bloodteethandflame

A life in threes

Today.

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Dodging or crying.

Hello there.

As usual, I have not written in a bit, beyond the sharing of clever memes and posts of other people’s (excellent) poetry.

So for those interested, here’s an update on what’s been going on with me lately:

— This past week, I’ve been fighting a rather nasty sinus cold with more than enough congestion to leave my sinuses feeling as raw and the rest of my body as exhausted as if I have just been rescued from a week-long bout of drowning.

Though speaking of drowning, I found it more than ironic to notice that this blog has had a surprisingly high amount of hits to two particular posts that reference my feelings of metaphorically flailing and drowning in regards to my spirituality, as well.

But really, I’m doing fine.

Though I was getting tired of being notified daily about the repetitive hits to that one post about Lydia (from a tight cluster of specific locations in the U.S) so, in case anybody wonders why, yeah, I did mark that particular post as private for now.(1)

— As well, you may have heard about Hurricane Dorian – which it is/was speculated to hit Florida sometime this Labor Day weekend.

Hurricane Dorian is the first storm of the season, and not surprisingly, the meteorologists around here in Florida have been whipping everyone into a frenzy since Wednesday about the possibility that it might make landfall as a Category 4 – which would be one hell of a destructive storm.

The local news showed Dorian’s trajectory to encompass most of the Floridian peninsula. The weather maps showed that even Central Florida would be hit hard:

 

So my family and I – along with everyone else in Florida – have been ‘battening down the hatches’ as it were, boarding up windows and doors, collecting supplies (bottled water, canned goods, matches, candles, propane, batteries) and filling up with fuel for our generators/vehicles, making sandbags, and putting any and everything we value into storage/safety/out of harm’s way.

As of Friday morning, the Florida governor officially called for the evacuation of coastal areas, and most local shelters were opened to accept evacuating people and pets.

People were already settling into the shelters on Friday night.

Local schools and universities canceled classes for Tuesday, September 3rd.

Supermarkets reported that they’d run out of bottled water and gas stations were closing due to being out of fuel.

However, this morning – Saturday – I woke up to the local news,

reporting that it looks that perhaps Hurricane Dorian would not be hitting Florida at all.

So guess who’s freaking out and calling for evacuations now?

South Carolina and North Carolina.

*sigh*

So I don’t know anymore.

Either way, the storm that is Dorian is hitting the Bahamas now.

And the newest news from the meteorologists is that  Dorian may/may not make landfall somewhere in Florida by Monday or Tuesday…

and might hit the Carolinas by Wednesday.

But no one knows for certain.

So: Are we dodging the bullet of a devastating storm….or are all these meteorologists just crying wolf?

Who the fsck knows?

I predict that whatever happens, the next storm to come to Florida is gonna take us all completely by surprise because I can tell you that all this manufactured panic that has been created by the local news has got everyone around here feeling really exhausted and more than a bit skeptical.

