Unite the Divided

May 24, 8:20 AM

I am at Peery's Egyptian Theater Convention Center in Ogden, Utah. This is the "Unite the Divided" conference sponsored by Hoor-Paar-Kraat Oasis. I am here (in descending order of influence) out of guilt (payback for making the March 15th Horus event so good), the chance to meet Lon Milo DuQuette, and just plain insanity. Except for the few hours last night between work and bed that I used to stage for the weekend, I am booked solid through late Monday night. I will be spending only enough time at home to switch context and attach a trailer to the back of my car. I will spend all day today at the event, arrive between 10 and midnight tonight at Lisa's, drive her to the airport at 5:00 Sunday morning, then back to Ogden for half a day. When that half day is done ate 3:00 I will drive to Provo, stop long enough to swap out the junk in the car and hitch a trailer to the back, and go to Cedar City. I will collapse in a quivering heap for a fitful night’s sleep. Then I get to move Michael, pack up Melinda’s stuff, drive it north to Provo and unload. I will once again collapse in quivering heap, then go into the office Tuesday morning.

Why do I do these things to myself?

I am listening to Lon play guitar, in preparation for the 'lecture'. He plays guitar? As part of his presentation? This should be interesting.

Having given all the wrong reasons for being here, it is time to choose my real inner reason. And that is....don't know.

[Break in writing to listen to Lon – then to see the film]

The film maker was wearing a t-shirt with the name of the film on it, "A Hero Denied". Walking past him, I misread it, with the folds of the shirt helping, as "A Herd Divided". After thinking a minute, I realized that the name fits. We, as a people, are little better than a herd. We are also quite divided. It fits very well.

I guess when you have fame - even within a small tribe such as the O.T.O. - you can show up for an event and please the people even if you don’t do freaking much of anything. If you do a little 'much of anything' it is well received whether it is related to the theme of the gathering or not. Toward the end of his time, Lon asked us, "What is this supposed to be about?" OK – it really was much better than that. But there was an undercurrent of ‘slack for the adored’.

"Unite the Divided", he was reminded. The largest single bit of Lon's presentation was very entertaining, but had nothing to do with the matter at hand. What preceded and followed was very much on topic, and will be better remembered for having framed a fun little story.

Yes, Lon did play guitar as part of the presentation. He was a professional musician earlier in life, and now uses this to add to his other endeavors. The songs were witty and had a good point to them.

As with any such event, for all of the talking, there are only a half dozen things the presenter really wants to say. Given a chance he could say them in a few minutes. Each person in the audience will remember only one or two of these points - if anything at all is remembered - but will still feel well served. The other 58 minutes are just fluff and frame and repeating the messages often enough to make them stick. Without consulting my notes, here is what I got for my money:

1. The people who are the most divided are the ones who share the most in common.

2. The people who are most united are those who have met face to face.

Interestingly enough, these statements were made during the question answer period after the presentation. As truth number one was given, it was all clear to me. The Muslim factions tearing Iraq apart right now are mainly fighting other Muslims. Fighting the U.S. occupation is something of a side show for them. More of the bombs going off in Baghdad are meant to kill Sunni or Shia than are meant to kill U.S. forces. After all, it is easy to dismiss a member of the 'other' religion as lost soul and a hopeless cause, just so long as he doesn't get between me and my piece of the pie. But when a so called member of the True Faith takes the word of God, the TRUE word of god, then distorts it for an EVILE purpose, corrupting believers and turning them into infidels....well....THAT needs to be dealt with in the harshest manner. There is nothing so low as an apostate. (Example - in the Mormon reality, the only soul to become a son of perdition and get to the lowest ring of hell is the one who once possessed the truth, in knowledge and not in faith, then turned against it.) The other side of this mirror is that the person in the other schism is the one most likely to tell me what to do and how to do it. Until this happens, I am willing to ignore him, even if I know he exists. After this happens, I sure has hell know who he is and am likely not to like him.

As for truth number two, this seems obvious. It is obvious. And it works. Because it works, it is the job of the leader to keep us apart from the other, and to cast them in a light that makes them less human, less of a brother or sister.

Lon opened with a statement, "Magick is not my life, but I use magick to make my life magickal." He expounded and expanded on this. If 'magician' is how you define yourself, then you have a problem. If you just MUST make sure everyone you meet know you DO MAGICK, then you have a problem. If you self define in terms of your joys, then count magick as one of the tools used to achieve your joys, then you have...different problems (but at least not this particular problem.)

There were books for sale, and I fell to the temptation. "The Accidental Christ", a book I judged to be fairly well reeking of irreverence. So far I have read a few pages and there is no irreverence yet. I may be wrong. But wrong or right, I think I will be well entertained. Yes - I got it signed.

When the crowd cleared for a bit, I pulled Lon aside and asked for advice on how to handle Horus. I start by saying, "I am acting body master of Horus Oasis and I am hating every minute of it." That statement brought a smile. I knew I was talking to someone who had 'been there, done that'. The first thing he said was, "Be a benevolent dictator, but don't let them know it." So I asked, "What part don't I let them know: The benevolent part, or the dictator part?" (The dictator part.) He expanded on this. "Don't EVER decide on things by taking a vote. Accept input, and make a choice based on this. But once the choice is made, just tell them when and where they need to be to participate, then let them choose to show up. He mentioned the term 'ipso facto', I responded with my translation of 'this is the way things is' and that worked.

The rest of the answer fell into the category of things I already knew but had forgotten that I knew. He mentioned that he knew large lodges that only had a few people showing up for activities, so that was nothing new. Then he gave an example from his own life, of holding a weekly class on magick. During the early stages, he was usually the only person there. (He also mentioned making then short classes of 6 to 8 parts max.) Isn't this close to the essay "It takes more than goats"? I guess this could be called “Finding My Zen” on the matter. So I will pretend the Oasis is just me and Holly and Beverly, I will take steps with them to make that work (Mass team, initiation team, etc.), and we will keep on playing OTO. I will also assume that the larger and wonderful oasis that will exist 5 years from now will be made up mostly of people who have not been initiated yet.

Finally, he said this: The most important thing for me is - be true to myself: Before the order, before the body, and before Grand Lodge.

Hold the events, make it regular, and expect that, for quite some time, the only person there will be me.

But.....

I'm still pissed off about how March 15 turned out. An initiation shouldn't be surrounded with so much effort on the part of the initiate. (Maybe it is an allegory - Maybe the universe is telling me that I'm going to have to work real hard to bring about my own death. Isn't that just encouraging?)

For the last several weeks, and especially this last week, the theater of my mind has been putting on some grand productions. I have imagined all sorts of events, betrayals and slights followed by my wounded and righteous withdrawal from the OTO. As usual, this shit was going on for a while before I stopped myself and recognized it was happening. Then it took a little while longer to analyze why it was happening. This is my subconscious telling me I want OUT. But the drama also often is framed in terms preceded by the failure for the large wonderful oasis to materialize. So is it that I want out all the way, or that I don't want to fail? Either way, it seems I want to be able to conveniently have someone else to blame (hence the imagined slight or offense). Holy crap. I thought I was slightly past this sort of drama? Then again, silly monkey is wired to learn lessons over and over before they finally stick.

So - brass tacks for Horus. Monthly mass. Coffee and/or class twice a month. Declare a day and do it. Tuesday? Monday? One of those. I will commit to this for a period (six months? three?) and see what happens. If I make it open ended I will get discouraged too soon. If I commit to a period, I will stick to it even if no one ever shows up.

"A Hero Denied" is the story of Patrick Stewart, a Nevada National Guard Member killed in Afghanistan, and the fight to allow the Wiccan pentacle to decorate his Veteran’s Administration supplied headstone. Good movie. Educational. I find I interesting that the VA didn’t fight the pentacle issue because anyone in the White House told them to. Instead, they fought it because they tried to second guess the White House, and surmised that – if they knew about it to begin with – the White House would tell them to fight it. Is this how bad the Bush Administration is? Do we have government agencies living in such fear of the Bushies? Is everyone spending more time looking over their shoulder for the shadow of Big Brother that is begins to interfere with the correct execution of their jobs?

Praise Bob

Class of the Subgenius.

So...I used my birthday money to join the Church of the SubGenius. I have been reading the word of Bob for some years now, but I found out there was a new book out, so I jumped with both feet - bought the book and joined the cult. Then...

I got an e-mail that MLA (Maybe Logic Academy) was offering a class SubGenius 101, creating your own cult. I clenched my teeth and really tried to resist, but the draw was too great. I sent off the money and signed up.

So we are wrapping up week one, which is sort of a pre-history. The thing that surprises me most is learning how deliberate and intentional the rise of the CoS was. First, it was planned in bitter detail, with the theology being deliberately constructed (crazy, but intentional). Second, it may have been an obsession (hence not based on logic), but it was intended from the start to grow and become a cash cow - this wasn't just a happy accident. The joy in all of this is that it worked, and the cash came in from rubes who are in on the joke, not from innocents who are being fleeced. What more could you ask?

Lessons learned so far (in relation to the OTO).

1. While the word of Bob may be strange, and have a thousand faces, it also has enough slogans and catch phrases to be concrete. It isn't a moving target. It is in clear focus. I need to compose clear answers to the common questions about the O.T.O. (what is this, who are you, what do you do, what do you believe). I need to set the catch-phrases and slogans in my mind and let them be the first things out of my mouth.
2. The vast majority of the people who hear the Word of Bob dismiss it out of hand. This is fine. All the CoS needs is that one out of a thousand - or ten thousand - for the cult to work. The same applies to the O.T.O.. Either a person is already on our wavelength or not. Be bold. Use the 'insider' words and phrases (then explain as needed), . Don't make the ugly parts look pretty. Don't try to please the ears of the person I talk to. Either they are tuned to it or they aren't. If they are, the best course is to be bold. If they aren't tuned, being bold will make them run away and not waste my time.
3. Put it out there. The CoS worked because Stang actively marketed it. Fliers, books, radio shows, etc.
4. Don't work alone. Even though he was at the center of the CoS, and is most readily identified with it, Stang didn't do it alone. He still isn't doing it alone. He traded ideas and work with a close core while building it, then leveraged the energies of a large number of kooks to sustain it. So far I have Holly and Beverly on board for the Oasis, but I need more people than that.
5. Make it fun. Nuff said?

