Magickal Realism

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This week was one of the weeks where I didn’t like the work so well. I did it, but it wasn’t something I enjoyed, and I realized why: as one tarot reader pointed out years ago, somehow I trained myself out of dreaming, and much of the exercises involved making our fantasies a reality. As always the things I don’t want to do are the big indicators of where my blocks are. When you’re me and you spend more time solving problems and things you perceive as problems, you just don’t spend a whole lot of time on good fantasies. The time spent among Pagans hasn’t helped this: so many are completely lost in fantasy to the unhealthiest degree, and seeing this and wanting things to happen, I usually sacrifice my own flights of fancy to make things happen. I came to realize this year that there’s no payback from the Pagan community for this - I have served the Pagan community, but the Pagan community has not really served me. Certainly, individuals have, and I cherish those friendships. But community volunteering and coven experience as a whole does not feed my soul, it depletes it. I used to think Mike’s statement “If it stops being fun, stop doing it!” was terribly shallow, but I’m actually seeing some depth in it now, because I get it. People have commented that I don’t play, and it’s been an offset because I see so many people playing way- WAY too much. If I’m going to quit comparing myself to people, I’m also going to have to quit offsetting their excesses. If I’m in a mood to play, I’ll play. I’ve been very adamant about not spending this life as a Mommy so my mommying needs to stop.

1. Morning Pages: I did them daily. I wish I could be so consistent with my workouts. They’ve been wandering a bit more than before, in part because I’ve been doing them after being awake longer and because I’m not journaling at night as much as I once did. The night journaling is still important, of course. I’m even doing morning pages on days I expressly don’t want to do morning pages.

2. I did do my artist’s date. It was much lower-key than last week’s. Basically, I had an awesome Pumpkin Spice Latte (HarMar Mall Barnes and Noble makes the best ones, and better yet, no corn syrup!), went through a ginormous stack of magazines and the wandered around Har Mar mall. HarMar is, as one person described it, “where local businesses go to die.”¹  Most of those are gone, but the chains still hang on quite well. It’s less crowded than any other mall in the area, and while I’m heartily annoyed TJ Maxx moved out, I still find most of what I need/want in that mall if I have to go to a retail store to shop instead of going online.

3. I have had minor synchronicities, but nothing I can think of that was really a standout.

4. Issues significant to recovery: I’m coming back to thoughts on my body, and my obsessive organization. My organization is definitely a behavior I’m sticking with: it’s saved me so much money and time since I started doing it. I’m still learning how to take care of myself without being constantly, punishingly tough on myself. And not being so tough has not done what I’d feared: I’m not soft and lazy, I am getting things done, and I’m quietly enjoying the activities and people I enjoy. While I’m a bit lonely, it’s not cripplingly so, and my friends understand that I don’t have the funds or transportation for a social life - which I knew I would be sacrificing when Mike and I went down to owning one car, and which I do not regret, especially given the cost of a car these days. Joel’s little dates with me also help a lot, especially since Mike is in a research crunch right now.

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1. This is changing very soon. Har Mar has leased their old movie theater space to a Staples store that is bringing quite a bit of business with it, and my own alma mater is opening up an extension branch there. [↩]

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Goal setting exercise:

In a perfect world I would be not just a published author - I have accomplished that life goal - but the author of a few books, a perfumer with an authentic cult following and a fashion designer. A concrete goal among these possibilities¹ is to have a published book in my hand.

In 5 years I want to be married to Mike (hear that?), live in a nice townhouse, have a dig and have a shelf that has two or three books on it with my name on the spine as the author.

This year, I can write the first draft of my book. I’m already 24 pages in, writing a page a day, give/take. This month I can keep writing my book, I can read other books on similar topics to see what’s being said, I can update my author’s website, and I can get involved with a couple of writer’s communities online - so long as they remain positive and inspiring for me. This year I can also write poetry and take a class at the Loft. If the Loft turns out to be suppressive for me, I can move on.