So I guess we just wait and see.

~~~~~

(1) And to that one person that is so obsessed with that ‘Lydia’ post enough to hit that blog post several times in a single day – what gives? If you are who I think you are (based upon your IP) stop reading into what you think I am saying in that post – because you are wrong. Better yet, you might want to stop reading my blog altogether. Thanks.

Worried.

In a nutshell.

FB_IMG_1563837575556^^ So.

The above pretty much describes the month of July 2019 for me – in a nutshell.

How convenient, eh?

To be clear, yeah – my mental illness was the main force behind my lack of participation – and general executive dysfunction – during this year’s ‘Month for Loki’

And I’ll be honest, I’ve felt foolish each time I’ve logged in over the past 25 days… to see my first post of the month.. 2nd, 3rd, 4th…

And then…nothing.

I recall being so full of excitement on July 1st – promoting this thing that I’d done for the past 7 years! – but then feeling entirely unable to bring myself to writing much of anything.

Oh well.

Such as it is.

Goodbye July.

 

Ephemeral.

I was looking for something else when I stumbled upon this video tonight.

Though I’ve always loved this song, I didn’t have any expectations as to how it might sound acoustically:

The subtle tones of the keyboard, the change in time signature and stripped down vocals of this performance have given me a new appreciation for this song.

Month for Loki, 6: Trickster (poetry)

A lovely poem about Loki by Sophie Oberlander:

 

Trickster

by Sophie Oberlander

“I never sought You.
Those places deep within my heart were far too burned and scarred
To let You in, hard like misshapen stone.
Or so I thought. But I gave much
The first time I hung on that Tree.
Not enough, by far, but just enough to shatter that wall of stone
The barest fragment breaking free.
I heard Your whisper, but turned aside my face
You could not be speaking to me.
I felt Your gentle touch cradling my wounded spirit
As You cradled Odin,
His body bloodied, His spirit on fire beneath that Tree
Long before I climbed its branches.
Was it through Your laughter that You taught me to love You?
Or through the tenderness of Your caress?
I have seen a face of You that few bother to see.
I have felt Your burning passion, gentle and tender beneath the Tree.
Brother, Lover, Friend,
No image of God quite prepared me for You.
You eased away my terror with Your wicked cavorting,
Making a broken child laugh by playing the fool.
I have seen Sigyn’s quiet contentment,
And the love behind Your games.
I no longer understand the trepidation in which others call Your name.
I have seen Your other face too,
When You took me to Your daughter’s realm.
I have seen You, locked in ecstasy,
Summoning up Her wards and wights for me.
My heart’s stone did not so much break
As melt beneath Your flame.
I have tasted Your rage, Your fury at my hurt,
Reveled in the darkest glee
With which You opened the gates of Niflheim to defend me.
No one told me how much You cherish Your children.
I have seen You, Trickster, weeping in anguish
Every one of Your children’s’ wounds piercing Your heart.
And I have seen You in battle, Odin’s equal,
Though Yours a far darker art.
I have heard Your song,
Far sweeter than I ever knew it could be,
As You took my hand, and led me from that Tree.
If it Your stories I cherish most, as we walk Bifrost bridge,
Dancing patterns amongst the stars.
You placed my hands upon the web, and taught me songs to weave.
As I hung for Asgard, through You, for Hella’s realm I reached.
I know how You are feared, or mocked, or thought long bound.
But I know too, it was Your hand guiding me
Through my darkest despair and pain.
And how can I fear Your deepest love,
When it is the freedom of my heart I’ve gained?
Loki, now it is Your burning that I seek.
Let us mingle songs beneath the Tree,
For I adore the flame you have ignited in me.”

Month for Loki, 5: Knife-Thrower

This is such a beautiful description of – and quite possibly the most apt metaphor for – working with Loki that I have ever read.

From an excellent Tumblr blog – see, they do exist! — here is coldalbion’s reply to an anonymous question, “Do you have any advice on working with Loki?”

(from coldalbion.tumblr.com)

===

“Advice, anon…? Not per se. I do have something for you, which may help:

Ah. Loki.

Oh, Loki.

What to say here? Loki’s like a whirling dervish; an expert knife-thrower all shining steel and flame-flicker.

And you’re his assistant.

You may or may not be blindfolded at first, and sometimes that’s better, despite the fact that you can hear those knives whistling towards your head with deadly precision.

With the blindfold on, you can at least recall his charming smile, the wicked quirk of his scarred lips, sly and arch and smooth. How he led you there with honeyed words and soft touches; how the tales of wonder and excitement thrilled you, all bright colours and exotic new adventures. How he picked you up and, somehow, for some reason decided to give you the benefit of all of him – how he blazed with a kind of Light that had nothing to do with vision, and everything to do with existing without reference to anything else.

And the more time you felt his presence, the more you began to know that his darkness was like his Light, a thing in and of itself. The full sense of his presence illuminated you, made you feel like you were the only thing in the worlds. He took your pain and scars and ran himself along them with a kind of knowing, a sense of recognition that generates a seemingly ever-present resonance.

