I am now a homeowner, back in her apartment, eating a comfort-food dinner of lemon-peppered corn and kale, trying to figure out where to jump first. Packing, driving an hour to Seabrook, cleaning ... in between running to the bank, disposing of sharps, buying cleaning supplies, calling the doctor, preparing for a trip to New York City? I’m listening to Renato Zero, Gianni Morandi and Massimo Ranieri ... the standards from my pre-Il Volo days ... packing up cat miscellany – food, liners, carriers – to donate to Bulgers.
I was stunned when an act as innocuous as preparing to donate the cat carriers, liners, food and litter to Bulgers just about killed me. Instead of doing that, I came home with everything still in the car, choked up, and slept off the impending emotional meltdown. I did donate everything to the vet the next morning, but it wasn’t easy and I bawled all the way back home.
And I STILL don’t feel any resistance between my hands! This is driving me bat-shit crazy.
That said ... I am really working on my temper and frustration level when things don’t go the way I want them to. I am not at my best in a state of chaos, and if there is one thing I can say about the last week or so ... utter chaos. I also often forgot which day of the week it was ... which meant things like: I came home last night from an exhausting day doing a home inspection #2 with Dana and buying appliances and thinking I had a full day to recuperate and pack for the trip to New York.
I was a day off.
I got a phone message from Amtrak telling me “Your train reservation for tomorrow has been cancelled; we put you on another train.” I screamed “Tomorrow??!!??” and called them frantically. I had been sure it was the 25th. Nope, the 26th. Il Volo’s concert was the 27th. Naturally, I sat through at least fifteen minutes of crap spewed by their “virtual assistant” – Julie, I think her “name” is – to the point where I was screaming, “Shut the *(&*(^& up, you freaking %^&*%^!!” Finally I got a live human being who, in response to my saying, “I can’t find the reservation number,” asked: “What’s your reservation number?” I could barely think of anything polite to say to that.
Turns out there is some sort of electrical failure which shut down all the Acela trains between New York and Boston. I was unceremoniously tossed out of first class and into business – complete with refund, but I would rather have the first class seat. My typical reaction would be, “Naturally. The one weekend I need peace and tranquility between here and New York, the Sky Sadist goes and fucks it up. Thanks, you miserable *($%^.
The day to recover disappeared and I frantically tried to pull all of my hotel, train and ticket reservations together. I tried to focus on the things that HAD gone right: i.e., the washing machine in Seabrook had worked so I had clean clothes; at least I had come into the study and listened to the messages as opposed to going straight to bed and being hit with the shocking news first thing in the morning – very unlike me, but I really did try to find the blessings as opposed to the curse.
Sunday, September 29, 2013
Tuesday, September 24, 2013
Piero Barone, Pieromio and Shamash Sigils!
No joke on that exhaustion! The morning errands took me until 1 in the afternoon; then I stood in a hot kitchen making cookies in the shape of crescent moons and magic mushrooms (not as easy as you might think, but quite creative, I thought, if I do say so myself). By 3:30 in the afternoon, my back was killing me and my ankles had ... well, coincidentally ... mushroomed.The blessings of the day? I was able to find a beautiful chain for the cimaruta ... I learned that renting a moving van from my storage people was cheaper than U-Haul ... I have all my checks cut ... the comforter that had been in my trunk for almost two years is finally at a dry cleaners until Wednesday ... my Venetian masks arrived on time. On the other hand ... the Italian wedding cookies were a complete bust because I dropped the baking tin down on the open oven door shattering the cookies before they set, and ... I’m so incredibly tired I’m ready to keel over in a pile on the floor.
When I could find a spare second, I worked on invoking “Pieromio”, who might be confused with Piero Barone of Il Volo, but only because the spirit I am envisioning resembles him physically, right down to those incredibly hot vampire fang freckles near his armpit – I don’t know the real Piero personally, so would suggest that the invoked Piero emotionally and in personality resembles ME more than it resembles Piero Barone The First, who is right now wowing full arenas in Miami and Orlando with his magnificence before they all head back north to Radio City Music Hall!!