Frustration of the month

This month's frustration: I am putting time and effort into working on all of these things that aren't Andy. But first...

On the evening of April 26 (Friday) we (Me, Holly, Beverly, Dylan) went to Carmina Burana with the Utah Symphony Orchestra and Chorus. A few days before, KUER did a one hour show on it, so I went into the concert well educated. It was good. It was "Oh Wow" good.

I am writing this in Cedar City where I will be attending Melinda's graduation tomorrow. At the tender age of 21 she is getting her BA in History with a minor in Sociology. She was also voted student of the year in the History department. She takes after me. I am quite proud of her.

I am also out of time.....

My favorite toy!

Oh joy and happiness! I am writing this on my newly repaired AlphaSmart 3000. Be still, my beating heart. I must not swoon. I am so happy to have this little device back in my life.

Why am I so excited? Go to the AlphaSmart web site and look at the Dana (it replaces the AlphaSmart 3000 in their offerings). Your first reaction will be to ask, "Why should I get excited about this? Why did you drop 200 bucks on a one purpose device, and with such limitations, when low end laptops are priced at $400?" Simple. Three AA batteries will last 700 hours in this thing. Let me repeat that... seven hundred hours. Do the math. Use it an hour a day and you get almost 2 years before having to drop a whole two dollars for new batteries. Use it a few hours a week and you forget the thing even uses juice.

It weighs only on pound. It is well built. When I turn it on, it is ready to use in 5 seconds. It never loses data. It dumps text to my PC using a USB connection, and pretends it is just a keyboard. Use it with ANY hardware, ANY operating system and dump a file into ANY program that accepts text input from the regular keyboard. When this blog post is ready, I will open a browser, log into my account and create a new post, plug in the AlphaSmart and push the send button. Shazam. The ghost in the machine starts pushing 200 words a minute onto the screen.

I am also quite pleased with my customer support experience. I sent an e-mail from the web site and had an answer within one business day, offering two options to fix the problem. I ordered a replacement keyboard to fix it myself. This was on Monday. The keyboard arrived on Friday. The instructions were clear, complete and accurate. The support people were all Americans who sounded happy and competent. The repair took less than 10 minutes - there were no surprises. The instructions were the best bit of technical writing I have seen in years. Kudos to the entire organization.

In O.T.O. news, the Electoral College voted for continuing status for Horus Oasis - I am still acting body master. They cited confirmation of my initiation to third degree as being the one item lacking. I understand and agree. "Let all be done well and with business way." A few people are treating this as if being confirmed body master is a prize or plum of some sort. "Have you heard yet?, asks one person, with a thrill in her voice. "I'm sure you'll get it!, says another, as if confirming that I am worthy, or maybe just a little bit exalted. Do any of these people stop and remind themselves that this is a JOB? It is a series of tasks, duties, and frustrations. The rewards are small and sometimes hard to recognize. It is a freaking pain in the ass. A part of me hoped the college would return a decision of, "Not only no, but Hell No." It would be a relief.

Clearing brush

After closing my last post, I did as promised and went back to doing stuff. Some things were from The List - things I planned to do this weekend - and some were just more unplanned things that seemed to mean nothing. But trying to avoid these "mean nothing" things and return to the prepared list was resulting in brainlock, so I just went with the flow.

This was a good choice. This morning I felt like the weekend was a success, and like I could move on with getting things done. The stuff I "wasted" time on was stuff that had been nagging at my psyche. Getting some of things done lowered the volume of the nagging and freed me up to focus on other tasks.

Thelema Dreama

I had an odd dream a few nights ago. The Electoral College of the O.T.O. was meeting last weekend and, if all went according to plan, I was confirmed as Master of Horus Oasis. But in my dream, they rejected me as Body Master, then tried to make it all look like it was my fault - that I had failed the Order and that it was my job to pick up the pieces and find a new Body Master. In the dream I laughed in their collective faces and started to just walked away from it all. Their response was to ask, "But what will YOU do without us?" Being the drama queen that I am, I delivered a speech before stalking off, and answered that question for them.

None of this is worth mentioning except for the speech. It was revealing. It covered some truths that I have chosen to ignore and need to resolve. If I don't find resolution, my journey with the O.T.O. may at least by rocky, or may at most "end ugly".

It's dead, Jim!!!!

The verdict is in. The VW Cabriolet is dead. Leaking oil into the cylinders, and coolant into the oil. I am going to get a quote on an engine exchange or rebuild, but I doubt it will be within the realm of what I can do.

It has been a damned frustrating week, turning into an equally frustrating weekend. The constant sense of frustration that always lurks in the basement of my psyche took a larger share of control this week. I didn't go to the gym, and only did one partial workout at home. I spent much of my time at home doing little that mattered. I lacked focus at work and accomplished less than I should have.

With the start of the weekend, I got some of my traction back, but the steering failed. I started putting effort into things that weren't priorities. When I tried to change focus to the things that do matter, I got stuck. And here I am - stuck.

Having said this, I stop and look back at the last 48 hours and change my evaluation. I spent some time being stuck, I spent some time doing things that don't matter, I also accomplished things that do matter. But the feeling that stays with me and tends to define my weekend is, "I'm stuck".

Frustrating.

I am leaving now so I can accomplish one or two more things on "The List".

Revenge of the Boob Toob

In the past, I have committed many offenses against the television. This last weekend, the television exacted it revenge.

But first, an update on my previous entry. I mentioned clearing out the Porn Collection, but didn't mention why this is worthy of mention. Forget what the collection is composed of - I have many collections of many sorts of things. It is a manifestation of my problems with OCD. As the disorder goes, I have a mild case, but it is there and it does annoy me. I have a history of turning attention to something and, instead of acquiring enough of it to fill the reasonable needs or desires, I need to have ALL of it. The phrase "Collect the Entire Set" comes to mind. Even if I don't collect the entire set, it is hard as hell to part with the pieces I do own. So, while I may not be a hoarder in the classic sense, I do have small hoards of 'stuff' hidden in the corners of my living space.

Being able to look at one of The Collections straight in the eye, then haul it off to the trash (the recycle bin, actually), isn't a huge victory, but it is significant. I went from this to throwing out some other non-related items, then dealing with a cyber-collection of music and e-book downloads that had taken over my computer. It was refreshing.

I can hardly wait to see what I throw out next.

With Kat and Shannon out of town, I have been watching their house and taking care of cats. I also decided to enjoy myself a bit by watching some movies. Over the course of three evenings I planned to watch the Lord of the Rings trilogy. So on Friday I watched the Fellowship of the Ring while sipping a wee bit of wine. On Saturday I returned and slipped The Two Towers into the DVD player, then turned on the TV. Nothing happened. No picture, no muted click - nothing. I did all the standard things (power, remote, cursing, hitting) and still nothing.

For years I have spoken out against the evils of the Television. The crap that comes in through the cable or satellite feed is pure trash - brain numbing, low, filthy trash. So when I finally want to use the box for my own higher desires, it smiles, it winks, it arranges for a cold solder joint to finally crack, thereby depriving me of my pleasure.

At least the damned thing is still under warranty.

Three Days, Two Bodies, and way too much pussy

This week was dominated by celebrating the Three Days of the Writing of the Book of the Law. Day One - the Clark Planetarium. Day Two - Gilgal Gardens. Day Three - Pot luck and Bonfire. We also read the Book of the In Laws. (Do it, then wilt.)

The first two days were me, Holly, Beverly and Dylan. The last day was me, Sara, Chris and Gretchen. Is Horus Oasis one body or two?

Melinda likes to collect cats. She wants to be a Cat Lady when she grows up. She denies this, but her actions speak another truth. She dragged one cat home to her mother's house. It promptly terrorized the other two cats, one of which had to move in with me. Then she got two more cats when she got a new apartment. Then she started taming a one-eyed cat in the trailer park. Last week, Jack sauntered into the house, made a nest in her bedroom closet, and squeezed out four kittens.

Then Shannon adopted a neighborhood stray.

Too many cats. Too much pussy.

I was all ready to spend the weekend FOCUSED. Saturday turned into a joke. I know I accomplished something....somewhere....but I'll be damned if I can remember what. So when my eyelids creaked open at 5:30 this morning, I tried really hard to go back to sleep. After all, if the weekend was doomed to failure, why not embrace the failure? I tried in vain. Before 6:00 I had delivered The Volkswagen to the mechanic and was starting on the weekend chores. I was actually getting things done, but I have a talent for focusing my energies on stuff that doesn't matter. Instead of fighting it, I went with it. Much to my shock and horror (and perverse delight) I spent some of that energy tossing out my old porn collection.

Did I just confess that I have (or had) a porn collection? Did I just call it a "collection"? (As opposed to stash, stack, etc.)

Sigh. WAY too much pussy.

Shiny New Tool

"If you want to be someone else, you had better change your mind."

I wish I knew who to credit with that quote. Change is life. When there is no change, it is time to say goodbye to the tribe and walk off into the desert.

I recently read Heart of the Mind, one of the standard works of NLP. Interesting stuff.

Then I tried one of the ideas in the book, rather than just reading all about it. I asked myself, "Where is my past?" It was large, and greyscale, and parked to my left, a bit high, very close. Fine. "Where is my future?" Small and colorful and off to the right and way too far away. So after asking permissions from "The Committee", I moved things around.

The past? Shrink a bit. Now go lower, a bit to the left, and back off a bit. I still want to keep tabs on you, but I don't want to trip over you (or hit my head on you).

The future? Move in close....closer....there - about three feet away, eye level, to the right. Grow larger, and lets move to a hippie era color scheme. Be where I can touch you if I want, and brush gently around your edges if, for some reason, you stop but I am still moving forward.

So far, when I keep this picture intact, my attitudes change. My actions change. My choices change. It will be interesting to see if I can keep this relationship with past and future, and if the changes continue and develop.

Being Dead

To quote from Magic Without Tears by Mr. Crowley:

1. The Ego is attracted to the Solar System.


2. The Child experiences Birth.


3. The Man experiences Life.


4. He experiences Death.


5. He experiences the World beyond Death.


6. This entire cycle of Point-Events is withdrawn into Annihilation.

I now sit on the far side (just barely) of step four. At this point I have no desire to go any further. No, Sir! I am going to plunk down my travel bags, sit my self down on them, and have a long righteous sulk.

