Gaze Deep Into My Navel And Despair...

How am I supposed to grow up?

I want to grow up.  I really do.  No, more than that, I need to.  I need to grow the fuck up.  I'm almost forty years old, but I still see myself as if I were twenty-five.  That might sound appealing on some level, at first; "young at heart" and all that.  And maybe it would be, if that's what I wanted for myself.  But it isn't.  I want to grow up.  I need to grow up, because I can't keep living like I'm twenty-five.  I'm not twenty-five anymore.  I can't eat like a twenty-five year-old anymore.  I can't move like a twenty-five year-old anymore.  I can't party like a twenty-five year-old anymore.  Fuck, I can't even sleep like a twenty-five year-old anymore.  It all hurts me now in a way that it never did, and I can feel myself breaking down at an astonishing rate, as if the force of Entropy inside me were being fed by some radioaction of chemical combustion.  Accelerated Decrepitude.  But on the other hand, trying to live within my almost-forty means, while still feeling like a twenty-five year-old inside, is so monumentally depressing that I can't even fucking bother; I always just end up feeling like I already have one foot in the grave.

A twenty-five year-old trapped in a forty year-old body.  How incredibly pathetic.  How incredibly modern.  How incredibly privileged.

But how am I supposed to grow up?  I don't know.  My observations tell me that for most people, this happens as a natural side-effect of breeding.  That creating a child shifts all perspectives, and forces the new parent into a maturity that cannot be achieved through any other means.  That makes sense to me.  I can understand that.

But I'm never going to have any children.  So what am I supposed to do?  How am I supposed to force myself to achieve a state that, for most people, requires quite possibly the single most life-altering event they will ever experience in order to achieve?

Sometimes I think, maybe I don't actually need to grow up?  If I don't have any children, then what do I need to grow up for?  Why do I feel this need anyways?  I can only assume it is because I reflexively compare my life to the model my parents set for me.  When I look at myself, and try to judge whether I'm doing well or not, I compare it to the life they lived.  And I always feel myself coming up short.

They went to college.  They got degrees.  They worked hard.  (My father still works harder than almost anyone else I know, and while my mother never worked as hard as he did, she still inarguably worked harder than I do now.)  They bore and raised children.  They owned houses, with yards and multiple floors and everything.

But I dropped out of college.  I have no degrees, and probably never will.  Yeah, I have a career that doesn't leave me wanting to kill myself, but I still hate it, just because it's work, and I hate work of any kind; I hate being forced to sell myself every day in order to sustain myself.  I don't own a house.  I own an absurdly tiny condo that I hate and will never be able to sell for as much as I paid for it.  I am almost certain I will end up having to live in that tiny little box for the rest of my life, watching it deteriorate around me, with me - and that thought terrifies me on a regular basis.

And even these modest achievements - a well-paying job that I can sort of do well and tolerate, and a tiny little condo I'm trapped in like a prison cell - even these barely note-worthy accomplishments I never actually earned; I didn't work hard to achieve these things.  I got this job because some well-meaning middle-aged women that I worked with took pity on me, and talked to their bosses, and told them they knew this kid they thought would do well as a programmer.  And they were right - I am a good programmer.  At least, I'm alright.  But again, not because I try to be, or because I studied or worked hard or went to school or anything else.  I just have a natural talent for logic and pattern recognition and symbology, and so I am a naturally decent programmer.  I could be a great programmer if I wanted to be; if I tried to be and put forth the effort.  But I don't.  Because I don't care.  I only want to put forth the minimum amount of effort to get by, and save the rest for indulging in my life's pleasures.

And it's a similar story with my "home."  I didn't work hard and save money every day so that I could eventually put a down payment on my dream home.  My grandfather died, and since my mother (his daughter) was already dead herself, the portion of his life's wealth that should have been hers (and he had worked hard all his life to achieve that wealth) came to me instead.  And I used all of that money to buy the apartment I had been living in for almost a decade at that point.  The biggest, most "adult" accomplishment of my life - becoming a home-owner - and it only happened because I was in a position to profit off of the deaths of two of my close family members.  And so it has never felt like an accomplishment to me.  It feels like blood money.

(It's true that I performed magick to get the job and the money and the apartment, but even taking the assumption that my magick worked doesn't help the situation any.  Magick is a short-cut.  It's easy compared to actually working hard to learn or to save money.  And it's fun to do, and for that reason alone I wanted to do it, whether it worked or not.  So even assuming that I came by these things through sorcery, it still doesn't feel like an accomplishment to me.  It still doesn't feel like I really earned them.  It feels like I cheated.)

And I will almost certainly never see that much money again in my lifetime.  I can barely maintain a savings of more than a couple of thousand dollars at a time.  I live paycheck-to-paycheck, even with my fairly significant salary.  I've always been that way.  If I have money, I want to spend it on making myself feel good right now, and I can't seem to deny myself comfort or happiness in the present, in order to save it for some undefined future.  As I've written here before, I feel like the Grasshopper, fiddling away as the first snow begins to fall.

But why do I determine the value of my life by comparing it to my parents'?  They were completely different people, living in a completely different time.  And who wanted completely different things from their life than I want from mine.  And I know this.  But I still can't shake this feeling that I am somehow failing at life, because I seem to remember my parents being so much better off in their twenties than I am in my thirties; or will be in my forties.  I just want to be happy, like anyone else.  But I constantly and consistently feel that the things that make me happy aren't good for me.  That they are self-indulgent, or immature, or masturbatory.  That I am a bad person for living my life the way that I do.  But trying to live my life any other way always leaves me just as miserable, if only in a different way.

