We Become Merlin, Lord Of The Geeks...

the Man is no longer a Man
in this day and age
he is a strange Middle-Aged Boy
an Aging Adolescent
hair going grey
with the hours whittled away
on Xbox video games

the Man that is a Man
is of a bygone age
The Real Man in the films of old
Age-ed Anachronism
strong and proud and brave
standing tall to face the day
and keep the wolves at bay

that I am a Man-who-is-not-a-Man
a product of this modern age
has vexed my Heart and Soul
my Arrested Ascension
how can I always play
when a Real Man works all day
but really who's to say?

the Boy is also a Man
in our culture at this stage
in truth both young and old
Advancing Adolescence
we get to play our lives away
yet still have bills to pay
the balance of the middle way

I am a Boy and I am a Man
by internal and external age
work only to play is my road
an Admirable Aspiration
that I get to live My Way
a little boyhood every day
is the great gift of this age

Fuck it
I'll be okay

I Have Sowed Need, And What Then I Reaped...

i was so afraid
so afraid of
not needing you
so unaware
that i was
loving from fear
so confused
thinking love
demanded need
too oblivious
to see
my desire
pulling you under

as soon as i
gave up
gave in
let go
stopped
needing you
i was suddenly

Free

finally free to
see you
hear you
know you
your real you
because you
were finally free
of my weight
of my need

what i needed
what i really needed
after all and everything
is over and done
was to get out of the fucking way
and just be me
and let you be you
so we could meet each other
again
and fall
for the first time

Preliminary Results...

Okay, that was not at all what I expected.

I didn't actually know what to expect, exactly, but I had some ideas that seemed plausible and/or probable.  But what actually happened was something I had never even thought of.

For starters, it was a lot harder to actually do than I thought it would be.  Holding a bottle of beer in my hand for the first time in a year, I was surprised by how difficult it was to make myself take a drink.  I assumed I would be jumping right into that bottle.  But I'd been entirely focused on not drinking for an entire year of my life.  And knowing that as soon as I took that first sip, all of that was done, over, finished, made it difficult to do.  I had to intentionally and purposefully bring to an end something that I had invested a lot of time and energy into.  And I had a lot of mixed feelings about that.  It wasn't all happiness and "yeah, I did it!"  It was a lot more "I can't believe it's over" and "am I sure about this?"  It was very strange.  And, as I said, unexpected.

Also unexpected was the degree to which my tolerance has tanked.  I knew that my tolerance would be significantly lower than it was a year ago, but I don't think my tolerance has ever been as low as it is right now.  I was noticeably altered from a half of a beer.  And not just a little bit, either.  It was almost overwhelming.  From a half of a beer.

But the worst thing - and I really never, ever saw this coming - was that I didn't actually enjoy it.  Any of it.  I couldn't find any of the sensations I used to enjoy about it.  It was a wholly different experience now, and I didn't like it.  I just felt dizzy and nauseated.  None of the happiness or relaxation that I've come to expect from alcohol.

I was prepared for the possibility of liking it too much.  It never occurred to me that I might not like it at all.  And I'm finding myself really upset about that.  I liked enjoying alcohol.  And all I wanted to do here was try and learn how to enjoy it in a responsible way.  I never would've done this if I'd known that it was going to completely eliminate my ability to enjoy it at all.

All I wanted to do was try and learn how to drink in moderation.  Not become someone who can't drink, and doesn't want to.

Now what?

I'll Stand Before The Lord Of Song...

I've heard there was a secret chord
That David played, and it pleased the Lord
But you don't really care for music, do you?
It goes like this
The fourth, the fifth
The minor fall, the major lift
The baffled king composing Hallelujah

Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah

Your faith was strong but you needed proof
You saw her bathing on the roof
Her beauty in the moonlight overthrew you
She tied you to a kitchen chair
She broke your throne, and she cut your hair
And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah

Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah

Baby I have been here before
I know this room, I've walked this floor
I used to live alone before I knew you.
I've seen your flag on the marble arch
Love is not a victory march
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah

Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah

Maybe there’s a God above
But all I’ve ever learned from love
Was how to shoot at someone who outdrew you
It’s not a cry you can hear at night
It’s not someone who has seen the light
It’s a cold and it’s a lonely Hallelujah

Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah

There was a time when you let me know
What's really going on below
But now you never show it to me, do you?
Remember when I moved in you
The holy dove was moving too
And every breath we drew was Hallelujah

Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah

I did my best, it wasn't much
I couldn't feel, so I tried to touch
I've told the truth, I didn't come to fool you
And even though it all went wrong
I'll stand before the Lord of Song
With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah

          -"Hallelujah"
            Leonard Cohen, Various Positions

Friendships In Chaos, pt. 2...

We also did a ritual last weekend, my friends and I.

I haven't done that in a very long time.  Not even by myself, let alone with my old Temple-mates.

It wasn't even a proper ritual, really.  Just a little, nothing, throw-away rite.  But I was amazed at how it made me feel.  To be in that place.  To be with those people.

To be doing magick.

I had completely forgotten just how much I love doing that.  How much I love even just the sensation of doing it!  The feeling of energy flowing through me, like a conduit.  Finding the sense of the "flow" of the ritual, and then letting it pull me along.  The pleasure of power coming into me, and erupting out of me.  The drama, the spectacle, the art, the dance and the poetry of The Ritual.

It felt like making love with a best friend I hadn't seen in years.

When it was over, I found myself swallowing back tears.  And once again, I was struck by the sudden and almost overwhelming realization of just how desperately I missed this thing that I had willingly let go, honestly believing that I no longer had any use for it.

And maybe I didn't have any use for it back then.  And maybe I still don't.  But it's clear to me now, that I need to find a reason to do it.  Because it is obviously a lot more important to me than I had allowed myself to believe.  It is clearly filling a hole in my life that I didn't know was there; that I thought I had already filled long ago.

I know now that I need to do this.  I don't know why I need to do it yet, but I know I need to do it.

And I can't help but notice that this all happened only two weeks before I get the opportunity to spend an entire week doing nothing but playing with magick, with a group of the best magickians from all over the world.  Isn't that strange?

I'm sure it's just a coincidence.

Friendships In Chaos, pt. 1...

Even though I can't talk about my concerns about the upcoming AGM, I had an experience with the IOT last weekend that I actually can talk about.  As usual, I can't discuss what we were doing, but for whatever reason, I had cause to get together with my old Temple this weekend, and that brought up a lot of feelings that went beyond simple nostalgia.

I realized, first and foremost, just how much I miss my friends.  It's a shame that my friendships got all wrapped up in the Temple the way they did, but it just worked out that way; most of my best friends were in the Temple, and the rest of my relationships with the larger group of my friends were through my friendships with my Temple-mates.  And so when the Temple slowly dissolved, and I lost interest in (and reasons to do) magick, then I also suddenly lost my connection to almost all of my friends.  They all live at least an hour away from me, so it's a bit of an investment of time and energy (and finances as well, with current fuel prices - even with my new fuel-efficient car) to go see them.  And over the years I'd just gotten used to having this set reason to see them all regularly:  the Temple and the IOT.  So, with that gone, I no longer had a regular excuse to get together with them.  If we were going to see each other, I was going to have to make the effort to stay in touch, and make the trips out there and back, just for the sole purpose of hanging out together.

But I didn't want to do that.  For a lot of reasons.  A lot of it boils down to the fact that I just don't do that.  Maybe I don't do it just because I've never had a reason to before, I don't know; but I know that it isn't something I do.  I like having friends, but I don't feel like I need friends in order to be happy.  So, if it takes any significant amount of effort to maintain a friendship, I just won't bother.  And I can't overlook the fact that I was high and drunk during a lot of this time, as well, which affected things in a variety of ways.  It left me with even less energy to expend towards maintaining long-distance friendships, as well as numbing me to any sense of loneliness I may have otherwise felt; I was comfortably drunk and/or high, so I never felt like I was missing anything by not having relationships with these people anymore.  And it was also creating a lot of other negative effects in my life, as well, and I wasn't exactly eager to share those parts of myself with my friends, people whom I'd like to impress, if I'm able.  And beyond being a fat and lazy drunk, I was also going through a lot of other issues at the time that I didn't really feel like advertising:  identity crises, marriage problems, spiritual voids, etc.  Frankly, I just didn't want anyone to see me like that.

And it's only now, after seeing everyone again this weekend, and the "looking back" that naturally flows from that experience, that I realize - it wasn't just that I didn't feel like I needed friends, or that I felt it wasn't worth the energy to maintain those relationships - it's that, for a variety of reasons having to do with my own feelings about myself, I actively did not want any friends.  I wanted to be alone.  So, I just went about my life, and didn't bother trying to maintain these friendships, and didn't think much about it.  And before I knew it, two years had gone by.  And if it weren't for the fact that I had to get together with them again for the AGM this year, it almost certainly would've been even longer before I saw any of them again.