Side Question: When the O.T.O. created the requirement for a Body Master to be III Degree, did they really think it through? "I know!", says Mr. X degree, full of vim and vigor, "let's bar control of local bodies from people who are in the growing and living stages of life, and hand it over to a bunch of rotting corpses." (Yes - I understand and - mostly - agree with the 'real' reasons. But I need to vent.)

But to be serious: I am not moving out of this degree until I an damned good and ready. I think two years is what I should have spent in 2nd, and it was a mistake to be pushed into taking 3rd early. I will not make this mistake again.

The Ides of March was an initiation, Gnostic Mass and an Equinox celebration. My day started at 6:30 AM and ended 20 hours later. Very little of that time was spent off my feet. I am not happy about this. There is a part of me that is more than willing to just fire off a few scatalogical e-mails and walk away from the whole thing. This is supposed to be about spiritual growth and flowering human potential. It is NOT supposed to be about 'Lift the barge. Tote that bale.'

As for my last post, I settled for myself the questions of Normals and Nermals and the O.T.O.. What will be, will be. I will follow my course and not waste energy casting wary glances at my fellow travelers.

Where from here? I am going to make YET ANOTHER attempt to establish a daily spiritual practice. I am going to ONCE AGAIN stop worrying about things I can't change and gently prod things I can change. I am going to 'keep on keeping on.' But this time I have a new tool in my bag of tricks...

Evaluating the Nermal

Why are there no Normals in the O.T.O.?

I had a 'Stop And Think' moment last week regarding the O.T.O.. It was actually a combination of several moments that built on each other. I keep running into problems getting Horus Oasis to 'work' that trace back to people who - in various ways and for various reasons - just don't have all of their marbles in one bag. Instead of focusing on the events, or on their consequences, I did some thinking about the people involved. I concluded that there are no "Normals" in Horus Oasis.

Start with all of the members of Horus, standing for inspection, as in a police lineup. Even keep the ones who rarely show up and never contribute. Identify those who have persistent non-normal neurology and ask them to leave. The lineup is now much smaller. Now mark those who have a fair claim to normal neurology, but are prone to episodes of histrionics - who blow up just often enough that you never feel good trusting them with an assignment. The crowd shrinks again. Finally, of the few remaining, identify the ones who are in temporary non-normal space because this thing called "life" is busy working them over with a rubber hose. What you have left right at this point is a small group of normals who, each and every one, belong to the crowd that never contributes. They don't want to contribute, or they are too busy, or the are just lazy, or whatever.

And standing in the middle of this thing, assigned the task of making this work, is me. So far it is working, because the non-normals and the rubber hose people put in what effort they can.

When I first looked at this, I was wondering why the O.T.O. seems to attract such a crew of freaks. Where are the normals? Why aren't they playing with us? Then I had to stop and check my premises. I am assuming the following points, and I should be asking if these points are valid....

• There is such a thing as a "Normal" and...
• Normals make up the majority of the population.
• The O.T.O. should attract normals just as any other organization should.

There is no such thing as a Normal. This isn't so much saying that everyone is non-normal. It is saying that Normal is flawed and artificial construct. The Pinks create an image, a cardboard cutout, of what is Normal then convince the masses that there is something wrong with them if they don't conform to it. The masses respond not so much by conforming, but by hiding the non-normal parts of their lives and pretending to be normal. And what of the rebels that claim to live outside the mainstream and present the finger to The Pinks? They are just looking to a marginally different definition of Normal and conforming to it in the same way. Think of the Hot Topic girlie-bopper who shows how different she is by wearing the same offensive t-shirt as the other 35,000 rebels who purchased the same shirt. Oh my....we are sooooooooo impressed.

If you want to give the word Normal an accurate definition, you would have to admit that what is truly normal is to be totally fucked up - and to be fucked up in a manner that is unlike the up-fuckedness of any other person.

But there is such a thing as Nermal. I stole this word from an old Garfield comic. "Nermal" is the name given to "The World's Cutest Kitten", who made sporadic appearances in the strip, mainly to annoy Garfield and conspire with Odie. In my private vocabulary I use this word to refer to a person who, while living in the world or so-called Normals, is perfectly aware of his or her deviations from the Norm. If not privately treasuring and nurturing these differences, the Nermal at least recognizes them, respects them, and makes allowances for them in the living of every day life.

That takes care of the first two assumptions. The third then falls apart. To be attracted to the O.T.O., a person must usually be either Nermal, or on the brink of becoming Nermal. This states the heart of the issue, and why it isn't the issue I think it is.

I think.

Maybe.

What is the role of the O.T.O. in the lives of its initiates? (I was going to use the word 'members' instead of 'initiates'. But I change my mind. Initiate = begin. We have many initiations. We are always beginning. Fodder for a whole new rant.)

I will propose the following...

1. For those few souls attracted to the O.T.O. who haven't already done this on their own, they make you realize that you a not a Normal, but a Nermal.
2. To help you reconcile your current Nermalcy to your desired Nermalcy. This can be phrased as "Finding out what the heck your Will really is."
3. To aid in coming to your true Nermalcy.
4. Finally, making your true Nermalcy interface constructively with external reality.

I will stop writing at this point. I need to review what I have written and revise it as more brain cells are sacrificed to the cause. Additions and revisions to follow...

It's in the Cards

As part of being recruited into the role of Body Master at Horus Oasis, I am having a third degree initiation pretty much shoved down my throat. You have to be third to be a body master, therefore...blah, blah, blah.

Here are the internal factors at play. First, I don't want to take an initiation until I feel I am ready. Second, I never feel ready for anything until I have prepped, analyzed and scoped it out far more than is reasonable. So, by these two points, I never feel ready for anything. Third, I took my second degree because it was a prerequisite for something else I wanted to do. Fourth, I really want Horus to succeed, and I am the only hope the body has (right now, at least), so.....

Crap.

Crap, crap, crap.

After talking with Holly and Beverly, I determined to consult The Oracle. I put forward three choices, and did a simple three card draw on each choice. Here is how it fell out...

Choice One: Tell the O.T.O. to go to hell and I'll take third on my schedule, not on theirs.
The Moon, Two of Cups and The Empress - All reversed.
Not good. Deception, breaking apart, then loss and infertility.

Choice Two: Submit the paperwork, then arrange for things to get delayed until I feel ready. In other words, lie to them:
Ten of Cups, The Lovers, Page of Swords - All reversed (again).
Not good. Rug pulled out, miscommunication and strife, an effort falling flat before it can go anywhere.

Choice Three: Hand in the paperwork and just do it now:
Eight of Swords (reversed), Death, Justice.
Release from bondage, transformation, and things being set right. And we won't EVEN make that connection between the Death card and the focus of the Third Degree ritual. No. Not us. No way.

So I grabbed the paperwork, filled it out, and will ask the outgoing Body Master what in the blazes to do with it (assuming he shows up at Mass tomorrow).

A bad case of Shingles

This weekend, I went from the top of the world down to the very depths. ...from replacing shingles on the roof in Tooele to dealing with raw sewage in the basement of my mother's house.

A few weeks ago a storm blew through Tooele. And blew, and blew and blew. The wind separated many small things from the houses they were attached to - such as shingles, siding, doors and windows. Fences were blown over. Trampolines were tossed about. Trees were uprooted. Across the street from the Tooele house, three grand old pines were toppled like dominoes. A string of telephone poles south of town were snapped in half like matches.

I was initially told that the shingles in the yard came from the neighbors place. Wrong. The repairs cost less than $40, but it took a day from my life and left a raw patch on my butt cheek. I learned that I am not quite over my fear of heights, but that I'm not as bad as I used to be. I learned that wind torn shingles like to fold in the middle then tear off - not blow off in one piece. I learned how to carefully pull nails under existing shingles, then slide the replacements up underneath them. I learned that repairing roofing is a helluva lot more work than installing roofing.

And I learned that if you spend the day with one butt cheek supporting your weight on asphalt shingles, it will be pretty and red and raw and it won't let you sleep for two nights in a row.

This was on Saturday, January 19th. Two days later, we got 6 inches of snow. For once, the universe arranged for things to happen in the correct order.

Before leaving for Tooele, I noticed the drains backing up in the basement. I hoped to ignore it for a few days before dealing with it. Poor choice. So on Monday, the plumber was there to root it all out. In the past the problem has been the line out to the street, with access from the driveway. This time, it was in the house under the concrete floor. It was rooted out, and toilets could once more be flushed without fear. But when I went to clean the floor (ick), the floor drain.....didn't. So out came the snake, and I got to clear that one on my own. Either I had two blockages that just happened to happen at the same time, or one blockage that was where the two lines join. Either way, it works now. Between the "roof tar clothing" and the "raw sewage clothing" I had an interesting load on laundry to do.

Tour Report - The disaster that was the 10th

If the universe was trying to use the events of this year's Existential Angst Tour to send a message, something to frame the coming year, that message would be, "Just give up now."

I spent the entire day working The List and got only a few things done. Those few things took an ungodly amount of time. Then I burned two hours playing taxi driver for Kathleen and Shannon.

Today has some "gotta do" diversions that will eat up at least three hours (I'm guessing closer to five). It is maddening.

Somewhere in all of this muck is a lesson or an answer or something. I'll look for it when the In Baskets are cleared.

Tour Update - Numero Uno

Existential Angst Tour 2008 has passed the mid point. I am wondering if it really going to accomplish anything. What can be salvaged?

The point....
...was to process my living space as if it was one large In Basket - which is what it is. Like many people, I collect things, drag them home, then dump them - telling myself I will deal with them later. The collection builds until both physical, virtual and psychological space is heaped high, with narrow paths that connect bed, bathroom and front door. (Is it really that bad? Whether or not, it still feels like it.)

Monday, the planned first day of the tour, was devoured by the Road Trip from Heck.

Tuesday, the planned second day of the tour, was spent clearing the decks for battle: Laundry, cleaning, daily tasks, unpacking, etc.

Wednesday, the planned third day of the tour, was the first actual day. To cast eyeballs on my living space, it would be difficult to see change. The fact is I am not happy with the effort put into it. But there was change, and there was effort. There were several physical In Baskets assembled in anticipation of The Tour, and at least one of them was taken care of. Another quite large and old In Basket is well under way. So there is progress.