I just want to spend my life relaxing in the bathhouse, playing games, reading, writing, watching TV and movies, sleeping, eating, drinking and getting high, and punctuating the whole thing with the occasional orgasm.  That is really all I want from life.

And I feel like a worthless waste of a human being for feeling that way.  I hate myself for feeling that way.  But even so, I have no idea how to change it; I have no idea how to want anything else.

Okay, sure, I want other things.  Bigger things.  I want to have a big house with a yard and a basement and an attic.  I want to be able to support myself through writing, or some other form of creative expression.  (If only I could make a living playing games!)  I want a sense of accomplishment.  I want to feel like my life mattered, in any way.  I want to feel a sense of confidence that when I'm gone, I will have made some mark on the world that is all my own; that I will leave behind something more than a pile of carbon dust.  I do want all of these things.  But when I think about them, and I envision the monumental amount of work it would take to even try to achieve any of them - with no guarantee of success! - I lose any hope I may have had about ever actually achieving them.

Because I know that I will never do that work.  I just don't have it in me.  Achieving anything of any real significance requires a single-minded devotion that I just don't have.  Have never had.

Because deep-down, I don't want to be great.  All I really want is to be comfortable.  And I guess I am.  So I should be happy, then, right?  Then why do I feel this way?  I just wish I could learn to be happy with what I have, instead of hating myself for not being able to be great.

I guess what it all really comes down to is this:  I feel lazy, and I hate myself for being lazy, but I don't know how to make myself be anything else.  And I hate myself for that, too.

+          +          +

Or maybe I'm just depressed because winter is coming, and I'm all out of drugs, and I can feel both of these things gnawing at my bones.

In Sheep's Clothing...

I love seeing the looks
on the faces of the shopkeepers
in the occult store down the block
sudden surprise
or annoyance
immediately morphing into pleasant
plaster
shop-keep smiles
I don't look like I belong there
they think I'm a tourist
come to gawk at them
or that I'm gift shopping for a
hippie-witch friend
or relative
They have no idea
until I decide to
open my mouth
and tell them what I need
why I'm there
and they hear me use the words
suddenly realize I'm serious
I know what I'm talking about
I know what I'm doing
and they take a step back
and look me up and down
as if to say
Really?
You??

I used to look the obvious occultist
when I was younger
and still learning
passing me on the street
one would've not been at all surprised to learn
that I was a black magickian
Hell
one might've even assumed that
to begin with
just by my outfit
But that was a long time ago
Now to all outward appearance
I could be any other computer nerd
But I'm still a cultist
though a different colour now
I learned the value of
not broadcasting myself
my every intimate personality trait
to anyone who happens to pass me on the street
I learned to pass
as a Normal
as a Mundane
(please don't make me say
"Muggle")
and now no one notices me
I can go about my daily business
and my sorcerous shenanigans
without attracting unwanted attention
without arousing any suspicions
of satanic blood pacts
or virgin sacrifices made
to blind idiot gods
which makes everything so much more
pleasant

But sometimes I forget
that the Me people see
isn't really me
until I see the shopkeeper's face
down at The Magick Box
at Bell, Book, and Candle
at Foxcraft's
at The Crystal Cauldron
or whatever it calls itself today
in this particular town
I'm there to buy a component
some specific mineral
or herb
or root
or ritual tool
or color of candle
required for some particular spell
or sigilization
or pathworking
or ceremony
or casting
Magick is now modern
and so when I need the dried petals
of a rare and deadly Black Lotus blossom
to throw a curse on the drug-dealing thug
who moved in across the street
and keeps threatening my neighbors
for the crime of daring to look
in his direction
I don't need to form an expedition to Tibet
to climb the peak of
the only mountain where it grows
no, I'm an American
other people do the hard work
so I can simply pull out a credit card
and laugh silently to myself
at the look on the shopkeeper's face
that says
What on Earth
does he
want with that??

Our Dreamings...

My brotherfriend wrote me the other day about some of his dreams.  This is something we often do.  His writing sparked this conversation between us:

My dreams have been all psychic angst lately.  Last night I took a sports car out for a test drive, and immediately crashed it into a harbor or boat dock or river channel or something.  The night before I had to let Her be gang-raped by a group of nasty, drug-addled urban pirates, because it was the only way to get us both out of the situation alive (if I'd tried to stop them, they'd have just killed me and raped her anyways).  Others have been more mundane - She and I fighting or bickering in some strange, emotionally-amplified way; uncomfortable, awkward, ego-bruising social situations.  In one memorable one, I was living in my office on the weekends for some reason, and as I was laying in my tiny office bed masturbating one Saturday morning, the whole office suddenly showed up for work/a party (it was a party, but people were working - ??) and I was caught naked and furry-handed, as it were, and then fired in the most humiliating manner imaginable.

    So - this may be a dumb question, but how do you feel about these dreams after you wake, is it more of a nightmare response - quickened pulse, hard breathing, kind of thing? Do you take them as expressions of turmoil, or do you see much omen in them?


I don't think that's a dumb question.  When I wake I can usually feel the residual, coming-down edge of adrenaline, the fleeting wake of anxiety.  Not quite a quickened pulse or hard-breathing (it's been a long time since I had a dream that upset me to that degree; what I wouldn't give to have a true full-bore, holy-fuck nightmare), but I can tell that something just happened.  Then I'll remember the dream, and that will lead to a feeling of "ugh, fuck" and then I'll be in a bad mood for a little while.  (Or sometimes longer, depending on how bad the dream was.  The gang-rape left me pretty fucked up for most of the day.)

