guy in the group) is my age and is, according to Kate, a putz. Kate says if I was in the circle I would be the obvious first choice for HP (her opinion - others might disagree), so that will add to her tweak factor.
I am taking a very small measure of perverse joy in Kate's suffering. The universe will punish me.
[redacted long rant about friend who is in love and being jilted. Boo hoo.]
I made noises that were pleasant but non-committal. There is nothing else to do.
Schmuck.
I love the man, but the fact is he did this all to himself. He set himself up like a bowling pin, pasted a neon sign to his brow, flashing "Kick me in the ass." Then he all but forced Laura to break his heart for him.
Schmuck.
I suppose the day will come when I can knock him to the ground, sit on his chest and tell him what a schmuck he is. Until then I get to be nice and make the pleasant noises.
My initiation has been a long time coming. In fact is has been years in the making. But it is finally time. Pam replaced the deposed Body Master. I am assuming that mine will be her first initiation since taking the office. When I stop and think, I realize that this is something of a burden. I'm sure everyone already has enough to do without me coming along and asking for a chunk of their time and energy. But that is actually a secondary reaction. My initial reaction before that is the time has come for me to pitch in and help. I know it will be a while for me to advance far enough to make a real contribution, but my time will come. It will be interesting to see how things stand a year from now, or even five years down the road.
It also feels like it is time for me to take my place in the lodge. It is a "gut feeling" thing. I belong. It is meant for me, and I am meant for it. I can't explain it any better than that.
Then, of course, there is the number 43. The way things worked out, pretty much without planning it that way, the best logical date for my initiation turned out to be January 8, 2005. My 43'rd birthday. Then I realized that the number 43 has followed me around for years, since I was a teenager. So maybe this is why I've been followed by 43? Does it all point to birthday 43 as being a turning point? It this a sign post, telling me that I am on course? Maybe. I would like to think so. We'll see.
In other observations, I've been more faithful at doing the adorations of Liber Resh. It has improved my mood and my focus. I'm getting shit done and feeling better. This is a good thing. Even the "Kathleen thing" has improved. I've known for I while that I'm screwing up in the way I treat her. But the combination of inertia, pride and just plain not knowing what else to do has kept me from changing. But after the Karma discussion with A.M. last week, the change has been small (that is one really tough wall to climb, and I'm not ready to climb it yet.)
I'm also picking up that Kate is pissed off about the O.T.O. thing. She will deny this. Maybe she is right - but then maybe not. She sees it as way to structured and anal and heaven knows what else. She has now taken the tack of saying things like, "You follow your heart. You do what calls to you. Good for you. I'm sure you'll love it. Blah, blah, blah." But I've heard the words and the tone of voice before, usually when talking about Barry and his fuck-ups (real or perceived). So what she is really telling me is, "Don't say I didn't warn you. You'll be sorry. Don't come crying to me. You made your bed, now sleep in it. Been nice knowing you." Sigh. I guess I'll just have to prove her wrong.
But then Kate is also getting a taste of come-uppance from the universe. The circle she is in drew lots to see who would take charge and set the agenda for the next year. The deal was to use the tradition the 'winner' was "first trained in." So, who is the person in the circle who most tweaks Kate? Rowan. Why? Because she comes from the most regimented tradition of all the people in the circle. Kate has done a bit of complaining about her. So who won the lottery? Rowan. It gets better - Rowan has asked Kate to be Crone for the year (snigger). Oh yeah - and the Priest (only guy in the group) is my age and is, according to Kate, a putz. Kate says if I was in the circle I would be the obvious first choice for HP (her opinion - others might disagree), so that will add to her tweak factor.
I am taking a very small measure of perverse joy in Kate's suffering. The universe will punish me.
[redacted long rant about friend who is in love and being jilted. Boo hoo.]
I made noises that were pleasant but non-committal. There is nothing else to do.
Schmuck.
I love the man, but the fact is he did this all to himself. He set himself up like a bowling pin, pasted a neon sign to his brow, flashing "Kick me in the ass." Then he all but forced Laura to break his heart for him.
Schmuck.
I suppose the day will come when I can knock him to the ground, sit on his chest and tell him what a schmuck he is. Until then I get to be nice and make the pleasant noises.
Saturday, November 27, 2004
The power of NOT
Tonight was Un-Gnostic Not-Mass. H. and B. hosted it as the Priestess and Priest, but they have to be careful to maintain a proper distance from the O.T.O.. It has something to do with recognizing the letter of the law, but the members of the lodge joining in spirit to support them. Dave was there, with his mother: She was attending her first mass, just to see what her little boy as been up to all of these years. Pam would have been there but for having to travel to Las Vegas to ordain a priestess. Once again, Mass was great. Conversation was great. Helping the gang clean and pack when it was done was great.
I've had a number of people tell me now that the first degree and higher initiations are real head turners. Yet all of them then took a step back and said, "It's not the actual initiation ritual. It's what the universe does to you before and after." This conversation took place tonight with a woman I have known for a few years now. I mentioned to her something about the universe seeing if you are really serious about it (no one corrected me). She agreed, but then added that I should make sure to get all of my "Accounts Paid Up", referring to Karma. She also said something about making sure I had the oil changed in my car, and mundane things like that, because if I didn't do it before initiation, it sure as hell wouldn't get done after. So I mumbled something about all the energy I had put into being totally pissed off at my wife, and I got a look from her like, "Yup, you better do something about that."
I've had a number of people tell me now that the first degree and higher initiations are real head turners. Yet all of them then took a step back and said, "It's not the actual initiation ritual. It's what the universe does to you before and after." This conversation took place tonight with a woman I have known for a few years now. I mentioned to her something about the universe seeing if you are really serious about it (no one corrected me). She agreed, but then added that I should make sure to get all of my "Accounts Paid Up", referring to Karma. She also said something about making sure I had the oil changed in my car, and mundane things like that, because if I didn't do it before initiation, it sure as hell wouldn't get done after. So I mumbled something about all the energy I had put into being totally pissed off at my wife, and I got a look from her like, "Yup, you better do something about that."
Tuesday, November 23, 2004
Starting the ball rolling
Last Saturday night was Gnostic Mass at Pam's place. Much came of the meeting, not the least of which was getting the paperwork to apply for my Minerval initiation. But let's take it one step at a time.