But seeing everyone again this weekend also made me realize, I don't feel that way anymore.  I miss my friends.  And I want to be a part of their life again.  And I want them to be a part of mine.  And it is very much worth my time and energy to make that happen.

But I'm worried that I won't be accepted.  I'm really not the same person that I was two years ago.  And I know they're all expecting me to be.  Not because they're trying to force me into some pre-determined mold or anything; that's not what I mean.  It's just, that's the person they've known me to be for years, so who else could they expect me to be?  But I'm really not him anymore.  I'm not dark the way that I used to be.  I'm not a pervert the way I used to be.  I'm not into the same things I used to be into.  I'm sober for fuck's sake.  I'm not even really a magickian anymore.  I've mellowed out and matured so much in my old age (I'm not even forty yet, but I feel like an old man).  And I'm worried that when they get to know this new version of me, that they'll find him boring, and lame.  (And, I have to admit, a part of me is worried that I might feel the same way about them, as well.)  Being around them makes me feel pressured to be the person I was.  And I have to try keep that from changing me too much; I have to let it affect me a little (what's the point of having a relationship with someone if you don't let them affect you at all?), but I can't let it affect me so much that I compromise myself in order to fit my perception of their expectations of me, or in order to gain their approval.  I need to be myself - or at least the version of myself that they bring out in me - and I need to be okay with the fact that maybe some people won't like me as much anymore.

But I definitely know that I need to try now.  Because being with them again just felt good.  And it felt like the right thing to do.  And it made me realize that, even though I haven't let myself feel it for a long time, I really do miss them.

Three Diamonds...

:   i have realized something

:   i have realized the distilled essence of all of my desires

:   is simply to be able to Love you

:   or, more honestly, that you would be able to let me Love you


:   and i have realized something else

:   i have realized that this desire of mine

:   to be free to Love you completely

:   with neither regret nor remorse

:   will never be fulfilled


:   and so now i have a choice


:   i can let go of this desire

:   to save myself

:   from constant rejection and disappointment

:   i can accept that you will never let me Love you

:   the way that i want to

:   the way that i try to

:   i can let go of this desire

:   accept my fate

:   and simply stop trying


:   or


:   i can take it

:   i can endure

:   and keep Loving you

:   knowing full-well that Loving you means

:   an oft-broken heart


:   and i have realized one more thing

:   one final thing

:   that for a life spent Loving you

:   You

:   for that I can be

:   for that I will be

:   for that, I am


:   Strong

Before She Wakes...

It's quiet in here right now.  Early-Sunday-morning quiet.

When I'm lucky, I get two of these a week.  These all-too-brief respites of quiescence.  I've come to understand how much I look forward to them, without even knowing it; how much I need them.  To recover, to rejuvenate, to reflect.  To define myself.  To remind myself of who I think I am.  Who I want to believe I am.  To try and become the man I want to be.  The essence of Me-time.

As with most things, I feel I squander it too often.  Washing myself down the drain.  It isn't enough to simply relax, though that is definitely part of it; resting in preparation for the week ahead.  Once more unto the breach..., etc.  But Quiet and Alone come too rarely to be wasted on mere relaxation.  They are worth so much more than that.

Who are you, when you're by yourself?

When all you have to do, is be, what will you do?

Character, is who you are, in the dark.

It's time for my time.

And I know what to do with it.

The Junkie And The Monk...

This is one of my absolute favorite Moth stories ever, and I'm so glad they finally posted it to their YouTube channel.


The Junkie And The Monk by Mike DeStefano

Down The Energy Drain...

I'm worried that I might've fucked things up for myself.

Ever since Walpurgisnacht, I've felt different.  Little to no energy, or drive.  No desire to do any of the things I've been getting so much joy and satisfaction out of recently:  I don't want to do my mathematics lessons, I don't want to meditate, I don't want to work out, I don't want to read, I don't want to clean the house or run errands, I don't want to write in this blog, and so on.  All I've wanted to do is watch TV, play video games, and sleep.  And get high.  My desire to get high has been a lot stronger since that night.  I guess that's to be expected.  But I honestly didn't expect such a drastic change in the rest of my personality, though.  I guess that was pretty naive of me.

It's not just that I've felt differently since then.  It's that I've felt exactly the way I usually feel when I'm using.  The sleeping all the time, and the lack of drive to do anything productive that requires energy, are exactly how I usually feel when I'm using.  In fact, I'm only realizing it now, but it all comes down to energy.  When I'm using, I'm always tired, so anything that requires an expenditure of energy seems like too much work.  So I end up not wanting to do anything that seems at all like work, and all I want to do is sit around and stimulate myself with TV and video games, and the occasional bath.  But when I'm sober, I have a lot more energy, and so I can do all these things I want to do, and they feel almost effortless, and in the end I still have energy to spare.  So, right now, I'm suffering from the same lack of energy and drive that I get when I'm using, but I don't even have the pleasure of using to offset the crappiness of feeling like a useless slug.

I'm really worried about this.  I mean, on one hand, I've been through this before.  On the other hand, this was exactly what I was trying to avoid.  I know that I can change my behavior, I can stop fucking around and go back to doing all the healthy and productive things I was doing before Walpurgisnacht.  So, it's not my actions that I'm worried about.  (Those just make me feel stupid and weak.)  No, my big fear is that even if I start doing all those healthy, productive things again, I won't feel the same way about them anymore.

I'm worried that I won't feel excited about them anymore.  That I won't find the same joy in them anymore.  That they'll just continue to feel like work, like something I have to do because I know I'm supposed to, instead of just being the things I want to do, the way they used to be.  I'm worried that I won't get my energy back.  I'm worried that I fucked myself up permanently.  I'm worried that they'll never feel effortless that way again. 

I'm worried that I'm going through this now, and a lot sooner than I anticipated.

I'm really worried, and I feel really ashamed, but I don't think there's any point in allowing myself to feel either of those things.  If given the opportunity to do things differently, I wouldn't.  I'd still celebrate Walpurgisnacht in the same way, because that experience taught me valuable lessons I wouldn't have learned any other way.  Including this lesson here.  I need to know what all the negative and unpleasant consequences of using again are, in order to keep me from using next time.  If I didn't know - if I wondered, "what would happen if I just had a little?" - then I'm more likely to give in to that temptation.  But now I know the price I will have to pay if I do that, and that's a big deterrent.

And I don't think there's any point in worrying about it, either.  Not yet, anyways.  Maybe I'll be able to get that energy and that enthusiasm for these productive activities back again.  Maybe I won't.  But the only way to determine that will be to get up and do them, and keep doing them for a while.  Then see how I feel in a couple of weeks.  Then deal with whatever I'm feeling then.  But there's no point in worrying about it now, because there's no way to know what to expect.  It could go either way.

Still, I can't shake the feeling that I've lost something really special.  And that I won't ever find it again.  And I keep finding myself feeling really sad about that.

But, for now, I'm just going to try not to think about that.  I don't see that I have much choice.

Just get up, and do the work.

And keep doing it.

And hope it stops feeling like work.

Holiday Post...

Finally missed a post.

I took May Day off from all responsibility.  Just wanted to relax and enjoy ourselves, and not have to worry about doing anything other than what we wanted.  And yesterday was one of those days where writing something felt more like an obligation than anything else, so I took the day off.  Kinda sad for the loss of my perfect record, but other than that I don't feel bad about it.  We'll see if it turns out to be the beginning of a downward slide, though.

Walpurgisnacht went well.  We had a fun time, and we had it together, which was really nice.  But there was nothing profound or life-changing about the experience, sadly.  Well, maybe there was one thing.

I kept getting this feeling throughout the night.  This feeling that this was my last trip.  Or, one of the last, at least.  I just kept feeling, "I'm done.  I've done this.  It's fun and everything, but I'm not getting anything out of it anymore.  It's become more work than it's worth.  I've put this tool to good use throughout my life, and it's helped me a great deal.  Helped me to become the person I am today.  But I don't think I have any use for this tool anymore.  I think it has served its purpose, and it's time for me to do other things."

Maybe that's why I felt so strongly that I had to do it this one last time, even though it seemed so counter-indicated.  And regardless, maybe it'd be healthy for me to think of it that way.

I can't wait to see what this next year brings.

Obstacles...

I cannot tell you how long this road shall be, but fear not the obstacles in your path, for fate has vouchsafed your reward. Though the road may wind, yea, your hearts grow weary, still shall ye follow them, even unto your salvation.   -Blind Seer, O Brother, Where Art Thou?