I don't generally interpret my dreams, or try to divine from them, unless there is something unusual or interesting about the dream; some quality that makes it stand out from the usual nighttime fluff and cerebral noise.  Whether pleasant or painful, if it feels like "just a dream" then I usually treat it that way.  But dreams that are particularly vivid, say - I will pay more attention to those, and go over them afterwards again and again, sifting for relevant or interesting data.  Those dreams where I have an interesting quality of consciousness - where I am more aware than usual, that I remember in more detail upon waking, etc. - will also usually attract my attention and therefore garner greater scrutiny.  I've also learned to recognize certain signs over the years that I know mean something to me.  For instance, whenever a dead person appears in my dream, and does not speak, I know that something different was happening that night, and that was not just an ordinary dream.  (For some reason, dead people never speak in my dreams.  They communicate, but only through body language, facial expressions, and hand gestures.  They never say anything.  And I only ever remember after I wake up, "oh, wait a minute - that person is dead.")  Dreams with multiple layers, dreams with puzzles or labyrinths, dreams where I am lost, dreams where the lights go out, dreams where I display some vulgar magickal ability; these all usually mean something to me.

As for how I interpret those dreams worthy of attention - as coded messages (either from myself or Other), as portents or omens, as communications from or meetings with outside spirits or entities, or what-have-you - depends entirely on the specifics of the dream itself.  It's just a sense of that particular dream.  What did it feel like?  That's probably what it was.

Most of my dreams lately have just been the usual noise.  The fact that they've been less than pleasant is due, I believe, simply to the fact that I've been under more stress than usual lately.  I've been working hard, both at work and home, and not relaxing enough, or expressing enough, and so the pressure-release valve of my unconscious is blasting all that psychic bong-resin out the back of my head as I sleep.  That's how it feels to me, anyways.

+     +     +

Every night, when I lay down to go to sleep, I perform a Dreamlands visualization.  I see my Astral standing naked on the bed where we're sleeping, and I take my Silver Key off of my bedstand where it hangs, and put it around my neck; as soon as it is around my neck it morphs into the Silver Key (complete with "arabesque" symbols, etc.).  At that point, a hole opens up in my bed, revealing a staircase leading downward into the Dreamlands.  I count out each of the Seventy Steps of Light Slumber, down to the Cavern of Flame, where I then have to perform some feat in order to convince the gatekeepers Nasht and Kaman-Tha that I am worthy to travel in the Dream.  It is usually something gruesome and grotesque, such as flaying myself alive and magickally creating a robe to wear from the strips of my skin; or transfiguring myself into some many-limbed, many-eyed, many-teeted, many-tentacled thing that tears its way out of my body, or burning myself alive in magickal fire until all my flesh is burned away and I am just a spirit of living flame.  Stuff like that, whatever I come up with that particular night.  It's different every time.  If I'm then judged worthy by the Gatekeepers, they will open a doorway in the CoF revealing the staircase of the Seven Hundred Steps of Deeper Slumber, which lead down to the Enchanted Wood that is the entrance to the Dreamlands, and I will then begin to descend those, again counting out each step as I go.  I always arrive in the CoF naked, but always leave robed.  I almost always make it to the CoF before I fall asleep, and I am almost always judged worthy.  I have made it to the Seven Hundred Steps of Deeper Slumber many times, but have never made it to the Enchanted Wood before falling asleep.  I often fall asleep in the CoF while performing for Nasht and Kaman-Tha.

      Just curious - is there a particular reason that your feats are all body horror related? Is there any relationship between those feats and the kinds of dreams you have? I really like the path working, and might use it myself - but I wasn't sure if the transformations were something you feel is important to the entire process, or if it is the best way for you to convince Nasht and Kaman-Tha that you should be permitted to descend the Seven Hundred Steps of Deeper Slumber.



I've never felt any anxiety about these nightly grotesqueries; they've never upset me.  If anything, they're kind of a thrill.  I'll never get to do any of these things in real life, so it's kind of fun to get to do them in my head, and let my imagination run wild.  So, no, I wouldn't say that they have anything to do with the unpleasantness of my recent dreams.  Though I guess it's certainly possible.  I've never kept tally of the number of good vs. bad dreams I've had after passing through the Cavern of Flame.

As to why they are all "body horror" related (which I originally read as "bloody horror"), I'm not quite sure what you mean.  I guess I can see now that the three examples I gave were each an instance of me mutilating my body in some fashion, but that was just a coincidence; I didn't mean to imply that I always need to rend my flesh in some manner in order to impress the Gatekeepers.  I've also often done astral work, or summoned a creature, or something else.  So, the only real requirement is that it be a feat of magickal or psychic prowess.

All I'm really trying to do there, is impress upon Nasht and Kaman-Tha that I am worthy to enter the Dream.  That I am both powerful enough to take care of myself, and that I am familiar enough with the kinds of oddities I am likely to find at the bottom of that long staircase that I am probably not going to go mad as soon as I get there.  Probably.  I am trying to display to them, both the powers of my imagination and an ability to control the dream.  And then no doubt the simple fact that it's a Mythos working must also color my imagination in some fashion, leading to a greater incidence of performances of "unimaginable horrors."  You work with the Mythos, and you're gonna get some tentacles.  That's just unavoidable.

I imagine that everyone's experience with the Gatekeepers would be unique to the individual magickian/dreamer, though.  I'd be really interested to know yours.

The Interzone...

I had a strange dream this morning.  (Oh, what I wouldn't give for the ability to come up with something interesting to write about on my own, at will, and not have to rely on the random firings of comatose neurons in order to conjure my art from the void.  But that's a worry for another day.  For now, I'll take what I can get.)

