#kinfriday

In August, I briefly made a new friend on Tumblr.

His account has long since vanished for reasons I do not know. Maybe this place just didn't click for him. I've been here for years and always found it welcoming, but I know that, like everything, this site is not for everyone.

He'd send me a message, ask a question or two, and when I checked every week or so, I'd do my best to reply.

Then, one day, he was gone, but not before leaving me one last question:

"An ascetic heathen life? What does that look like to you? I want to see that visual."

And that's kind of the question, isn't it?

The thing about callings is that they aren't always clear-cut. I may feel drawn towards an ascetic heathen life, but it's not like my Gods sent me an Ikea flat-pack kit.

As seems to be the pattern with the Germanic deities, they tapped me on the shoulder and then said...

"Here ya go, figure it out."

And here we are. Forty-Two, with over ten years as a member of the Ár nDraíocht Féin (ADF), I haven't finished my dedicant path, nor started the clergy track.

I can't remember the last time I did a full ritual.

All in all, I seem like a pretty crappy monk, don't I?

Sister Snow Hare, indeed...

It seems that my vanishing friend pinned me to the wall. I've been chewing on this again, trying to work it out.

If you're reading this, buddy, know that you kicked off a lot of introspection about my path, and you inspired this long rambling Tumblr post.

The best place to start is the beginning. (A little free wisdom)

So, what exactly is monasticism?

Good ol’ Mr. Wikipedia defines it as "a religious way of life in which one renounces worldly pursuits to devote oneself fully to spiritual work."

No matter the faith, this is a feature of monastic life: asceticism, self-denial, and focus.

Have I mentioned I can't remember the last time I did a ritual yet?

Tsk. Tsk. Tsk.

Nothing makes me feel guilty, like comparing myself to the standards and practices of others. Somewhere out there, a Buddhist is living on four grains of rice, meditating eighteen hours a day, stopping only to sleep. The five minutes a day he spends on Tumblr, he's laughing at me.

I just know it. >.>

You could say I've been feeling a little convicted about this.

Yet the calling is still there. My relationship with my Gods isn't just good; it's warm. While not formal or official, I have a fulfilling spiritual life that's not structured like anything in the faith org I faithfully send my twenty dollars a year to and then largely hide from.

So what's going on?

I've begun to realize slowly over the last year that my faith path will probably never be recognizable as anything routine, rote, or by the book, but what it will be is mine.

Where does my asceticism show?

Let me take you through a typical day.

Waking at 2300 (11 pm), I plank for three minutes, do about ten minutes of calisthenics, wash my face, and then meditate for twenty minutes to a half hour, offering that time to the Gods. Then, with that done, I recite my creed and head off to the gym.

I have a creed. I'm that fancy!

While I'm in the truck, I informally pray. Often, I'm talking to my Lady Eostre, but the other Gods definitely get included. Woden and I have always gotten along, and Thunor, I call big brother because he's always watching out for us and protecting us.

Now it's time for my hour minimum at the gym. Half an hour each of cardio and weight training. This is so I can be in good condition and proper shape.

Good health is important to me, but more on that in a moment.

When I get home, I clean for about an hour, something I call "service meditation." Scrubbing floors, cleaning counters, and sanitizing bathrooms is a gift I can give daily to my loved ones with whom I make a home. While I work, I reflect on them and consider all they give me.

After a much-needed shower, I'm in the office and might finally have breakfast. I eat, ascetically, often the same thing every day; I keep my calories low and usually take up a 16-hour fast between my last meal and first meal.

Everything gets weighed down to the gram and tracked on my calorie sheet.

Next comes editing, writing, often some informal online counseling, or time spent on networks like Counter Social, Telegram, and Discord trying to help people, even if it's only getting them to smile.

Hope is big for me because my Lady Eostre is the goddess of Spring and the Dawn. She is hope personified, a goddess of fresh chances and potential. Pointing back to her and her values is my purpose. It's what I was made for.

My day continues like that until I'm in bed at 1600 (4 PM), after an hour cool-down where I go through my creed and have one last conversation with the Gods. That's when I set out my fruit offerings if I happened to have any that day.

It's a hard and fast rule. The gods always get the best part of the banana and the strawberry.

This is the way.

My bed is a mat that rolls out on the floor. I started that in 2020, and I've never been happier or slept better, and when I travel, it comes with me.

And I travel a lot.

My family here calls it "missions." Every now and again, someone in my network will need help. They might be having surgery, a mental health crisis, or are moving cross town or cross country. Whatever the reason, the call goes out, and if I can make it work with money, I'll hop a plane, train, or bus and get out there.

Beyond the joy I get from being in shape and capable, this is why I work out. It's much easier to load and move boxes or help lift people when you're in decent physical condition. 

I actually have training as a CNA, so I know how to do all the transfer stuff, and I have decent experience in post-surgical care.  

I don't want to go into this part too much because it feels like bragging, but I've been all over the States and soon to be Canada just helping people. I ramble in, do what I can, then return home and take back up my discarded routine.