First is Pam's place. It's a two story townhouse with a living room that soars to the roof, almost the full two stories up. As you enter, there are stairs to the left, a large slab of wall directly ahead, going up the full two stories, nothing to the right, then a bay window behind. The large wall had a large cross mounted on it, each part of it made of three parallel lengths of square steel tube of different width. It was impressive and artistic. In the middle of the cross was a rose made of a sort of filigree or wire mesh. The rosy cross. In the alcove next to the bay window, opposite the cross, was a coffin - a real live coffin purchased for a ritual last year. After the ritual was done there was a "What do we do with this thing?" moment. So it ended up at Pam's place. Then lining the sides of the room were pews purchased from an LDS chapel that was 'going out of the business'. Set up in the middle of all this are the alters and tomb. It was a tight fit overall, but still very workable.
Before the ritual proper, there was a baptism for Dave and Pam's 11 year old daughter. She was the cutie that I was trading faces with at my first ever mass, about 2 years ago. She is still a cutie (more attitude that looks) and still thin as a pole, and still a fun one to flirt with (all in innocence, of course).
It was a bit crowded for mass, but it was a good ritual. Pam and Dave doing the honors as HP, and a gentleman named Marc doing duties as deacon. After Mass I talked to Pam about getting a Minerval initiation. She interviewed me and must have like my answers because I left with the application papers in my hands. On the other hand, the Minerval is sort of a 'get to know each other' grade, so I think they allow pretty much anyone to apply.
Also after the ritual was a fit of drinking and socializing. It really felt good. The conversation was good. Better still I felt like I could be me and not fake at being someone I am not.
It was an interesting group, and an interesting time socializing. I'll have to admit the group has its odd points and players, but that is all to be expected. I will also have to confess that I was doing my own small part to add to the strangeness, having the 'slut radar' going. (By that I mean to say that I was playing the part of slut, at least so much as I am capable, and was keeping an eye out for unattached women. This is NOT to mean that I was looking out for sluts.)
First is Pam's place. It's a two story townhouse with a living room that soars to the roof, almost the full two stories up. As you enter, there are stairs to the left, a large slab of wall directly ahead, going up the full two stories, nothing to the right, then a bay window behind. The large wall had a large cross mounted on it, each part of it made of three parallel lengths of square steel tube of different width. It was impressive and artistic. In the middle of the cross was a rose made of a sort of filigree or wire mesh. The rosy cross. In the alcove next to the bay window, opposite the cross, was a coffin - a real live coffin purchased for a ritual last year. After the ritual was done there was a "What do we do with this thing?" moment. So it ended up at Pam's place. Then lining the sides of the room were pews purchased from an LDS chapel that was 'going out of the business'. Set up in the middle of all this are the alters and tomb. It was a tight fit overall, but still very workable.
Before the ritual proper, there was a baptism for Dave and Pam's 11 year old daughter. She was the cutie that I was trading faces with at my first ever mass, about 2 years ago. She is still a cutie (more attitude that looks) and still thin as a pole, and still a fun one to flirt with (all in innocence, of course).
It was a bit crowded for mass, but it was a good ritual. Pam and Dave doing the honors as HP, and a gentleman named Marc doing duties as deacon. After Mass I talked to Pam about getting a Minerval initiation. She interviewed me and must have like my answers because I left with the application papers in my hands. On the other hand, the Minerval is sort of a 'get to know each other' grade, so I think they allow pretty much anyone to apply.
Also after the ritual was a fit of drinking and socializing. It really felt good. The conversation was good. Better still I felt like I could be me and not fake at being someone I am not.
It was an interesting group, and an interesting time socializing. I'll have to admit the group has its odd points and players, but that is all to be expected. I will also have to confess that I was doing my own small part to add to the strangeness, having the 'slut radar' going. (By that I mean to say that I was playing the part of slut, at least so much as I am capable, and was keeping an eye out for unattached women. This is NOT to mean that I was looking out for sluts.)
Saturday, November 13, 2004
Ben Stein (argh)
There is this problem. You think you have it all figured then some kike on a website starts rocking your boat. Ben Stein, in an article on his website, shows that he just doesn't get the "Bush Lied – Saddam didn't have fuck to do with 9-11" thing. But then he recounts some of the atrocities that Saddam forced on his people. Then I have to re-evaluate. As fucked up as our presence in Iraq is, maybe things really could be worse. (But then how do you balance the few people no longer subjected to extreme torture against the thousands now being subjected to the current disruptions – or the few being killed by the Islamaniacs – or the odd US Marine who takes his angst out on a wounded man in a mosque.)
I went to Steamers, hoping to find a quiet corner to crawl into. But there was a concert starting and the place was packed. I ran into a friend at the door and she extended a last minute invitation to her birthday party. I was flattered she would ask, but declined. My choice had everything to do with needing to get some sleep and already having enough to drink. She said she would have invited me sooner, but knew about my problems with booze. I tried to explain she was making assumptions. She does that a lot. There was another conversation where I had to stop her and explain that she had filled in gaps with assumption. Do I need to sit her down and have the talk with her about close hole, open ears, stop filling in gaps? We all do it. Mea culpa, but not quite so mea as her culpa.
I went to Steamers, hoping to find a quiet corner to crawl into. But there was a concert starting and the place was packed. I ran into a friend at the door and she extended a last minute invitation to her birthday party. I was flattered she would ask, but declined. My choice had everything to do with needing to get some sleep and already having enough to drink. She said she would have invited me sooner, but knew about my problems with booze. I tried to explain she was making assumptions. She does that a lot. There was another conversation where I had to stop her and explain that she had filled in gaps with assumption. Do I need to sit her down and have the talk with her about close hole, open ears, stop filling in gaps? We all do it. Mea culpa, but not quite so mea as her culpa.
Friday, November 12, 2004
Mirth and Reverence
I attended my second ritual with the coven last night. This time the leader asked to meet in advance with a few of us. The theme of the meeting was the need to shape up some loose ends of the coven. For starters, we are instituting a "No alcohol or drugs" rule. We are also changing locations and meeting at the leader's house. The previous venue is too much of a party zone (not to mention the other chaos) and isn't conducive to ritual or to the new Straight and Sober rules. Beyond that, she also want us older and wiser members to set an example for the younger members. This includes dressing nicer, maintaining a better persona (I mentioned the phrase "Mirth and Reverence" and Liz liked the balance it presented), and "Acting with and projecting power". That last one (which I know I am misquoting) seemed a bit much to me. Magpies and Wombats don't project power. Oh...did I mention my Coven Name is "Magpie?"
