bloodteethandflame

A life in threes

A mysterious Goddess?

Last night I dreamt of making statues of a olive skinned goddess who wore purple and green and blue clothing.
Her headdress was blue – with Her dark hair peeking out from beneath Her headdress – and I recall purple and green ‘stripes’ or mottled batik designs on her clothing.

mysterygoddess
In the dream, I was supposed to bring her an offering of some sort.

I remember she seemed friendly with dark eyes and a calm smile.

She was patient.

She was associated with dogs and roads and the nighttime sky, especially stars.

****

When I woke up and Googled ‘Goddess associated with the night, roads and dogs’  — I came up with Hecate.

Hmm.

Food for thought: a re-blog, and my spirit animals

Asbjorn Torval’s latest post on spirit animals brings up some good points regarding spirit animals, personal bias and what he terms ‘power play’ when considering why there are so many folks who choose wolves and bears as their spirit animals, and yet no one seems to choose cockroaches or rats.

Why indeed, and this post has given me much food for thought regarding my own experiences in that if I were to choose a spirit animal, I would likely choose the fox, the horse, or the raven

– and yet, if I were to be honest –

The reality seems to be that my spirit animals are

 

 

Vultures

(L-R: Turkey vulture; Black vulture)

and

 

 

Possums!

(L-R: angry possum; possum ‘playing dead’)

You see, ever since I began working with Loki – and then later (and at present) Odin – my life has become overrun with vultures and possums!

Did I expect the relentless presence of vultures and possums in my life?

Well, I cannot say that I did, and yet – much like the Gods Themselves – I find that my life is full of signs of their presence at every turn.

So what have all of these interactions with vultures and possums taught me?

As many long-time followers of this blog may recall that I have written of my mundane (and spiritual) experiences with vultures, I don’t think I have ever written about my interactions with possums.

I grew up in a rather rural town in Massachusetts.  My father had quite a sizeable garden on the 1/2 acre property, and as you might imagine, I came across possums – both living and dead – quite often.

As a matter of fact, a dead possum was likely my first childhood experience with death – when, at the age of five or six years old – I found the very much dead body of a possum under an outdoor picnic table in the backyard. I remember my father explaining to me how sometimes possums would ‘play dead’ – just like I’d seen in cartoons – but that this one was really dead 😦

As well, my siblings and I would often come across live mama possums -with tiny babies – living in our root cellar, or trying to survive the winter by sneaking under the bulkhead stairs and into our basement. (I remember my older siblings and I learning to build a (humane) catch and release trap (courtesy of a Mark Trail book) for catching all the possums and other animals that snuck in, and how aggressively we competed with each other for the exciting and very honorable privilege of being the one who help our father carry the [occupied] trap into the woods to safely release whatever animal it had caught.)

But then, once I grew up and left home, I spent many years living in suburban areas and in bigger cities like Boston, Orlando, and Newark…and I didn’t see another possum for almost 25 years.

Fast forward to 2010, when my husband and I bought a house in a large Central Florida suburb…and I am telling you, I have never seen so many possums in all of my life.

In the month of July 2013 alone, I came across eight dead possums in my backyard; I swear that the vultures were bringing them – perhaps even dropping them – into my backyard, which is surrounded by a 6 foot privacy fence.  Two of them were huge- larger than each of my three full grown house-cats – and even my 75 lb Labrador retriever was afraid to go near them. (They were very dead and very heavy – and the body of one of those particularly big ones would not fit on the scoop/blade of my largest shovel.)

And nowadays, I’ve seen a few (thankfully live) possums while walking my dogs at night, either trotting down the middle of my street, or perched on my next-door neighbor’s fence or in the tree overlooking their swimming pool.

My dogs go berserk and stand out there barking at them every time one of the possums show up- but I don’t think they even blink anymore :/

~~~

 Most of those ‘What’s your Spirit Animal?’ websites (like this one) often portray Possum as a sort of trickster and problem solver:

  • Possum comes up with alternative plans for difficult situations that don’t require fighting/violence. They have an effective strategy – either by putting on an impressive display of ferocity or by playing ‘dead’ – and both strategies are indicative of one who is a master of projecting an impressive image of what they want others to see.
  • Possums are highly social with curious, inquisitive minds. They know when to run, when to hide, and when to move forward.
  • Possums are short lived creatures associated with youth and vulnerability. As a spirit animal, Possum assists those who are either young in spirit – or those who need to reconnect with their own vulnerability (or their inner child).
  • Possums are nocturnal creatures who are comfortable in the dark (in burrows underground) or in trees. Thus, Possum has strong element ties with the Earth and with trees. They have mastered navigating darkness and Possum serves as an excellent guide for those who seek to develop their navigation of darkness to uncover elusive truths, especially spiritual truths.
  • When Possum shows up – ask yourself if you are taking the right path toward your goals or if you have wandered off track. If the latter, Possum might be saying: ‘Be still and play dead’ and take some time to reflect and assess your circumstances. But likewise, Possum symbolizes to expect the unexpected and always be on the lookout for deception and lies. You are being called to challenge the status quo and outsmart the people who may wish to trick or deceive you.
  • Possum can indicate the need to be prepared for change – opportunity knocks! – but Possum’s message is one of caution: Not all is as it would seem. Some options will leave you exposed and vulnerable, while other options may divert you from your goals. Possums are creatures who look for the path of least resistance.
  • Ultimately, Possum is a survivor and the possum is a reminder that you will survive whatever threatens to overtake you, including your fears, doubts, or emotional trauma. Stay guarded, listen, and bide your time.