And this is my life, apart from writing my books. As I looked at it and began breaking it down, I realized that I am already living a disciplined ascetic life.  

My gods and my faith are at the forefront of what I do, but what defines my faith isn't the regular application of ritual, but action. Indeed, one of the sayings I live by is actions show what words claim.

So I'm not on a mountaintop, meditating with the sun's rising and setting, or dwelling within a monastery, cloistered from the world, living to sing hymns. There is beauty in that kind of asceticism, but it's not my asceticism.

Yet, we do have things in common.

My life is one of service, with a focus on the divine and the advancement of their aims for the world. It is my hope (there's that word again) that I can show the wisdom and cunning of Woden, the strength of Thunor, the honor of Tyr, and most of all, embody the hope of the Dawn in all I do.

Of course, I'm not perfect, and Saturdays are often waffle day, but life is about growth, not static metrics.

It's dawning on me that I may never be fully recognized in my path. I don't seem to jive well with organizations and dogmatic structures. I may never have Reverend by my name or "Sister" formally. When it's time to go, I may not even leave much behind save my books and these Tumblr posts.

When I do cross that far horizon, and I am again before my Lady, I hope she will look back on all I did during this strange human odyssey and see that while I may have been taken from her for a time, I never stopped being her devoted one, her servant, and that is all the formal recognition I will ever need.

For me, an ascetic heathen life is one of actions, denial, and service, which I seek to live every day.

I have tried to do this long form blogging thing with a degree of regularity and we all have seen how well that went. It's been what 5 months since my last post? As much as I want to live that life of routine, my life is anything but routine. There's always something happening, that takes me away from these ideals and perfects that I structure in my mind.

Disneyland is like Alice stepping through the looking glass; to step through the portals of Disneyland will be like entering another world. -Walt Disney

On July 17th, 1955, Walt Disney achieved his dream, opening his park to great fanfare in Anaheim California. At the time of its founding there was no other amusement park like it in the world, and one could argue, ever since. Even though it has often been imitated, expanded and duplicated by both the Disney company itself and their competitors. 

Disneyland stands out as a wholly unique experience, authored out of the unique vision of a complicated and at times controversial paragon of his time.

But, is this hiking?  

To be honest, dear reader, the point could be argued either way. I spent a total of four days in the park, some days totaling 16 hours or more, with my Garmin Instinct clocking over 11 miles for each day.  In that spirit alone it is definitely a hike, or, as we have jokingly called it here at the house, The Disney Death March. Arriving at 0800 full of energy, a hot day under the California sun slowly wittles you down as you move from ride to ride until you return to your hotel room well past midnight, only to flop into bed and do it all over again the next day. 

Vacation! Fun! Rides!

See also, soreness, acetaminophen, and mysterious bruises…

For those that have never been, it’s truly hard to capture how effectively the park can manipulate your perception. Entering through the main gate, you face a giant wall of flowers, with two tunnel-like entrances that take you under the train station. Nothing else is visible going forward, save for those two entrances. 

Above each is a plaque, informing you that you are about to enter another world... 

Emerging out the other side, I found myself in what could have been any town square from early 20th century America, save that far down it, rests a  beautiful castle that would be perfectly at home anywhere in Europe. 

It’s subtly disorienting and breaks up your perception. I can remember my first time there, feeling almost uneasy, because the park has a feeling of curated reality that’s just slightly out of phase with the one I’m accustomed to, all the while also serving as a type of liminal space. 

People are always, always,  moving at Disneyland, often in great knots and throngs as they move from ride to ride. Some are in costumes, many were dressed like Jedi or Sith from the recent Star Wars movies. 

Looking back, once on the other side of the tunnel, standing on Main Street, the main gates are not visible. The rest of the world is not visible, there is only Disneyland,  but it doesn’t stop there. 

Merging into the morass of human activity, descending down Main Street, the castle grows ever larger, until you see a statue of the man himself, Walt Disney, holding hands with his iconic creation, Mickey Mouse. 

The statue represents a type of nexus, or hub, to the various worlds of Disneyland, from Adventureland, patterned after the jungle and tiki themed movies of the 1950s, to Tomorrowland, based off the pop sci-fi of the same era. 

No matter which way you choose, you cross a bridge, go through the Castle portcullis, or enter under an archway, as the scenery and theming subtly shifts until you find yourself, yet again, in another world perfectly curated to represent what it’s supposed to be. 

Stopping to think about it, it feels eerie, as if you have actually entered into a world of magic and wonder, a place where anything can happen and reality is fully mutable.

It is no wonder that rumors and ghost stories about the park abound. However, to most people, this seems to pass by without notice. Everyone seems distracted, hopped up on park food, and preoccupied with their own fun as they move quickly from ride to ride, or more often, line to line. 

It’s all rhythms, the specially curated scenery shifting around you. Get off the ride, scurry to the next, wait, ride… repeat… over and over, as the day gets hotter, and the miles grow longer, until it can have a strange kind of hypnotic effect, as the day descends into a blur of experience. 