Then, of course, none of the baby bats who we are supposed to put on this act for actually showed up for ritual. Then again, I think some of the pep talk is for us, not for them. It is easier to ask you to be the example for someone else than to tell you that you are actually the problem. For example, there was the thing with Drunk Chick wrapping herself around me, followed by the "What the Fuck?" conversation. Did this cause the move in the direction of cleaning up? Another question is how much of this has to do with me joining? I had made a point of saying that I couldn't be around pot. But I also made it clear I wasn't joining, but just trying it on for size. Maybe things were already headed this direction and I sort of nudged them along. If so, I wasn't trying or asking. Nevertheless, I am pleased.
So does this mean I am one of the elders of the Coven? I ask that a bit tongue in cheek. Maybe they figure "Old" and "Elder" go together.
The focus of ritual was to do some energy work – hold an item to the heart and see if you tend to fall toward it or away from it. It seems as if everything I held raised a mental reminder of Kathleen, resulting in my not being able to trust my reactions. Of course I tended to fall away from these items, but was it an honest reaction or not? Man – it would be nice to turn off the brain for awhile and just let things happen on their own.
Then, of course, none of the baby bats who we are supposed to put on this act for actually showed up for ritual. Then again, I think some of the pep talk is for us, not for them. It is easier to ask you to be the example for someone else than to tell you that you are actually the problem. For example, there was the thing with Drunk Chick wrapping herself around me, followed by the "What the Fuck?" conversation. Did this cause the move in the direction of cleaning up? Another question is how much of this has to do with me joining? I had made a point of saying that I couldn't be around pot. But I also made it clear I wasn't joining, but just trying it on for size. Maybe things were already headed this direction and I sort of nudged them along. If so, I wasn't trying or asking. Nevertheless, I am pleased.
So does this mean I am one of the elders of the Coven? I ask that a bit tongue in cheek. Maybe they figure "Old" and "Elder" go together.
The focus of ritual was to do some energy work – hold an item to the heart and see if you tend to fall toward it or away from it. It seems as if everything I held raised a mental reminder of Kathleen, resulting in my not being able to trust my reactions. Of course I tended to fall away from these items, but was it an honest reaction or not? Man – it would be nice to turn off the brain for awhile and just let things happen on their own.
Monday, November 01, 2004
Attack of the Rotater Cuffs
I'm waiting for Kathleen to get out of surgery. She's getting the rotator cuff on her left shoulder repaired.
I first ran across the quarterly rag called "Tin House" about 3 years ago. This past summer I ponied up for a subscription and this week I finally got around to seriously reading it. I had forgotten what truly good writing is like. The poetry is so-so, but the first two short stories were amazing. I almost fear to move on to the third, for the opposing fears that it will either be a disappointment, or that it will be good enough to drag me over some sort of literary precipice – a point of no return that will prevent me from ever picking up another lesser magazine or novel.
The waiting area for outpatient surgery is interesting for two reasons, related to each other and both having to do with people watching. First is that there is such a cross section of people here. Unless you are the cherry atop the economic cake, or the droppings on the floor, you are stripped of strata and difference before being ushered into the labyrinth of check in, preparation and waiting. All are the same. So I am seeing a wide cross section of the populous. More than that, where ill health is the whole reason to be here, there is less of the Fitness/Glamour magazine feel to the place and more of a misting of well drizzled and grizzled reality. (Perhaps if there is a common thread in the parade of souls, there is that of obesity, especially among those who are obviously here for treatment. Fat seems to be the polio or bubonic plague of 21st century America.)
The second venue for observation sweetens the first, being the fact that nearly every person in this area is in the company of a child or parent. In a few cases there are three generations walking down the passage together. It most interesting to observe when the younger generation is adult, and has become set and settled into the ways of their life. Then you compare that person to the parent and see the similarities, in appearance, behavior, habit and persona. You realize that how a person plays out their life, and by that I define life in terms that ignore such trivialities as possessions, career or role, is embedded in the template of their parents and grandparents. Thus when I look to Kathleen, I see her forever being like her mother, full of projects and crisis and children, always swooping in and out of their lives and home, as a planet on the elliptical orbit, sometimes near and sometimes far, but always within the firm bonds agreed upon by the opposing pulls of gravity and motion. As for me, I see my father, living his life in the office, in the Rose Room of his house, or in solitary projects. He supported his family and helped them, but always from a proper and protected position, much like the bank teller who, no matter how friendly and caring, is still behind an impenetrable barrier and is still concerned with your transactions and happiness only in so far as it will look good on his books and in his cash drawer at the end of the day. Or I see gramps, whose last act before his stroke (an act that was also the mark and or cause of his stroke) spent a small number of days suddenly shunning the house and his wife and busying himself with the garden. Even before that, I remembered him as being reserved and sticking to himself. So. My fate is foretold in the actions of my fathers.
It was almost exhausting to listen to the conversation before Kathleen was wheeled off to pre-op, as the doctor went over the list of medications she was on, the ones she was allergic to, the ones she just thought were icky, etc. Again, my eyeballs scrape in their sockets as I wonder how much of the paranoia is justified and how much is fantasy. I contrast this to when I will some day be talking to the same doctor before having my knees done: "I take no drugs and I fear no drugs." [ed. That day fast approaches. Since the original writing, my left knee has gone to hell and I have my first appointment scheduled for Nov. 23.] The last thing I took was Advil two weeks ago to kill a hangover, and I've never consumed a drug (legal or illicit) that I wasn't able to stare down and force into an abject submission to my will. (OK…there was that little incident with the percedan, but that was a matter of dosage and enthusiasm. Then there was the X. It won't happen again.)
To add to the book list: "The man who gave thunder to the earth" by Nancy Wood.
I first ran across the quarterly rag called "Tin House" about 3 years ago. This past summer I ponied up for a subscription and this week I finally got around to seriously reading it. I had forgotten what truly good writing is like. The poetry is so-so, but the first two short stories were amazing. I almost fear to move on to the third, for the opposing fears that it will either be a disappointment, or that it will be good enough to drag me over some sort of literary precipice – a point of no return that will prevent me from ever picking up another lesser magazine or novel.