It seems as if the Universe has decided to test me.

I was pulled over for speeding last night on my ride home.  I was in the middle of a long line of cars, just following the car in front of me for miles and miles.  At one point, the car in front of me stopped to make a left-hand turn.  Afterwards, I sped up to rejoin the line of cars that had moved off down the road away from me as I waited for the car in front of me to turn.  I have no idea how fast I was going, or what the speed limit on that part of the winding road was, but that must've been where they caught me, because as I came up the next hill and around a bend, a Sheriff's deputy stepped out into the road ahead of me and signaled me to pull over.  There were two deputies parked in someone's driveway, both pulling people over in the same way.  It was clear this wasn't the actual speed trap; this was the net.  I never saw the trap, but I assume that it must've been somewhere on that part of the road just after that left-hand turn, because that 100 yards where I sped up to rejoin the line of cars was the only time on the entire commute up to that point that I hadn't been in the middle of a line of cars.  At every other point we'd been moving along like a line of ants, and I'd been going the same speed as the car in front of me, and the same speed as the car behind me. When I asked the deputy where I'd been speeding, all he would say was "Back there," pointing down the road in the direction I had just come.  Well, duh, officer.  Vague, much?

He said I was doing 67 in a 40.  I don't think that's true, but I have to take his word for it.  Normally, when you see a speed trap, it's reflexive to hit your brakes and check your speedometer.  But since I never saw a trap, and since I was just trying to catch up to the car in front of me, I have no idea what speed I was actually going.  And since he won't tell me where I was actually caught, I can't even verify that the speed limit was actually 40.  But, whatever, no big deal.  An $80 fine and 1 point on my license.  Even though I just finally cleared all the points off my license this year, still, whatever, it's not the end of the world.  And it could've been a lot worse - the deputy was giving me a big break by only charging me with 49 in a 40, rather than the full 67.

But I found that I had a really hard time getting over it.  I felt like this completely ruined my new commute for me, this new route to work that I've fallen in love with and come to rely on.  Because part of the reason this commute was so good for me was that it was relaxing - stress-free compared to 270.  But now that I know that around every bend there could be a speed trap that I will never even be able to see, I'm feeling paranoid.  My worry-free drive is now worry-ful.  So, in order to deal with that I have to obey the speed limit, but that doesn't really help, either.  Because now I'm constantly checking my speedometer and always worried about whether I'm speeding or not, where before I never even had to think about that.  Also, a lot of the enjoyment of this road was that it was just a fun road to drive - a winding backroad through farm country.  Having to obey a completely ridiculous 40mph speed limit on a twisting road in the middle of nowhere just sucks all of the fun out it.  So now it's no fun, and stressful.  Fuck, I might as well go back to taking I-270.

I was still really tense and upset when I got home, so I decided to try and meditate to see if I could relax a little.  But it was really late by that point (I'd got caught at work and left later than I'd planned, then I had to stop by the grocery store, not to mention spending fifteen minutes sitting by the side of the road with the cops), and I still had a bunch more work I needed to do, so I didn't have much time available.  Trying to meditate under pressure to hurry up and finish so you can get back to work is pretty self-defeating, to say the least, so as you can probably imagine, it didn't go very well.  But the biggest obstacle was that I had a song stuck in my head.  This is something that has come up consistently throughout my entire meditative history, and I have never found a successful method of dealing with it.  Basically, every once in a while, I will try to meditate, and I'll find there's a snatch of a song repeating in my head, and there's simply nothing I can do about it.  I never get any meditation accomplished during these sessions, because the song continually breaks my concentration, and there's no way to get rid of it.  And every time it breaks my concentration or breaks me out of my meditation I get a little more upset about it.

So when I sat down this time, and heard the song in my head, I knew that I was completely fucked right from the start.  Still, I tried anyways, doing a full 108 breath cycle, but it did no good.  When I stood up from my mat, I was even more stressed out and upset than I was when I sat down.

Our internet was still down, so that made a whole bunch of things more difficult and/or impossible, adding further frustration, complication, and aggravation to an already stressful evening.  When I finally got to bed, it was no surprise that I didn't sleep very well.

This morning, my beautiful, relaxing new commute was, as predicted, stressful and unpleasant.  But at least I didn't get pulled over.

I got to the gym bright and early at 7:30, only to find the place packed.  Every treadmill taken, every elliptical taken.  Part of the reason I enjoy working out in the early morning is because it is never packed.  But there were at least twice as many people in there this morning as I have ever seen in there before!  I have never had to wait to use a machine before, either.  I didn't know what to do.  So I ended up just standing around for fifteen minutes, until a machine opened up.  Which, of course, threw off my schedule for the rest of my morning by fifteen minutes.

But here's the kicker:  about an hour after I get up to my office from the gym, She calls me to tell me that she's just been fired.  From the job she's had for eight years.  By her new boss (about the tenth she's had in the last two years), who's been there only a couple of months.

Wow.

Ok.

Gotta say, didn't see that one coming.

Up to this point, it had just been a series of annoying complications.  But this is different.  This is a sudden 90-degree turn in the course of our life from here on.

It's kind of difficult to take it all in, honestly.  Suddenly, the foundation of our lives has become slightly unstable.  We know a lot of things are about to change, drastically.  But, we don't really know which things, or how, or in what way.  It could be anything from Really Bad (e.g., we can't pay our mortgage and end up losing our home, etc.) all the way to Totally Amazing (e.g., she could end up with a new job that she loves, that pays better, that finally gives us more time together, etc.).  Everything is up in the air, which is scary, but also full of potential, which is exhilarating.

This time will be what we make of it.

So, are we up to the challenge?

I have to say, I'm looking forward to finding out.

The Beginning is a delicate time.  -Princess Irulan, Dune

Pleasuring Myself, continued...

A reader left this comment on my post from yesterday, and I wanted to respond to it here, because I think it raises some interesting points that got me thinking about it a bit more:

Well I think the goal is to be happy moment by moment as much as you can. So what's the problem with pleasuring yourself? Just strive for getting outside your own ego as much as you can, and then you're still moving forward, I say. 

I'm not sure I can agree with that.  I'm not sure I should agree with that, for my own safety.

See, my problem is that, more often than not, that instinct or drive or need to pleasure myself, to make myself happy, has led me to do stupid, self-destructive things.  On more than one occasion now, it has come close to killing me.  And it's a virtual certainty that, if left unchecked, someday it will succeed.  So pleasuring myself is my problem.  And so I feel that, for my own good, I can't allow myself to just try to be as happy as possible moment-to-moment.  Because what happens when the thing that will make me happy is also something that hurts me in some way?

So I feel like I need to do something to correct that behavior, that need to pleasure myself.  And right now, I'm not sure that I actually am.  Yes, it's true that I'm no longer indulging in those self-destructive pastimes at the moment, and that I've replaced them with more self-constructive activities, but I don't feel that I can take any credit for that.  Because I didn't do anything to foster that change.  The circumstances around me have changed, but I'm still responding to them in the same way I always have before.  I still feel just as strong of a need to pleasure myself, it's just that the methods in which I want to achieve that pleasure are now different.  As I said yesterday:  before I wanted to get high and get off, so that's what I did, and now I want to meditate and study mathematics, so that's what I'm doing.

The root cause of my self-destructive behavior lies in that need to make myself feel as good as possible for as much of the time as possible.  Yes, I'm now indulging that need in a constructive manner, but since I had no hand it actually making that happen and am only following where the flow takes me, then how can I trust in that and believe that I am now somehow "better?"  I have put no Will into this.  I am not behaving any differently, not really.  I'm just responding to different stimulus in the same manner as before.  So, what happens when the novelty wears off?  What happens when I suddenly find that I'm not deriving the same amount of joy and satisfaction out of these healthy activities as I once did?

What happens when I finally do want to get high again?

Because that day will come, no question.  And if I haven't done anything to correct the root cause of that desire, then how will I be able to resist it?  And I guess that's the problem in a nutshell:  I'm not resisting.  Because for me, there's nothing to resist.

Most people in my situation (newly-sober addicts) are in a constant battle against their own desires.  They are struggling against themselves to try and resist the urge to do the one thing they want to do more than anything else.  And their entire recovery is built around that internal conflict.  I know that I am an addict because I have experienced that conflict for more of my life than I care to admit, and because most of the times that I have fought those urges, I have lost.  But that is not my experience now; that is not what I'm going through today.  I'm not getting high right now because I do not want to get high right now.  I am sober because, right now, I want to be sober.  I have no urges to resist or fight against.  They just disappeared, and I ran with it.  And so that makes me feel like I'm not really doing the work.  Like I'm not really getting any better.  That I just got lucky.  That I had a brief window of opportunity, and I seized on it.