My dream is to publish a book, my true north is to have a physically bound copy in my hand. I’m still deciding on my role model, but I’m leaning towards Neil Gaiman because one way or the other, he keeps writing.

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1. I decided not to call them fantasies. [↩]

Image by `jonathan gill via Flickr

• I have a right to be an artist.
• I now treat myself and my creativity more gently.
• My creativity is appreciated.
• I now share my creativity more openly.
• I now accept Eros’s help unfolding my life.

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1. Yes, I did 7 out of 7 pages on the Artist’s Way. It’s been getting harder - I’m getting into the much more deeply entrenched psychological stuff, along with an impending sense of stress as fall business gears up. I don’t know if I’ve daydreamed creative risks - in my case, the risk involves pursuing interests of things I know I’m not good at, like sewing and sketching. I’m even eyeballing a community ed sewing class - I’m thinking I could learn some great stuff if I don’t have emotional trauma attached to it. As for coddling my inner child…sorta? If you read my Artist’s Dates entries my inner child may have more mature tastes than I do. Seriously, what kid actually asks for vegetables? I think she’s just glad I’ve once again let her drop her membership in the clean plate club.

2. Yes, I did my artist’s date and there was nothing half-assed about it. I opened up myself to the universe and the universe took me on a journey. The date itself was a risk: nothing is more lowbrow than a mall, and given the - usually fair - tendency of all the artists I know to look down on the Mall of America my choosing it at all for an Artist’s Date was pretty risky. I let my inner child send the middle finger to my inner snob, and I wound up on the most gratifying artist’s date yet.

3. Oh yes, there was quite a bit of synchronicity. Mike coming home just as my house blessing candle finished burning. Finding a primo parking space within seconds of trying on some brujeria good luck oil. Finding coupons for my artist’s date as I sat down for lunch. It’s happening more and more!

4. I’m getting into the phase of my recovery that’s the hardest for me. Connection is difficult, because while I’m outwardly pretty tough, I’m really sensitive underneath it all and my strategy for protecting myself is frequent withdrawal, especially since there are - now much fewer - so-called friends who use my “toughness” as an excuse to be verbally abusive with me because “I can take it.” There’s a big difference between delivering hard truth and subjecting a person to bullshit as a result of not having done your homework. Since I keep a lot more to myself than most people realize, and I tend to keep more information than I realize from myself, the end result is that I’m rarely fully authentic with anyone. I’ve been making strides in this area, though - I have been engaging more and spending more time with as we’re able people I consider very positive influences, and drifting from those who at this point are much better off with me out of the picture. I only have room for a certain amount of people that use me as a mirror, and right now my narcissist’s gallery is completely full.

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I should mention that on my way to my destination I had to wander through the mall, and the whole mall had its obstacles and strangeness. Along with the unfortunates hired at mall kiosks to hawk at passerby and suck them in aggressively was the hologram from Best Buy.

Somehow he’s just not as interesting as the Cheshire Cat or the Caterpillar, but thank the gods he didn’t call me MaryAnn.

What you need to know about Underwater World is that its publicity belies its nature. The advertising is cheesier than a Bronko’s pizza¹ or cheesier than a super deluxe cheese special at Luce’² There’s the mascot Sharkie that runs around the mall and submits to getting pawed by everyone; there’s all this toy crap, the T-shirts, and the advertising campaign. It’s very much aimed for kids and tourists and does nothing to appeal to locals at all.

But once you get past the first set of down escalators and get the pep talk about making sure you use both flash and non-flash photography, the experience changes. First, their use of music is genius. The closer you get to the actual aquarium, the more soothing and trancey the music. As you leave, you get exposed to brighter colors and more up-tempo beats. By the time you see sharks swimming over your head, you’re too calm to get worried that they might be considering you for lunch.

Oddly enough, the gator here’s eyes glowed red before I snapped the picture, I think. It seemed that way at least.

At one point the voice told me to snap some shots of an egg incubation project. I’m to give it away, to it will be in my flickr stream as Creative Commons and I’ll see if I can upload them to Wikimedia Commons. It is a reasonable payment for what I’ve taken.

