The faceless

In a fight to save others from a controlling man from a violent and controlling society, I was caught. Held prisoner I was forced into the endoctrinement process. They beat and tortured me until I was no longer recognized as the person I once was. They cut off my hair and even peeled the skin from my face. The entire society was like this. They considered the process of removing the skin from your face a holy and noble gesture. There were only 2 types of people in this place. Those with face in tact. They were considered most holy and descended from god. Then there were those who must have no face and must remove their evil to be worthy of mercy and love.

There was a time I knew peace and beauty. Love was natural and free of tithing. Then the faceless came. Followed was fear, fighting, brutality. The world started getting sick and dying. Nothing of the love and beauty was left. Love and beauty were so forgotten that they changed them r meaning. Now it was only the faceless.


From time to time I step away from the part I play in life. This thing we haphazard play a part of. We never really know what we’re doing in this role we play, but it tends to occupy a vast part of our existence. Once in a while I come back to this role of being human and I realize that not everything we do is random. There are parts that feel like they’re played out to serve a purpose. The problem with that is we forget there is a purpose. We forget we have a part to play. we feel momentarily like a deck of cards that has been spilled out on the floor and need to be resorted and all turned to face the same direction again. For that brief moment we have a glimpse at the collective consciousness that we all draw from. Then and only then do we find it easier to accept our part in the story being played out before our eyes.

Echos and voices

Another night I’m sitting in the corner. I’m hiding from the world that surrounds me. I’m not here and I’m not there. The echoes don’t stop talking over the music. Getting lost in the background drowning in the mud that’s sliding all around. Can I have a minute to breathe?

The smoke fills the air while we chase away the screams. Fleeting voices whisper secrets that were never meant to hide. Singing loudly from a muted pillow hiding in the fear of being heard. Feathers fall in the crimson pools below. Never should have been so quiet before it was time to go.

Now we sit here together but in places so far apart. Nothing being said but stories being told. Too many times I’ve been alone in a room with so many people. Another night lost to the anxiety that keeps me from my peace of mind.

The chimes are ringing.

The road to ur’anus

Writing down the random images in my head sometimes leads me down a strange path. Sometimes there is no clear path. So we have to navigate blindly through the chaos of our individual mental illness or physical handicaps. One minute you’re walking a very familiar stretch of road. On the side walk, passing by the corner convenience store, then your suddenly stuck between floors in a stairwell with no doors. You can see through the spaces to the places you want to go, but there’s no way to get there. It’s out of reach. Panic sets in. Frustration and desperation floods your active thoughts and actions.



Close your eyes.

Looking inside yourself, picture what you see outside the cracks. Where is it you’re trying to go? Is it something you thought you wanted or is it that you find yourself someplace else? No destination is ever written in stone. The stone merely is carved out by the path your life has flowed. You can’t truly enjoy the beautiful pattern until you step back and see the whole thing. We are insects working to burrow in the earth or in a tree. Maybe we build great combs of gold. We are no different.

A lot lately I have realized that my anxiety and panic comes from the questions of why, or What, or how? Accepting that I’m only here to eat, shit, fuck, is to boring and mundane. I’m not some mindless organism strictly here to multiply and help decomposition of the planet, am I? conscious thought sometimes is some cruel bullshit.

Elevation and evolution

Moving past thought and limitations of self preservation, we find so much clarity in the flow of exploration. If we stop limiting our thoughts of what we were taught to believe, we can discover the next step of our journey through following our instinct. It’s truly a beautiful thing to find that you have the ability to do something without having to understand it first. By turning off our conscious thought we can tap into the subconscious link into the world around us. The concepts of physical and metaphysical, conscious and unconscious, real and unreal, are all just a perception you choose to follow or not.


Today I published a couple items that have been sitting in my drafts. They’re incomplete like most of my thoughts. However they needed to get out. The ideas are only words, but just because I had an idea doesn’t mean I need to finish it. It’s very difficult to complant task when you’re so typically ADHD. So I figured it’s just best to start with what I know and let the reader take it from there. Besides a seed not planted will never grow.

Believing is seeing. Not the other way around.

As a seer of stories, I tend to be dramatic when sharing those things. Whether it’s just images, or words. The vessel changes as the story grows. This too in life, changes how we see the world around us. When you see with your whole self you can only then really see what life can become.

How does a tree look when you only use your eyes? Does it change when you breathe through your nose? Does it change when the wind blows or a bird on its branch sings? At what point does your heart open up to what the tree means to you? If your only half seeing something, do you really see it at all?