These factors, to me, are what make Disneyland a hiking experience. As I said in the Urban Runner, it does not have to be a solely remote, rural activity to far flung locations. 

Hiking is about adventure, and challenge, pushing your limits, and trading on your exertion for unique experiences, and in this respect, Disney certainly fits the bill. Everyone has their favorite ride, their reason for visiting, and ends up curating their own adventure. No two people experience the park in the same way, which is, I feel the secret to its success. 

It makes the impossible, accessible, and real in a way no one else has ever been able to replicate. Which makes the park the stuff of both dreams… and nightmares. 

Be certain to catch the Amazon release of Ghosts of the Nightmare Gods-- out August  29th!

Humans, as a species, consider themselves a noble sort. They see themselves predominantly as explorers, as a species obsessed with horizon, growth, and change. They make movies about it. They hire bands of people who blow air through tubes, and drag strings across other strings to make moving tones about it, which often evoke feelings of wonder and awe that cause the leaking of a saline solution from the eyes in humans.

They are a strange species to be certain, but in reality, they excel at one thing so well they have no conception even of their mastery of it. Humans, are masters of obfuscation.

Many scholars have debated on the how and the why of it. Zorgon the Unchaste of the Unclean Wisdom theorized that it was all a matter of status, that the more confusing and metaphorical the human the greater social status they engendered. This is known as the “Fonzi Hypothesis.” Sebulon the Brutally Just, speculated that it was about sex and that Zorgon needed to lay off the hyperspace pipe, because everything on earth, of course, is motivated by sex. Sebulon The Brutally Just took the classical opinion. This was the very same reason the original quarantine was issued after the 300 year orgy which ended with the Cretaceous–Paleogene extinction event, and the Orionids going into eternal exile. Still, it was a legendary party. But I’m getting distracted. This human alcohol, is good shit… Where was I? Oh yes…

You see, Journal, I think they both got it wrong here. I have a different theory.

I think they are afraid of meaning, so they must obfuscate it. They must build pillars of metaphor around words and actions, because they are afraid of what it may say about them if they are too involved, too invested, or too focused on a concept or a thing. So what is amazing, becomes cool. What’s spectacular becomes “fine”. What’s painful, they make hilarious.

They are afraid. Afraid and running, all the time. Afraid of whats coming, of what they are, of who they’ve been. They are defined, at heart, at core, by that fear. It shapes them, it damns them, drags them down into night, when the stars could be their home.

But I’m just a ranting alien low on tequilla… What the fuck do I know? I’m stuck among primates, who are afraid to feel anything, obsessed with status, and armed with nuclear weapons.

Someone… anyone… please help me.

I’ve watched them. Watched them live. They have a way about them. They teach their young. “There’s a way that’s written, and there’s a way that it is.” They are raised to follow secret systems, to trust what little they know, and fear what they don’t, and that the only rule is that the rules that are, are there for show.

But whatever gods or ancient powers there are be with you should you get caught breaking the rules that are only there for show.

Is it any wonder they drink?

Fuck… Is it any wonder... I do?  

To be human is to be raised with a codebook of culture. A way of being and existing. They dance like birds seeking a mate. They throttle, position, and strut. They vie and fight their wars throughout their life, and they kill each other over their codebooks.  

And it’s all fear. Absolutely all of it, is fear, and misunderstanding. It could all be solved by clarity,  but then they would have to face the one thing they fear the most.

So, my husband Waggs recently purchased a hot tub, and he has been greatly enjoying it. I’ve only used it once, in spite of finding the experience overall enjoyable. I reflected on this a bit today while I was showering and I realized that I had lived in many places with pools or hot tubs only to never use them.

Then the light bulb flickered on and it suddenly became absolutely clear...

Publishers note: The human race. Bipedal, self proclaimed masters of the universe. The following guide has been compiled from the retrieved experiences of one intrepid explorer who found themselves lost for a number of years upon a human dominated planet called Earth. It will be presented in several parts, completely unaltered, for your amusement and edification.

___

Has it ever occurred to you how obsessed humans are with rectangles? Seriously, they are everywhere. They make their entire lives about rectangles, spend hours staring into them. It’s more than a little bizarre if you stop to consider it for a moment.

Money, for instance. Here in the States, is the Green Rectangle. Growing up they are constantly told it doesn't matter, but most mature humans act the exact opposite, endlessly obsessing over the back and forth trading of these rectangles. They even speculate on the trading of these Green Rectangles in things called Stock Markets. Then they report the statistics over grey and white rectangles, newspapers, or on their grey and black rectangles, their computer screens.

Some even commute back and forth to work on giant rectangles with windows, all linked together, (train) or one with wheels, (bus) to get to work everyday, to earn more of the previously mentioned green rectangles. They are often paid by check, which is a paper rectangle authorizing a bank, (a building which is often shaped rather rectangularly) to move Green Rectangles from one account to another, or from one bank of rectangles to another bank of rectangles.