As I descended the pathway, I learned two things: turtles are obnoxiously fast, and sharks are camera shy. I could swear I caught a telepathic blip that translated to Goddamn paparazzi. I also now believe the guy that told me his pet turtle ran away. Yes, it is quite possible that they could outrun a human being. I also saw a few stuffed mammals - disturbingly, the wolves were trapped in their taxidermied bodies as was the fox. I hope I released them.³

It wasn’t in an overt way, but there was an interaction between the humans and the fish. The fish and reptiles knew you were there, and had opinions of you.

There was one turtle in particular who captured my attention. A hulking old thing, it told me tales of carrying the world on its back and how I keep bulking weight thinking I need to carry the world on mine when it’s not my job, it’s his, and he’ll worry about that. We were rudely interrupted by a silly girl in a sweatshirt who flashed her camera right in Wise Old Man’s eye. Ancient as he was, even he smarts from such rudeness. But it was such a comforting tale that I’d like to go back, have a few more conversations with Wise Old Man. He has so much to say to me, but trips to Underwater World are really not cheap.

Also, probably in honor of the RNC, there was a glass sharks art display for all 50 states that I saw on the way out. I kept trying to get pictures, but these stupid men kept wandering into my shot and then glaring at me for having a camera. RNC tourists. There were a lot of them, and they were just irritating.

However, I found plenty of opportunities to pause and tune into the total relaxation around me. Everyone else rushed around like a tourist, but I was there for a cultural exchange. I’m not sure how it will come out in my art, but I felt like there were definitely some acts of mutual influence.

I ended my tour with an accidental self portrait, and I have to admit as I came up from my journey, I felt ever-so-gently altered.

THE CROCODILE

by: Lewis Carroll (1832-1898)

• OW doth the little crocodile

  Improve his shining tail,

  And pour the waters of the Nile

  On every golden scale!

  How cheerfully he seems to grin!

  How neatly spread his claws,

  And welcomes little fishes in

  With gently smiling jaws!

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1. for the Indiana folks [↩]
2. for the Minnnesota folks. [↩]
3. I’ve seen this before in Mankato. It wasn’t pretty. [↩]

My original plan for my artist’s date was to walk through the former Camp Snoopy - now Nickelodean world - in an altered state. Having gone through there on an overcast day a few years ago while running an errand for the job all my friends do not name but refer to as “when Di hit rock bottom” I had the trippy experience of having fallen down a rabbit hole. Besides, I had been injured on that roller coaster as well.

So, despite my dislike of the Mall of America I drove out there, and approached the edge of Camp Snoopy, where you can go left or right. The little voice spoke up. Remember what you told Joel?¹ I picked the one that matched my own energy the closest.

Eat first, the voice urged. I was hungry. I usually do these pseudo-shamanic workings as low on calories as my body will allow.  I wandered towards the food stand and it was practically unstaffed; I also found it curious that they dropped Pepsico for catering to true little kid food - tacos, mac and cheese, pb&j.

Well, this is about feeding my inner child, I thought. The kiddie food booth has a shortcut stairwell to the third floor.

Go upstairs. Eat in the food court up there.

I was informed no Long John Silver’s this visit. The tacos looked tempting. Maybe at that slightly overpriced taco chain that wasn’t Chipotle.²

No, NOT Long John Silver’s

I veered towards the other side of that half of the food court and got pointed to the Japanese food booth I always think guiltily I should have eaten at. I tried to balk.

But - my inner child!

Tell your inner child she gets to have a meal like a big girl.

My inner child was excited by the prospect of “biggie girl food.” Well damn.

I got something nutritious and vegetable heavy, and it turns out I’d been craving it. I turned to sit down and moved - I was skeeved out by how dirty the tables were.

At last I came to rest on a four seater. I realized a few bites into my food there were two blue pieces of paper on the table, giving a $4 discount off tickets to Water World. $4 brought a visit into my price range.