Today. I burned about an hour dealing with Horus Oasis business, and it looks like the same business will take a large block of time tomorrow. But at least I am handling these items up front, getting them out of the way, and not allowing them to either turn into emergencies or attach to the tail end of 'the eternal list' and never get done. This will be an important thing for me in the future - handling new issues up front instead of allowing them to become lost.

And with that, back to it.

Road Trip from Heck

On Thursday of last week, Melinda and a friend got in Michael's car and headed to New Mexico for a conference. Melinda was presenting a paper. The paper part went well. The rest of it was a non-stop fiasco.

Thursday:
The car broke down in Flagstaff. They got towed to a shop, took a taxi to the airport, rented a car and finished the outbound leg of the trip.

Friday:
Kat and I - as planned - leave at 6 AM to join her. But instead of taking the short route, we head to Flagstaff. The mechanic tells us, "The car works for me," followed by "I can look at it sometime next week." Not an option, so we have to find a place to park it until the return trip. A local LDS chapel, in the far corner of the lot.
Arrive in Albuquerque late and drop to sleep.

Saturday:
Conference. Four papers presented in the session. A dozen people listening. Papers were 1) Jews and pressures to convert and/or assimilate into medieval xtian culture, 2) A comparison of the Maleus to the Demonology by King James, in light of the case of Anne [can't remember last name], 3) The Maleus Malificarum and the Making of a Witch (Melinda), and 4) Martin Luther labeling the Pope as the Anti-Christ.
After conference the girls set sights on spending money and eating too much food. I broke off halfway through this quest and stayed on the Hotel, listening to the Hour of Slack, reading and swilling mediocre wine.

Sunday:
Travel home. Meteor Crater. Return rental. Broken car works fine until just north of Flag. Tow back to town. Rent U-Haul truck and tow dollie. Drive through snow until on far side of the San Fransisco peaks. Hit snow again south of Cedar City. Park it all in the Wally World lot and spend night at Melinda's place.

Monday:
Get car to mechanic. Return rental truck. Go home. Drive Kate to Ogden. Drive back home. Collapse.

The total money damage from the freaking car thing is about an even thousand dollars. That is without the repair bill that will hit us in about a week. I'm pretty pissed off. I voted for Michael to buy the Camry. But no! He wanted the HONDA. Oooohh. Honda. ...that cost 600 in repairs within a week of purchase. Happy, happy. Joy, Joy.

I'm pretty disgusted because so much of what went wrong would NOT have happened if Andy hadn't been ignored or bypassed. Melinda took Michael's car because she didn't know if hers would make it. Was my opinion sought? No. Michael's car was the one I voted NOT to buy, and that has been a pain in the ass from day one. I'm further disgusted because I am the one who had to make the choices on how to dig out of it, who bore the brunt of the extra work, and who will end up having to pay for it all.

End of rant. My next post will ignore this and speak of Existential Angst Tour 2008.

Being Priest

To wrap up the last post - the piano is moved. Did you know that a small upright piano will (barely) fit through the side doors of a Nissan mini-van? It was amazing. Loraine has her piano, Lisa has a chance to achieve peace of mind, Liz has residence in another state (thank the gods) and Lorna has no clue. The L's are covered.

Last Saturday was gnostic mass. I was priest. I started the ritual "playing the part of priest", which is not the same as 'being priest". After entering the tomb and having needed preparations take place, I closed my eyes as one who is dead. Then I was alone for a brief instance in the temple, and I opened my eyes. Through the cloth covering the tomb I could see the candles on the fire altar, great altar and super-altar. 23 candles in all: 22 beyond the great veil and one in Tiphareth. It was gorgeous.

The ritual went well, but it was "Andy acting the role of priest", tracking the script, registering the next line or action, wondering how to perform each step for best effect for the congregation. Then it happened. A few lines into the Anthem I was wondering: Is it too fast? Too slow? Too loud? Do this? Do that? And something in my head told me: Andy - Forget about the congregation and sing the Anthem only for yourself and for your Priestess. And I did. And in that moment I became Priest. For the rest of the ritual there was no tracking, no thinking, no worrying. Lines and actions just happened, in proper sequence, all on their own. The magick was there. It was just plain freaking great.

But I have to be careful. Coming out of the ritual feeling like the king of the world, there is a temptation to interact with the world as if you are king of the world. This can be good and bad. Being willing to do my Will, with much less fretting about the world, is refreshing. But there is a danger of running roughshod over the unwashed masses - of becoming a jerk. Care must be taken to hold onto the good and manage the bad. Which leads to the next item...

Matthew Murray, Liber OZ and finding balance.

A little over a week ago, young Mr. Murray grabbed his guns and sauntered off into the headlines. The only good thing that can be said about this is that a young woman with the proper training and the proper tools put an end to his rampage after only four lives had been taken. (Only..."only" four stars snuffed out, "only" three families devastated, "only" two congregations jolted into shock, "only" a nation once again appalled and moving closer to being jaded.) About a year ago he found the O.T.O. and was accepted as a Welcomed Guest of the Ad Astra Oasis. But he was not accepted for full membership. In one of his postings, Mr. Murray mentioned meditating on Liber Oz. Great. Wonderful.

Liber Oz has been on my mind lately. Then this happens and really pushes it to the forefront of my psyche. So what about Liber Oz?

On first reading, the common reaction is to assume the rights of man apply to me. Me, me, me. And I get to get gothic on anyone who gets in my way. But then you realize...

1. It might just apply to other people too. This means the I have no right to abridge the Will of the other, under penalty of death.
2. It says "Man has the right..." When the word "man" is used in this way, it refers to humanity as a whole. In this light, the document becomes a polemic against abridgment of rights by church, by state, or by foreign powers. Can you say, "American Revolution"?
3. "Will" is not the same as "want". (Not to be explained here.)
4. "thou hast no right but to do thy will. Do that and no other shall say nay." Look at this one closely. What is says is this: If it is your "will" (not want, but will in the largest sense), then you have every right to do it. But - it is the only thing that you have this sort of right to. "Want" has no place in this document, or in the true rights of man. I know I explain it poorly. But it makes sense to me, and that is all that matters.
5. "Man has the right to kill..." Ouch. This is what raises hackles and makes murderers of people who JUST DON'T GET IT. Having a right doesn't oblige you to exercise it. Having a right does not allow you to abridge the rights of others. And - most important - THINKING that you have a right does not make it so. Pity the fool who is so short on imagination and resource that he feels the need to resort to violence. Pity the fool who is so short on understanding that he dismisses the rights of others. When, and only when, the rights being abridged prevent the Great Work - When, and only when, all other options have been exhausted - then is the Mage allowed to consider the option of violence. And even then, wisdom often says "no" and the universe opens another way.

End of rant.

Brought to you by the letter "L"

Lorna, Loraine, Lisa, Liz.

Listed in order of appearance in my life.

Lorna - Met her at a few PUC (Pagan Utah Cooperative) events. 12 years my junior. A work in progress.

Loraine - Utah valley pagan. Held the "Art of Understanding" meetings. Don't really know her that well.

Lisa - The not-girlfriend. Met her at work. Carpooled. Turned into something more than a carpool. I love her, but it is a love full of pain.

Liz - A 26 year old ship that crossed the wake of a 42 year old man. Things happened. There was pleasure. There was pain. There were lessons learned.

Each of these women was met in a TOTALLY SEPARATE VENUE and at a totally separate time. And yet.....

Liz introduced me to her friend Art. Art was a musician. Art died in an automobile accident.

Loraine was also a friend of Art. After Art died, she bought his piano from the family. Then she moved, and didn't have room for it. So, through her fiance Matt, she found a place to keep it. In the home of the mother of Matt's friend, Drew. But Drew doesn't go by the name Drew - he likes to be called Lotus.

Lisa didn't want a freaking piano. But her son Drew dumped it on her anyway. Darn.

Now I am moving the piano back to Loraine's storage unit.

Matt, before he met Loraine, was engaged to marry Lorna. As you might guess, it didn't work out.

This all goes to show that Utah County is just to damned small.

Checking in with Warren Jeffs

Long time no post.

For starters, I am creating a separate blog for the Body Master portion of my life. This will begin life in the Wordpress blog on the family web site - www.thedisposable.net/wordpress. [ed. - the masters blog is now defunct] As I get the web site fleshed out, and as I get the new Horus site up and going, the URL and such will change. For now the Body Master blog will also be my experiment in figuring out all things Wordpress.

My older sister made a comment to my mother recently, and it filtered back to me. She said that, except for the sex part, I was living a good polygamist lifestyle. I laughed. Taking that and running with it, I'll now update my life based on the women I am putting my energies into. They will be dealt with in alphabetical order.

Holly and Beverly
The girls did not-Gnostic Mass last night, with me as Deacon. It was good to spend time with them. It was good to feel that Mass energy again.

After mass I surprised myself by having a typical monkey reaction to a small event. Dylan and Holly sat next to each other, front to back, and did the hug-you hold-you thing. I do believe a bolt of jealousy struck my soul. I acknowledged the jealousy, gave it the honor it was due, then released it by confessing to it. But it still surprised me.

We are getting back into the swing of routine, not the least of which is working on The Eternal Kitchen Project. In the last few weeks enough was done that I may have to drop a word and just call it The Kitchen Project. It was with great gusto that I drilled holes in the pure pristine wall so we could mount the shelf supports.

Kate
Nothing much to report here. She is all about school and arranging repairs and improvements on the house. This leaves little time and energy to spend on other things, so there isn't much to report. This is as it should be. But there was some hinting of a car needing to be delivered to Glendale. Maybe I could hitch a ride and say hello?

Kathleen
She has a couple of good job prospects in the works. The least attractive of them all is still better than what she is doing now. Unisys really needs to buy a clue. If they aren't making money on Dell warranty work - and I know how much Dell is paying them for each call - then there is something massively wrong in the overhead. So, like any good corporation, then try to solve the problem by investing in more overhead and squeeze the difference from the people who do the real work.

Lisa
Ouch. My back, my legs, my feet. Hurts so good. Three cheers for structural integration. But she and I seem to be growing apart as friends. We need to reconnect. I was going to make a stab at it this weekend, but there is just too much to do here in Provo.

I did try calling and talking to her, but she was busy. She would call me 'right back'. Not likely. Maybe trying to reconnect would be a waste of effort. But I'll try anyway.

Melinda
She's presenting a paper in New Mexico in January. Wow. I'm stunned. I asked her a bit about it. I forget most of what she told me, but I remember vividly her enthusiasm as she spoke. Wow.