The waiting area for outpatient surgery is interesting for two reasons, related to each other and both having to do with people watching. First is that there is such a cross section of people here. Unless you are the cherry atop the economic cake, or the droppings on the floor, you are stripped of strata and difference before being ushered into the labyrinth of check in, preparation and waiting. All are the same. So I am seeing a wide cross section of the populous. More than that, where ill health is the whole reason to be here, there is less of the Fitness/Glamour magazine feel to the place and more of a misting of well drizzled and grizzled reality. (Perhaps if there is a common thread in the parade of souls, there is that of obesity, especially among those who are obviously here for treatment. Fat seems to be the polio or bubonic plague of 21st century America.)
The second venue for observation sweetens the first, being the fact that nearly every person in this area is in the company of a child or parent. In a few cases there are three generations walking down the passage together. It most interesting to observe when the younger generation is adult, and has become set and settled into the ways of their life. Then you compare that person to the parent and see the similarities, in appearance, behavior, habit and persona. You realize that how a person plays out their life, and by that I define life in terms that ignore such trivialities as possessions, career or role, is embedded in the template of their parents and grandparents. Thus when I look to Kathleen, I see her forever being like her mother, full of projects and crisis and children, always swooping in and out of their lives and home, as a planet on the elliptical orbit, sometimes near and sometimes far, but always within the firm bonds agreed upon by the opposing pulls of gravity and motion. As for me, I see my father, living his life in the office, in the Rose Room of his house, or in solitary projects. He supported his family and helped them, but always from a proper and protected position, much like the bank teller who, no matter how friendly and caring, is still behind an impenetrable barrier and is still concerned with your transactions and happiness only in so far as it will look good on his books and in his cash drawer at the end of the day. Or I see gramps, whose last act before his stroke (an act that was also the mark and or cause of his stroke) spent a small number of days suddenly shunning the house and his wife and busying himself with the garden. Even before that, I remembered him as being reserved and sticking to himself. So. My fate is foretold in the actions of my fathers.
It was almost exhausting to listen to the conversation before Kathleen was wheeled off to pre-op, as the doctor went over the list of medications she was on, the ones she was allergic to, the ones she just thought were icky, etc. Again, my eyeballs scrape in their sockets as I wonder how much of the paranoia is justified and how much is fantasy. I contrast this to when I will some day be talking to the same doctor before having my knees done: "I take no drugs and I fear no drugs." [ed. That day fast approaches. Since the original writing, my left knee has gone to hell and I have my first appointment scheduled for Nov. 23.] The last thing I took was Advil two weeks ago to kill a hangover, and I've never consumed a drug (legal or illicit) that I wasn't able to stare down and force into an abject submission to my will. (OK…there was that little incident with the percedan, but that was a matter of dosage and enthusiasm. Then there was the X. It won't happen again.)
To add to the book list: "The man who gave thunder to the earth" by Nancy Wood.
Sunday, October 31, 2004
Doing battle with Microsoft
The weekend was dominated with the computer. I found out the hard way that the combination of Office 2003 and FrontPage (any version) breaks things, and there is no way to unbreak them. True, they are annoying things and not vital things, but still a pain in the ass. So I copied a bunch of shit to the D drive and nuked it. Reloaded, pulled it all up to the configuration I wanted, copied files to a "in case I need to do this again" CD, then stepped away from it before I would be tempted to overdo it. The only problem is with desktop themes...which fixes itself if the jpg files are converted to bmp. I have laughed to myself in the past about Kathleen wasting hours on end wrangling her computer through similar contortions. Now the joke is on me. But now that it is running again, it sure is sweet.
Saturday, October 30, 2004
Ring around the Moon
"If I looked for my glasses in the morning in the way that most seekers search for god, I would stumble around half blind all day." – Dr. A. W. Tozer
The ritual Thursday night was interesting. It looks like the group might be worth hanging with , even if it is full of young crazy people with way too many addictions and hang-ups. (Maybe they are just normal, but less occult – if I may use the word – in their shortcomings).
Once enough of the gang arrived at Steamers, I was recruited to play taxi. I dropped one kid off in east Provo, then it was to Geneva road near UVSC. On the ride there was a kid in the front seat who reminds me of Rick before he joined the army. He was wearing a black trench coat that I was jealous as hell of. He is...interesting. I find that the more I know him the less he reminds me of Rick in look, sound and mannerism, but more in dress habit and attitude. Does this make sense? Then there was the drunk chick in the back seat, whose name I didn't know at the time. She comes back into the story later. She was drunk. All the way over, she was going on about here addictions and problems, talking to no one in particular. I smiled at the part about "I don't need a man...I can just masturbate to get an orgasm..." I am thinking to myself that it was certain she would get laid within 12 hours, maybe with someone whose name she didn't even know.
It was at Emily's house (Emily being the Coffee Goddess in Harem pants from a previous post). She had one room of a house being shared by a rather wild bunch of people, connected with the coffee shop and with the smoke shop next door. It was a party house, which ended up being sort of a bad thing in the long run. The ritual was in Emily's room, which made for cramped quarters. Casting the circle had the HP calling the quarters while the rest of repeated a goddess chant. Then a reading or sermon of sorts, then a wine ritual, stating our personal wishes, our wishes for the Coven, then combining those wishes to a single container then separating them back out and consuming them. My wishes? For myself, it was to control some issues with alcohol and to find focus (more on these later). For the Coven, my stated desire was that it simply endure. The only hitch was the drunk chick – she was a bit of a distraction, but seemed to do a fair amount of sobering up for circle – she went from full blown slosh, the "Weebles Wobble..."
But then there was after ritual. The habit of the group is to gather with the others who live in the place and get drunk, smoke a bowl, etc. I stayed for a little of the drinking part (watching, not drinking) and followed the crowd outside when it was time to smoke (cigarettes). Then someone pointed to the sky and said, "Look at the ring around the moon." Remember past journal entries about rings around the moon? Well this one was as big and as bright as any of those I've seen before. One of the people looking at it was Drunk Chick. Well Drunk Chick decided she needed a hug. From me. A very long hug, complete with pulling my head down on her shoulder. Then after a short breather, she needed another hug. Fuck.