There’s your date today, said the voice. Now go have a good time.

1. I’ve been teaching Joel how to energy read objects without making it a big production. [↩]
2. I hate Chipotle. Yes, I am a heretic. AND a Pagan.)

   I climbed the stairs to the third floor east food court. ((There are two food courts on the third floor; it is possible to shop at the mall for years and not know they’re both there. [↩]

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Chapters 6-8 are a revisit for me, the chapters that happened while I was moving. I didn’t keep up on them quite as faithfully as I did previous chapters, and it’s no coincidence that the work required in these chapters is psychologically much more difficult. As I’ve already said, I’ve half-assed my artist’s dates for awhile now, even skipping a couple readings I’ve signed up for.

So, while there is some stuff I’m skipping in Chapter 7 - I’ve already done the within-chapter exercises like the jealousy chart (which I am not sharing, thankyouverymuch)  but I suspect that the most important exercise is actually the collage. Since I don’t really have money to drop on 10 magazines and I don’t have the bookstore connections I used to, I’m going digital - every day I’m spending time surfing Wikimedia for creative commons images that reflect my interests. I might dig through a couple online magazines, too - but in the end, what I will be creating is a digital collage, NOT a physical one.

My morning pages seem back to their daily revelation; I guess I just needed some extra time to dig. I’m only hoping that this all really pays off.

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It’s been awhile since I’ve done a real chapter check-in, and there is some backing up and starting over involved.

1. Morning pages - I haven’t missed a day since I started this path. I do feel like I’m starting to spin my wheels a bit. I’m at my core intensely private (hard to see when I blog so much, but believe me, you really don’t see anything.) I’m finding in that process that I tend to hide things even from myself. That’s not healthy, especially when I strive to live in a state of total honesty with myself about who I am, what I’m doing and what my motivations are. Given that I’m a Wiccan priestess I was very surprised at how much I was dodging the whole “tell me all your thoughts on God” exercise. There’s stuff there. A lot of it. In fact, I kept trying to find excuses to not do my morning pages, but it really is that runner’s thing: if I don’t do it, I start to feel not doing it now.

2. Artist’s Date - Yes, I went to the Minneapolis Institute of the Arts. I had a strange shamanic experience that I meant to blog and didn’t. It involved talking buddhas, mask art, all sorts of nifty stuff. I finally made time to go into the Africa/South America wing that every one of my friends previously avoided studiously. I can see why they did - fear. I’m glad that I did; it was very raw stuff that speaks straight to a witch. In fact, I see it as the best part of the musueum.

I’m glad I went. I’ve been half-assing my artist’s dates for quite awhile, and I’m recognizing that if this whole thing is really  going to work - and it has started to, with me 16 pages into a book and with one short book to edit and sell as a pdf - I need to stick with those dates, and be firm with my dear ones that this is my time. Paradoxically, I realize I need to reach out to some of my friends a little more. I’m limited in resources and can’t travel much beyond downtown, but I’m still trying to make it work.

3. Synchronicity - Yes, I did experience synchronicity. I attended a party and met a fellow who had the ceremonial magic perspective on Eros. My relationship is much different from CM - to them he’s all sex all the time, and my relationship is very much different from that, in that it is definitely a family association. I had intended to make another more casual party the next day, and I’m afraid I missed out - my brain and body screamed for a break.

4. Issues concerning my recovery - Yes, some major issues came out that go beyond my body issues and my frustration that I’m not gladitorial. I was quite surprised at what they were, and how it relates to my own relationship to the divine. It came down to this grand question: So what’s in it for me? I’ve been conditioned to go right ahead if that answer is Nothing, but it’s no longer an acceptable reply. In fact, circumstances conspired earlier this week to make it clear to me that my days of doing something for nothing are absolutely over and ne’er to return again. I’m pretty sure it’s a universal edict - this isn’t just on a volunteer basis, but on a person to person one as well.

I’ve added some links as to what’s occupying my mind of late, as well.