Shannon
She is still having a hard time interfacing with the universe. But nightly check-in seems to be helping. She got a really nice edition of the Egyptian Book of the Dead as an early birthday gift from some friends. She let me actually hold it and look at it.

Did I leave anyone out? Probably.

Call me "Master Wombat"

Yesterday was the member's meeting of Horus Oasis. The reigns were passed, and I am now acting body master of Horus Oasis. It was a good meeting. I think this is going to work.

More later. Tonight is all about cleaning up my messes and getting my head back together.

Getting things done

IDEAS
I'm a task list junkie. Like any good Capricorn, I build TO DO lists that are long, complex, ordered, dated, subdivided, etc. Once they are made, I brood over them, I care for them and feed them, I review and revise and play and prune and fertilize and rearrange. But god forbid that I actually DO anything on any of the lists. No - we can't have any of THAT (says the Wombat through clenched teeth, the irony leaking like drool from one corner of the mouth). And, to this end, I downloaded a marvelous little program called TaskFreak http://www.taskfreak.com/ . Just what I need - another way to make lists. Another place for them to die and become entombed. But then I ran across a reference in the programmer's notes to GTD - Getting Things Done - a book and philosophy by David Allen. http://www.davidco.com/ I was sort of curious, so I looked into it. But I am also a cynic, so I expected little from it.

I was wrong.

Loath as I am to praise anything on this planet, let alone something that might inhabit the same realm as Steven Covey or Hyrum Smith (of Franklin Planner fame), this turned my head. Within the first chapter I was hooked. I haven't finished the book yet, but I have already put some of it into practice at work (and to a lesser extent at home). It is paying dividends. I will, as is my habit, take the second week of January off work for the annual Existential Angst Tour, but it will not be a road trip. Instead, I am going to turn this horrible mess that is my life (living space, projects, desires, etc.) into one big freaking In Basket and allow Mr. Allen to guide me through the ordeal of processing it.

So there.

(And while I'm at it, I'll have to actually buy the damned book so the man gets the royalty payment he is due - or maybe I'll just send him a check.)

I finally finished the Collected Works of Aleister Crowley. It was an experience like most magick - boring, boring, boring, ugh ...then you find a small gem that you tell yourself made the rest of it worth the effort. There were one or two passages of poetry that were good. The rest was turgid. But what really shone was the one or two essays that made it into the volumes. It was nice to end the ordeal with the Epilogue and Dedication at the end of volume three. Here it is if you want to read it. http://www.geocities.com/nu_isis/eleusis.pdf

Another book recently completed is The Way of the Peaceful Warrior by Dan Millman. http://www.danmillman.com/ I read it because of an idea in the book that a friend relayed to me. But then I never found that idea in the book. (Was I just not paying attention?) The book struck me as cliche, as having big things happen in small spaces (not in a good way), and requiring too much suspension of disbelief. And yet, at the same time, it is pretty good. The cliche may not have been true when the book was written, and this book may be what made it cliche - an odd evidence of success. And the author may not have been able to say what needed saying without the other sins listed above, so I will give him a pass. So, in short, I would recommend the book. There is much to be learned, the chief idea being this - Stop worrying.Why? Because it really doesn't matter. (Or to quote Rex Gardner, "In fifty years, who will care?")

PEOPLE
Playing with people as energy continues - with mixed results. I'm handling Lisa well, but I think she is seeing me as aloof and and angry when I am not. In fact I once had to convince her, with some effort, that I was not angry with her on some trivial point or another. The other side of that was when I was helping to find something that had dropped under the seat of her car. She remarked rather snippishly that she was getting cold from the other car door being open. I closed it then stood in front of the car for a moment, looking at the sunrise (mostly) and reminding myself not to react to her sniping. When I got back in the car she made a point of thanking me for at least trying to help - implying an apology for her behavior.

I cut my hair about a week ago. I was just tired of it. I needed a change. But then a few funny things happened. First, I caught myself in in odd behavior. At least twice I encountered a person and assumed some thought or reaction on their part based on their presumed perception of me as the long-haired hippy. Then I remembered that I had no hair. Oops. I learned that I was engaging in "bad ego" and that my hair was a large part of this. I was - gasp - normal. I am now, much to my horror, normal - nothing special - just another bloke. It is really hurting. This contrasts to what happened when I had to drive a rental car for a week when the Hippy Flower Painted car was in the shop. I was suddenly anonymous - I could drive like an asshole and no one would remember me the next day. Freedom!

Odd contradictions.

THINGS
But then the universe tests my resolve by tossing a few Kat grenades at me. About a month ago, I got a heads up that our debt load had spiraled and that action needed to be taken. A week ago the tally came in at $12,000 - and that was accumulated in less than one year. But to make it worse, Kat now tells me that her car needs $2500 in repairs. I ran the numbers and learned that we are backed into a corner - getting rid of the car and replacing it is dead even the same cost as just swallowing hard and pouring more money into it. Of course this wouldn't be an issue if she had purchased a REAL car (Toyota) instead of a TURD ON WHEELS (Suzuki). So I resolved to dig out of it by the end of 2008. In round terms, 14 months to pay of 14 grand. In order to do this, I get to sell off my stock (there goes the money I was going to use to replace may car), give up my bonuses (again - I gave it up this year too, for the fat lot of good it did), and any chance to chase any of my small dreams this year - again (and again, and again, and again).

Up periscope

Too damn busy to make a meaningful entry. Mostly "good busy", so no whining allowed. Maybe I'll do a brain dump this weekend. In the mean time...

Some friends are back in town.
Lisa is re-arranging my anatomy (Structural Integration).
Kathleen is - finally - jumping from the sinking ship that is her current employer and getting a new job.
My job is getting interesting.
Green tomato relish.

Just call me 'Master'

Before I get to the main focus of this post, a few minor points.

I played a bit with two concepts this last week: 1) Treating my interactions with people as dealing with energy emanations and 2) dismissing expectations in dealing with others. In a way, these two point the same direction. The results were interesting.

Thursday I showed up at Lisa's to deal with trees and dishwashers (only got around to the trees). She wasn't there. Surprise [deadpan]. I found out later that she was at school waiting out a few people to get her grade in a 'problem class'. She forgot to call and tell me what was up. Another surprise [want some droll with your deadpan?]. BUT.....I wasn't dealing with a person, I was dealing with a bundle of energy. As soon as I reminded myself of that, I recalled what this particular bundle of energy was composed of, and it all made sense. All was cool - I dealt with it.

From another angle, this all seems to be an exercise in not personalizing things that have nothing to do with you. "Don't take everything so personal." But I digress.

For my trouble, I filled the trailer with tree clippings and got a pretty good massage.

And now, in the center ring, we have.... The new (in a few days) body master of the Horus Oasis (or at least the acting body master...something to do with not having died yet). The short version of why I was NOT wanting to accept the job is...
- Too damn busy.
- Fear of failure (I have past history on this, darnit).
- Disgust with some people and things in the local O.T.O. (I said "local", OK?).
- I was getting ready to leave it behind and focus on personal work and magick.

But here is why I said "Yes".

Gnostic Mass. This is my best option for participating in Mass, especially as an officer. There were other options out there, sort of brewing (a few folk in Salt Lake who have it in mind to do Mass outside the umbrella of the O.T.O., sort of like the Thelemista group out in the bay area). But that is all vaporware at this point, and there is nothing to keep me from doing both the official and rogue activities.

Development opportunity. It will be a challenge, I will have to learn and do new things. It will (if I pull it off) equip me with skills that will serve me well in other parts of my life.

Paying back what I have received. I lot of people went to a lot of effort to pull me through my first few initiations (both formal and informal). We have a few Minervals that deserve the same, and this is my chance to pay it forward.

And, of course, the fact that I just can't say no. Sort of. Just kidding. Sort of.

But I have my reservations. The only one that deserves mention is that some people have it in their head that I'll just have to get that pesky third degree initiation out of the way so I can be a real body master, not just a bloke acting like a body master. "So let me check my calendar. How does the next equinox sound?" Blech. Initiations should happen when the initiate is ready, not on an external timetable. I feel like someone is trying to shove something down my throat. The other side of that is that, left to myself, I tend to let things drag out far to long. This may push me out of my rut. But if it does, how do I know if the time wasn't really right? What are the consequences?

Acting lessons

Short version:
Call from local O.T.O. official. Wants me to take over as acting master of local body.

Initial reaction:
Crap.
Crap, crap, crap and double crap.

Longer version to follow.

Still thinking

Musings first....

So I've had the "doing by non-action" of the Tao rolling around in my head. Rolling with it are some of the other pairings of thought posted recently. In this state of mind, while reading from Magick Without Tears, I run across definitions...

"To fill the mind entirely with one thing, to the exclusion of all else: This is Magick."

"To empty the mind of all: This is Yoga."

(I paraphrase.)

I didn't read any further (mostly due to external circumstance). But it all fit together. There was this little collision where I thought, "But in the O.T.O. system of MAGICK, the first instruction and practice is YOGA." And before the dust had time to clear, I understood. The mind cannot be fully filled with one thing, until it is FIRST emptied of all that is not the one thing. Yoga is the door to Magick. Didn't I write in one of my journals years ago about the need to banish before one can invoke? And also of the futility of a banishing that isn't followed by an invocation?

Musings are done, now the Monkey Politics

The angst of a few weeks ago has mostly either subsided or transformed. In the case of Lorna, after realizing that I needed to polity tell her that she needed to either go away or bring something to the exchange of energies, she managed to go away.

With the grrls in Salt Lake (the one where I have no freaking idea what to do), I had to cancel a last session before they went out of town, and now I have until mid-October to stew over it. This is a relationship I want to keep (duh), but some of the dynamics need to change. I've known this for a while, and I've also known that much of it has to do with me, and a little with them. Alas, even small change can sometimes be large.

As for The Woman in Tooele......
I reverted to the position that Kate tried to convert me to some years ago. Expect nothing, then you can't be disappointed. On my last visit, I did just that. And it turned out pretty good. Externally, it was a little better than normal, only in that Lisa was a little more communicative about some things. (How much of that originated with her, and how much was allowed by my change of mood and response?) Internally, it honestly did the trick. This even extended beyond the human interaction thing down to wrestling with the dishwasher. Instead of being a 2 hour 20 dollar job, it ballooned into a 5 hour 35 dollar job. But having flushed the expectations or desires to do other things on the list, it was just cool beans.