~~~

So, considering best laid plans and all that…

Every time I see a vulture, I take it as a reminder that I need

  • to rely on the tools given to me
  • trust in the process
  • look for opportunities to transform
  • accept that what seems like an end is not the end of the world

And, oddly enough, when I see possums, I take it as a sign that I need to:

  • Be resourceful
  • Meditate on my options
  • Learn to navigate the darkness and don’t be afraid of it
  • Learn to accept that appearances can deceive
  • Be cheerful

That being said, I think Vulture and Possum are my unexpected spirit animals

…and I imagine that they are here to stay.

 

 

 

 

 

QOTD

I am not a fan of New Year’s Eve.  I’ve never been a fan of New Year’s Eve.

 

So, I was delighted to see such an apt quote on my social media feed today..being the last day of December, the last day of 2017.

Like Sam Shepard, I detest endings….but perhaps it is simply that my perception is faulty.

May 2018 be a worthy beginning for all of us ❤

What’s new: Etsy Shop edition

Hello everyone!

I hope that you all had a wonderful Yule and Merry Solstice!

My family and I enjoyed a lovely low-key holiday, full of some much needed down-time.

~~~

And speaking of Loki

– and we were, weren’t we? –

I finally finished embroidering the corners of this altar cloth that I had been working on for about the last week or so:

   

This altar cloth was inspired by an ongoing conversation taking place in one of the Lokean groups I’m in concerning instances of Loki’s shapeshifting.

While many folks – including myself – associate Loki with foxes, snakes, spiders, and other various creatures, a lot of the discussion could be separated into discussion of  Loki’s shapeshifting according to the Lore(tm)

versus

the forms He takes during more UPG interactions (i.e visual forms taken during personal interactions with individual devotees during meditation, dreams, and mundane coincidences.)

Though while I’ve no doubt  that Loki as a God and a Jotun is capable of shapeshifting into whatever form that He wishes, this altar cloth was meant to depict four forms Loki has taken that are directly attested to in the Eddas and elsewhere:

  • that of a falcon (both in the Skáldskaparmál and the Þrymskviða of the Poetic Edda)
  • that of a fly (in the Sörla þáttr, a short story from the Flateyjarbók a 14th century Icelandic manuscript)
  • that of a mare (and later, in this form, giving birth to Sleipnir, as attested in the Hyndluljóð,  a portion of the Völuspá in the Poetic Edda, and in the Gylfaginning of the Prose Edda)
  • that of a salmon (the Lokasenna, the Poetic Edda)

~~~

Shapeshifter Loki Altar Cloth

This altar cloth is made of 100% white cotton, and black poly/cotton thread used to stitch each Celtic knot inspired design.

Orange-yellow ombre thread used as a bit of accent within the eye of each form, in reference to Geirrod’s assertion that Loki is recognizable in any form by the appearance of His eyes.

This altar cloth is slightly rectangular  – measuring a total of 19″x 22″ inches, and is completely machine washable and dryable.

Free shipping on all U.S orders

Price: $15.00 USD

Some food for thought from Patheos…

This article:

 The Toxic Narrative of “Being Chosen” by Gods and Bad Boys 

came across my Facebook feed yesterday afternoon.

  I am glad that it did.

Misha Magdalene’s words have given me lots of food for thought concerning Deities and the topic of consent as this is an issue that has been on my mind for quite some time.

Like the author, I too have definitely noticed a particular toxic narrative be bandied about in several Pagan communities, and I agree with the author to some degree on the most problematic aspects surrounding the belief that one has been ‘chosen’ by a Deity, and more importantly, the inherent unhealthiness of attraction and desire to be chosen by  ‘bad boys’ (let alone Deities) 1

Now, before I get too involved, I do want to state that while I agree with the author on some points in their argument, I do disagree with some nuances of their argument.

