Stitched the interfacing, finished assembling a heavy bookcase I purchased at Walmarts using incomprehensible instructions, started shampooing the living room carpet. In a bit of a better mood, even though I was back to digging stuff out of my toolbox(es): Phillips head screwdriver, straight edge screwdriver, hammer. Last time I used these I was searching for a soul mate by furnishing the bedroom, as I recall. Immediately had to put the whole soul mate search thing on hold while I tried to heal from the injuries inflicted by a fool in a jeep trying to get to a (wait for it): funeral, which he felt it necessary to drive to at the speed of light. Heh. And we can all see how well I healed from that.
Mr. Signpost again reminded me of the more familiar signs of the Summer Solstice: the Holly King taking over from the Oak King. There is actually a park celebration here in the Andovers today where they replace the Oak King banner with a Holly King banner and then tell the story of the Oak and Holly Kings. They also rent out kayaks and paddle boats on the pond, and I'm reminded of Greenwood Lake, and how badly I wanted to do that.
In any event, Damien's version is much better than being chased naked through a dark forest and bleeding out through my dead feet (see last entry). Although I'm not sure how much safer that version of searching for a soul mate is, compared to setting little pieces of paper on fire in my apartment without a fire extinguisher nearby.
Well, I got off my lazy butt and looked it up: Damien switched over to Twitter on May 7th - and rather calmly as a matter of fact (as you'll recall, I had assumed he did it a tad more dramatically, an entry or so ago) - which is about the time I was beginning to really suffer from the pain in my forehead and had stopped posting blog entries for a while. And of course I missed it, being as miserable as I was at the time. I enjoyed reading his past tweets the same way I enjoyed reading his journal, and found a few other semi-coincidences between his tweets and my blog:
And yet. Salem is where I hear you choose to go,
"I belong there", you say. I’m sure you’re right. And yet,
I feel a surge of grief rising; I won’t forget
where you are as I learn at your feet all you know.
Right below my surface, slithering in protest:
the one place you are is the one place I can’t go.
20 June 2012
©Snake's Trail, 2012, all rights reserved
Damien Echols is moving 30 minutes away from me. The one place I can't go back to. Ever. I'm not sure why that bothered me so much - even if I loved the place as much as he did, I doubt I would have ever gone there just because he was there. But I do remember thinking it would be a fun place to go to on Halloween, though - once. No more. So ... an odd coincidence: he's moving to the one place I can't go to without ripping my heart and guts out all over the sidewalk. I don't know what that meant - such an almost deliberately odd coincidence, if you could call it that.
At least in New York I always knew he was safe. Moving to this state - I don't feel that way anymore, but I'm sure that has more to do with me than anything else.
Mr. Signpost again reminded me of the more familiar signs of the Summer Solstice: the Holly King taking over from the Oak King. There is actually a park celebration here in the Andovers today where they replace the Oak King banner with a Holly King banner and then tell the story of the Oak and Holly Kings. They also rent out kayaks and paddle boats on the pond, and I'm reminded of Greenwood Lake, and how badly I wanted to do that.
In any event, Damien's version is much better than being chased naked through a dark forest and bleeding out through my dead feet (see last entry). Although I'm not sure how much safer that version of searching for a soul mate is, compared to setting little pieces of paper on fire in my apartment without a fire extinguisher nearby.
Well, I got off my lazy butt and looked it up: Damien switched over to Twitter on May 7th - and rather calmly as a matter of fact (as you'll recall, I had assumed he did it a tad more dramatically, an entry or so ago) - which is about the time I was beginning to really suffer from the pain in my forehead and had stopped posting blog entries for a while. And of course I missed it, being as miserable as I was at the time. I enjoyed reading his past tweets the same way I enjoyed reading his journal, and found a few other semi-coincidences between his tweets and my blog:
Me, on 9 October 2011
Back many, many years ago I had started a Day Book. There is (or was) a witchy little shop I loved, on East 9th Street in the Village, Enchantments, where I went through Wicca 101. Another reason why, when I read about Damien, I thought, "Thank goodness I lived in New York", where they tend not to arrest you and throw you on Death Row for going to Wicca 101 classes.