But this is not going to last forever.  Eventually, the winds of my desire are bound to blow back in the other direction again.  And I'm going to need to know ahead of time how to respond when that happens, or else it's going to catch me off guard and I'm going to fall right back into the same self-destructive patterns that I feel so blessedly and falsely liberated from right now.  But how can I possibly prepare for that?  Should I be resisting every pleasurable desire I have, irrespective of de-structive vs. con-structive?  Do I need to be living a monastic life?  (Frankly, I'd rather OD.)

Maybe I just need to cross that bridge when I come to it.  Maybe there's no point in worrying about it.  Maybe I should just accept this period of productive activity for what it is, and be grateful that it came so easily to me.  Maybe I should just focus on how lucky I am that I don't have to go through that struggle the way so many other addicts do.

And it would be so easy to do all of that, if only I felt in any way responsible for this change of fortune.  If I just felt that I had some hand in bringing this release about, then I would know that I actually am resisting, that I am doing the work - just in my own unique way, outside the range of the typical experience.  The same way I seem to do just about everything else.

Maybe that is true.

Could that be true?

No, I don't think so.  I've fought hard before, and I've won.  And I've fought hard, and lost.  But this time, I wasn't even fighting at all.  I had given in to my desires 100%.  And even though I knew I was hurting myself badly I still didn't try to resist.  I just didn't have it in me.  But then I hit a bottom I hadn't even seen coming.  And it scared the shit out of me.  And I responded to that fear by running as fast as I could in the opposite direction.  Basically, I scared myself straight.

How can I take credit for that?

I can't.  I didn't really do anything.  I got lucky.

But what I can do?  I can be grateful.  And oh, how I am.

And I can look on the bright side.  I can make the most of it.  I can do everything in my power to get as much out of this experience as I possibly can, for as long as it lasts.  And if I'm lucky, and smart, then the things I learn during this temporary reprieve will prepare me to know what to do and how to respond when that inevitable day finally arrives, and my desires shift their poles again.

And that's gotta be enough.

Pleasuring Myself...

How's that for a provocative title, huh?

But, seriously, I've been realizing lately that I'm still exhibiting the same pattern of behavior that I'm currently trying to break out of.  I'm still spending the vast majority of my time every day pleasuring myself.  The only difference is that now I'm pleasuring myself in ways that are generally more beneficial.

I'm eating good and good-for-me food instead of fried, microwaved, and/or bar food.  But not because I've made some self-sacrificing commitment to eat better.  I'm doing it because I'm craving fruits and vegetables and yogurts and other nutritious food, and because eating the heavy, calorie- and fat-laden foods I used to love now makes me ill.  So, I'm still doing exactly what I want; it's just that what I want has changed.  So, am I really doing anything differently?

I'm still pleasuring myself all the time.  But instead of doing it physically or chemically with sex and drugs, I'm doing it mentally, emotionally, and creatively by studying subjects that interest me, reading books that move and/or stimulate me, and by writing whatever I feel like at the time here on a regular basis.  (And I guess physically, as well, by eating healthy foods.)  But again, it's not because I've made some difficult life-decision to try to become a better person.  It's just that this is what I want to do now.  I'm still doing exactly what I want.  I wanted to get high and get off before, so that's what I did; and now I want to study mathematics and meditate, so that's what I'm doing.

I have not yet even made an attempt to resist my desires.

So, the question is, have I really changed at all?

And if I'm being healthy and productive, then does it even matter?

I guess we'll find out soon enough.

The Night of Walpurgis...

Believe it or not, meditation isn't always relaxing.

Sometimes, there is no void.  Sometimes, there is instead a flood of creative energy.  Sometimes, meditation can be almost overwhelmingly stimulating.

And today was one of those times.

The rush of ideas was so intense that I could barely concentrate on my breathing, and frequently lost focus.  And count - I counted to 108 breaths, but I'm sure I actually breathed twice that many.  And the inspiration was as varied as it was relentless.  I had ideas for stories I want to write, people I want to contact and the reasons why and the things I want to say to them, projects I want to work on and how I want to go about them, reminders, notes, insights and realizations of every sort.  For a while, try as I might to ignore it and focus on counting my breaths, I was even aware of this very post writing itself out in my head.  But the biggest and most immediate idea that occurred to me during this creative blitzkrieg, and the subject of this entry, is how I'm going to handle the Walpurgisnacht.

So, I had my last drink this past Sunday, and I had my last toke the Sunday before that (that's a story for another post), though it's been many months since I've smoked on a regular basis.  The plan was/is to spend a full year completely sober for the first time in my adult life.  This is something I've known I needed to do for a long time.  I'm a particular kind of addict (I'm sure there's a word for it, but I don't know what it is) - I can be addicted to this for awhile and then put it down, and then be addicted to that for awhile and then put it down, and so on.  I don't really have a drug of choice, per se, though I do have preferences, and there's some drugs I absolutely can't stand.  But what I'm actually addicted to, is getting high, however that happens.  When I quit smoking cigarettes, I compensated by smoking more pot.  When I quit smoking pot, I compensated by drinking more.  And I always knew I was robbing Peter to pay Paul, but at the time Paul was the one threatening to break my kneecaps, so I just told myself I'd deal with Peter later.  But I'm getting older now, and feeling more mortal by the day, and it's time to finally deal with my addictive behavior at the root, rather than dealing with any given addiction to a particular substance one at a time.

But there are some other reasons to do it, as well.  Purely from a health perspective, it'd just be good to give my body a bit of a rest from all the punishment I've put it through the last twenty years or so, now that I'm getting older.  It's also partly an experiment - I just want to see what will happen if I stay completely sober for a year.  It's partly to give my brain chemistry a chance to return to some semblance of normal, and then to re-evaluate and see how I feel, and who I feel I am.  And in part it's also a test - I want to see if I can do this.

Ok, so what does all that have to do with Walpurgisnacht?  The night of April 30th*, aka Walpurgisnacht, or Hexennacht, or Witches' Night, or May Eve, is a very important holy day on the Heathen calendar.  It is the counterpart to Yule, the holiest season of the year, and marks the other pole of the ancient pagan year (the two holidays being approximately six months apart).  As during Yule, it is believed that the barriers between the material world and the spirit world are more permeable on the Night of Walpurgis.  The Eddas (ancient Heathen holy epic lore-poems that comprise much of our knowledge of their religion and culture) tell us that it was on Walpurgisnacht that Odin earned the knowledge and power of the Runes.  He stabbed himself through the chest with his spear, pinning himself upside-down to the World Tree, Yggdrasil, and hung there for nine nights.  On the ninth night, May Eve, he "died" as much as a god-creator can, his consciousness leaving his body and descending to the three wells at the root of the World Tree, wherein he found and took up the Runes.

I know that I hung on a windy tree

nine long nights,

wounded with a spear, dedicated to Odin,

sacrifice self to myself,

on that tree of which no man knows

from where its roots run.

No bread did they give me nor a drink from a horn,

downwards I peered;

I took up the runes, screaming I took them,

then I fell back from there.

                                      -Runatal ("Odin's Rune Song")
                                        The Havamal


It is also the night before May Day (hence "May Eve"), which is, of course, the generative fertility holiday of Spring that gives us Easter and Beltane and all of the other "sex and babies" holidays associated with this time of year in the West.  And so for all of these reasons, Walpurgisnacht is traditionally associated with magick and sorcery (magick, like sex, being another form of creation).

For almost ten years now, I have celebrated Walpurgisnacht in the same way:  enjoying a specific psychedelic sacrament, and performing all manner of sorcery and divination and psycho-spiritual exploration until the Sun comes up on May Day.  So that's put me in a bit of a dilemma regarding how to celebrate this year.  Because I don't want to break this spiritual tradition that I have kept for so long now, but I also don't want to fail at staying sober almost immediately after I've started.  And it's further complicated by the fact that, though I realize it is technically a drug, and would affect my neurochemistry in the exact way I'm trying not to do right now, I really do not view this particular experience to be at all related to what I'm currently attempting to avoid.  What I'm struggling with right now is regular, recreational drug-use, and this is neither of those things.  This is not a fun, pleasurable drug that makes me feel good so that I want to do it all the time.  This drug is an intense, exhausting, highly spiritual experience for me, and more often than not Walpurgisnacht is the one and only time I'll do it all year.  It is impossible to get addicted to it, and I have never craved it.  So, while treating it the same as booze and pot might not be comparing apples and oranges exactly, it certainly doesn't feel like comparing oranges to oranges, either.  More like oranges to tangerines, perhaps.