Court Report

In the case of the State of Utah vs. David A Rendon, on September 24, 2007 the court imposed the maximum fine for each of two misdemeanor counts of 1 year in jail. This is for two counts of sexual assault against a minor, originally filed as felonies, and reduced in a plea bargain agreement. The prison terms are to be served consecutively and credit is not being given for time served on other unrelated convictions.

Mr. Rendon was extradited from Colorado to Utah to face charges in an unrelated felony case. After Mr. Rendon completes serving any sentences imposed by the Utah courts, he will return to Colorado to serve two years remaining on previous convictions there.

Known in the local pagan community by the name David Medicine Eagle, David is best known for his association with the now defunct shop Mystic Dragon once located on 11th east in the heart of the Sugarhouse district.

Musings - Hold your fire (with apologies to RUSH)

While engaged in aerobic thinking (combining chores with philosophy) I returned to an old idea that instead of dealing with things and people as if they are “things and people”, deal with them as if they are emanations of energy. Then handle the energy as it comes in (reflect, absorb, shape, reshape, deflect) then act or interact by sending out a measure of energy.

That which acts or reacts originates from thought – from the mind – from electrical impulses – from fire.

All things are fire. All interactions are exchanges of energy.

Fire is not a thing. Fire is a release of energy.

Energy is released when molecules come apart then recombine. Fire IS change. Fire IS shaping, reshaping, recombining. To exist, fire requires fuel and fire.

Hold your fire.

[A two hour break goes in here, ending with...]

...a short phone call to Kate. She asks if I am doing anything to celebrate the equinox today. Then she talks of it being a time of balance – an equal of light and dark. I respond that while all is in balance, it is also when the change in daylight, day to day, is at it highest.

Maximum balance implies maximum change. Change is fire.

The Tao teaches that in non-doing are the greatest changes made. Only in perfect balance is there perfect fire.

Do not lust of results. Simply know that the results ARE.

Hold your fire. Hold it deep inside.

Chewing on it

I spent much of the day mulling over the events for the last week, my reactions and emotions, and what to do about it all. Nothing to report yet. The process of writing it out has caused mild surprises and consternations. I am not done. It may take a few more days. It may take all week. It may provide more - and larger - surprises.

Or not.

Is it worth it?

It wasn't a pleasant night. I only got about four hours of sleep, in two short shifts. All from trouble having to do with a friend. None of it is her fault, none of it is her doing, but trouble just has a way of finding that woman, and too much of it splashes onto me.

So here is the dilemma: How much of this should I own? Do I walk away from the friendship saying it is just too much? Do I hold my nose and jump into up to my ass? Do I attempt a middle course, choosing where my limits are and not going beyond them?

If I walk away, and if the other person in the drama gets angry or gets buried in trouble, I stand to get stuck with a some larger burdens that I don't want to own. If I jump into it up to my naughty bits (or higher), then this phrase comes to mind: "I'm living with your problems, I might as well move in and live with you." This is NOT a productive and healthy course of thought. Finally, past experience shows that drawing lines just doesn't work. I draw lines only to get sucked past them.

My current mood is to just bail out of the friendship and do my best to protect my financial interests. If I take that route, I am likely to do it in a systemic manner: Make a list of people that are current or recent drags on my life and politely request that they lose my numbers, my addresses, my name and my face. How many friends do I have left if I do this? Only three that I can think of, and two are people I haven't spoken to in years. (As an odd note, they are all three connected in one way or another to the Phoenix area. Maybe when I burn my bridges I will have to move south.)

I am bitter and angry. I will likely soften my attitude. But then again, I may not. Or I may think it through and find a softer way to do it.

In other news

I took the morning off yesterday to attend court. A sentencing hearing. Four hours of boredom just to have The Creep called next to last, then the hearing continued two weeks because the prosecution and the public defender were looking at different sets of paperwork. The final indignity being the 8 bucks for parking. My consolation is that during the next two weeks, I get to live my life: The Creep gets to stay in jail (something about skipping out, a 40,000 warrant, and no friends in the state). On the other hand, I enjoyed watching Judge Skanchy do his job. It reminded my a bit of my father when he was on the bench. The day was a mixed pleasure.

I am in new digs at work. Downstairs with IS and plenty of elbow room. I also have two 19 inch LCD monitors. I set them up portrait mode and it is proving to be quite the trip. But it brought out an interesting program bug. I set one of my programs to open on the secondary monitor. No problem. But when I would try to open a child window from it, the program froze. I didn't see the connection between the problem and the location. So a rebuilt data, reinstalled, manually cleared the registry and reinstalled, etc. I finally figured out the link to moving it, and pushed it back to the primary monitor. Interesting, but an hour of work lost.

Mindy spent the day being a greeter at WalMart. I'm not sure how I feel about that. She is visiting this weekend and plans to go to Salt Lake and get a tattoo. I'm not sure how I feel about THAT. Gotta love it when the children are adults and you just have to smile and make agreeable noises. At least she hasn't seen fit to bless my with a grandchild.

The pumpkin patch is on a quest for world domination. One of the vines slipped over the fence and there is a 12 inch diameter orb suspended over the neighbor's yard. I think I'll point it out to them and tell them they can have it if they want. Lisa got the last good cob of corn - and it was a beauty. I am about to turn into a squash, I have cooked, eaten and frozen enough of it. And we'll see if the late tomato patch has time to produce before the snow flies.

Life is good. Crazy, but good.

Finally, it is the second day in a row I have worked out and spent my time doing Wombat things instead of Other People things. If it goes well, my next post may speak of the return of Thelema to my life.

This is NOT what I asked for

Read from my previous post. "I want my life back."

The Universe took it as a challenge. What followed was an entire week of running my ass off doing everything for everyone except The Wombat. Yes - it really was that bad. The largest time and energy sink was moving Lisa to Tooele. But we did it. It took three trips with the moving truck (and the entire Labor Day weekend), a few odd days here and there, then all day last Saturday. But it is all done except for a few minor odds or ends at the old house - just a few things I need to salvage for myself.

Near the beginning of this, I offered the use of my trailer - a Harbor Freight 4 by 8 foot. Cheap, but wonderful. Pulled by a 1995 Camry (4 banger). It is a pretty sweet setup for someone of my ilk. I can do anything I used to do with my old station wagon (and before that the venerable Ford Courier), and still get over 30 MPG on the highway.

But my offer was laughed at. She referred to it, with disdain, as my "Micro-Trailer".

Never criticize the size of a man's tool.

Undaunted, I just showed up with the damned thing and proceeded to pack it up and drag it around. By the end of the move she confessed amazement at what I was able to do with it. (Just hope I don't get reported for my abuse of the dumpster at work. ...and then there is the matter of the razor wire...).

Playing Chicken (Pox) with The Universe

Many years ago I became ill with the Chicken Pox. I was 27 years old at the time. Chicken Pox is not kind to adults. The discomfort, pain and itching became worse and worse. The level of misery increased. I often thought it could get no worse...and then it got worse. This continued until one day when I reached a breaking point. And all of a sudden the whole thing became...

Hilarious.

Funny as hell. Delightful beyond repair. My friends thought I had slipped a cog and were ready to ship me off to the funny farm.

I feel like I'm hitting a similar point in my life. Today, as in past several days, I lived entirely for other people. The only time I took for myself was to post my two entries to this blog. Every other moment either belonged to 'The Man' or was spent helping (or trying to help) other people. Every day in the last week that wasn't spent for other people was spent just trying to keep up with the housekeeping side of life (laundry, cat box, car repair, etc.)

I want my life back.

The pressure has been mounting to run away from it all; to tell all of 'them' that I will no longer be of service. But the other side of my head sees it getting worse and worse and wonders, will there be a breaking point where the burden will turn around on itself and transform into a delight?

They are watching me...

The Universe is watching me. I have known this for a long time. Once in a while The Universe sends me a message to let me know I am still on The List.

I was at the Tooele House last night (long story) and had wasted some time trying to figure out how to turn on the sprinkler system. I finally found the control box and concluded the manual override was missing (or just too hard to decode). But the grass is green, so it must be working.

Fast forward to a few hours later. It is dark. I am on the side porch and reach for the light switch to illuminate the driveway. At the precise moment my finger touches the switch, the sprinklers turn on. Have you ever noticed that the sound of air being pushed out of a newly activated sprinkler sounds just like an electrical circuit shorting out?

Message received.

Tied down

I just signed my life away, buying a house in Tooele. It is Lisa's money buying the house, but my name on all of the paperwork. It was torture to get here, and now that it is done I feel untethered - as if I am floating. Not in a good way. Like I am no longer anchored, and any wind that blows will set my course, not my will.

This experience - selecting the house, applying for and playing with loans, etc. has pointed out to me a problem in my life. I am too tethered to people and things. If I see a direction I want to go in my life, I can't act on it because of what I am tied to. I have chosen security, comfort and responsibility at the price of freedom. This needs the change. Wait...rephrase (need? but if I leave it alone I am still safe and secure and miserable). I want it to change. It is my Will to change. It is an exercise for later to figure the details.

In smaller matters, I am bogged down in projects that sap my energy and rob me of my time. Some are needed, some are 'owed' to people, some are useless obsessions. Some projects - either good or bad for me - are being handled badly. Usually by trying to do them piecemeal, fitting them around the corners of other things. Is this good? Should I take more of an all or nothing approach, diving with all energy into a thing, ignoring all else, until it is done? Does this also imply just dropping some other things as having no worth (or just not being able to fit into the schedule)?

"Some projects take 2 minutes, and some projects take 70 years. Take your pick. What is your Will?" - Dylan

Another stray woman for my collection

I have a bad habit of collecting strays.

Not cats.
Not dogs.

Women.

(Someday I may write the back story on this - in fact it may be good for my psyche to do it. But not now.)

I was walking back from Kat's house when I saw a police car up the block. A young woman had been pulled over. She was removing her possessions from her car while a tow truck was getting ready to hook it. I guessed it was being impounded. It was a half block away, so I didn't get a good look at the woman's face, but her clothing and build caused me to assume she was a 19 to 22 year old hottie.

I shuddered.