+     +     +

I let three birds fly into my home.

Then I laid down on my couch to watch them.

I was paralyzed as I lay there, unable to move.

One of the birds, the smallest one, kept turning into a young woman.  She wore a t-shirt of alternating thick blue and yellow horizontal stripes, white shorts, and white canvas topsiders.  She was sitting on my living room floor, using one of my laptops.  She wasn't beautiful, but she was very attractive.

And while she wasn't quite masturbating, she seemed like she was building up to it.

She was rubbing her hands all over her body with sensuous intent, as she stared transfixed at the laptop screen, her face awash in bluegreen glow.  Every once in a while she would lift her shirt up to run her hand across her belly, or up over one of her small breasts.

Unsurprisingly, I was completely entranced by her.  I could not look away.

I knew she was really a bird, but that didn't seem to make any difference.  Every once in a while she would turn back into a bird again, or I would see her as a bird again, just for a moment.  And in those moments, I could see the other birds, too.  They were poking holes all throughout the walls of my apartment.  Burrowing into them, building nests.

I didn't care.  Couldn't care.  Couldn't even imagine caring.  All I wanted was to keep watching this young woman enjoying herself at whatever it was she was doing.

But suddenly, all too soon, she was gone.  The room had gone dark, like the sky outside was ready to storm.  The walls were crumbling and full of holes.  And I was staring at an image of myself on the floor in front of the laptop, where the birdgirl had been; a projection of my own unconscious creation, from myself to myself.

With this realization, I could move again.

As I started to rise from the couch, I heard a crunching noise behind me.  I stood and turned, to see my living room in a fantastical state of decay, and crawling all over with the most enormous bugs I have ever seen.  The walls and front door were wet, rotten planks of wood, layered with moss a foot thick, like a fallen tree that had been rotting on the forest floor for fifty years.  Indeed, the advanced state of woodland decay displayed in my living room gave off a distinct Rip Van Winkle feel, and I found myself afraid that I might have been watching that girl for a hundred years without even knowing it.  Dark stormlight poured in through the holes between the rotten planks of door and wall.

And the bugs!  Oh gods, they were everywhere.  And they were enormous.  The size of guinea pigs.  Long, beetle-like things, with pincers like serrated scissors on their heads.  Thank the Sun they didn't seem capable of flying.  But they were crawling all over everything.  I could hear them chittering behind the walls.  They crunched under my feet as a I walked.  I discovered that a large portion of them appeared to have been torn apart, their carapaces left discarded about the floor like crushed, empty walnut shells.

I realized that the birds had been eating them.

I stooped to examine some of these remains.  They were covered in this sticky brown goo, like a cross between molasses and motor oil.  It was all over the place.

It was at this point that I began to have a freak-out.

I ran down the hall to the back of my apartment, screaming for help, and found a girl there that I know from the IOT in waking life.  She was cleaning my apartment.  It was completely spotless back there, in fact; no evidence at all of the chaos from the front rooms.  She didn't live there, and we weren't lovers (either in or out of the dream), yet it didn't strike me as at all odd that she was cleaning my home.

I tried to describe the situation to her, screaming hysterically, but she was completely nonchalant about the whole thing.  Very, "yeah, yeah, I'll be right there; let me just finish this first."  Which only made me panic more, as if she didn't understand the gravity of the situation, or wasn't taking me seriously enough.  So I started to freak out on her even more, to try and get across just how seriously fucked everything actually was.  I held out my hands to show her as evidence.  They were cut up and bleeding, apparently from the bugs.  But she still didn't hurry.

Eventually, at my desperate pleading, she followed me out into the living room, to see the destruction I had been raving about.  She was not impressed.  Nor was she particularly concerned.  It seemed as if she viewed it all as just one more mess to tidy up.

I began to run around the apartment, frantically closing all the doors and windows, of which there were suddenly way too many - more than was rational - and all of which were wide open.  I crushed several of the giant beetlebugs in various window frames, as I closed the windows on them.  I didn't actually want to kill them, surprisingly; I was just afraid to touch them to move them out of the way.

I flung open my front door to try and sweep the forest of decay and bugs outside, and in so doing let in warm Spring sunlight, and a life-scented breeze.

And the birds. 

All three returned.

But whether to watch, or to help, or to hinder, or to take me away, or otherwise end me, I will never know.

Perhaps one day I'll remember.

Elephant Blurble...

Still way too much to do and nowhere near enough time to do it.  (When I finished that section of code from the other instrument, they gave me another one!  When, exactly, am I supposed to work on my own code before this ridiculous Friday deadline, huh?)

Have a SMART meeting tonight, so for now I'll just quickly report that, yes, I did make it through the entire AGM sober.  And, more importantly, staying sober wasn't difficult at all, and didn't interfere with my ability to enjoy or participate in the event in the slightest.  (My sinus infection took care of that part.)  So, as I suspected (or finally managed to figure out) during the final week preceding the event, I was, indeed, over-reacting to the whole thing.  I really didn't have anything to worry about.

Again, a lot more to say on the subject, but I wanted to at least address the elephant in the room before the meeting tonight.

Friendships In Chaos, pt. 3...

It happens to everyone in recovery, at some point.

After sobering up, you run into an old friend, and realize that they have the same problem.

Maybe it's a new development.  Or maybe they've always been an addict or alcoholic, but you just couldn't see it before, through the rose-tinted glasses of your own addictions.  Either way, the question you now have to face is:  what do you do?