So it’s the most natural, thrilling thing in the world when he asks you to do something for him, to put on a special costume, take his hand and step into the ring for this little act he does, purely for fun.

Charmed, beguiled, feeling the pull of nerves, you do it. You listen to his patter, his introduction as you stand there in the spotlight, surrounded by a audience shrouded in darkness. You’re his glamourous assistant, the absolute necessity to his act.

He smiles at you as he blindfolds you, as he raises you up to the board. Your heart begins to race as he binds you, secures you tight so you can’t move. You’re helpless, waiting, praying.

When the first knife whistles through the air, you stiffen. The wind of its passing plays across your skin – the impact into the board is shockingly loud. You can’t help but gasp, the board vibrating with the force of that blow. You imagine the audience’s intake of breath, but you can’t hear it over the noise of the knives that suddenly seem to come in from all directions.

Again and again and again. When one buries itself scant millimeteres from your face, you realise that you can feel the cold of the metal against your cheek. You flinch, and realise that the buried blades surround you. Your body is ringed by steel. There is nowhere else to go.

The act must be over now, mustn’t it? Surely it must!

So why is it that you can hear more knives coming? What kind of insane game is this – is this madman actually trying to kill you?

You think back to what he told the audience – that you are an absolute necessity to his act. Is it possible he lured you under false pretences, that you are some kind of sacrificial animal, and that one of those knives will be your doom?

No wonder you might be afraid!

And when the blows come, you can feel the edges bite, sharp against your flesh. This is it. You’re going to die. What a fool you were to do this, to let this motherfucker lead you on.

But..wait a minute. You’re still here. Everything is suddenly silent, way too quiet. Heart hammering, you gingerly attempt to move, and, to your surprise, you realise that your bonds, after a moment of snagging, seem to have fallen away.

With trembling hands, you pull down the blindfold, and are momentarily blinded – the house lights have come up and you stumble away from the board a liittle. When your vision returns, you’re in for a shock.

Because there’s no-one there. The vast ranks of seats are empty. The audience have gone, even though you didn’t hear them leave. Maybe they were never even there to begin with…

Maybe you’re still bewildered when a voice tells you to Think fast! and you jump back as a knife suddenly comes out of nowhere and buries itself in the sawdust at your feet.

The unseen voice tells you to pick up the blade. Go on, just pick it up. So you do, and suddenly he steps out from behind the board with a little, courtly, mocking bow.

Turnabout is fair play, he drawls.

It’s your turn. Without thinking, the knife leaves your hand, aiming at his head. But he’s not there.

He’s behind you, lips against your ear, hand on your arm, guiding you through the arc of the throw. The knife hits the board, straight and true, in a way you’d never have known how to do before.

And then? Then he’s dancing and you have an endlesss supply of blades. He weaves and curves, eels and dives in ten thousand intricate movements; a shining, glittering impossibility. Without thinking, you fall into a rhythm, and later you realise the strangeness of this – for you and he are acting together in the space between heartbeats. You’re part of the same dance, the same ebb and flow and weave.

There’s no telling how long it goes on for, or why it stops. Maybe he becomes bored, or maybe you send steel singing so close that it leaves a line of blood along his cheekbone.

Who can tell? Because suddenly, the knives you throw are suddenly plucked from the air by nimble hands, and turned back on you. Lost in the rhythm, you struggle to evade the most lethal, but manage it. But you do not remain unscathed – your shining costume is cut from you swifter than lightning, until you stand naked and nicked in the sawdust.

Your nerves sing – the cuts are not deep, after all, but the endorphins are called into your blood, as surely as someone summoned an army. A single droplet of blood falls in slow motion, splashing on the shaved wood, blossoming and swelling and staining the ground of the ring.

When you look up again, he’s smiling, eyes sparkling with ancient wisdom and dark mirth. Not bad, he says. Let’s go again.

Steel sings and you feel the air move against your skin.

And you smile in return, and you move.

It’s time to dance.”

(Artwork: ‘Jester’ by MuYoung Kim)

jester

Month for Loki, 4: Explosive

This is what it looks like when you’re trying to get pics of fireworks – and the mortar blows up in the tube

O.o

explodingfireworks2019

 

(We were OK though. )

Happy Fourth of July!

Month for Loki, 3: I wanna rock your gypsy soul…

This song brings to me connections of Loki and Odin nowadays…perhaps on Their way to – or on Their way back from – the island of Samsey —

We were born before the wind
Also younger than the sun….

And I want to rock your gypsy soul
Just like way back in the days of old
And magnificently we will flow into the mystic

Print

Month for Loki, 2: the smallest gifts

“And the Bastard grant us, in our direst need, the smallest gifts: the nail of the horseshoe, the pin of the axle, the feather at the pivot point, the pebble at the mountain’s peak, the kiss in despair, the one right word. In darkness, understanding.”

— from Paladin of Souls by Lois McMaster Bujold

photo by Jim Sauchyn