In a new light
In a new guise
In a new, and aching form
Stagnation is anathema, thus-
I have no heart to care,
For the many tears you claim to weep
Over an empty seat
Filled to the edges with dust
That was never shaped to fit what I became-
Show me a permanent state of self
And I will show you what it is
To die, alone,
Caught between the cracks,
upon the verge of Becoming
Tell me how you love me,
Show me the works of your hands
All that was done by name and word and deed-
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Calling everything vaguely weird or land-spirit-y a "fae" or a "faerie" is the same as calling every "evil" discarnate being a fucking demon.
They're not, and you should know better by now.
I don't want to do this, was the first thought in my head when I felt the PULL. It was like a weird hook in my solar plexus yanking me in the direction of the kitchen. This is ridiculous, it's Pop Paganism, it goes against everything I do, my modus operandi, my academic studies- All the time and effort I put into being Historically Accurate, reconstructing how folk at home would actually pray, stand, kneel IF they knelt-
I felt more than saw Their stare. Arms crossed, gaze level. The Look I haven't seen since I disappointed Him/Them so many years ago. Inwardly I was cringing, knowing exactly how this was going to play and not wanting to walk that road. But it was already laid before me.
But... it's...
When you cringe...? came the question. A rumble of thunder. A lion's roar.
Do not kill the part of you that is cringe, kill the part of you that cringes, I recited dutifully, with a glare over my own shoulder at the statue that almost appeared to be smiling smugly down at me from Her place of pride.
FINE.
I flipped through my music first, knowing I would need a respite from the D&D game happening in the other room. That rankled as much as anything. But... needs must, and I do not get to control my space. Things happen when they are meant to happen, or not at all, all too often and this was important.
I want a 99C sponge. Their voice was implacable. Almost cold. Not angry just... cold. There, like a stone in the road.
Okay. It is still 103F without the heat index. I do not have much wiggle room on my card, and I don't think I could manage to haul my bike up and down 6 flights of stairs and make the 3 mile ride round trip and still finish the task.
I stole a look at the cabinets and suddenly the push from yesterday to order more baking supplies hit me like a truck. I followed through then- I had vanilla; GOOD vanilla since my usual brand was out of stock; I had new sugar, I had eggs... I had frozen strawberries. With a wince, I exhaled, and asked if it was an acceptable substitute.
You will make this with your own hands? Sacrifice your time, your energy, your closely-hoarded "spoons" of energy that you meant to spend on other tasks...? You will exchange the completion of this task for another? The tone was considering, His gaze still level, but a little warmer. Like sheets of ice and snow falling from a cliff into the Fjords when the sun hits them in the spring. I felt more than saw the smile, a gentle warming touch to my shoulder. It is enough. Continue.
I don't have whipped cream, I muttered to myself, considering what lay in the fridge.
He smirked.
Isn't the TRADITIONAL offering honeycakes? You have honey yogurt. Give me that.
~*~
I left the music playing and went to the computer, looked up recipes. Most called for so many ingredients in such large measures I knew that I would never complete them, let alone be abel to consume them. And the point of the exercise is not needlessly wasting food. The point was to make it, offer part, and consume the rest myself. Sharing a moment, time and energy, and thoughtful process with a God. Repairing a bridge I had unwittingly burned behind me 9 years ago, almost to the day. The significance was not lost on me.
The Nth wave travels furthest up the beach...? came the gentle-mocking voice and I nodded.
"The price is not the same as the cost.
The symbol is not the thing it represents.
The seventh wave travels furthest up the beach."
Anxiety is a deity that does not answer prayers. He answered, and waved towards the ingredients laid out on the stovetop. It is the 9th wave this time, but no matter. Continue.
~*~
There was a prickle in the corner of my eyes when I paused to take a picture. Breathe. Ground myself. I had found a mug cake recipe that was deemed acceptable, I had all the ingredients for it. So, I took down a mug and began the process.
Not-quite losing myself in the process. My logical brain demanding to have proof of the moment. Proof of the process. I measured everything, checked the recipes over and over again to make sure nothing was left too long-
When I got to the point of adding the flour the tears were in full affect. It didn't fit. There was too much, despite measuring so carefully.... I poured everything into a bowl and soldiered on.
Didn't you have something for this eventuality...? The tone was that ever-gentle mockery of my hang-ups, my assumptions about the way the world, magic, GODS worked. But He was right just the same. I DID. And... wonder of wonders, the amount of batter perfectly filled both. A minor miracle.
The recipe said to fill them half full... they were perfectly filled. I baked them with a feeling of trepidation, respect, and shaking hands. What if they exploded? What if they cracked down the middle? What if-
Do you think I only accept perfect things? Knowing where this began, knowing what you Know, having seen what you have Seen? You doubt, now? He had a point. I took another deep breath, and waited for them to be done.
When the timer beeped and I slid them onto the counter, I was shocked by how golden and perfect they looked. Turned each out onto its own plate, whipped up the yogurt as much as I could, and plated them with care. More to soothe my spirit than out of genuine fear, but such is life.
I was almost too afraid to look at it, then. So I took my time cutting His, dividing it until it sat perfectly on the offering plate, the same exact mini ceramic bowls I use for my regular pantheon. Moved a tiny dish aside, and put His there right beside Their libations of wine, and water, perfumes, and incense grounds.
I re-lit the candle, and stood there, quietly, watching it flicker.
"I didn't have to wait 9 years to fix this," I muttered, rebellious. "You could have told me, you know."