So here is Andy building his emotional walls, digging moats and laying mine fields, then this little girl makes an assault on it. I talked to another attendee later, in a sort a "What the fuck was that?" conversation and found that Drunk Chick didn't mean anything by it, and that if there was a problem with it I could just tell her straight up what I expected and it would be cool.
Before I went to ritual I made up my mind that the Monkey Boy member of my inner committee would be banished I wouldn't allow myself to let the "Sex Thing" have a place in my thoughts. I also did a general banishing of ego, feeling it wise to play a suitably small and proper role in the ritual. I succeeded. I was proud of myself. Then the drunk chick thing happens, pulling me out of that zone, dangling forbidden fruit in front of Monkey Boy, and bringing to the surface all that I had tried to banish.
I'm sure it will all turn out well. Nevertheless, there is a part of me that wonders what would have happened if I had taken advantage of the situation – how far I could have gotten in getting her to bed. Maybe the 'big change' indicated by the circle around the moon was that I would finally 'get it' and keep Monkey Boy in his place. [Six weeks later, this seems to be true. Proper decorum has been maintained, Drunk Chick acts a bit uncomfortable around me, but I'm trying my best to put her at ease. It is good, but Monkey Boy resents not getting laid or at the very least nuzzled a bit.]
My wish with the Alcohol was nothing so foolish as to stop drinking. entirely At this time it is neither desired nor proper (not to mention doable). Instead, it is to draw a few lines to keep the booze from screwing up a few of my ambitions. For example, as I write this I've had a little Sherry and I'm going to have some more right now. [yum] But I have kept to my goals so far this evening, and I committed during gnosis earlier this evening to keep to my goals (one of them being to catch up on my journal entries). The problem comes when there is no gnosis or other resolve, then I indulge in overeating or ignoring my goals. In the last few months I've gained back at least 5 pounds and fallen behind on a number of personal projects, small and large. As for focus, that is an ongoing thing. I'll make up my mind what I want to do (which is better than the land of indecision where I usually live) but then piss away my efforts with diversions and distractions. Focus.
(But what is focus really? Am I just focusing on more finely defined distractions? The questioner strikes again.)
Gnosis. More accurately it is Sexual Gnosis. [Details redacted]
The ritual Thursday night was interesting. It looks like the group might be worth hanging with , even if it is full of young crazy people with way too many addictions and hang-ups. (Maybe they are just normal, but less occult – if I may use the word – in their shortcomings).
Once enough of the gang arrived at Steamers, I was recruited to play taxi. I dropped one kid off in east Provo, then it was to Geneva road near UVSC. On the ride there was a kid in the front seat who reminds me of Rick before he joined the army. He was wearing a black trench coat that I was jealous as hell of. He is...interesting. I find that the more I know him the less he reminds me of Rick in look, sound and mannerism, but more in dress habit and attitude. Does this make sense? Then there was the drunk chick in the back seat, whose name I didn't know at the time. She comes back into the story later. She was drunk. All the way over, she was going on about here addictions and problems, talking to no one in particular. I smiled at the part about "I don't need a man...I can just masturbate to get an orgasm..." I am thinking to myself that it was certain she would get laid within 12 hours, maybe with someone whose name she didn't even know.
It was at Emily's house (Emily being the Coffee Goddess in Harem pants from a previous post). She had one room of a house being shared by a rather wild bunch of people, connected with the coffee shop and with the smoke shop next door. It was a party house, which ended up being sort of a bad thing in the long run. The ritual was in Emily's room, which made for cramped quarters. Casting the circle had the HP calling the quarters while the rest of repeated a goddess chant. Then a reading or sermon of sorts, then a wine ritual, stating our personal wishes, our wishes for the Coven, then combining those wishes to a single container then separating them back out and consuming them. My wishes? For myself, it was to control some issues with alcohol and to find focus (more on these later). For the Coven, my stated desire was that it simply endure. The only hitch was the drunk chick – she was a bit of a distraction, but seemed to do a fair amount of sobering up for circle – she went from full blown slosh, the "Weebles Wobble..."
But then there was after ritual. The habit of the group is to gather with the others who live in the place and get drunk, smoke a bowl, etc. I stayed for a little of the drinking part (watching, not drinking) and followed the crowd outside when it was time to smoke (cigarettes). Then someone pointed to the sky and said, "Look at the ring around the moon." Remember past journal entries about rings around the moon? Well this one was as big and as bright as any of those I've seen before. One of the people looking at it was Drunk Chick. Well Drunk Chick decided she needed a hug. From me. A very long hug, complete with pulling my head down on her shoulder. Then after a short breather, she needed another hug. Fuck.
So here is Andy building his emotional walls, digging moats and laying mine fields, then this little girl makes an assault on it. I talked to another attendee later, in a sort a "What the fuck was that?" conversation and found that Drunk Chick didn't mean anything by it, and that if there was a problem with it I could just tell her straight up what I expected and it would be cool.
Before I went to ritual I made up my mind that the Monkey Boy member of my inner committee would be banished I wouldn't allow myself to let the "Sex Thing" have a place in my thoughts. I also did a general banishing of ego, feeling it wise to play a suitably small and proper role in the ritual. I succeeded. I was proud of myself. Then the drunk chick thing happens, pulling me out of that zone, dangling forbidden fruit in front of Monkey Boy, and bringing to the surface all that I had tried to banish.
I'm sure it will all turn out well. Nevertheless, there is a part of me that wonders what would have happened if I had taken advantage of the situation – how far I could have gotten in getting her to bed. Maybe the 'big change' indicated by the circle around the moon was that I would finally 'get it' and keep Monkey Boy in his place. [Six weeks later, this seems to be true. Proper decorum has been maintained, Drunk Chick acts a bit uncomfortable around me, but I'm trying my best to put her at ease. It is good, but Monkey Boy resents not getting laid or at the very least nuzzled a bit.]
My wish with the Alcohol was nothing so foolish as to stop drinking. entirely At this time it is neither desired nor proper (not to mention doable). Instead, it is to draw a few lines to keep the booze from screwing up a few of my ambitions. For example, as I write this I've had a little Sherry and I'm going to have some more right now. [yum] But I have kept to my goals so far this evening, and I committed during gnosis earlier this evening to keep to my goals (one of them being to catch up on my journal entries). The problem comes when there is no gnosis or other resolve, then I indulge in overeating or ignoring my goals. In the last few months I've gained back at least 5 pounds and fallen behind on a number of personal projects, small and large. As for focus, that is an ongoing thing. I'll make up my mind what I want to do (which is better than the land of indecision where I usually live) but then piss away my efforts with diversions and distractions. Focus.