Allow me to explain…

While I agree that it is a toxic and unhealthy thing to believe that devotees “are powerless protagonists at the mercy of domineering [Gods Who are]

socially inept aggressors who control the relationship” 2

(because I believe that such a mindset is an insult to humans, let alone Gods;  aside of the fact that  as much as one might be tempted to apply tenets of human psychology to Gods, They aren’t human…)

but more importantly, I disagree with the author that the Gods don’t choose Their devotees

(because, sometimes, They do.)

BUT… on the point of contention concerning consent – I do believe that just because you are chosen by a Deity

– Loki or otherwise –

1.) Being ‘chosen’ doesn’t confer some extra legitimacy to your praxis

and

2.) You don’t have to say Yes.

But….this article gave me food for thoughts that led to several jumping off points in my head concerning consent in regards to Deities, more toxic narratives regarding Loki as found exclusively within Lokean communities, as well as some convoluted thoughts involving the ‘legitimacy’ surrounding experience, praxis and UPG within said Loki-friendly communities.

~~~

  1. “…some folks derive both personal validation and self-esteem from the fantasy—or, in some cases, the reality—of being romantically involved with someone who’s just bad news, relationship-wise. They’re emotionally stunted, they’re dangerous, they’re “troubled,” they’re emotionally absent, or they have some other personality issue which makes them fundamentally a poor choice for an emotionally intimate relationship. The kicker, though, is that it’s precisely this unsuitability which makes them such a desirable relationship partner. The risk of being harmed—emotionally, financially, even physically—makes the dalliance far more exciting and gratifying than being involved with someone safe and, well, boring. The thrill comes from the danger, but also from that feeling of being chosen. Remember, of all the people this moody, dangerous, emotionally distant partner could’ve chosen, they chose us. The “bad boy” doesn’t like anybody, but they like us… and that makes us feel wanted, desired, validated. It makes us feel special, and “feeling special” can be intoxicating, exhilarating, incredibly seductive.”
    (from the article)
  2. Ibid.

3 AM

3am on YouTube:

As it is with most people, I thought this song was about a romantic relationship.

But when this acoustic version of ‘3am’ came across my suggested YouTube feed today, I actually assumed it was going to be ‘3am (Breathe)’ by Ana Nalick.

Instead, I was surprised to see Rob Thomas at the piano, informing his audience that it was actually meant to be a song about his mother.  And he continued on about how when he was 12 years old, his mother was dying of cancer.

Upon hearing that, I suddenly burst into tears.

Not that my mother is dying of cancer, mind you, but I am estranged from her (for reasons which many of my longtime readers may be aware –but I don’t feel like repeating the long and sordid story of our toxic relationship right now….)
Though suffice to say, I sometimes find myself uselessly mourning for the relationship we did not have.

Related to this, I have been dreaming of my father – who did die of cancer – 10 years ago as of last month.
I have been dreaming of him a lot lately…and in every dream, he has come to me asking for me to make amends with my mother.

And of course, sometimes I cry about that too.  As much as I would like to oblige my father, I am a stubborn bastard just as much as my mother is. As well, while I know that what is wrong between us could likely have been fixed long ago if one of us could relent, I am tired of being the only one who relents …over and over.

You see, my mother is one of those people who can never admit to the wrongness of her behavior, and so it is unfortunate that she has continued to insist that she has ‘never done anything wrong.’

Thus I haven’t any contact with her since 2009.

And so here I am.

 

Indeed

There’s an interesting game going around Twitter

– and now the Internet –

that involves writing your autobiography using predictive text feature on your phone:

 

Have you played it?

This is what I got:

“I was born in the middle of a lesson but i think its not the same thing that ties into my head from the past.”

O.0

Heh.

Born in the middle of a lesson, indeed.

 

Throwback Thursday: Bourbon Street.

Here is a post from two years ago today:

2 November 2015

I had planned – upon coming back from New Orleans – to write a lot about Bourbon Street. 

Bourbon Street is a decadent place that is both cheerful and incredibly sad. 

Anything that one can imagine that would be sinful in excess is there: strip clubs, massage parlors, 24-hour sidewalk bars, hookah/smoke shops, all you can eat buffets, and shop after shop of souvenirs that celebrate various forms of said over-indulgence and excess.

As well, the trappings of religion are everywhere: Christian preachers preaching hellfire and damnation, of judgment and shame in the midst of the red light district, while two blocks away, Voodoo priestesses hold court in the middle of the cobblestone alley-way, the low, husky chanting of their congregants echoing off of the walls, attracting the interest of tourists whom have strayed from various hawkers who’ve bombarded them with offers of free walking-tours, cheap drinks or discount meals.