I knew she needed a ride, I knew I could help, but every time I step up to help - even for simple things like this - it reaches back and bites me in butt. So many times I have had some simple act like this lead to a long term friendship where the exchange of energies has been far out of balance. I'm just a magnet for energy vampires. So I almost walked back in the house to ignore it.

Almost.

I walked over to her. As I approached I could see her face and the finer details and saw she was closer to my age, maybe a little older (but still a hottie). I offered her a ride and she accepted gratefully. She lived all of 1 mile away. It was a good deal. I felt good for helping, she felt good for the offer, we agreed that no good deed goes unpunished, and we agreed on the existence of "The Fuckup Fairy." I dropped her off, helped carry her stuff to the door. We exchanged names (Tina) and a hug. End of story.

But how did I get to this position, where such a simple act fills me with such trepidation and foreboding? There is something massively wrong with this, and I need to find a way around it.

Farewell to Holly's mom

Holly's mother died last Sunday. But she died well. My only regret is that, after having heard some admirable things about her, I didn't meet her before she was gone.

About a month ago, mom was admitted to the hospital after suffering a seizure. After fending off the the medical community (after WAY too much sedation, they wanted to implant a pacemaker based on a pressured consent from family, not informed consent by mom), she went home to recover. Instead of just laying back and expecting to get better, mom took responsibility for her recovery. She set goals for time out of bed, for mild exercise, and for slowly resuming housework. She didn't over-stretch - family was there to help, and mom only took on a little of the work as she was able. But she did, thank goodness, take on what she could.

But there was some question of her heart, and if a pacemaker really was needed. The compromise was to get a monitor and see what the record recommended.

On Sunday evening, mom was up and about. She was on her feet. She helped with the cooking and dishes. She was talking and coherent. She felt valued and useful. She was happy. Early in the evening, she lay down for a nap. A short time later when family checked in on her, she was gone.

"Term of all that liveth, whose name is inscrutable. Be favorable unto us in thine hour." I hope, in my time, to find as much favor.

Back from the shadows

[Notes: At the time this was posted, it was the first entry made to this blog in nearly two years. There are more 'recent' entries that were pulled from my journals and used to backfill this two year period they are marked as such.

In April of 2010 I revised the blog. Contrary to what it says below, much content has been pulled. Anything that will piss off my friends, ex-friends, and sensitive souls is now hidden behind security on my LiveJournal site. So there.]

Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the law.

Like all good things, I managed to let my journals - and this blog - fade into the background. It is now time to pull them back into the light. My thanks to Kate for prodding me into taking this step.

But be warned - this time its going to be a bit raw. The old posts were edited and prettied up, always with the knowledge that people I know would be reading them. This time there will be much less of that. What there WILL be is more of the raw musing and emotion that is swirling around my psyche. I am sorting out a few things in life and this blog is going to be tool for doing it. Things may get ugly.

THIS TIME I AM DOING IT FOR ME.

Another warning.... In conversation with my friends I often withhold things about other friends. Why? Because nearly all of my friends are women, and I have varying degrees of involvement with these women. (Mostly just emotional or monetary involvement - you would be amazed how little sex physical involvement there is in my life.) Women tend to get jealous. I tend to smile and keep my mouth shut. Few of them really know all of what is happening in my life. So, if you are one of those women and don't want to get hurt, go away now. (Did I mention that there are Mormon polygamists among my ancestors?)

You have been warned.

- break -

I'll take up where I left off with my last entry of two years ago. The O.T.O.. About a month ago I took my second degree with the O.T.O.. This time there was another candidate being initiated, Frater Russ. He's a good kid, but.....

Sorer's Beverly and Holly have observed that the initiations of the O.T.O. change people. They will either turn you into a 'really cool person' or they will turn you into an asshole. So far Frater Russ has looked like one of the cool people. But recent events show signs of him leaning in the anal direction. I'll observe and hope I am unduly alarmed.

And the parting bit of angst for the weekend is that I've gone on the wagon. I'm going dry. I didn't like what alcohol was doing in my life, so I am leaving it alone for a season. We aren't talking about dancing the twelve step here, but I do need to step away from it and live with different vices for a while. (Hmmmm...... No booze. No sex. Smoking makes me puke. What vices are there? I am willing to take suggestions.)

Love is the law, love under will.

Second Degree Jam Sandwich

[Backfill: Posted 5-6-2008 from an offline journal entry.]

It is 5:00 in the evening. One week ago to this hour I was undergoing my second degree O.T.O. initiation. This is my first chance to write, and only because Lisa is late for our appointment.

If I ignore all else and tell only one story from the last week, I think it will suffice and will sum it all up. On Sunday I purchased a jar of strawberry jam. Monday morning I wanted to make a PBJ sandwich to take to work. I took out the jar of jam and tried to open it. It was too tight. So I twisted harder, then harder still. Nothing. I tapped the rim of the lid with a knife blade to loosen it. Nothing. I turned the knife around and whacked it harder with the handle. Still nothing. I turned the jar upside down and whacked the bottom. Nothing. I got out the rubber helper and twisted for all I was worth. Not a damned thing - not budging. So I turned my attention to the utensils drawer to look for another tool to assault the lid with.

I heard a sudden pop, then a clank, and looked to see the lid, no longer attached to the bottle, laying askew along the top of the bottle - like a beret worn at an angle by a stylish rogue.

Depression calling

[Backfill: Posted 5-6-2008 from an offline journal entry.]

About a month ago I entered a state of depression. This followed a period several weeks long of being and feeling neutral. At first I judged that the depression was going to last a week or two and run its course without any focused or sustained action. But instead it got slowly worse. Today I realized that action was needed and determined to take that action.

What brought it to a head today was no longer being able to endure staying at work, due to a combination of the depression and fatigue. So I left work two hours early. On the drive home I decided to take a two hour nap to address the fatigue, then set a course of action for dealing with the depression.

First Degree

On July 9th I took my first degree initiation in the O.T.O.

There is a part of me that says nothing should be written about this event beyond the single sentence above. There is another part of me that wants to record every last detail. Perhaps a middle ground will be taken.

I attended Mass on June 17th at Dave Hermman’s place. It was a good mass, with a friend from work accepting an invitation to attend. Before mass, one of the officers informed me that I was scheduled for the 9th. Then silence. I was expecting at least some sort of follow-up, but not a peep until a week before when an e-mail went out to the Yahoo group announcing a bunch of things, and "oh, by the way..." an initiation at Pam's place at noon. I will interpret this lack of special attention to the "designated victim" as faith in my abilities to get along without being led like a small child.

As with all such events, I was the first to arrive (not counting the officers for the ritual). After ringing the bell and getting no answer, I figured Pam was inside setting things up and far too buried in her tasks to hear the bell. So I ambled down the drive to wait a few minutes and try again. I was instantly rewarded with the arrival of Beverly and Holly. Then more people arrived, and very soon we had a group of six or seven, plus three officers. We were set to go.

I read once, many years ago, that a proper Luciferian Initiation possesses some or all of the following elements:
A threat to the well being of the candidate (real or perceived).
Full or partial nudity.
The granting of a new (usually secret) name.
Imparting some secret wisdom or teaching.

The first two of these are closely related, both invoking similar emotional states. They are used to place the candidate in an altered state of mind, through invoking a fight or flight reaction, or pushing the candidate outside of deeply ingrained social mores. You can use a number of terms to describe this state of mind: Heightened awareness, altered consciousness, etc. But it all boils down to creating a shock or opening to allow the successful integration of the next two elements.

The last two elements are aimed at metaprogramming. The candidate should leave the ritual fundamentally changed, or with the seeds of such change planted in his psyche. The secret teaching and/or name will be part of this seed. The trappings of the ritual will reinforce the seed.

(A fifth element that lies outside the ritual is embodied in the study, rituals and obligations that are imposed on the candidate as part of his regular spiritual practice. This is what cultivates and nurtures the seed planted in the ritual. That may be discussed later.)

A healthy subset of these elements was used to good effect in my initiation. I was definitely pulled out of myself, and some seeds were planted. But rather than discuss my initiation here, I will "Not Discuss" it in the same spirit that I was once "Not Dating" Marta, by engaging in a one-sided contrast to my initiation in the Mormon temple nearly a quarter century ago. It may be worth noting that the rituals of both the O.T.O. and the Mormon church trace some lineage back to the rituals of Freemasonry. This is not to say either set of rituals is "based" on the Freemason rituals, or that they bear more than the tiniest resemblance in script, execution or intent. Both were rewritten completely by Crowley and Smith, yet there are base elements in common, as there are other elements that diverge widely.

"A threat to the well being of the candidate (real or perceived)"
In the Mormon ritual, this is folded into the oaths taken to not reveal names, tokens and signs. These oaths are accompanied by penalty signs, such as drawing the thumb across the throat. The wording of the oath is to promise not to reveal something, followed by the words, "...rather than do so I would suffer my life [execute the sign] to be taken." Within the context of the ritual, these oaths were weak. They also seemed not to fit with the surrounding elements and mood of the ritual, almost as if they had been put in there without the author quite knowing why. This was further weakened by the words of my bishop before I went to the temple, where he told me not to worry because the penalties were just a figurative thing. It is my understanding that even this weak version of things was removed when the Mormon rituals were revised in the 1990's.

Contrast this to a few of the Masonic tools, such as hoodwinking the candidate, placing a [dull but beautiful] sword against his body, or pushing him backward into the waiting arms of his companions. At least there is a bit of contact, an actual show of a threat. Even so, it still lacks something that will actually raise the heart rate of the candidate, or even cause him to check after the ritual to see if maybe the tip of the blade didn't at least leave some tiny mark on the skin.

Yes - my heart rate was raised and the adrenalin did flow. More than once. This much I can say without violating any oaths.

"Full or partial nudity"
The only reference I find to this in the few Masonic resources I have are to the candidate being stripped to the waist. This would explain why the good and proper gentlemen of this tradition indulged so seldom in the creation of co-masonic lodges. We can't have any titties wandering about uncovered.

The Mormon tradition has what is called the "Washing and Anointing", done with water and olive oil. In the days of Smith, the washing was done nude with a tub and basin. I assume the anointing took place in a similar manner. Care was taken to segregate the genders, having men minister to men and women to women. This has since been diluted to a version of "washing" that consists of dabbing a drop or two on the body with the tip of a finger, and likewise the anointing with oil. In addition, the candidate wears a "shield" that covers front and back, to the knees, loosely attached at the sides but otherwise open to allow access to the body. It is all quite modest, considering what is happening, and is - once more - rather anti-climatic. The rule of separating the genders is also intact.

