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.
Monday, September 24, 2007
Sunday, September 23, 2007
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.
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.
Sunday, September 16, 2007
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.
Or not.
Thursday, September 13, 2007
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.
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.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
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.
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...).
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...).
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
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?
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.
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.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
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
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
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
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.
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.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
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.
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.
Sunday, August 05, 2007
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.
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.
Saturday, June 16, 2007
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.
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.
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
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.
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.
Thursday, July 14, 2005
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.
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.
Sunday, July 10, 2005
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.
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.
Sunday, May 29, 2005
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.
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.
Thursday, May 19, 2005
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.
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.
Sunday, May 15, 2005
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.
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.
Friday, April 15, 2005
Another unwanted blast from the past
[Somewhere in the few weeks after March 20]
Marta.
A few months back I had given up on Marta. I decided it was time to take the hint and leave her alone. She had stopped answering my e-mails. I figured she was too polite and dysfunctional to just tell me to get lost, so she was ignoring me in the hope that I would go away. So I went away. Actually, I sent her one last birthday card, telling myself it was my own personal good-bye. I did this without rancor or drama. And it was good. A few days later, before the card had time to travel to Washington, the phone rings and there she is on the other end of the line.
She just called to say hello, talk, catch up, and tell me she was moved into her new house (her own house, not a rental). It was a good conversation. I was wrong - she wasn't wanting me to go away. Funny thing is, in the weeks since then I haven't really felt like writing or calling. Perhaps my choice to let go of it took on its own life and was never reversed. Perhaps some day I'll pick up the phone and call her. Who knows.
She did give me a few ideas on dating and money. Basically tell the chicks that my wife told me about being lesbian years ago and let them make what assumptions they will. Then the truth can come out after a few conversations - build the rapport, then drag out the ugly truth. On money she suggested that I just ask She Who Spends With Wild Abandon point-blank what portion of the household budget she is responsible for, then hold her to it. Then set up my own checking account without her name attached to it.
There was much more discussed, but very little recalled.
In other news, I am eternally pissed off at Steamers for - once again - not being open on a Sunday (and this one being a Sunday where the coffee bitch swore in advance she would be there). I will not be returning for a while.
Around the Equinox was Gnostic Mass at Dave's place (actually it was in the clubhouse). It was good to do Mass again, and to have it done properly without savage country rules imposed. The turnout was excellent. Willow was there, and broke the news that she is preggers. This may be more than I can bear. If I run into her when she is about 5 months along, I may just drop to my knees and beg for sex. (Pregnant women do this too me...) Gretchen was also there, and dragging along a new companion.
Priest for this mass was Jeffrey. (whose last name escapes me), a man of accomplishment and talent who is about 10 years older than I am. I mentioned that I was the local Minerval, but managed to do it in a way that wasn't self deprecating. We got into a bit of a conversation about his early days in the O.T.O.. He took out his Minerval when I was a pimple faced kid at Dixon Jr. High. He also spent enough time hanging put at the Thelema Lodge to be able to tell some interesting stories - it seems the raid on the lodge that everyone in the O.T.O. wails and moans about was probably justified.
Somewhere in this time frame I asked Pam about getting my first degree initiation. I had been in waiting mode, figuring the urge would hit me at the right time. It sort of did, but not as I had imagined it. What hit me was the desire to act the role of deacon in the Mass. Things are open enough here that any competent person can act the role, but to be ordained to the office of deacon, you need to be second degree. You also need to be baptized and confirmed in the EGC. So I figured I needed to get the ball rolling by asking for the initiation, then memorizing the deacon role in the mass.
Marta.
A few months back I had given up on Marta. I decided it was time to take the hint and leave her alone. She had stopped answering my e-mails. I figured she was too polite and dysfunctional to just tell me to get lost, so she was ignoring me in the hope that I would go away. So I went away. Actually, I sent her one last birthday card, telling myself it was my own personal good-bye. I did this without rancor or drama. And it was good. A few days later, before the card had time to travel to Washington, the phone rings and there she is on the other end of the line.
She just called to say hello, talk, catch up, and tell me she was moved into her new house (her own house, not a rental). It was a good conversation. I was wrong - she wasn't wanting me to go away. Funny thing is, in the weeks since then I haven't really felt like writing or calling. Perhaps my choice to let go of it took on its own life and was never reversed. Perhaps some day I'll pick up the phone and call her. Who knows.
She did give me a few ideas on dating and money. Basically tell the chicks that my wife told me about being lesbian years ago and let them make what assumptions they will. Then the truth can come out after a few conversations - build the rapport, then drag out the ugly truth. On money she suggested that I just ask She Who Spends With Wild Abandon point-blank what portion of the household budget she is responsible for, then hold her to it. Then set up my own checking account without her name attached to it.
There was much more discussed, but very little recalled.
In other news, I am eternally pissed off at Steamers for - once again - not being open on a Sunday (and this one being a Sunday where the coffee bitch swore in advance she would be there). I will not be returning for a while.
Around the Equinox was Gnostic Mass at Dave's place (actually it was in the clubhouse). It was good to do Mass again, and to have it done properly without savage country rules imposed. The turnout was excellent. Willow was there, and broke the news that she is preggers. This may be more than I can bear. If I run into her when she is about 5 months along, I may just drop to my knees and beg for sex. (Pregnant women do this too me...) Gretchen was also there, and dragging along a new companion.
Priest for this mass was Jeffrey. (whose last name escapes me), a man of accomplishment and talent who is about 10 years older than I am. I mentioned that I was the local Minerval, but managed to do it in a way that wasn't self deprecating. We got into a bit of a conversation about his early days in the O.T.O.. He took out his Minerval when I was a pimple faced kid at Dixon Jr. High. He also spent enough time hanging put at the Thelema Lodge to be able to tell some interesting stories - it seems the raid on the lodge that everyone in the O.T.O. wails and moans about was probably justified.
Somewhere in this time frame I asked Pam about getting my first degree initiation. I had been in waiting mode, figuring the urge would hit me at the right time. It sort of did, but not as I had imagined it. What hit me was the desire to act the role of deacon in the Mass. Things are open enough here that any competent person can act the role, but to be ordained to the office of deacon, you need to be second degree. You also need to be baptized and confirmed in the EGC. So I figured I needed to get the ball rolling by asking for the initiation, then memorizing the deacon role in the mass.
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