I've been thinking about this a lot lately, and it's been weighing on my mind heavily.  My gut, my sense of flow, my sense of my Tao was telling me to go through with it, but when it comes to my instincts telling me to use drugs, it's hard to tell whether it's really my Tao or my addiction masquerading as such.  And I've spent so long training myself to ignore that voice inside me telling me to get high, and I'm focused so much on doing that right now, that even though I felt so strongly in my heart and my gut that it was the right thing to do, in my mind it's seemed like a death-sentence.  But when I examine my feelings, I really do not want to drink or get high right now, which leads me to believe that my desire to do this must be about something more than that.  But then again, "Denial is how it kills you," and I've learned to never let myself accept even the possibility of living in denial.  And so lately I've been leaning towards a compromise, wherein I celebrate the holiday as normal, only minus the sacrament.  It seemed like the only way to do it, really, but it left me feeling very sad for the loss of this unbroken chain of tradition (almost ten years!) and I just could not shake the feeling that I was doing something wrong.

But now I know what to do.  In that lightening storm of ideas that assaulted me during my meditation, it hit me.  And, as so often seems to happen with those "Eureka!" moments, the solution seems so obvious now that I cannot believe I couldn't see it earlier.

I will stay sober from now until Walpurgisnacht, as planned.  And I will celebrate that night, as usual, as I have so many years before.  And then I will start counting my one year of sobriety from the next day, May Day, the day of birth and re-birth and life and renewal.  I'm not really losing anything by restarting my year-countdown on May Day (oh, woe is me, I had to stay sober one year and two weeks minus one day, instead of just one straight year - waah), and I'm gaining a lot more in return.  And the spiritual meaning of it all lines up so nicely:  my year of sobriety, a year of monasticism and self-sacrifice, will span from Walpurgis to Walpurgis, the holy day celebrating self-sacrifice for the acquisition of power and wisdom; and it will begin on May Day, the holy day celebrating life and love and creation.  And having this period of sobriety line up with my spiritual model so well will give me another powerful incentive to see it through, and will significantly increase my chances of success.

It's perfect.  And in my heart, I feel it's true.  I feel it in my gut.  And I feel it too, in my head.  It all lines up.  It all feels right.  It flows, finally.

To sacrifice Self to my Self, with no drink from a horn, until screaming, I fall back from there.

This is my Tao.

...

*corrected from 31st - duh - 4/23/12

It's Not A River, It's A Bullet...

"Denial is how it kills you," he said.

They were sitting on the beach, watching the waves, the Sun setting behind them, feeling the cool, salty air on their faces, and discussing their respective abuses.  They were three days into their week-long vacation, the first the three brothers had taken together since the youngest was still a baby, and the first they had ever taken together as adults.  The youngest had just recently graduated college, and this trip was a sort of present for him from the older two.  At that moment, he was back up at the cottage, enjoying his girlfriend, while the older two were on the beach, the eldest trying his best to educate the middle brother with whatever bullshit-wisdom he'd managed to glean by that point in his life.  He felt it was his duty, in some way, as the oldest.  Especially now that their parents were gone.

"Yeah, it's the denial that gets you.  That's the one thing they got right in those meetings.  You can have a relatively easy time of things, and keep using for a long, long time, so long as you don't start lying to yourself about it.  But the second you start thinking, 'I don't have a problem,' then the drug's got you, and you're done for."

The waves crashed on the beach in a constant rhythm, like the slow, steady heartbeat of the world.  A young family flew a kite together some yards away down the beach from where the two brothers sat, and a man fished the surf down in the other direction.  The middle brother sat silent, listening, not knowing what to say; not sure if he should.

"It starts off, you're just having a good time.  Being young and reckless and free, and feeling as good as you possibly can.  Nothin' wrong with that.  But, it's inevitable - at some point, it's going to change you.  That 'want' is going to slowly turn into 'need.'  And it's so hard to tell when that's happening.  And if you're not looking for it, you'll never see it.  So that's the thing - you have to always be looking for it.  Always.  You have to be constantly asking yourself, 'Am I addicted to this?  Am I starting to need it?'  And the first time you're not 100% certain that the answer is 'No,' then the answer is 'Yes.'"

The waves crashed, and the breeze kissed their faces.  The little girl screamed happily as she flew her kite, and a gull cried somewhere over the water.  The middle brother stared out across the ocean at the blurry blue line of the horizon, feeling sheepish and guilty, and more than a little stupid, as he so often did when he talked with his older brother.  He realized he'd never even thought of these things, let alone asked himself these questions.  Am I an addict?, he asked himself.  And he realized, he didn't know the answer.

"So, that's the key:  near-constant self-reflection, combined with brutal honesty.  It's the only way to do this shit, and be able to enjoy it, and not end up fuckin' dyin' from it.  'The price of freedom is eternal vigilance.'  You have to be able to look at yourself and say 'I'm an addict.  I'm a drunk.  I'm a fuckin' junkie.'  You have to be able to recognize that, and to accept it about yourself.  That doesn't excuse it, of course.  Doesn't make it ok just because you can admit it.  But, if you can't say that to yourself, then you'll never even have a chance to make it right, because you'll never even know that anything was wrong."

The sky was slowly progressing from yellow to orange, and the breeze was starting to pick up.  It was going to be a beautiful night.  The middle brother didn't think he could ask himself those questions.  And he was sure he couldn't answer them correctly.  His whole life, his brothers had always seemed to do everything better than he did. And he looked up to them both, and loved them both so much.  He felt surrounded by their greatness; almost comforted by it, in a way.  But that only made his feeling of mediocrity that much more acute by comparison.  He's talking about this like it's the easiest thing in the fucking world to do.  But I can't stand to think about myself at all, so how the fuck am I supposed to be able to do it constantly?  Hell, that's one of the reasons I like getting high so much in the first place, so I don't have to think about this shit.

"That is the only thing that keeps this urge in check.  Without it, you've got no reason to resist at all.  Remember, getting high is a constant downward slide, and at the bottom is degradation, at best; death, at worst.  You wanna stay up near the top of that slide, where it's all still fun and games.  Where it isn't consuming you, taking over your whole life.  And that honest self-reflection, that willingness to admit to yourself, and the world, that you have a problem, is the one and only tool you have to keep yourself from sailing off down that slide and into nothing."

A constant downward slide, huh?  Well, thanks for telling me that now, big brother.  He watched as the fisherman down the beach wrestled to bring in a sandshark, and remembered the first time he'd gotten high.  He'd been fifteen at the time, and it had been a Summer night, a lot like this one.  Big brother had said, "Yeah, I guess you're about old enough now," as though he were answering a question that no one had asked.  Then he'd said, "Follow me," and they'd walked out into the woods behind their family's house.  They'd sat down against the base of a big tree, and passed a joint, watching the fireflies come on.  To this day, it was one of the greatest nights of his life.  He couldn't help but feel that this warning was coming a bit too late.

"Drugs are a tool; they serve a purpose.  They're not inherently good or bad.  It's all in how you use them.  But they're a dangerous tool.  Like a gun.  And like a gun, you have to treat them carefully, and with respect, or they'll kill you.  If you don't ask yourself these questions, constantly - or if you can't answer them honestly - then you're done for.  You won't have any reason to slow down at all, and you'll use more and more, needing more and more to get less and less out of it, as it eats away at your body; your mind.  Your soul, even.  You'll lose your Self.  And then what've you got?  Because that's all you ever had, right?  I'm speakin' from experience here.  It's so easy to think you've got everything under control, and it's everyone else who has the problem, not you.  But that's the Need talkin'.  And you can't listen to it.  You just gotta keep asking yourself those questions, never stop wondering if this is the day it's finally happened to you - because it will, eventually, some day."

He'd heard this gun metaphor before.  It was one of big brother's favorites.  He honestly didn't know if he had a problem or not, but how could he say that out loud, to this man he'd looked up to his entire life?  This person whose approval he had sought for as long as he could remember, almost even more than he had their parents'?  He watched the little girl flying her kite, as happy as a person ever could be, and he thought about it, really thought about it for the first time.  He knew he didn't use anywhere near as much as either of his brothers, but he also knew that they were both a lot more successful than he was, and that they didn't struggle with anything the way he always seemed to.  And this had always seemed to come so easily to them.  But lately, it'd been all he could do to make sure he didn't get sick at work.  He could even remember a couple of times where he'd had to choose between getting high and getting groceries.  It hadn't been that hard to bum food off of people.  Easier than he'd thought.  Definitely easier than bumming dope.  He was sure his brothers had never been in a similar situation.  They'd never allow it.