(At least for the itinerant Christian preachers, if they can’t sell you on a drink, they will try to sell you on their God….)

But, on the upside, there’s art and there’s music – and musicians – on nearly every street corner, with artists hawking their wares from the sidewalks, alongside tarot card readers, psychics, and buskers willing to juggle or sing or dance or play with you for only a few bucks, won’t you show some appreciation for all that Bourbon Street has to entertain and amaze you?

And yet, Bourbon Street is a place of extremes:  if it isn’t promising you a 24 hour access to an all you can stand to experience in the celebration of excess, then it is hidden, barricaded or locked up. 

There’s gorgeous iron grill-work everywhere, serving as a deterrent to the casual on-looker from seeing, from accessing the inner worlds of Bourbon Street’s inhabitants. 

Even the garbage cans have padlocks on them.

And then there are homeless people begging for change, hustling tourists for money by passing out cheap plastic beads in exchange for $5, or a cigarette or two. 

V stopped lighting up as we walked because he became tired of being hassled every few feet for cigarettes and spare change. 

We stopped taking pictures of the sights because it marked us as easy prey for the relentless street hustlers.

But V loved Bourbon Street, I suppose. 

He constantly talked of going there, likely drawn in by the strange and rather tawdry aura of excitement that seems to surround Bourbon Street. 

I found this aura to be oddly fragile upon further examination.

Bourbon Street had all the hallmarks of a carnival midway, and its promises struck me as similarly ephemeral.

As an empath, I found myself feeling intrigued, aroused…but also unbearably sad. 

I couldn’t help but sense something yearning there; as if something had curled up and wept there, behind the iron scrollwork. 

It became difficult for me to remain positive as I felt bombarded by the undercurrents of powerful emotions and sensations. 

Yes, Bourbon Street is haunted… by a despair thinly disguised, hidden beneath the glittering layers of carefree fun and frolic. 

Bourbon Street is reminiscent of forced laughter, a wan smile deftly masking pain and fear; you might sense its dark and sorrowful beauty as it lay upon everything there. 

Bourbon Street is a lovely yet terrifyingly complex dream – the shadow of desires and shattered yearnings – stitched together.

The heart is a hungry wolf

I don’t think people have demons.

I think they have themselves and things they aren’t ready to be honest about yet.

It is not easy to come to grips with the fact that we’re capable of hurting people with the same instrument we love them with.

The heart is a hungry wolf

and it is made of glass.

~King (Austin) Longton~

(Artwork: wolf heartline by linhopereira on DeviantArt)

 

Stubborn.

Though my intent is to write every day, sometimes I struggle to write about certain topics.

And this topic – and its array of sub-topics – is one of them.

How important is ritual?  How important are offerings?

How – or why –  would anyone do any of this? How important is it to do any of this?

 

And then, this article came across my feed this morning, and I immediately thought to share it.

Why?

Because this part especially, hit me hard:

“Have you ever heard about people who accomplish amazing things, and been jealous? I know I have. There are many ways to be successful. I’m not the prettiest, not the smartest, and definitely not the most talented or luckiest. But the one thing I have always been is as stubborn as the day is long – not in some petty way (mostly), but in the kind of way that makes me get up when life knocks me down.

I’m not the fair-haired hero. I’ve never been the chosen one. I’m that other guy. My power isn’t born of charm or good looks. I was born to wear a t-shirt that says, “it’s not the size of the dog in the fight, but the size of the fight in the dog.”(1)

We live in a cynical age where our fair-haired heroes have revealed themselves as paper cutouts, our leaders have sold themselves to the highest bidder, and the world gets less friendly every day. We wake up and go through the motions and wonder if there’s a damn thing we can do about it.

And you know what? There is.”

Read more at http://www.patheos.com/blogs/agora/2017/10/the-other-side-of-the-hedge-four-hundred-days/#1Vu07d2lKj39HT1A.99

 

Because, much like Christopher Drysdale, I too, am as stubborn as the day is long.

And yes, I have been jealous of the success of others.

And yes, I have realized that I am not special nor am I particularly disciplined all of the time.

I have wished that my week could be stripped of Tuesday nights and Wednesday mornings, because sometimes, what I am doing is not easy nor is it particularly rewarding…

But then it is.

And when it is rewarding…when I look back at the trajectory of my Tuesday nights and Wednesday mornings

That is when I realize that that is the essence of why I do what I do, and why it is important that I keep doing.

You want the carrot…you gotta be stubborn.

You gotta chase the stick.

Happy Wednesday.