I understand why some Christian folk are so fanatic. It’s good to have an idea that there’s something more. More than yourself, and that it’s worth your love. They believe it s much that they preach and try to convince others to share in what they found. That’s sharing joy. But that joy is soon turned to burden when you won’t accept that not everyone sees it like you do.

Instead of putting faith in an idea of a god, we truly worship your god. What if I told you we all are gods? We were created in their image? What if you loved yourself as much as you loved your god? Could you have the strength to endure any hardship? Would you have the wisdom of patience? Would you have the feeling of love for what you are? Can you look in the mirror at yourself with all of your being, and really see how truly Devine you are? How will your story change and how will it change you?

Transitions of ritual thought

Today I was starting my ritual of the past few years of adding something spiritual back to my daily routine. I’ve been again having memories of times that felt like a completely different life. It occurred to me that why so many of them are so difficult is because it’s the grasping at the change of existence being. When I think like this it triggers the anxiety and fear which everyone faces transitioning from this life. Before I start to see the clearer picture I feel all of that trying desperately to pull itself back into this reality from behind the veil. No matter how often I go through it, it doesn’t get any easier.

I keep finding myself balancing on that edge often. Too often I find myself trying hard not to fall off into the other side. This happens most on Mondays for me as that’s the day I work with Papa Legba. He’s the spirit of the crossroads. As he is the great communicator I found more clarity in my work since he came to me.

I thought this was strange when he first appeared to me. Flashes of symbols and manifestation of symptoms and behaviors that were never that prevalent were now like someone screaming in my face. Nevermind that I live on a crossroads, am an older man with a cane and a bag surrounded by birds and dogs. These were all to wild for the one obvious reason. I’m white. I’m so white that the sun makes me sick. Most of my family is very strong in Celtic and Norse heritage. However later that year I first started working with Papa Legba I felt a strong familiarity as I did with my native friends and family. A sense that I was there before with them. But regardless of being white my wife and I took a DNA test to see what it can tell us about ourselves on a genetic level. When I tell you I was surprised to find African dna in me. I found out somewhere in my line was Cameroon, Congo, and Bantu people.

This suddenly made sense why an African/Caribbean Loa(Lwa) was making themselves seen to me. I was more connected than I thought. I feel like often we are one when I do rituals with him. I also found my visions and other work has become stronger since I started on this path. In no way have I stopped my work with the others, but their days are less immersive. It’s more conversation than physical manifestations. Sure I get the animals bringing me messages and things. Orin’s ravens are always in my ear. The owl soars high above all else with my eyes open seeing things from far off places. But there’s something to be said with a ritual that makes you fertile been working for weeks while it’s only been an hour or so.

I find the hardest part other than the physical exhaustion is the look you get from people who say you’re totally nuts. white folks saying I’m weird and shit and black folks telling me I can’t do that because I’m white. I feel like my cousins having to carry a quotient ID. I remind them that I didn’t go looking, but this motherfucker kicked in my door and took my ass for a ride. I’ve developed a refined taste for good rum and whiskey, along with cigars and pipe tobacco. I tell them that we aren’t the skin we’re in, but the spirit inside. All our blood runs red. We all require the same things. Over time we are as one with each other as we are with our surroundings.

Today I was doing my work and when it got too close for comfort, he shut the gates. I almost fell on the other side, but I was put back on my feet and sent on my way to come back later. I felt like a child that just fell off the merry go round and was confused. I sat down and thanked him and started trying to understand what was going on. I realized that I was hit with a massive amount of souls still lost and confused about what happened. They don’t realize they’re no longer here and trying to find the others they were with. So now I’m preparing to help them move on. I will tap in and do a psychopomp and try to help who I can move on. It’s times like these though I miss my main altar. It’s just a fire pit, but it’s one I bless and designate for doing big energy work. With this past year trying to get yard work done it was dismantled and hasn’t been available. I’m hoping it will be back up next month. For now I sit building up strength to start moving energy by tomorrow.

Today I will sit and take note that everyone fears death or at least are confused by it when it happens. It’s like being born. It’s a beautiful mess and while. Orthopedic throws you in the pot, death takes us all out. It’s one more thing that all beings share. let’s now remember that and sit to work through this existence together and make it better. Because eventually we all fall off the merry go round.

Dust and wind

A song keeps ringing in my ears. Voices of spirits crying out. I try to speak up, but my face makes them think I’m crazy. The trees bled and the water is filled with death. Land is scorched and the sky burns with bright light that blisters the skin. Animals die off and the smell of rotting meat is thick in the air.

I send my prayers to the creator and ask to for the wisdom of the ancestors. My tongue now speaks with a language that surpasses borders. It sings a song from ages to call to everyone who stands with the mother. Only some will fight, but we all will suffer.