"But as long as you can do that, as long as you can ask and answer those difficult questions without flinching, then you'll be alright.  You'll be able to see the bottom of that slide coming at you, and you'll have a chance to do something about it.  You'll be able to say, 'Whoa, hold on a minute here!  This isn't what I want.  I gotta cut this shit out for a while.'  But you have to be able to recognize that there's a problem before you can hope to do anything about it.  Ha, don't look so worried, little brother.  We come from a long line of drunks and junkies and users - it's in our blood.  Their voices are inside of us.  Listen to them, and they'll tell you what to do.  They'll steer you right."

He didn't know what to say.  What could he say?  He understood, and on some level he already knew.  But he couldn't do anything about it.  He wasn't like them.  He couldn't be honest with himself that way.  He didn't want to.  He knew he felt safe when he was with his brothers, like they'd be able to take care of everything.  And he knew he never felt that way when he was by himself.  His whole life, he'd wanted nothing more than to be like the two of them.  But he knew he never would be.  And now, he also knew, that would be the end of him.

I need to say something, he thought.  He watched that little girl with her kite and he remembered those days, what that felt like, and he knew they were gone, and he wanted to be like her.  And he felt the sting in his eye and he felt his lip begin to curl and he thought, I need to say it, I need to say it now, I need to say it right now... And he felt the breeze come on strong all of a sudden, in the opposite direction, a gust of moist brine blowing through him.  And he saw the kite dive from the sky in the sudden reversal of force, saw it dive straight at her, saw it smash her in the face and knock her to the sand.  Her shrill screams filled the beach, and the gulls took flight in alarm, screaming with her, as if they knew.

"Come on," big brother said, standing up and brushing the sand from his legs.  "I bet those two're done by now.  Let's see if baby brother has any of those joints left.  We'll get twisted before dinner."

...

This story was inspired by a piece of my dreaming last night.  In the dream, I was one of the two characters on the beach (not saying which), but I decided to write it in third person, just as an exercise.  As before, I just let it come to me, one piece at a time, sort of letting the story tell itself.

As much as I enjoyed writing this, I can't wait to have something else to write about.  It can't all be drug addiction and death.  I know I must have something else to say, some other story to tell.

Patience, child...

Kentucky's Finest...

I had my last drink of bourbon for a good, long while last night.

Made sure it was a good one to go out on, too.  Pappy Van Winkle's 12 year-old Kentucky Straight Bourbon Whiskey, Special Reserve.  Charred oak and molasses, with some notes of vanilla on the finish.  A damn fine whiskey.  I'm not really going to miss much about drinking during this upcoming period of personal prohibition, but I am really, really going to miss bourbon.

And it honestly has nothing to do with the drunk of it.  When it comes to the inebriation of the drink, bourbon is hardly my favorite.  I don't hate it, but it just makes me kind of relaxed and sleepy; it's nothing special.  When it comes to drinking for the feeling of it, I much prefer vodka, tequila, red wine, or even scotch over bourbon.

No, what I'm going to miss about bourbon, is the taste.  It's the only alcohol I drink almost entirely just for the taste of it.  (Though a fine cognac can be really delicious, as well.)  It's the taste of a Summer's night at the cabin by the lake.  Woodsmoke and caramel.  Oak and cedar and hazelnut and charred barleycorn.  To me, the taste of a good bourbon - and I'm talking a good bourbon here, not Jim Beam or Bullitt or some rotgut like that - is one of life's greatest pleasures.  And I know this Summer is going to feel the lesser for its absence from my palette.

But I'm prepared for that.  And I'm okay with it.  Because what I'm going to gain through this sacrifice is worth a lot more to me.  Giving up one pleasure, temporarily - even one that I enjoy as much as I do a glass of Kentucky's finest - is a ridiculously small price to pay to stop feeling like a drunk.

Wish me luck.

Drifting Backwards...

Goddamn I hate this hotel room.

I cannot wait to get out of here.  Tomorrow, I'll love ya...

I just had to get out, for at least a little while.  Decided to just go for a drift.  Left with a bottle of water, some good walking shoes, and a strong desire to get lost.  At every crossroads turning down the path of least familiarity.

End up in a maze of an old residential neighborhood I've never been in before.  (It still amazes me just how many parts of this town I've spent almost my entire life in that I've never seen before.)  Winding capillaries of pre-fab, post-War homes.  It was an old neighborhood, in every sense - I lost count of the number of "No Smoking - No Open Flame - Oxygen In Use" signs I saw taped to front doors.

Winding my way this way and that through a fucking beautiful spring afternoon, I turned a corner... and there was my old high school, from an angle I had never seen it before in my entire life.  I had no idea where I was just then, but suddenly I also knew exactly where I was.  Cognitive dissonance.  Gnosis.

How could I not wander those grounds again?  I made my way towards the campus.  Passed the old apartment building across the street where my first love had rented a small basement apartment with a friend of ours when she'd moved out of her parents house after graduation.  Where she'd gotten pregnant with his child.  Where she'd lied to me that it was mine.  I can never see that building without smelling the pennyroyal tea she had used to abort it.  A sick, metallic, moldy smell, it had permeated every surface in that small apartment and hung in the air for months.  It made the air taste like pain and fear and sadness.

I kept going, and walked around the campus of my old high school, taking in all the sights - noting all the things that had changed, and all the things that were still the same.  I saw the giant old oak in front of the school, where we'd use to sit on days like this and eat our lunch.  I slid down the bannister outside the front door - one more time, just for old times's sake.  I wasn't quite as graceful as I remember being back then.  And it gave me a wedgie.

I made my way around to the back of the school, to the parking lot and main entrance.  (I always thought it was funny that the main entrance was around back.)  I saw the brick tool shed for the apartment building across the street, behind which we used to hide to smoke between classes.  It was under a tree on the lawn of that apartment building, across the street from that school one spring break so, so long ago that She and I fell in love.  Though it would take us another decade to realize it.

I sat down for a rest under that tree.  And I just took it all in.  The weight of all that nostalgia like a lover on top of me - heavy, but pleasant; on the edge of smothering, but in a good way.  I felt back to all those years ago.  I remembered the children we'd been then, so awkwardly confident, so brazenly strange.  Even then, we knew that moment was special.  That we'd never have another like it for the rest of our lives.  It might've been the one thing we'd been right about.

We never could've imagined what would come for us.  That we would ever become so important to each other.  That we would ever wrap our lives around one another.  That we could ever possibly become fat, old drunks.

I realized I was crying.  For the children we'd been.  For all we've lost.  I sat there under that magickal tree in the glow of the evening sun, and I grieved for every missed opportunity, for everything we used to be, for every weight of the world we've decided to carry.  For all we could've done.  For all we can never do again.

I cried for the children we'd left behind.  That beautiful, strong, scared, strange little girl.  And for the boy I'd been.  And I realized, how much like him I still feel.  How I still see myself as 16, as 19, as 20, 25.  How could it be that I am this boy with a beard, sitting here under the weight of these memories that are so much larger than I have ever been?  It won't be very long at all before I'm 40.

At what point do I begin to feel like a man?

In the Dreaming of Olde Fredericktowne...

Friday, May 28th  (last night of the full moon)

-8:39p - Sacrament: sick rose

-8:45-9:19p - ritually deconstruct altar, construct altar to Cthulhu

-9:20p - Sacrament: liao

-9:25p - all lights off, ignite altarcandle/Lya'o incense, take meditative posture of half-lotus, hands on knees in Kish mudra and engage mindfold

-~9:30p - decide to perform Battery Activation Meditation (routine chi-visualization ritual I often use as an opening rite; activates the power-centers, opens a Black Lotus at each of my tan-t'ien, encases me in a geometric energy construct that serves as both a dimension portal & a protective barrier, and finally centers me on the Axis Mundi) - sitting inside my construct, I feel powerful, serene, comfortable, safe, strong, secure, aware - hesitant to perform the last step for some reason - don't want to "break the bubble", which I've never felt here before - eventually I gather my chi along my spine and launch out the top of my skull and down my tailbone and out to the ends of creation until I am centered on the Pole of the Universe - something strange, different from other times; something I've never experienced here before - normally I feel god-like from this vantage point - but now I suddenly feel absolutely infinitesimal - instead of retaining my own perspective, as has always happened before, it seems as though my perspective on the Axis Mundi has shifted to the infinite universe itself! - I feel like I've shrunk to the size of a particle - and, yet, I also feel, quite distinctly, as though the ENTIRE UNIVERSE IS NOW STARING DIRECTLY AT ME - I shrink even further

-9:43p - Journal Entry: "mindfold - darkness, which had been comfortably enveloping me suddenly became oppressive and claustrophobic - I wanted out - then malevolent! - some thing was coming AT ME through the dark - trying to get into me - masses of black worms - tendrils IN MY EYES" [note added here: my entire field of "vision" inside the darkness of the mindfold was filled with the writhing of black tendrils - I quickly removed my mask and opened my eyes, and saw my new altar for what felt like the very first time]

-9:46p - JE: "almost as if in response(?) sudden overwhelming urge to masturbate myself before the altar - pleasure was overwhelming, yet remained flaccid throughout, even through orgasm and ejaculation - very aware that it was the mental image of my limp cock birthing millions of tiny tentacled blobs of slime that finally triggered my orgasm" [note: another experience unknown to me before tonight - afterward, felt slightly nauseous, kind of sticky & gross; wanted to take a shower] [addendum: realization as I'm writing this that I should have consumed this sacrament, as well!  a missed opportunity.]