Nine years from your discovery that you could disappoint the gods, nine years from your discovery that you could talk to them, walk the Dreaming as you walked the Grey- Nine years of study, mistakes, penances, trial & error, and dogged pursuit of your self-betterment... and you didn't realize that til now? The gentle mocking tone was replaced with what felt like genuine pity. You stand there, cloaked and protected, with weapons in your hands and inked into your skin, God-touched, and think I needed to tell you? Truly?
"No. Not truly. I should have known and approached you to apologize much sooner than now. I should have known better, and I should have pursued it years ago. I was a child then, and I should have listened when my mentors told me you would not unduly punish a child; whether of age or inexperience.
I should have reached out then, the gate was open. But I was wrapped up in pursuit of the Morrigan. I did not truly believe I could make amends. Not to a god. Not to you."
For not recognizing a god you had never seen before, in an unfamiliar place, before you had built your Dreamscape, your personal lexicon. Before you had studied. Before you knew... anything, really. Newly awake, newly out of a horrible situation, and newly listening... it was a test, yes. But not so great a one as you thought.
I was seeing if you would pursue. If you would learn the lesson, and try again anyway.
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so @gothiccharmschool will appreciate this first half of my christmas gift from my beloved datemate~ #vintage Original #YSL#opium 2oz bottle, semi-accurately dated to between 1977-2003. 90% full, and what's gone is only gone from evaporation.
I HAVE MISSED THIS SCENT SO DAMN MUCH!
It opens as a powerful incense, sharp and spicy. The top notes are muddled or gone altogether from age, but as it sits on my skin it fades in and out of incense & spice and back to powdery warm soft florals and fruits with an undercurrent of incense.
30 minutes later? Soft florals with a pale glimmer of incense. As though I just stepped out of an abandoned church overgrown with vines and flowers on a moody autumn day. The ghost of vetiver and myrrh lingering with pale peachy jasmine and roses.
Definitely a skin scent, unless I DOUSE myself in it at every pulse-point. But one drop from the stopper between the wrists and pressed together makes this a very intimate experience. It lingers like ghosts and prayers, complex and whispy by turns and so COMPLICATED-
Was that surgery "helpful"? That is INCREDIBLY debatable.
Were they bullied into surgery? Yes absolutely their mother is awful.
Is the surgery having negative impacts on their health now? Yes, absolutely, their health has markedly declined since having the surgery.
There's been a perfect firestorm of bad results:
-rent aid never got processed and the office "lost" their ESA paperwork for the cat which caused an additional charge on top of late rent due to the following:
-Medical Leave was approved but not in a way that made sense; they are counting it as "business weeks" and not according to their actual schedule of 3 days on, 4 days off, with 12 hour shifts. So the amount of paid leave they had accrued got eaten WAY FASTER than it should have and they didn't get a restful convalescence post-op due to worrying about the financials.
-Their mother promised rent aid as a co-signer to the lease, and then reneged on the deal leaving them without a safety net only AFTER they had already underwent surgery.
-The mold issue in their apartment from a leak caused by their overhead neighbor last summer was only actually taken care of as of a week or so ago, and the management office's idea of "fixed" was just scraping the drywall and painting over it, not REPLACING the impacted drywall which means it will likely come back due to how bad it had spread.
This mold issue has also been impacting their health and making it harder to heal, and they have lost clothing, furniture, and personal items due to the mold growth which will now require replacing post-move.
I'm only one person. And even with their other friends, we're so spread out over the country that any kind of direct aid from mutually cash-strapped Queers isn't enough to move the mountain that has fallen on them. We're doing everything we can to help, we've all donated what we can, we just need more than what we can provide.
For safety I can’t give out my friends name. They’re in a dangerous situation and need to move across … Alexander Saint needs your support
Don't be fucking stupid, okay? You can pull the dumb shit on your own time in your own space just keep it the fuck away from me alright? Okay~
Don't thank the Good Neighbors that help you keep your home clean, don't sweep your porches, keep certain plants growing at the gate and for the love of all holy do not cross Boundaries, do not move Their marking stones, and do not cross Their portals.
What happens to humans who get lost in the Wilds is never a good time. Whatever you THINK you're going to get; a new name, a partner who will never leave you, rid of your old identity, a child, whatever the fuck; WHAT YOU WILL RECEIVE is probably a century or three of hell and then literally eaten. Probably before you're actually dead, and potentially you'll be awake to see it happening.
FFS don't be stupid and assume that the Spicy Romance Novels are telling you the truth. It's not a funny "escape from capitalism" meme anymore. At BEST you'll be lost in the woods, probably get dehydrated, and sprain an ankle or catch something from improperly filtered water. At WORST?
Do your own research on "worst." And remember what the Good Neighbors share the land with: All the cultures that came before our immigrant ancestors walked these woods and hollows.
Tch'yeah. It ain't just the Good Folk you've got to keep an eye for. It's Indigenous critters and spirits. It's things that you should never speak the name of, if you know them. It's knowing never to whistle at night or look out your windows after dark because you will NEVER like what you see.
Do the research. Know whose lands you're squatting on. Be respectful.
Keep your eyes open and your mouth shut. Keep your eyes on the trail in front of your feet if you find yourself going in circles, don't listen to whatever is calling in the deep wood, turn your shirt inside out, and pray. Whatever gods' you've got might listen. Hope that the Folk in the wild places don't hear you first.
