All advice is autobiographical.

It’s one of my theories that when people give you advice, they’re really just talking to themselves in the past. This list is me talking to a previous version of myself.

Your mileage may vary.

1. Steal like an artist.

Every artist gets asked the question, “Where do you get your ideas?”

The honest artist answers, “I steal them.”

I drew this cartoon a few years ago. There are two panels. Figure out what’s worth stealing. Move on to the next thing.

That’s about all there is to it.

CONTINUED HERE

This entry was originally posted at http://pj.dreamwidth.org/288746.html. Please comment here or there there using your LJ ID or OpenID.

We should All Answer. The Artist’s Creed:

This entry was originally posted at http://pj.dreamwidth.org/286720.html. Please comment here or there there using your LJ ID or OpenID.

CAYA’s statement, released on at least a few local email lists. I’ve added emphasis & reformatted a tiny bit (broken paragraphs in a couple of spots). ~1700 words; not a quick read. <—– formatting changes via elf  posted at the_thinking_pagan  comm here on dreamwidth.

Dear friends and colleagues,

As many of you are aware, this past week has been one of robust debate around gender inclusivity in ritual at PantheaCon and in the pagan community at large. CAYA Coven and its Amazon Priestess Tribe are currently serving the role of catalyst for this round of the conversation, and as a Coven, we have drafted a statement that reflects our shared understanding of our position within the debate. Please note that this statement took a week because we value consensus from our 30+ Clergy members on matters of such weighty significance. Therefore, our process moves slowly, mindfully, and deliberately as we seek common ground, craft positions that feel comfortable to all, and refine our language until all are in agreement. Here is our offering. Please feel free to quote from it, share it with concerned parties, or contact us for further information. Thank you for taking the time to read it.

cut to save friend page

It’s been a long road for my F-I-L. From the moment of diagnosis in June with prostate cancer, to the test results of it being also in his bones he’d voiced a desire to die "now". Numerous times he spoke of how lucky he was, how what a good life he’d had, how great his kids, grandkids, and great-grandkids were. How much he missed his wife who had predeceased him by a hair over 30 years. How he would be happy to see her again.

Yet he stayed, belying that wish. Funny how people say what is expected and their soul bears out the truth. He held on through his birthday, then the holidays, and lastly until one of his granddaughters had her first baby. Life force, will to live, fear of unknown, whatever it is you think it is, is a very very strong thing.

Continue Reading »

Oh that’s right. Nowhere. NoFuckingWhere. Real name, RL workplace ….. outing without permission. Saying it is "ok" based on a claim of a blog post that is a dead link as proof.

Nice. <——- There is a blue stream circling my head right now. What you get, is "nice". Hear it in the most disdainful dripping with derision tone of voice the far reaches of your imagination can muster. Then know that you are nowhere close to the tone of the blue stream.

A friend of mine says, "Some Pagans believe in the 3-fold return. For us Feris, it is 10-fold." I’ve yet to see proof of this, but we do not always Get to See. From her lips to the Gods’ ears, so mote it be. May "Storm" be just Feri enough for 10 fold.

And now: plan, stroke, light, blow. Always happy to assist the Universe. *nod*

Details here.

This entry was originally posted at http://pj.dreamwidth.org/284194.html. Please comment here or there there using your LJ ID or OpenID.

The dawn was so lovely this morning. Deep pinks fading to light on the horizon. I’m not very big into the pink except when it stealth creeps up on a dawn that knows it is supposed to still be Winter, but desires very much to be Spring. Such was the dawn this morning. I inhaled the beauty of it, let the calm settle and went about the usual morning routine.

Somewhere between the first cup of coffee, the dog going outside, and the usual, "Dog goes out, does business, comes back in, gets treat," (Cat also gets treat for dog going out because, well, he is Cat) I must have breathed back out and lost the dawn. While checking my email and of course FB a half an hour later I was yawning as if I’d only just arisen and whinging about Monday. Annoyed myself with that, I did.

I pulled back and breathed in the memory of this dawn and listened to the silence. I do very much adore the loud silence of morning. Upstairs I went to do my morning stretching, routine set I move to the task. I pulled out the yoga mat and smoothed it on the floor.  I chose the incense and dropped a smidge of oil on it, lit it and carried it into the room. Through light blue drapes hung for filtering and not for privacy, sunlight stretched across my ancestor altar and up the wall.

Usually there is music. Always there is music. Routine, you see. I can tolerate routine in small doses. It keeps me doing what I should be doing even when I’m yawning and wishing not to. Today I didn’t turn on the music. Down onto the mat, repeating patterns I now move through without conscious thought. I breathed and heard pink. I stretched it and pulled it and made it a part of me. Music made with silence and color only I relaxed into my day.

Hail Monday! 

May your day, too, be filled with pink. *smiles*

This entry was originally posted at http://pj.dreamwidth.org/283971.html. Please comment here or there there using your LJ ID or OpenID.

There are Two Things that are remnants from the childhood sexual abuse that are apparently never going to go away. Part of my current Work will be to find a way to accept them and live with them rather than be in constant battle with them that leaves me exhausted and unchanged. That will be a Good Thing one would suppose, though I have my doubts.

However, that post will have to wait because it is still fermenting in the back of my mind and wishes not to be written just yet. Some other interesting things have come up in the meantime. One is that those who know virtually no details of the abuse have often read my last couple of months of posts with confusion unless they’ve experienced similar. Or they start to read and think, "OMGS! More of that Witchy woo-woo religious stuff I do not understand!" ~scroll~

Some of that is I tried to speak to issues that our society has not given me proper words for and really has no desire to supply the words and easily understandable phrases to describe. Things that are hard to talk about are purposely made so by the overarching influence of "how our society is" and "how our society speaks". This was clearly brought to my attention by a post by Elf about ebooks. Odd, but true.

