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.

Stop

Breathe

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.

Housekeeping

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.

Mud puddles

I’ve been on, what seems like a semi permanent duality of consciousness. Existing here and somewhere else simultaneously. While I’m sure I should seek a medical and psychological evaluation by a professional, it’s not so overwhelming that I can’t function. While most times the sense of “living other lives” in my dreams, it happens in short very frequent bursts throughout the day. It can be confusing, but it’s like I’m shifting with the sun and moon.

During the changes it s like a changing of the guard. Every shift change there’s a couple minutes of chaos. Sometimes it comes with the same dream walking state but while I’m awake. One shift is around dinner time. While I sit at the table I get really overstimulated and need to put on headphones and try to balance out the senses a bit. So I know these can be signs of early dementia or But I’m not ready to deal with that yet. Instead I’m deciding to see where this other place I dream walk is and see what I can learn from there. here’s what I can share so far.

Every time I’m there it’s wet, and rich with green growth. It has the feeling of a medium to large city surrounded be very large suburban areas, which is most like any of the places I lived on the eastern side of North America. However it feels more like west coast. With the deep rich mossy covering of the natural growth and large trees.

There’s a hill on a suburban back street that’s dropping down to a cove. There’s a bi level house at the street with a short driveway leading into the lower level garage and stairs hugging the stone lower level wall up to a small porch and upper front entrance. The stairs are old brown stained wood that looks overdue to pressure washed and retreated. Walls of upper level are a pale yellow that was probably bright when it was painted 10 years prior, but now is like a faded photograph of itself. There’s a narrow sidewalk that goes down following the curve of the street and the retaining wall of the small property.

There’s an old pickup parked on the street with some rust spots on faded blue paint. A couple shovels and rakes in the back with two. There’s a couple stacks of white 5 gallon buckets. Not only can you smell the saltwater air, the earthy rot and musty smell of the trees and fallen autumn leaves. There’s a small pizzeria or something nearby. There’s a bar with a pool table in the back. The front of the pizzeria only has three small tables and a window counter with 4 stools for the few who stop in to eat a slice, but it’s one of those places that gets some steady business of takeout orders and the tables are spill over for busy nights with the small bar. There’s some green neon beer signs back by the two small single stall bathrooms.

There’s a brunette that works there that lives at the house with the old blue pickup. She’s mid to late thirties with long brown hair just past her shoulders. She has very Mediterranean features on a fair skin. There’s a younger man in his early to mid twenties who looks to be her son possibly, wearing an apron and a red t-shirt he obviously bought a size too small to show off his muscled body for the middle aged ladies that came in to see their friend at her bar/pizzeria and supporting her business. He is a bit confident as a few of those friends secretly not just fantasize about this young guy but a few have secretly had hook ups with the kid and they are worried their friend will freak out with them for “molesting her child” even though he’s an an adult, it doesn’t matter because he’s still her baby.

It’s truly an odd scene. I’m not sure what I am supposed to be seeing here. Several times I’ve been here but the image tends not to change. It’s quite the mixed bag of emotions. Mostly from the one woman who can’t seem to stop herself. Guilt, lust, happiness, loneliness, fear, anger, sadness. The poor woman is stuck and can’t decide how she wants to change her situation or even if she wants to? Her inability and unwillingness to make a choice keeps her in a state of torment. She can’t decide. She won’t. She instead sits buried in alcohol to just exist in that world with just a little less pain.