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It’s the deep end of the waning moon coming out of a rather virulent Mars direct.¹ It really is a good time to cleanse - get rid of what needs getting rid of to make space for the great things about to come into my life, although cleansing feels a little weird as I’ve only been in this space a month.

So, after a self-esteem battering session in my closet yesterday I was relatively happy to yank out five clothing items as instructed and move them on. Between oil stains, mystery stains and a disconcerting tendency to ride up flashing body parts no one but Mike really needs or wants to see on someone my age and size, I was only too happy to dispose of them.

I have two social commitments this weekend, too, and in the process of finding things to dispose of I recognized some outfit possibilities I had not previously considered - so it turned out to have its own reward!

1. To non-astrology followers: think of astrology as a sort of shorthand for the emotional influences and random incidences of living if it helps it make ANY more sense to you. Or ignore it. Your choice! [↩]

The instructions in the book are to pick 5 flowers and to press them in wax paper. While that’s sweet and sentimental for some, I distinctly remember getting in a great deal of trouble for flower picking while I was on a Girl Scout campout of some sort thanks to Jill Lewin and Jenny Briggs conning me very persistently.¹

Since I find keeping bits of sentimental flotsam highly impractical - even my stuffed animals have a magickal purpose - I’m going the virtual route, instead. Each flower I picked has an emotional association or significance to me, and maybe a little story to go with it.

Clovers were my first introduction to herbal medicine and the idea of edible plants. You can pluck one of those petals and suck the end for a sweet honey taste - no bee spit. I tried to show this off for show-and-tell, but let’s just say that my mother and Mrs. Pyle² had different views on what was “cute.” I also found them extremely helpful in healing more quickly when I broke my ankle - they increase blood circulation, which staved off the worst of the depression I was going through at the time.

Due to circumstances entirely beyond my control, my friendship with Matt White was ruined. I knew things were going downhill when he tackled me and rubbed a dandelion down the back of the shirt I was wearing - knowing full well that it was a shirt I had borrowed from my dad. I got yelled at, and explaining I could not control the behavior of others fell on deaf ears. This was when I first began to suspect my parents were not the reasonable people I was raised to assume they were. Yes, the memory is sad, but I’ve bought my dad a couple of really nice shirts since then as I could afford to. These days I tincture dandelions and enjoy dandelion wine from time to time; it’s a very subtle, warm scent but not in the bright yellow way you’d expect. It does feel like you’re smelling the sun.

Tulips are my favorite flower - yes, I’m exposing my passkey secret. They’ve always heralded things I’ve enjoyed, like long walks home from school at the start of spring thaws. Also, my boyfriend is very much a Dutch heritage boy - his family hails from Pella, Iowa, which has a tulip festival we’d like to attend.

Magnolias were always a herald of school almost being out; my next door neighbor with the subsistence farm and the persistent dogs had a magnolia tree in his front yard. The heady scent made me dream of heady things like that burning forever passion that teenagers don’t realize needs rechargeable batteries and late nights dancing on a skyscraper roof. There was also an embarrassing poem about an embarrassing boy - and too my belated embarrassment, the boy was given the poem.³

I didn’t like the photographs of morning glories, so this is what I went with. Why morning glories? A weed version of them used to grow on the obstacle course around my elementary school - they were the first flower I ever attempted to make perfume with. While it was an unsuccessful attempt in that I chose to store them with water in an old bottle of Tinkerbell perfume, it was a very successful boy repellent and perhaps was the indirect inspiration behind my later design of LoserBGone, a tested and effective way of keeping trolls off you when you’re clubbing.

This is where the seeds of my perfumery began. And admittedly, Zombie Repellent smells way way better than that first attempt.

1. I really hope horrible things are happening to those two, the sort of horrible that makes you dread getting out of bed every day of your life. [↩]
2. another worthless teacher in the long run, unsurprising in Crown Point [↩]
3. There’s a very good chance he has long since burned, shredded, or otherwise disposed of it. [↩]