When I got together with my old Temple last weekend, it was immediately obvious to me that in the last couple of years, while I was away, one of my old friends has become an alcoholic.  The first thing I noticed, as soon as I saw him, was that he's put on at least fifty pounds.  He's always been a thin, handsome guy, so the weight is really apparent now.  But he doesn't look fat; he just looks bloated.  When I got there, he was finishing up a scotch.  I assume it was his first, but I don't really know, because as soon as he finished that one, he poured himself another.  And twenty minutes later, when he'd finished that one, he poured himself a third.  Then we went out to dinner, where he had a 32 oz. beer, and two large bottles of sake, all by himself.

Now, that's a lot for one person to drink in just a few hours, but that doesn't automatically make him an alcoholic.  The nail in the coffin was that, even after all of that, he didn't seem drunk.  He was a bit red in the face, and he was obviously loose and feeling good, but he didn't seem sloppy; he wasn't slurring his words or stumbling or anything like that.  So, either it takes that much alcohol just in order for him to get a good buzz on, or he's really good at hiding just how drunk he really is.  Either way, combine that with the weight gain, and it's clear this is a chronic thing with him.  And just in case it wasn't certain already, at one point he made a "joke" about how he doesn't even taste his first two beers of the night; that as soon as he gets home from work, he immediately pounds two beers, and then he interacts with his wife and sons.  He seemed to think that was funny, but I'm not sure why.

So, now the big question:  what do I do?

The answer is surprisingly simple.  I don't do anything.

Now, he's my friend, and I'm obviously worried about him.  But I have to remember that there really isn't anything I can do.  I'm aware of the situation, and I'm going to keep my eyes open, but that's about it in terms of my available options here.  If an opportunity arises at some point down the road for me to somehow subtly let him know that I know what he's going through, and that I'm available for him if he needs anything, then great.  If not, that's okay, too.

Ultimately, he's responsible for himself, and no one will be able to help him unless he believes he has a problem and he wants help with it.  If I were to confront him about his drinking in some way, all that would serve to do would be to alienate him and strain, or possibly even end, our friendship.  And if he does end up needing help at some point down the road, then that's the worst thing I could possibly have done, because then I wouldn't be there to be able to help him anymore.

There's also the hammer/nail problem of being a newly recovered addict.  As in, "when you're a Hammer, everything looks like a Nail."  There is nothing worse than the self-righteous douchebag with a handful of weeks sober, who suddenly decides to start going around diagnosing everyone else as alcoholics, as though being a drunk somehow made them an expert.  But even beyond simply not wanting to be that asshole, what's more important is that I could be wrong.  It doesn't seem all that likely in this situation, but it's definitely possible.  Maybe he doesn't usually drink like that; maybe he had a hard week and was just blowing off some extra steam that night.  There's no way for me to know, and it would be premature for me to judge him after just a couple of hours.  And newly sober people do have a tendency to start seeing addicts and alcoholics everywhere.  And yes, part of that is because they are everywhere, and because we don't tend to notice them as easily when we are one of them, and then they suddenly stand out like sore thumbs once we clean ourselves up.  But it's equally as true that we tend to project our issues onto other people, and see problems that aren't really there.  Not everyone who enjoys a few drinks has a problem, and it's easy for the person who does have a problem to lose sight of that.  And there's really no way to tell if someone really has a problem, or if you just think they have a problem, and so it's usually best to just keep your mouth shut and observe for a while, and just try to make yourself available.

Another thing that is important to remember in this situation, but that is often forgotten, is that there is a big difference between being addicted to alcohol and being a dysfunctional drunk.  It seems pretty clear to me that my friend has become addicted to alcohol.  But, as far as I can tell, the only negative effect that seems to be having on his life, is his health.  (And maybe his wallet.)  And if that's all - if he's still doing his job well, and maintaining relationships, and being a good husband and father and friend (all of which seem to be true) - then who am I to judge him?  We each have to decide how much our own health is worth to us, and it's no one else's place to tell us how much it should be worth to us.  (Our families might have some say in that decision, but that's about as far as it goes.  As a friend, I'm certainly not in any place to be telling him how to feel about himself.)  And so if he's enjoying his drinking, and he doesn't mind the toll it's taking on his health, or he thinks that is a reasonable price to pay for the amount of joy or pleasure he is getting out of it, and it isn't interfering with his ability to maintain his responsibilities and be a decent human being, then that's entirely his decision to make, and I really have no reason to be sticking my nose into his business.

And there's one more wrinkle to this situation that applies to this friend in particular.  I can't forget that he is a powerful chaos magickian.  And we magickians (chaos magickians in particular, I think) have a much greater tendency to get ourselves into trouble.  As a general rule, we push boundaries.  We try to find the edge of things, and then live there.  (Another way I don't fit the general model, as I tend to bounce back and forth from edge to edge in order to find the middle.)  But we also have a much greater tendency to find our own solutions to the problems we create for ourselves.  We get ourselves into trouble more often than the average, but we're also good at finding ways to smooth those problems over.  Self-empowerment is what we do.  I've seen many, many other magickians in similar situations over the years; situations where just about anyone else would be in over their head and need to ask for help, but the magickian is able to navigate the situation safely themselves, and find their own way to get better.  So, if it were anyone else, I would be much more worried.  But because I know he is a damned good magickian, I can feel confident in the fact that he has a much greater chance of successfully pulling himself out of this hole he's digging right now, if and when he ever feels the need to.

So, for now, I'm just going to keep my eye on him, and just try to be there if and when he decides he needs my help.  If I get a chance at any point during the AGM next week, maybe I'll try to tell him a little bit of my story, just to let him know that I've recently been in the same situation.