(But what is focus really? Am I just focusing on more finely defined distractions? The questioner strikes again.)
Gnosis. More accurately it is Sexual Gnosis. [Details redacted]
Thursday, October 28, 2004
Baby Bats and Coffee Shops
It is past my bed time (9:30 to be exact) on a Thursday night and I'm at Steamers. I am hoping to meet with the crazies of a local coven and see if there is a place for me in their circle. Before driving over here, I was cruising the internet and hit a Christian ministries web site. It was linked from an e-mail on Wasatch Web to an article on how to use (or twist) that awful pagan holiday Halloween to witness for Jesus. The draw that got me to go to the site was someone wondering out loud on Wasatch Web if this site was serious or if it was a parody. So I looked at it with the object of passing judgment. If it is serious, they are just a bit naive. If it is parody, it is extremely subtle...subtle enough to earn some praise. But as I shut down the browser I was taken back to a place, emotional and mental, that I've been a few times before over the past 20 years. In putting together the quick notes for this journal entry I jotted down this phrase: "The awful lure of Jesus."
I'll be damned if there isn't a part of me that wants to leap into the abyss of belief and become a Jesus Freak. It is a difficult thing to write about. It is hard to be totally honest about it, or to find words to really relate what was going on. Relating it honestly almost brings the shame that comes with confession. The shame and the shock is that the pull is so strong I actually feel myself being sucked into it. And not in a small way...I mean I seriously feel myself getting ready to believe. Trying to describe it is like describing the difference between knowing that you could jump off that bridge if you wanted, and feeling the muscles actually start tensing, pulling you over the rail, and wondering if you will stop yourself or just let the motion have its way. I mean it is really, honestly SCARY.
So what is the draw? Why the reaction?
The first time I was in this place was on my mission, in a classic 'bash' where the guy we were talking to was really driving it home. It shook me up...bad. There may have been a few more times over the years when I felt this pull, but only one other before tonight stands out. That was listening to one of the authors of the Left Behind series of books being interviewed on NPR. But tonight was the worst.
So picture it. Andy as a Born Again Christian. Scary, isn't it?
Why does this happen? What is the draw? What is the attraction? Certainty is part of it. Xtianity is just so simple, so straightforward. All you have to do is believe, to accept, and everything else falls into place. Sure, there are still challenges and questions in life, but now there is a core of faith to hold to. So many issues that used to be shades of grey are now drawn to sharp edges, polarized to the twin purities of black and white. There is also the instant community that comes with it. All you have to do is walk into any four square gospel church in the land, announce your belief, and there is instant acceptance as family. More than that, you have that sense of belonging that comes from a feeling of 'us against the world", a sort of tribal or familial belonging.
On the drive to Steamers I saw the lights on at the district court building, third floor corner office. Eleven years ago that was my father's office. It sort of jerked me out of my reality and back into the past. There was no pointed epiphany, and no set reaction...just feeling the past nuzzle up against me for a moment before fading back into the background.
Flash I've been here a half hour and the coven mistress finally noticed me. This reminds me that I need to banish ego.
Crap...going way back to a previous post about the little blonde at steamers (you gotta go where the toys are), I thought I had noticed one of her ears being deformed. Yup, it is. Now I am picking up that the little twerp is deaf. But she is making noises, so I could be wrong. Mom is teaching her ASL, and she is picking up on it pretty well.
Gads. It is 10:00 and some people are showing up, possibly members of the coven. Baby bats. Why is it? Where are the middle aged people? Why don't the hang at coffee shops and join covens and just act like something other than reclusive farts? Then again, this is Utah. They're all doing their "Church Jobs".
If a bug had pants, would they have a fly??
I'll be damned if there isn't a part of me that wants to leap into the abyss of belief and become a Jesus Freak. It is a difficult thing to write about. It is hard to be totally honest about it, or to find words to really relate what was going on. Relating it honestly almost brings the shame that comes with confession. The shame and the shock is that the pull is so strong I actually feel myself being sucked into it. And not in a small way...I mean I seriously feel myself getting ready to believe. Trying to describe it is like describing the difference between knowing that you could jump off that bridge if you wanted, and feeling the muscles actually start tensing, pulling you over the rail, and wondering if you will stop yourself or just let the motion have its way. I mean it is really, honestly SCARY.
So what is the draw? Why the reaction?
The first time I was in this place was on my mission, in a classic 'bash' where the guy we were talking to was really driving it home. It shook me up...bad. There may have been a few more times over the years when I felt this pull, but only one other before tonight stands out. That was listening to one of the authors of the Left Behind series of books being interviewed on NPR. But tonight was the worst.
So picture it. Andy as a Born Again Christian. Scary, isn't it?
Why does this happen? What is the draw? What is the attraction? Certainty is part of it. Xtianity is just so simple, so straightforward. All you have to do is believe, to accept, and everything else falls into place. Sure, there are still challenges and questions in life, but now there is a core of faith to hold to. So many issues that used to be shades of grey are now drawn to sharp edges, polarized to the twin purities of black and white. There is also the instant community that comes with it. All you have to do is walk into any four square gospel church in the land, announce your belief, and there is instant acceptance as family. More than that, you have that sense of belonging that comes from a feeling of 'us against the world", a sort of tribal or familial belonging.
On the drive to Steamers I saw the lights on at the district court building, third floor corner office. Eleven years ago that was my father's office. It sort of jerked me out of my reality and back into the past. There was no pointed epiphany, and no set reaction...just feeling the past nuzzle up against me for a moment before fading back into the background.
Flash I've been here a half hour and the coven mistress finally noticed me. This reminds me that I need to banish ego.
Crap...going way back to a previous post about the little blonde at steamers (you gotta go where the toys are), I thought I had noticed one of her ears being deformed. Yup, it is. Now I am picking up that the little twerp is deaf. But she is making noises, so I could be wrong. Mom is teaching her ASL, and she is picking up on it pretty well.
Gads. It is 10:00 and some people are showing up, possibly members of the coven. Baby bats. Why is it? Where are the middle aged people? Why don't the hang at coffee shops and join covens and just act like something other than reclusive farts? Then again, this is Utah. They're all doing their "Church Jobs".