Part of that was a reticence about details so my story would not interfere with a reader’s ability to identify with the emotional side if they needed to. Part of it was privacy issues. And finally, I was chronicling things as they occurred and the order in which they occurred was not chronological to how the incidents happened in my childhood years.

The two people who’ve most closely traveled through this past dark part of the year with me (covenmates) and witnessed my Shadow Work (as I have witnessed theirs) most likely understood my posts the best. Other readers had a far range in understanding from "most" to "very little" to "WTF?!" This was brought to my attention when I sat with my daughter the other night and we began discussing these things and she (whom I thought would be in the "most" category) informed me she was mostly in the "WTF?!" category. That may even have been her exact phrasing. :P~

So, not sure when the "Two Things" post will appear, but it will. It may lead off the next series of posts, or be dumped in the middle, or it may carry the end of it, but I plan to do a series of posts that will (I am hoping) more coherently chronicle the past few months, how the nature of the shadow work to be done revealed itself to me, the helpful *cough* steps along the way and where it ended (though it is not ended, damnit!). A lot of these posts will contain things already written about previously. I expect them to be laid out in a more sane manner with the perspective that "time passed" gives and less raw emotion vomiting over them obscuring their true nature. Or something.

I imagine they will be lengthy posts. I will cut them for the sake of the friends’ page here on the blogs. If I am unclear, out-of-order, or even merely appear to be – feel free to ask for clarification along the way. I know how my mind works and it is a messy thing indeed. I cannot expect everyone to easily follow the crooked path and many tangents. 🙂

This entry was originally posted at http://pj.dreamwidth.org/283628.html. Please comment here or there there using your LJ ID or OpenID.

I miss my male friends from before I was married. Some (one) hung around for a bit after the marriage. They drifted, they moved, they felt weird after I married – many reasons, all of them valid and none of them (except one) True. Life is.

I miss them dearly right now. In particular I miss one of them right now. Deeply. He was one who I could be honest and raw with and never held it against me later. Who’s replies came as genuinely as he could manage. As gently as he could manage. Yet when hard words needed to be said, he said them.

I adore my female friends.They are divine and loving and harsh when necessary. But there is a difference. Whether by make of societal roles or physiology of genetic gender or spiritually of the "energy stamp" there is a sharp difference – in this reality, in this life. I need that difference. There I said the evil phrase, "I need".

I have my husband of course. He is quite grand. He is also a friend. The relationship being what it is it has "the Sex!" tied all up in it. This includes the part of the heart and the part of the ego bonded with that. Male friendships get to avoid those particular tangled strings where hurt can so easily manifest. I need that.

More, of course, behind the cut

…. and I believe I did exactly that with the screams being open-mouthed yet silent. I mentioned in a blog post from mid-December that I would return to talking about dissociation (among other things) and that was the intent with this post. I cannot. It is near, still partially swirling/screeching to be written, but locked in my fingers. I can only dance around the edges.

There were definite high points to the weekend – Saturday had some very good things. Today had meaningful connection *hugs K for her bravery* and an absolutely lovely Imbolg rite done in a completely different context than "the norm" which caught and captured the feeling of the Sabbat in warm and wonderful ways.

There were the other points. Friday and a god slot of Sunday to be specific. The lagging, dragging, fuck me points. We people of certain experiences toss around the word "broken" a lot. It is a good useful word not only because of its accuracy, but because it implies "fixable". What we don’t talk about are the parts that are "shattered", sometimes because we do not believe there exists such a thing in us and other times because "shattered" implies "not fixable".

A friend posted to one of my entries recently about a part of her that died in childhood. Not broken, not hiding, not dormant – dead. She knows this to be true because she’s tried to disprove it over and again – every time with the same result. Finally she accepted that part of her was dead. Accepting it didn’t make her feel better about it. Accepting it allowed her to move forward. Shattered. Dead. Not so different as neither is fixable. SuperGlue™ and resuscitation are futile efforts.

Some things never return to their former state. Others simply shift, fortified by the strength of eliminating it in this corner so it may grow stronger———->over here. Coping mechanisms on crack. "Dissociation! The Preventative Medicine! Simply leave your pain behind! $39.99 includes Shipping and Handling!" Oh wait. I’m sorry. No handling allowed.

And no questions allowed, either. At least not ones that require a quick answer. Because you can’t. Not you won’t. You can’t. You cannot access that part of your self quickly because you are not there with it. So later you decide "this must be important, I must access it". So you drop down into it. And it sucks. Much more suckage than you remember from the last time you were stupid brave crazy enough to drop into it. Getting back out is harder and you regret the drop. Next time – next time you think you’ll just make up an answer to the questions. Had you remembered you would have done so already. Had you known that "normal" people would have the answer to the questions immediately available because "normal" is quick access to standard information, you could have just answered in whatever words popped out first. It is easier. It is safer. And it doesn’t hurt until later. And later is always better.

Dissociation – the gift that keeps on giving. And taking.

As bonus suckage, I’ve stopped sweating again. When one turns back, one goes full course, yes? Awe. Some.

I think I really need a "fuck me" tag. I suppose I could clean it up to a "FML" tag, but I’m not feeling that.

This entry was originally posted at http://pj.dreamwidth.org/282101.html. Please comment here or there there using your LJ ID or OpenID.