At the very least, I want to pay attention to him, as a living, breathing example of the possible future I only recently so narrowly escaped.

We May Just Go Where No One's Been...

This is a song about magick, life, and the endless possibilities inherent in humanity.

Black
then
white are
all I see
in my infancy.
Red and yellow then came to be,
reaching out to me.
Lets me see.

As below, so above and beyond, I imagine
drawn beyond the lines of reason.
Push the envelope.
Watch it bend.

Over-thinking,
over-analyzing,
separates the body from the mind.
Withering
my intuition,
missing opportunities and I must
Feed my will
to feel that moment.
Drawing way outside the lines.

Black
then
white are
all I see
in my infancy.
Red and yellow then came to be,
reaching out to me.
lets me see
there is
so much
more and
beckons me
to look through to these
infinite possibilities.

As below, so above and beyond, I imagine
drawn outside the lines of reason.
Push the envelope.
Watch it bend.

Over-thinking,
over-analyzing,
separates the body from the mind.
Withering
my intuition,
leaving opportunities behind.

Feed my will to
feel this moment
urging me to cross the line.
Reaching out to embrace
the random.
Reaching out to embrace
whatever may come.

I embrace my
desire to...
I embrace my
desire to
feel the rhythm, to
feel connected
enough to step aside and
weep like a widow, to
feel inspired, to
fathom the power, to
witness the beauty, to
bathe in the fountain, to
swing on the spiral, to
swing on the spiral, to

swing on the spiral of
our divinity and
still be a human.

With my feet upon the ground
I lose myself between the sounds
and open wide to suck it in,
I feel it move across my skin.
I'm reaching up
and reaching out,
I'm reaching for
the random or
whatever will bewilder me.
Whatever will bewilder me.
And following our will and whim
we may just go where no one's been.
We'll ride the spiral to the end
and may just go where no one's been.

Spiral out. Keep going.

Spiral out. Keep going.

Spiral out. Keep going.

Spiral out. Keep going.

               -"Lateralus"
                 Tool, Lateralus

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.

Chutes and Ladders...

Just a brief synopsis of my day...

In preparation for the upgrade of my work PC (currently my only working computer, since my laptop is in the shop being repaired) from Windows XP to Windows 7 tomorrow, I had a bunch of files to backup, and one program (Quicken) to upgrade, since the version of Quicken that I've been using to manage my personal finances for the last ten years is not compatible with Win7.

I'd already bought the latest version of Quicken, so the upgrade installation should only take about an hour.  Decided to do that first, only to discover that the CD-ROM drive on my PC is apparently broken.  Luckily managed to scrounge a portable CD-ROM from the Help Desk that plugs in on a USB.  After running for a half-hour, the installation program suddenly shuts down with an error message.  Had to restart my computer and do it again; another half an hour, but this time it works.  But when I start up the new program, it tells me that I can't covert data from my old version (2002) to the new version (2012).  I'll need to download and install an intermediate version (2004), convert my data from 2002 to 2004, then re-install 2012, and then finally convert my data from 2004 to 2012.  Ugh, ok.  Luckily, they offered a free version of 2004 for download.

So, downloaded that, but it took me a half dozen tries to install it.  Kept getting error messages, had to uninstall 2012 first (another half-hour), but it eventually worked, and I managed to convert my data to 2004 format.  Then I spent another half-hour installing 2012, only to have it fail with the same error message again.  Had to restart my machine (all told, had to restart my machine six times - at about ten minutes a piece, that's an hour I spent restarting my machine alone!), and install it again.  Another half-hour, but this time it worked.

But then when I went to run it, it told me that I couldn't use my data because it was for a Deluxe version of Quicken.  (Apparently the "free" version of 2004 that they offered was the Quicken 2004 Deluxe.)  And so, in order to be able to use my data that I had just spent over four hours trying to convert, I would need to upgrade to the Deluxe version of 2012, at a cost of $60.  I'd already spent $30 on the version I'd just spent all day trying to install!  I then spent an hour on the phone with an argumentative gentleman from New Delhi at Quicken Customer Service trying to find a way around this, to no avail.  Ended up having to upgrade to the Deluxe version, even though I didn't want it, just to save my data.  Spent another half an hour installing it and converting my data (FINALLY!).

All told, I ended up spending almost seven hours of my day just trying to install this one fucking program.  In my entire life using computers, I have never had this much difficulty installing a program, ever.  Not even close.

And I couldn't use my computer for anything else the whole time it was installing (so that would be all day), so I still had all the rest of my work to do!  But I was out of time, because I had to rush home to try and see the Transit of Venus.

Venus crosses the face of the Sun (from our point of view on Earth) twice about every hundred years or so.  The last time it happened was in 2004.  The next time it will happen, after today, is 2117.  Literally, a once-in-a-lifetime experience.  And I am lucky to live within walking distance of an elementary school science lab/planetarium that had set up telescopes with special filters to allow the public to view the transit from 6-8p today.

But it was cloudy.  From horizon to horizon, grey fluffballs of clouds covering the entire sky.

Anticipating a long wait, we brought along one of our two folding camp chairs.  Removing it from it's carrying pouch, She discovered a hidden treasure inside.  A sword, with a crystal handle, and a brass hilt.  This sword had been an important magickal item to me for years.  I used it in various Solar rituals.  It had also been one of the treasures offered up in our wedding ceremony.  I had lost it years ago.  So long ago in fact, that it has been years since I even considered it lost; for many years now I have simply assumed that it was gone, and that I would never see it again.