If a bug had pants, would they have a fly??
Wednesday, October 20, 2004
Extra Virgin Olive Oil (redacted)
Redacted: Nasty events, frustrated dealings with family members, etc.....
[As I write this, in Steamers, the local middle aged drunk sits across the table from me, head in hands, feeling the pains of too much booze, assuming a pose and persona I have lived once or twice]
On my evening walk, I was musing over Thelema and why it has attracted me since I first heard of it, over 20 years ago. No answer to that, but another line of thought emerged. I realized that I was tending to think of it as a "Religion". As such, any action regarding Thelema would be in the manner of other Religions where devotion is for the sake of the religion (treating it as an end unto itself, as a nearly incarnate entity), not for the sake of the worshiper. But with Thelema, taken as it should be, it is all about the worshiper. Call him a "practitioner" instead. Seen in that light, the only god IS man. And the whole point of each ritual, each devotion and each action is rightfully ME. Me, me, me, me, me. This may have to be meditated upon then expressed in more full and eloquent terms.
So if Thelema, and my whole reason for acting and being, is all ME centered, what is the profit to be found in helping others? If they have no connection to me, then none. But if connected to me, then some attention must be given. To keep them from becoming a drag on me. To cultivate them for what might be needed later. In rare instances because they are "Brothers"…as brothers fight ye. In still rarer instances, because there is a synergy where Wills are aligned and the disparate efforts and attentions combine to a result greater than the sum of parts.
On the topic of Liber Resh: It is not so much to praise the gods (at least not as external powers) but to guide the aspirant and enflame in the prayer of self. For example: "…even unto thee who art Ra in thy Strength…" What better way to begin the day than to praise and, by extension, invoke Strength. And at the middle of the day, when in the midst of the days labors? Triumphing and Beauty. Then to the evening, with the labors of the day completed: "even unto thee who art Tum on thy Joy". And finally, in the hours of repose...Silence and Hiding. Works for me.
...
Then there was the night I got drunk, found a "Magic Marker" and started re-labeling shit in the house. What is a Drunk sexually frustrated middle aged man supposed to do when confronted with a label that says "Extra Virgin Olive Oil"??????
[As I write this, in Steamers, the local middle aged drunk sits across the table from me, head in hands, feeling the pains of too much booze, assuming a pose and persona I have lived once or twice]
On my evening walk, I was musing over Thelema and why it has attracted me since I first heard of it, over 20 years ago. No answer to that, but another line of thought emerged. I realized that I was tending to think of it as a "Religion". As such, any action regarding Thelema would be in the manner of other Religions where devotion is for the sake of the religion (treating it as an end unto itself, as a nearly incarnate entity), not for the sake of the worshiper. But with Thelema, taken as it should be, it is all about the worshiper. Call him a "practitioner" instead. Seen in that light, the only god IS man. And the whole point of each ritual, each devotion and each action is rightfully ME. Me, me, me, me, me. This may have to be meditated upon then expressed in more full and eloquent terms.
So if Thelema, and my whole reason for acting and being, is all ME centered, what is the profit to be found in helping others? If they have no connection to me, then none. But if connected to me, then some attention must be given. To keep them from becoming a drag on me. To cultivate them for what might be needed later. In rare instances because they are "Brothers"…as brothers fight ye. In still rarer instances, because there is a synergy where Wills are aligned and the disparate efforts and attentions combine to a result greater than the sum of parts.
On the topic of Liber Resh: It is not so much to praise the gods (at least not as external powers) but to guide the aspirant and enflame in the prayer of self. For example: "…even unto thee who art Ra in thy Strength…" What better way to begin the day than to praise and, by extension, invoke Strength. And at the middle of the day, when in the midst of the days labors? Triumphing and Beauty. Then to the evening, with the labors of the day completed: "even unto thee who art Tum on thy Joy". And finally, in the hours of repose...Silence and Hiding. Works for me.
...
Then there was the night I got drunk, found a "Magic Marker" and started re-labeling shit in the house. What is a Drunk sexually frustrated middle aged man supposed to do when confronted with a label that says "Extra Virgin Olive Oil"??????
Saturday, October 09, 2004
Go North, young man
The drive home was another straight shot. It must have been a real prize winner if the quick notes I wrote about it amounted to this:
Adventures of the pee cup. All the way to Cove Fort on a tank. Beer in Page (Oak Creek Nut Brown Ale).
The "Adventure" was that it was full, tipped over, and soaked one side of my hat. Dang. But it dried out and I started wearing it the next day. No need to wash it (snicker, chortle).
One of the more disgusting moments was suffering "Coffee Shock" at Cove Fort. I stopped for fuel and caffeine. A few miles down the road, after it had cooled a bit, I took a snort of the coffee. It was such a rude shock. After a full week of good coffee, to suddenly partake of the dull and the weak was almost more than I could take. I choked it down, but it wasn't fun. The stuff I drink during the week at work may just be Folgers, but at least it is brewed strong enough to keep the hair on my nads healthy and thick. When I got home there was a cute little red car in the driveway that hadn't been there before. Midway through the week Kathleen called to talk about Melinda then mentioned that she had –oops- purchased a car. This was no surprise in itself, because I knew she was looking.
I also arrived to find the house torn apart and Kathleen stripping glue and gunk from the walls and ceilings in the living room. No sooner had I finished unpacking than I got to help put the house back together. Some time during the evening I posed the question to Kate: If the beer I was drinking was made in Sedona, does it get you 1)drunk, 2)new age woozy, or 3)brain cells move out due to increased property values.
Adventures of the pee cup. All the way to Cove Fort on a tank. Beer in Page (Oak Creek Nut Brown Ale).
The "Adventure" was that it was full, tipped over, and soaked one side of my hat. Dang. But it dried out and I started wearing it the next day. No need to wash it (snicker, chortle).
One of the more disgusting moments was suffering "Coffee Shock" at Cove Fort. I stopped for fuel and caffeine. A few miles down the road, after it had cooled a bit, I took a snort of the coffee. It was such a rude shock. After a full week of good coffee, to suddenly partake of the dull and the weak was almost more than I could take. I choked it down, but it wasn't fun. The stuff I drink during the week at work may just be Folgers, but at least it is brewed strong enough to keep the hair on my nads healthy and thick. When I got home there was a cute little red car in the driveway that hadn't been there before. Midway through the week Kathleen called to talk about Melinda then mentioned that she had –oops- purchased a car. This was no surprise in itself, because I knew she was looking.