If you ever find the store, not only is it the best-smelling store on the planet, they have the coolest stone carving of the "Green Man" hanging from the wall in the back of their tiny garden; something you never expect to find in lower Manhattan.
Damien, on 27 May 2012
Today I paid a visit to Enchantments. It's one of the more well known magick and meditation supply stores in NYC. Herbs,incense,books,etc.
I don't consider this a genuine (and startling) "coincidence", as I did when I found him next to Sekhmet. THAT was so unexpected, I'm still struggling with that one. This, no. We're both Wicca; that we both visited Enchantments doesn't seem all that much of a coincidence. I just smiled when I read the entry. The "coincidence", such as it was: the reason I re-opened the Daybook I'd started during those classes - and actually started in the backyard garden of Enchantments under the watchful eye of the Green Man or Horned God on the wall - was because of Damien's prison journal, which I'd found so inspirational.
Last coincidence I'll mention. Salem. I'd thought he had just visited Salem. Now after reading all of his tweets and slowly catching up on what he's been up to, I realize he's moving there. Another gloomy reaction; the sonnet cycle went up another notch.
The One Place
Packing up and moving so I hear: Salem, Mass.
I know my way to Salem in the dark; trust me.
I’ve been there, I know the jogs in the road, I see
the signs, I remember the smells and the hourglass;
the grains of sand slipping through, how I was aghast
to realize in Salem, what a chance I’d been
given and how, in Salem, I’d let it slip free.
I hear her name and turn quick away, let her pass.
Back many, many years ago I had started a Day Book. There is (or was) a witchy little shop I loved, on East 9th Street in the Village, Enchantments, where I went through Wicca 101. Another reason why, when I read about Damien, I thought, "Thank goodness I lived in New York", where they tend not to arrest you and throw you on Death Row for going to Wicca 101 classes.
If you ever find the store, not only is it the best-smelling store on the planet, they have the coolest stone carving of the "Green Man" hanging from the wall in the back of their tiny garden; something you never expect to find in lower Manhattan.
Damien, on 27 May 2012
Today I paid a visit to Enchantments. It's one of the more well known magick and meditation supply stores in NYC. Herbs,incense,books,etc.
I don't consider this a genuine (and startling) "coincidence", as I did when I found him next to Sekhmet. THAT was so unexpected, I'm still struggling with that one. This, no. We're both Wicca; that we both visited Enchantments doesn't seem all that much of a coincidence. I just smiled when I read the entry. The "coincidence", such as it was: the reason I re-opened the Daybook I'd started during those classes - and actually started in the backyard garden of Enchantments under the watchful eye of the Green Man or Horned God on the wall - was because of Damien's prison journal, which I'd found so inspirational.
Last coincidence I'll mention. Salem. I'd thought he had just visited Salem. Now after reading all of his tweets and slowly catching up on what he's been up to, I realize he's moving there. Another gloomy reaction; the sonnet cycle went up another notch.
The One Place
Packing up and moving so I hear: Salem, Mass.
I know my way to Salem in the dark; trust me.
I’ve been there, I know the jogs in the road, I see
the signs, I remember the smells and the hourglass;
the grains of sand slipping through, how I was aghast
to realize in Salem, what a chance I’d been
given and how, in Salem, I’d let it slip free.
I hear her name and turn quick away, let her pass.
And yet. Salem is where I hear you choose to go,
"I belong there", you say. I’m sure you’re right. And yet,
I feel a surge of grief rising; I won’t forget
where you are as I learn at your feet all you know.
Right below my surface, slithering in protest:
the one place you are is the one place I can’t go.
20 June 2012
©Snake's Trail, 2012, all rights reserved
Damien Echols is moving 30 minutes away from me. The one place I can't go back to. Ever. I'm not sure why that bothered me so much - even if I loved the place as much as he did, I doubt I would have ever gone there just because he was there. But I do remember thinking it would be a fun place to go to on Halloween, though - once. No more. So ... an odd coincidence: he's moving to the one place I can't go to without ripping my heart and guts out all over the sidewalk. I don't know what that meant - such an almost deliberately odd coincidence, if you could call it that.
At least in New York I always knew he was safe. Moving to this state - I don't feel that way anymore, but I'm sure that has more to do with me than anything else.
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