And then, suddenly, as I'm waiting, desperately, for the Sun to appear from behind the curtain of clouds, so that I could watch this once-in-a-lifetime spectacle of our closest neighbor planet floating across its immense, bright face, my long-lost Magickal Sun Sword simply appears out of nowhere.  Almost as if by magick.

Surely, this was a sign that my luck was turning.

And, sure enough, with less than fifteen minutes before the Sun disappeared behind the horizon, there was a sudden break in the clouds!  And She managed to secure us a spot near the front of the line!!  (You have my eternal gratitude for this, Precious. You saved me from disappointment and disaster.)

And so, for about ten seconds, I was able to look through a telescope's eyepiece, and directly into the face of our Star.  And there she was - Venus.  A small, black dot, floating against a backdrop of the enormous, white circle of the Sun.  I saw it with my own eyes.

I will remember those ten seconds for the rest of my life.

And then I got to drive all the way back to my office to finish up the file backup preparations for tomorrow that I hadn't had a chance to do earlier.  And now I'm done, and it's time to go home.  And by the time I get there, it will be past my bedtime.

But I don't even care.

Today was a great day.

Göd Hexennacht...

Walpurgisnacht begins at Sunset.  And I have to say, I'm a little nervous.

Maybe "nervous" isn't the right word.  Maybe "anxious" would describe it better.  I know that "worried" isn't correct.  Because it's not that I'm concerned that anything bad will happen.  It's just that I don't know what to expect.  I know that something big will happen, and that I will be very different tomorrow than I am today, but I don't have a clear idea how, exactly.  And that fear of the unknown, combined with the anticipation of the event itself, always gives me a bit of a "butterflies in the tummy" feeling beforehand.  It's also a feeling of exhilaration, which is, of course, almost indistinguishable from anxiety.  I guess we sometimes refer to this feeling as "nerves" or "jitters."

I'm also a bit more excited than usual this time around, because there are some bigger things going on this year than usual.  This night will mark the beginning of a year-long period of monasticism and self-sacrifice for me.  And while I'm looking forward to that, it's also a scary thing to face on some levels.  What if I have a horrible year because of this decision?  What if it's too hard?  What if it's too painful?  What if I fail?

But there's joy to balance that out, as well.  An unexpected benefit of Her recent unemployment, is that she is now free to celebrate with me tonight.  Which, I have to admit, I think I'm looking forward to more than anything else.  Things have been weird, and kind of difficult, and distant, and more than a little unpleasant between us for a while now.  I've changed a lot, suddenly and drastically, in the past couple of months.  And that's a hard thing to adjust to - when your partner is suddenly such a completely different person.  And especially so if adjusting doesn't happen to be one of your strong suits.  I imagine she must feel pretty lonely right now.  And the particular ways in which I've changed haven't exactly made me easier to live with, either.  Though maybe "easy" isn't the right word.  I don't know.  I definitely don't think I'm as much fun as a I used to be, that's for sure.

So, I'm finding that I'm really, really excited about sharing this experience with her tonight.  Excited by the possibility of re-connecting with her in some way, in any way, beyond the merely superficial mechanics of our cohabitation.  Of sharing ourselves, again, in a poignant and reflective space, in a true and meaningful way.  I know that we will both be happier after tonight.  And I have the expectation that we will be happier in a specific way, but I'm also aware that isn't necessarily true - it could go either way.  But whether the experience brings us closer together, or drives us further apart, I know that we will both feel better about our selves, and about each other.

Will us Luck.  Göd Hexennacht and Happy May to you all.  Be safe tonight.

We'll see you on the other side.

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

Dream Diary #1...

It's late, and I should be leaving the office now, but I really don't want to try to write this at home, and I also really don't want to skip writing today.  Today was one of those busy days where you feel like you never get a chance to catch your breath, and this is really just the first opportunity I've had to write at all.  So, I'll try to be brief.

I had a strange and unsettling dream this morning.  A lot of it I don't remember, and a lot of it was fluff not worth remembering, but there was a core of something strange, and vivid, and unsettling enough that it's been on my mind off and on all day.

I remember that Dollface and I were staying in a hotel room somewhere, in some small town that was strange to us; we'd never been there before.  It was a cheap motor lodge kind of place.  I remember that she was asleep, and I was bored, and I decided to go check out this new town while we were here.  (Something that has happened in our waking life many times.)

It was the middle of the night, and I drove just down the street aways, until I came upon this strange strip mall.  It was all lit up like an amusement park.  But all the stores were wooden cabins, like you'd find at a campground.  Porches and screen doors; everything hung with strings of lights.  There were shoppers and kids and punks and stoners smoking joints and junkies looking for a fix.  And there were prostitutes, most of them looking like junkies or meth-heads, trolling for johns, so they could get their medicine.

I decided to try and find one I liked.

Definitely not something I have ever done before, in the dream or in real life, and I can't say exactly why I made that decision.  For some reason, I thought the best way to go about this was to sit down in the grass next to one of the porches of one of the stores/cabins.  So, I sat down there in the grass, and looked up at the stars.

It was then that I noticed that there were two moons in the sky.  Both waxing gibbous (a little more than a quarter-full, heading towards full) - mirror images - one slightly above and to the right of the other.  And there were these strange trails of the image of the moon, like a dragon of smoke in the sky below them.  In the dream, as I stared at this awesome and impossible sight, I remembered hearing about this rare lunar condition on the radio, and felt delighted that I'd actually had a chance to see it, since the radio had said it was not going to happen again in my lifetime.