-9:59p - JE: "decide it's time to begin my descent" [note: following this entry, I gathered my tools and got dressed - I wore the Silver Key on a ribbon wrapped around my wrist, and an ankh (for ghouls) on a chain around my neck - I filled my pockets with small sacrificial offerings from my altar, a few tools I thought I might possibly want or need along the way (bag of runelots for divination, iPod, etc.), and some basic practical items for the journey (water, phone, etc.)]

-10:29p - JE: "Begin descent." [note: after making this entry, I opened the blinds covering the window above my altar, letting the world back in, and letting it out onto the world - then I turned around, put in my earpieces and turned on my music (Aklo, "Unnameable" and "Beyond Madness", shuffle/repeat), formed both hands into the Kish mudra and began to count out the Seventy Steps of Light Slumber that begin the descent into the Dreamlands]

-seventy steps from my altar turned out to be the second to last step at the bottom of the stairs before reaching the courtyard of my building - was this the Cavern of Flame? - I waited - no, it wasn't - what now? - there is a secret door at the back of the courtyard; an iron gate that leads out into the wild of vines and weeds and giant, gnarled, hundred-year-old oaks hidden in the darkness behind the building - going through the gate is step 1 of the Seventy Steps of Light Slumber

-I count my steps through the dark, leading along the path from the gate and out into the gravel lot behind the building - there is a large, ancient, rectangular hunk of shattered concrete embedded in the middle of that lot for no apparent reason, and the seventieth step places me square on the South side of that block, facing North, looking directly at the gate leading out of the lot, and exactly in the middle of a 2' triangle formed by three intersecting cracks in the concrete - when I step into the triangle, the music crescendos and the chittering sounds grow louder and more insistent - this is the Cavern of Flame

-I stand waiting in the middle of the empty lot - I am in darkness, but I can see the cars and people on the street not fifty feet in front of me - none of them seems to notice me - despite the security of the darkness, I feel open and exposed - I become aware of two large, columnar shadows suddenly flanking either side of me - I don't want to look directly at them - tall, shadow-black, man-shaped, arms folded over chests, wearing headdresses - Nasht and Kaman-Tha - am I worthy to proceed? - I stand waiting, waiting, under the weight of their gaze - why am I sweating? am I starting to shake? - cold rush of fear - I look to my right, directly at... Kaman-Tha, as it turns out - then to my left: Nasht - I am left alone - stepping out of the triangle is the first of the Seven Hundred Steps of Deeper Slumber

-counting out my steps toward the gate at the N end of the lot, I am suddenly aware that I am about to walk out onto the street, in public, walking in an odd and stunted way, with both of my hands rigidly held in what, to anyone else, is the middle-finger sign - I think this might arouse a bit too much attention - I jam my hands in my pockets so that I can continue to hold the mudras without being so obvious about it - now, with my hands jammed awkwardly in my pockets, and my staccato off-kilter walk, I feel as though I look like someone doing a very bad job of trying very hard to act nonchalant - this becomes especially tense when, around steps 450-500, I have to walk directly through a party of people that has spilled over the stoop and onto the sidewalk - I cannot hear any of them, am acting VERY weird, and have to walk right through the middle of everyone, very aware that I am interrupting everything and everyone is staring at me - I just continue counting - 523, 524, 525...

-at step 600, reach a crossroads - to my right is an alley - I feel very strongly that the remaining 100 steps lead in that direction - however continuing ahead of me, I know there is a sacred spot I've been to before; should be about a hundred steps away - which way do I go? gut feeling or intellectual curiosity? - usually I'll go with gut, but that alley looks like it leads into someone's backyard; I really don't want to get caught trespassing in someone's yard, right now, do I? - better proceed fwd instead

-at ~step 660, reach the gate of a public park, wherein lies the most potently magickal natural setting in my neighborhood - surely the Gate of Deeper Slumber is in there - but there is a large sign drilled into the gate - have I ever seen it before? - it says it is illegal to be in the park at this time of night - seems no matter which way I go, I'm going to have to commit some type of crime in order to reach the Gate of Deeper Slumber - there are a lot of people about on the street - no way I could walk in without being seen - how long have I been standing here, staring at this gate? - ... - ... - I can't do it - I guess I failed this attempt - nonetheless, I hold my mudras, and cross the street counting down the last steps, until I reach the seven hundredth

-10:45p - it feels wonderful to release my hands, roll up my sleeves, take a drink of cold water, and walk like a normal person again - am I in the Dreamlands now? - I don't know - decide to just start drifting

-L onto W. Patrick - "Crystal Row" - all the yoga studios and Reiki treatment centers and naturopathy clinics - never realized before, but all of these buildings are old *houses* - this has been a business district my whole life, but looking at it now, I can't help but see the residential neighborhood it was a century or more ago - these huge, old, Victorian "homes"; what would've been "mansions" back then - some of them still fitted with gaslight - how sinister and imposing they seem to me now, as never before - what horrors and atrocities had been birthed within those walls a hundred years ago? - how oddly out of place it seems to me now that they should all be housing new-age wellness centers! - like an amusement park built from the ruins of a concentration camp

-R down a street I've never seen before - lined with several multi-story condominiums I hadn't known were there - road makes a 90* bend to the R, and I follow it - end up in a back-alley that ends at a T - L, another alley - follow that to a crossroads where R looks like it leads out to a road - I take that R and end up... on the opposite side of Baker Park from where I just was up on W. Patrick. - I'm about a mile to two miles away from where I'd first turned down this street - ??? - how can that be?? - I'm on the other side of the fucking CANAL for fuck's sake! - how did I get to the other side of the canal without crossing a single bridge?!

-disoriented, I walk to the nearest bridge and cross the canal, then work my way back to the other side of the park, to where I'd been just a few minutes earlier [note: realizing now that it never even occurred to me to trace my steps back in the direction I had come - ??] - the path leads me through the park, following the canal - the water is black, and stagnant, and smells like a marsh - it is full of flies - I stop and sit down beside it to gag on the smell for a few minutes - doesn't take long before I'm actually starting to retch, so I continue on my way

-at this point, my wife begins txt'ing me from her night, and we continue to txt back and forth for the next couple of hours, until she goes to bed - the experience feels somewhat like getting a phone call from the other side of the looking glass

-TXT-Received: "Where you @, baby?" - Sent: "Dreaming"

-11p - finally free from the park, I am shocked to discover that the entire ordeal, everything from the seven hundredth step on, which seemed to last for hours, has only taken 15 minutes

-TXT-S: "How did that year only last 15mins?!"

-leaving the park, I cross Bentz and head E down W. Church St. - the mansions lining this street are pre-revolution, colonial - by American standards, they are ancient - if the houses on Crystal Row held hidden horrors, these ancient estates bled and screamed with unseen atrocities - every edifice seems to leer - every shadow has fangs - every well-tended topiary squats lifeless, like flowers in a tomb - I can hear screaming children being raped and sodomized - a young nigger slave girl's gurgling wails of uncomprehending terror while she watches as her infant is viciously carved from her womb - the sickening snap of bone - the sharp sting of a whip - the sloppy wet sound of vomiting - the smell of blood and shit

-then I come to the churches - this is Church St., after all - they've been built upon and added to and refurbished and renovated so many times through the centuries that they look modern now in comparison to the brick mansions all around them, even though they are technically much older - these are the "famous" Seven Clustered Spires of Olde Fredericktowne - standing on the street I look up to the top of the spire above me - from the smoky blackness above, I see the image of a dozen gargantuan tentacles free-falling out of the sky - they land squarely on the church, absolutely demolishing it in an explosion of brick and dust - I look down the street and see another mass of tentacles descend similarly, crushing another huge old church on the other side of the street - then the first mass of tentacles to my right lifts up into the sky almost as quickly as it came down, and I see it come down again, further down the street than the second mass but still on the same side of the street as it was before, again crushing another building - I realize now that these are limbs of some Thing that is *walking* down Church St. - every step utterly destroying some giant old stone building like a toy model - it quickly stomps off into the darkness at the far end of the street, several blocks away - I decide to follow it

-PIC1 - What long-forgotten tomes of ancient occulted knowledge are held hostage by the insidious Mr. Marshall Etchison??