A side note is in order for the Mormon washing and anointing. The body is washed then anointed in five locations, each accompanied with a related admonition and/or blessing. These five points later form the template for the "Five Points of Fellowship" at the veil of the temple. Contrast this to the Five-Fold Kiss of the Wiccans - which I am sure was lifted from some Masonic rite that I am not aware of. These five points in the Mormon ritual are the Feet, Knees, Genitals, Breast and Lips. The Mormons get around the genital quandary by anointing the small of the back and pretending it is close enough. At the veil, these five points get moshed a bit to form the "Five Points of Fellowship" - Foot to foot, knee to knee, breast to breast, lips to ear (to speak the words), and the hands joined in a secret hand-grip. Notice that genitals suddenly cease to exist.

As with the element of threat, the nudity element is watered down not only in they way it is scripted, but also in the fact that is it required only when the candidate takes out his own initiation, not when he returns later to do work "for the dead."

"The granting of a new (usually secret) name"
My ever-so-secret Mormon name is Ammon. I am now going to hell.

After my Mormon initiation I looked up Ammon in scripture. There is one Ammon in the Book of Mormon. He is a good guy - about as good as they get. There is another Ammon is in the Bible. He's a bad guy. I can't help but delight in this contrast.

Again, I have no comment related to the O.T.O. ritual. At the same time, anyone who is familiar with Thelemites knows that we all go by some sort of name beginning with Frater (brother) or Sorer (sister) and ending with something that holds meaning to the aspirant. I have taken the name Frater P.P.P, which stands for Perstatum et Providentia eteum Perstatum, which further translates into "Persistence and Foresight and again Persistence."

"Imparting some secret wisdom or teaching"
The whole concept of the secret handshake or password is the stuff of legend, and the worst kept set of secrets in the world, especially as related to Masonry. Even "The Simpsons" played all over this one in the Stone Cutters episode. To my knowledge this is the one part of the Mormon ritual that holds most true to its Masonic origins, and the words and grips are portrayed as nothing short than required for entry into heaven.

Then there is the drama of the ritual. In the Mormon world, this is the story of creation, Eden, and the machinations of the serpent.

But what of some secret? Something really juicy that gives the candidate the ability to say to (inwardly) to the world, "I know something you don't know!" There was much instruction in my O.T.O. initiation. Little of it made sense to me, but will be revealed over time as I study and practice. But there was one moment that was most enlightening - Luciferian, if you will - when I was asked a question. The answer to this question was simple - a single word.

The initiator asked the question the first time. The answer came at once into my mind, but I feared to speak it. This is, in itself, a lesson that points back to the very answer that I dared not speak. I remained silent.

The initiator asked a second time, drawing out and emphasizing her words. I responded that I didn't know the answer I was expected to give.

She asked a third time - stern and unforgiving, her voice harder than slate and sharp enough to rend the veil of the temple. I had an image on my mind of her pulling a club from behind her dias and braining me if I didn't get it right this time. My heart was racing and my lips were dry. After the briefest of moments I allowed the single obvious word to fall from my lips. Even as I spoke, before my initiator responded, I knew it was the correct answer. I felt the tension beginning to flow out of my body into the earth.

This secret, which I revealed to myself, was the one bit of silver that I drew from the ritual.

All of the above sounds less like a journal entry and more like an essay. That is my style, but it tells little of "What happened to the Andy today?" What happened to the Andy was that he was initiated into the O.T.O.. The organization itself is a little odd and it takes people who are a little odd to join up. But the people who were there to support me, or to learn about their own initiations by watching mine, or who were the officers who helped to birth me into a new world, are among the finest I have met. Pam as my initiator was splendid. Chris and Sara (daddy and mommy) as officers were great. Sara was the very picture of nobility, treated me with genuine respect, and seemed almost proud to be associated with me. Chris is Chris and can never escape his generous and humorous nature, as witnessed by the few times he broke with decorum and whispered complements or encouragement to me.

Before the ritual, and the attendees were being tiled into the temple, Sara mentioned that I might have to wait a while. I joked that the wait served no purpose and that they would all be drinking and smoking and telling jokes while I was forced to wait - all for the purpose of making me nervous. I do believe she gave me an actual dirty look. But then, as my mommy, that is her job.

Like hitting your head with a hammer then wondering why it hurts

I am insane. I have started a study group.

At the beginning of June, Renee (coffee goddess at Steamers) mentioned in passing that she had once been going through Donald Michael Kraig’s book, Modern Magick. It is a book I own and have wanted to work through. Then I found another person with the same story to tell. So I went to Renee and proposed a study group. We contacted people we thought might be interested, and we started the last week of June. Right now we are spending a few weeks on the LBRP (Lesser Banishing Ritual of the Pentagram) and the Tarot.

Magpies and Lawn Clippings

I'm spending coffee money in the hopes of meeting chics. It isn't turning out to be a success. Renee is dealing with grass and vacuums from last night’s show. It seems the band decided to enhance the show by emptying a few bags of lawn clippings into the crowd. It spread from the dance floor to just about every corner of the shop. Renee had spent hours cleaning it, and was just finishing up as I arrived. She was not happy.

In addition to chics, I was also after some peace and quiet. Finding neither, I left Steamers and went to the Paul Reams park. Here I was entertained by Magpies. There is a nest at the West end of the park. I counted six Magpies - two adults, two chicks, and what may have been two yearlings (I wasn't sure - they weren't quite as large as the adults and the coloring was subtly different). I spent about an hour watching the birds, being captivated by their antics. Then headed back to Steamers.

The roots of my depression have not changed in the last 25 years. What has changed is (looking for a metaphor that works here...). Think of the cause of the depression as what casts the shadow. This is still the same. What has changed is the source of the light. It used to be the expectations imposed on me by the Mormon gestalt. Now the light is cast by my own expectations. In both cases, the shadow is cast by my failure to live up to what is expected. For the last few weeks (or several weeks, if I feel like beating up on myself) I've not been living up to my expectations of myself.

"Englishmen, especially Englishmen who drink, have strict habits." - Bill Gaston in 'a Forest Path'

"You notice that very young babies move with the whole their bodies toward an object that excites their interest. Arms, legs, mouth, everything is in motion. Over time, they do not develop fine-muscle control at all but learn instead to restrain all but those the need to pick up the tiny object. The capacity is there. But with so much interference there is no freedom. And freedom after all is what's important in the subject of restraint." - 'Another Axis Within' from Parabola, XXX, 2.

Horus Chorus

I’m at the First Unitarian Church waiting for the Horus Chorus to perform.

I arrived nearly an hour early with the plan of reading and writing. Expecting to find no one here, instead I found a pair of gentlemen out front practicing their juggling - the sort with pins where you toss them back and forth. One of them look familiar and, as I approached, my suspicions were confirmed - Dylan. Such a delightful surprise.

It has been ages since I have written here - if I’m not busy, then I’m empty of motivation. Lately it has been the latter. I am quite upset with myself about that. About a week ago my motivation was drained. If there was a lead-up to it, I didn’t notice. It was as if someone planted a spigot in my ass and turned it on full flow. I have done nothing but the bare basics at work, and even less at home.

Bleh. The first ordeal marches on.

Under the Whip

Everything under this date heading was written July 8 and July 20. Except for this paragraph, it was culled from the end of the previous entry and from random scribbles. Events were somewhere in the time frame of April and the first two weeks of May.

Around the first of May, the Thelemic Magick seminar stopped. Mark and Amber broke up and he moved out of her house. There was some noise for a few weeks about getting it going again at a new location, but that didn’t happen. I did see Mark once after this, May 15th at Gnostic Mass in Ogden, but not since then. At that time he was living in a small trailer at the KOA on North Temple, and he was in the ever-so-intimate company of a woman whose name I can’t remember, but who said I could just call her "Angel." Right. I was not impressed with Angel (but I have been wrong about such things in the past). I was also wondering about Mark. He didn’t give a lot of detail about what had happened, and I didn’t ask, but he was talking it up like it was a good and needed thing, and that he was much happier. I had my doubts - it sounded to me as if either he was talking like this in an attempt to convince himself of his own words, or as if he was ignoring a few ugly side effects that had yet to seek him out and shake him up a bit. But I dismissed all this from my mind and decided to just make use of the man...

I was at Ra Hoor Khuit Oasis for the purpose of being baptized. I had e-mailed ahead to clear it with the people in charge, but found out at the last minute that I needed two people to sponsor me. As soon as Mark showed up, I knew I had one person. I found the second in the person of a gentleman named Rick. About 10 years older than me, he had lived for awhile in Provo at the Hotel Roberts. He and I had a good talk together, and I felt comfortable with him. He was pleased to help me.

The baptism was pretty cool. I hadn’t reviewed the ritual before Mass, so I was pleasantly surprised by some bits of it. I loved the phrase "...deliver me from evil and from good...", as well as the symbolism of dipping the rose in the wine then letting the wine fall from the rose to my head.

Somewhere in this time frame I had a minor adventure with Beverly and Holly. I found myself at their place after another activity and was introduced to the game "Exclamation Poker". In this game you are dealt a hand and then come up with the word or phrase - the exclamation - that best fits the hand. The winner is not the person with the best hand, but the person who best describes his hand.

During this period of time I was also preparing for my first degree initiation in the O.T.O.. Among other things, I got the application from Sara, talked Beverly and Holly into sponsoring me, and purchased the material for my Tau robe. While She Who Spends Money in Exotic Lands was in Europe in May and June, on a few Department of Defense contracts, I made an utter mess of the living room and got the robe made. It was tiring yet satisfying work. The finished product was pretty good looking, especially for a duffer like myself.

Also in this period of time, I saw my internet habits once more interfering with my life - taking time and directing choices, so I reigned it in. I haven’t deleted and purged, but I set some rules. The rules have taken hold and, gosh and surprise, I’ve hardly looked at it since then. I am such a monkey.

I also got a notebook that will be devoted to the First Ordeal as Depression. As mentioned before, if I am pegging this wrong, at least the work won’t be wasted. At the same time, I have been able to write barely a page in the book. It seems that I am usually too busy or too tired and, and least on one occasion, too depressed.