I also arrived to find the house torn apart and Kathleen stripping glue and gunk from the walls and ceilings in the living room. No sooner had I finished unpacking than I got to help put the house back together. Some time during the evening I posed the question to Kate: If the beer I was drinking was made in Sedona, does it get you 1)drunk, 2)new age woozy, or 3)brain cells move out due to increased property values.
Friday, October 08, 2004
Epic Revalations
Every trip like this carries a temptation to look for the "Big Aha!". The Big Aha is a generic description for the moment of enlightenment, or realizing that one thing (big or small) that I can take home with me.
But there is seldom such a moment. The last few trips I have pushed this expectation to the background (which is good, because I came away empty, but not disappointed). In spite of this, that is in not looking for it in some sort of a large way, there is still an undercurrent of hope that something will reach out and bite me. So I remain aware of the chance of a discovery, but if I feel a desire for it creeping up on me, I try to ignore it.
Nevertheless here is the journal entry recording the aha's that snuck up and bit me on the ass on this trip.
The other side of that coin is getting stuck in the trenches not seeing the new stuff to be done, the larger items (and all those other buzz words). I'm also having a hard time defining the 'bigger things' (maybe the buzzwords really work and I'm just loath to admit it).
[ed. In the annual PMF review I managed to get some "must do" items pushed ahead of the fluff stuff]
"Live long and crossbreed." – Jeff of the Phoenix O.T.O.
The quote above started as Spock's "Live long and prosper." But the noise of the Denny's and my propensity to hear what isn't said twisted it into a far better quote. This is the monthly meeting of EPIC – Eclectic Pagan something or other. They meet then eat then someone gets up and waxes eloquent. I don't know the conversations that took place, but somehow Kate had it in mind that she could get me to do a thing for them on Ceremonial Magick. I had to sit Kate down and, like I could swear I have done before, explain to her that she was operating more on assumption than reality. I wasn't the sort of CM she thought, she was fucked on her definition of CM to start with, and she really needed to stop causing me to grind my teeth on the topic. Then we ran into Jeff Hardee of the O.T.O. at Pagan Pride. Problem solved.
He agreed to do the presentation and did a REALLY GOOD JOB. Lessons learned are, in brief:
I didn't ask Kate about it later. I wonder if her opinions and misgivings of the CM thing changed. I do note that she hasn't made fun of it (or my interest in it) since then [Nov. 16]
"Learn to love the question" - Rilke
But there is seldom such a moment. The last few trips I have pushed this expectation to the background (which is good, because I came away empty, but not disappointed). In spite of this, that is in not looking for it in some sort of a large way, there is still an undercurrent of hope that something will reach out and bite me. So I remain aware of the chance of a discovery, but if I feel a desire for it creeping up on me, I try to ignore it.
Nevertheless here is the journal entry recording the aha's that snuck up and bit me on the ass on this trip.
- The thing with getting tired when visiting Kate (and other times) is when I am 'doing for the other' when it is opposed to 'doing for myself'. This is covered above.
- Appearances. I'm getting a bit tired of the way I interact (or not) with others in a public setting. It's not all the same issue, but a small number of issues. One is tending to sink into the background and get roundly and soundly ignored. (See the entry for November 16, 2004 for more on this.) Another is what might be called the "Cute Chic" reaction – to act out of character, or just plain like an ass, in order to call attention to myself. Although it may not always be a cute chic that I am trying to get the attention of, the script is still the same.
- Focus at work. I'm tired of chasing appearances at work, going for the shit that looks good, when it is obvious that there is clear work to be done. Nebulous versus real. Numbers versus reality. I'm having a tough time describing it. I guess the bottom line is that I know what needs to be done, now just move the fuck out of my way and let me do it.
The other side of that coin is getting stuck in the trenches not seeing the new stuff to be done, the larger items (and all those other buzz words). I'm also having a hard time defining the 'bigger things' (maybe the buzzwords really work and I'm just loath to admit it).
[ed. In the annual PMF review I managed to get some "must do" items pushed ahead of the fluff stuff]
"Live long and crossbreed." – Jeff of the Phoenix O.T.O.
The quote above started as Spock's "Live long and prosper." But the noise of the Denny's and my propensity to hear what isn't said twisted it into a far better quote. This is the monthly meeting of EPIC – Eclectic Pagan something or other. They meet then eat then someone gets up and waxes eloquent. I don't know the conversations that took place, but somehow Kate had it in mind that she could get me to do a thing for them on Ceremonial Magick. I had to sit Kate down and, like I could swear I have done before, explain to her that she was operating more on assumption than reality. I wasn't the sort of CM she thought, she was fucked on her definition of CM to start with, and she really needed to stop causing me to grind my teeth on the topic. Then we ran into Jeff Hardee of the O.T.O. at Pagan Pride. Problem solved.
He agreed to do the presentation and did a REALLY GOOD JOB. Lessons learned are, in brief:
- CM Really is a sort of self tweak psychology like Mike said many years ago. Remember Crowley and his phrase "Invoke often?" Well we immerse ourselves on a constant basis in negative affirmations. "Oh, I can never..." The idea then is to develop positive affirmations to replace them, then wrap them in the robes of vibration, invocation and ritual. Then invoke often – often enough that it becomes the new background noise to push out the old bad noise.
- The key to it all is Vibration. The exercise is to concentrate on a part of the body, just become aware of it, then vibrate nothing more than a hum. Then add to this by stages visualizing a change in what is being pictured – see it becoming warm, for instance. Then replace the hum with a word, god name, mantra, etc. Then visualize something that has meaning, either as adoration or as desired result. Build on this (remember to do it REALLY OFTEN) until it causes change in the universe.
- Get good at the basics. Then move on to...the basics. He drew the example from martial arts, where there are only a small number of ways to block a given attack. The idea then was to practice this small number of methods until they became second nature. Then move on to the next basic set. Then build them into a string or flow.
I didn't ask Kate about it later. I wonder if her opinions and misgivings of the CM thing changed. I do note that she hasn't made fun of it (or my interest in it) since then [Nov. 16]
"Learn to love the question" - Rilke
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