A young girl walked over to me and asked if I was looking for some company.  I said I was.  So she sat down cross-legged in the grass in front of me.  She was wearing a thin white t-shirt, cut-off blue jean shorts, and low-top chuck taylors.  She was very thin.  Too thin for her clothes.  She looked very young, too.  Her skin was smooth and soft and pale.  Her dirty blonde hair cropped short in a sort-of bob.  She didn't look sick and used, like all the others.  In her face, she looked like she still had some baby-fat.  She probably could've passed for 15.  But I was going under the assumption that she was at least 18, because her arms and legs were covered in tattoos.

All of her tattoos were glyphs and symbols.  Sigils and hex-marks and other occult signs.  And Runes.  I could read them.  They were incantations.

"Those are runic incantations," I said to her, pointing to the string of runes on her shoulder.

"Uh, yes, they are," she replied, slightly taken aback.

"Oh, and that is a very powerful mark," I said, pointing to a runic sigil on her bicep that was written in a sort of runic "code."  The ancient runic sorcerers had used it after the christian conversions in order to keep their work hidden from the prying invaders, who had a nasty habit of burning sorcerers.

"Now, you don't look like the kind of person who can read runic incantations," she said, smiling.

"No, I guess not."

We sat in silence for a while, staring at each other.  I liked her.  It seemed like she liked me.  At least enough, anyways.

"What's it like?," I asked.

"Well, for the most part, I actually enjoy it.  Haven't gotten hurt yet.  And I'd be doing it anyways, but this way I get paid for it."  She looked down at her feet, started playing with the grass.  She looked like such a little girl.  "But, I don't really have much choice, do I?"

"Why do you do it?"

"Well, ya know, I got things I need, ya know?"  I nodded.  I did know about that kind of need.  I've felt it pulling down in my bones before, too.  Watched from outside myself as I did things I couldn't believe, just to make that ache go away.

I was beginning to feel that way about this beautiful, sad little girl in front of me, as a matter of fact.

"I know what that's like."

"Yeah, right," she said, and I could tell at that moment she thought I was an asshole.  Just another mark.  I realized what a stupid thing it was to have said.  What the fuck did I know about her life?  What the fuck did I really know about that kind of hunger?  I felt like a privileged rich kid telling a kid from the ghetto that I understood being poor.

I laid down on my back on the grass beside her, and looked up at the sky, with the twin moons, and the dragonsmoke trails of lunar dust.

"Look at that," I said, "Isn't that beautiful?  Won't happen again for a thousand years."

She looked up from the grass.  "Yeah, I guess it kinda is."  She laid down on her back next to me, and watched the sky.  We stayed like that for a while, in silence, at peace.  Until I felt her take my hand.

"What do you want?," she asked.

"How much?"

"Twenty, fifty, or a hundred, depending on what you want."

"I want it all."

"I know."

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!

My Silver Key...

Journal - Thursday, 5.20.10

One of the very first group-rituals I ever performed was a Dreamlands pathworking, in which Nyarlat-hotep gave to each of us our own Silver Key to the Gate of Dreams. Since that night, my Silver Key has become one of the most used fetishes of my magickal career.

Last night, I took my Silver Key from my altar and wore it to bed. And dreamt for the first time in recent memory. (I don't usually remember any dreaming I do. Sleep is a short blankness in between periods of consciousness for me. My own petit morte, if you will.)

It was a nightmare. Incredibly vivid. Again, it wasn't the typical eldritch horrors I've come to expect, but it still left me feeling quite unsettled.

It started with the discovery that my wife had been cheating on me for a quite a while. When I confronted her about this she sneered, "Well, sometimes I need it in the fucking ass and he can do that for me!" (I don't think my wife has ever actually sneered at anything her entire life.) The rest of the dream was the slow, dawning realization that my wife was nothing like the person I've always thought she was. My wife is a sweet, patient, compassionate, and very loving woman - in the dream she was a raging coke-whore. She was constantly yelling at me and calling me names, or alternately ignoring me completely, throwing tantrums, and more than once she laughed to the point of tears at the pain and anguish she was causing me. I spent most of the dream chasing her around, trying to get her to stop... being that way, but the more I pleaded with her, the worse she got.

I remember, towards the end of the dream, finding her in a flop-house down the block from our apartment building, sucking off a group of guys for some crystal. When I dragged her out of there, she shoved the crystal into my hand. (Just a bunch of loose crystal, no baggie, like trying to hold onto a handful of crushed glass shards.) When we got back to our building, there were a bunch of cops hanging around the entryway for some reason, and I had to sneak by them with the crystal in my hand, terrified the entire time that she was going to tell them and get me arrested.

I also remember that our building was *off*, somehow. It was definitely our apartment building from waking life, but nothing about it was exactly the way it really is. Some things were a bit bigger than they were supposed to be, some a bit smaller; some things weren't pointed in quite the same direction they really are; some doors and windows that were supposed to be there weren't, and there were doors and windows that were only there in the dream, as well. There was nothing I could point to and say "There! That is not supposed to be like that - it's supposed to be like this!" But the whole place, normally so comfortable and familiar, felt slightly strange and alien.

So, again, it wasn't getting eaten by a giant, tentacled alien, or being transported to another plane of existence by a grey-skinned, faceless man with bat-wings, but I would still definitely consider this a mythos-colored dream. I was forced to confront the madness of having the thing most precious to me in this life taken and twisted into a monster before my eyes. I woke up very agitated by the experience, and I've remained slightly nervous and anxious and just generally unsettled all morning because of it.

My wife's kisses somehow just didn't seem as sweet this morning.