-11:12p - JE: "reach the funereal [sic] home on Church St.  it begins to rain.  no... mist"  [note: an enormous gothic mansion, the first time I visited this funeral home was to view my mother's body; this fall, I was back again, in the same room as a matter of fact, for the funeral of my wife's father - as I stood there staring at it, contemplating the width and breath of that horrible old building's place in my life, the air suddenly became wet - at first I thought it had started to rain, but then I looked down the street and realized that a mist had rolled in off the canal]

-turn R down Carroll Alley - past the post office - the stench of manure - end up on another bridge crossing the canal again - decide to turn L and head E down the canal towards the other side of town - quickly reach the end of the renovated "garden/shopping district" area of the canal and keep going, past the art museum, entering into the "flat, wide open river of concrete with a sewer running down the center of it" portion of the canal walk - suddenly notice there are marks covering the concrete here - no, wait; paintings - the entire expanse of concrete has been marked off into a grid of squares - each square is numbered - some of the squares are filled in with paintings - a couple indicating classes of schoolchildren - a couple apparently done by (and to promote) local civics organizations - a few of them simply artistic - I imagine that people must be purchasing the rights to paint these squares - but why? - it begins to rain in earnest now; silent lightening strobes the sky - a few of the painted squares grab my attention

-PIC2 - this square was apparently painted by Ms. MacGregor's 4th grade class - the knowledge of the Horrors Beyond the Stars has already infected our young!

-PIC3 - suggestion: skip lines 5-7, instead going from line 4 ("We are more than") directly to line 8 ("...life") - re-read - what is it saying now?

-PIC4 - in case the image is unclear, this block of stone displays the message "the stars eat your body." - someone PAID to write that there - I feel simultaneously wigged out and a growing affection for my hometown - this phrase would repeat in my mind for the rest of the night

-I follow the canal until it goes under E. Patrick - turn R and head E down E. Patrick - wife is txt'ing me again - we have a small chat back and forth as I walk - going back and forth from staring at the bright screen to trying to find my way down the dark, unlighted street is disorienting me - every time I close my phone and look up, it takes what seems like forever before I can begin to see anything again, and every time I get a new text it feels as if the screen's light is going to burn out my eyes - I end up taking a dark side street I've never been down before - I take a couple of turns this way and that [I don't remember exactly] - I have no idea where I am anymore - suddenly, I find myself in a housing project I've never seen or heard of before - there are more people out here than anywhere else I've been so far tonight other than the heart of the bar/restaraunt district downtown - every single one of them is poor and black - any of them could have ended up here after being forced to move out of my neighborhood after my wealth magick had succeeded in gentrifying most of downtown, starting with my neighborhood - and here I am taking a stroll through the middle of *their* neighborhood, their home, in the middle of the night - and they are all looking at me and it is obvious that I do not belong here - I'm hoping to walk through the project and out the other side to who-knows-where, but I get to the end of the street and it empties out into a huge cul-de-sac of project buildings - there are people everywhere and they are all staring at me and I am The Outsider and there is no way out - and now I have to turn my back to all of them, only the sounds of madness in my ears, and find my way back out - I can't hear them, I don't dare look back - I'm lost and don't know how to find my way out of this maze - but I remain calm, keep walking, and make the Voorish Sign to appease any deranged savages or gibbering creatures that may accost me from the darkness - eventually, I find a side-alley that cuts through two backyards and leads me back out onto E. Patrick - a few blocks further down, I take a R down a street I know very well, but have never known the name of

-~11:55p - TXT-S: "I'm starting to limp." [note: three days later, I am still limping - if this is the beginning of some transfiguration, I am not amused]

-~12a - down this unnamed street, I find a small church that I have never seen before - how many hundreds of times have I been down this street?  how could I never notice this church?! - I realize just how many fucking churches and chapels I have seen over the course of the night - it seems like every street I've been down has at least one house of christian worship - often it's an actual house that has been converted to a chapel, but just as often it's a huge, stone church, bordering on "cathedral" - why do we need SO MANY CHURCHES in this town??

-TXT-S: "There are churches EVERYWHERE!"

-reaching the end of that unnamed street, I suddenly realize where I am

-~12:10 - TXT-S: "Wait... this is... South St.?"

-realizing I've ended up back on my "home turf" as it were, I feel the pull to return home - I'm exhausted and my nerves are shot - I'm soaked in sweat and I'm out of water, and I have to piss like a camel - I send the street names in txt's to my wife as I make my way out of the mists and fog of my dream, and back to the more stable footing of the "real world"

-~12:15 - TXT-S: "East"

-~12:20 - TXT-S: "Carroll"

-~12:25 - TXT-S: "All Saints"

-12:29a - JE: "home"

-being home again felt like being tightly strapped into the most comfortable bed ever made - I showered the slime off myself, got dressed in a more relaxed and normal outfit, and at 1a went to catch last call at my local and get a pint and a shot of whiskey before the night was over - I felt I'd earned it - couldn't really interact with anybody much in my current mental state, so I passed my time by reading up about the city of Kish online while I drank (apparently, it is the first city we have record of after the Great Flood, etc.), and for the next couple of hours after

-~4a - began the coming-down process  - rest of the evening progressed relatively "normally" - nothing unexpected or unusual - eventually drifted off to sleep about 6a - no dreams I could recall



-in hindsight, I don't think I made it INTO the Dreamlands that night - but something was definitely different - maybe I was skirting the edge of our Dream? - what happened? - perhaps I lost the path somewhere along the Seven Hundred Steps of Deeper Slumber?  was I not judged worthy in the Cavern of Flame? - either seems possible/plausible

-CONCLUSION:  this experiment must be repeated - try a different path for the Seven Hundred Steps of Deeper Slumber? - try the same path but follow it to its conclusion this time, now that I know where it goes? - what do I need to do to ensure worthiness at the Cavern of Flame? - READ DREAMLANDS STORIES - STUDY DREAMLANDS!

April 20th is NOT a "holiday"...

I know I'm in the minority, but I tend to take the word "holiday" in its literal interpretation, as a "holy day."  There is something special about that day that separates it from the rest of the regular calendar.  We give it a higher estimation in our reckoning of our time here in these bodies.  Also, "holidays" are always celebrations of something Good.  The Bad things we commemorate with "memorials" or "rememberances", but never with holy days.

And because of my peculiarly literal take on the concept, I have always had a hard time celebrating 4/20 as a holy day, even when I was regularly meditating at the altar of The Bowl, The Bong, and The Cannabinoid.  It just seems so...base, to me.  It'd be like having an "Eat Junk Food and Jerk Off" day and calling it "holy" or "special".  Just seems wrong, somehow.  Admittedly, of all the different ways of poisoning ourselves for pleasure, that really is the only one that could even come close to deserving it's own holiday.  (Can you imagine a Smack, Crack & Crystal holiday?  How about a Nicotine day?  Though I do tend to always be sure to have a drink on Repellation Day.)  ;-)  It's definitely the least of all of those evils, but it's still technically an evil, so why would we want to celebrate it?

But I still do celebrate it.  (Though I celebrate in a different way now than I used to.)  I celebrate it because a "hippie holiday" of getting stoned and laughing your tits off is SO MUCH BETTER than all of the other things this day represents to so many people.

Hitler was born on April 20th, and so this is a holy day, indeed, to thousands and thousands of monsters with human faces who poison our species with violence and hatred.  Taking their holiday away from them, as the catholics took xmas from the heathens, can only be a Goodness.

Two of those monsters in particular chose this day eleven years ago to stage a massacre at a Colorado high school.  They brutally murdered children, and they had fun doing it.  And they were just children themselves.  And they chose this day specifically because it was Hitler's birthday AND because it was the "hippie holiday;" they wanted to attack the "peace & Love" crowd that they despised so much, and they wanted to re-brand the day and turn it into something horrifying.  And, unfortunately, they succeeded in doing just that for hundreds of families.  I don't want to give them the satisfaction of doing it to me, too.

So, no, it's not a true "holiday."  But I don't think that matters much, in the end.  Taking a day of tragedy and horror and turning it into a celebration of joy, even self-destructive joy, is still a Goodness, and one that I will continue to take part in, for as long as I can.