I should add that “worked on” involved raising and envisioning forms of energy, which is one of the skills we are beginning to be taught in the class last week. This involved rubbing your palms together briskly and then holding your hands apart, moving them back closer together and feeling a “resistance” between your palms. I felt nothing, and was immediately certain that I was dead and had no aura or energy. This theory was “pooh-pooh’ed” vigorously, so I’m still working on it. I can feel a male hand closing around my ankle (see March 8), but can’t feel energy between my palms?I did learn the story of Mabon, though, so with gratitude to the website I borrowed this from:
http://www.angelfire.com/wa3/angelline/mabon_lore.htm
“The story of Mabon ap Modron, the Welsh God, (the "great son of the great mother"), is celebrated. The Equinox is the birth of Mabon, from his mother Modron, the Guardian of the Otherworld, the Healer, the Protector, the Earth. Mabon was taken when he was a mere three nights old. Through the wisdom of the Oldest Living animals - the Blackbird of Cilgwri, the Stag of Rhedynfre, the Owl of Cwm Cawlwyd, the Eagle of Gwernabwy and the Salmon of Lyn Llyw -- Mabon is freed from his mysterious captivity.
Also, the Equinox is the day of the year when the god of light, Lleu Llaw Gyffes is defeated by His rival, Gronw Pebr. The night conquers day. The tales state that the Equinox is the only day which Lleu is vulnerable and the possibility of his defeat exists. Lleu stands on the balance (Autumn Equinox - Libra) with one foot on the goat (Winter Solstice - Capricorn) and the other on the cauldron (Summer Solstice - Cancer). He is betrayed by his wife, Blodeuwedd, the Virgin (Virgo) and transformed into an Eagle (Scorpio).
Lleu's defeat represents not only the sun's dying power, but also the cycle of rebirth, his energy remaining within the grains we have since harvested. An incarnate of the grain spirit was thought to specifically reside within the last stalk, which is thought to be traditionally dressed in fine clothes and decorations, or possibly woven into a man-shaped form. This symbolic decoration was then harvested and carried from the field to be burned with rejoicing for the spirits release and the sun's upcoming rebirth.”
Another blessing: have been finding sigils I can embroider – here are two for Shamash: the rayed sun in a circle (top of the page), and this one, with Shamash in the circular center of a winged bird – looking almost Egyptian ... if you ignore the heavy beard. But when you consider that Shamash was the God of Justice ... and that Maat was the principle of morality and justice, often portrayed as a winged goddess ... the similarities between the two is rather striking.
And now ... if I could only find the linen. Arrgh!
One of my favorite interviews, if only because l'uno e solo burst into such laughter right in the middle of it. The reason? They were asked (in Spanish) what words they would use to win a girl's heart. Gianluca probably won this competition hands down with his reply:
"Good night, my love, you are the most beautiful dream that I have ever had in my life, a dream that I wish I will never wake up from." The interviewer - who managed to look like she was both swooning and trying to hold herself together until she could get to the nearest bathroom - seemed completely smitten with Gianluca, which brings us to Piero, who figured he'd already lost the competition, so why not win over the audience with the gift of laughter? His contribution? First in Italian, then in Spanish:
"Good morning, my love, please hurry up, because at 8.00 we have to leave!" .
Which explains all of the laughter.
Ignazio's by the way, was "If you were music, I would sing and play you all day."
Translations, by the way, are not mine - they were on YouTube, along with the video. Piero's genuine and delightful laughter needs no translation - I love it when he laughs like that:
Sunday, September 22, 2013
Shamash, God of the Sun, God of Justice
Three pages of journaling or blogging a day … not only are you – loyal reader that you are - going to be bored witless, I am going to run out of things to say. I had to reset my word processing program line spacing to bring myself up to three pages a day, not counting the graphics.
Today - the Friday before closing - I started to shake a little. I had to change the propane, oil, electric accounts and went through hell with my current renter’s insurance company, who I finally dumped (sorry, li’l gecko guy!) in favor of another local insurance broker who didn’t leave ridiculous voice mails detailing the 1,001 required pieces of paper they needed before they would even speak to me 3 days before closing. Geico really needs to upgrade their bedside manner.
By the end of the day I was so rattled I couldn’t remember anything. The tremor in my hand was getting worse. I knew it was due to meds breaking bad, but was still staring at my own hand in befuddlement as though it didn’t belong to me.
I sat at the desk and wrote out grocery lists, “things to do” lists, trying to make sure the order was correct. I knew I had to tack some hours onto the cheap and easy cell phone I never used (because I absolutely hate cell phones), to call Dana the Fixit Guy later on in the day of closing. I was still trying to figure out what absolutely HAD to be done before I could move into the home. and what could wait until later.
And now, here’s where I knew what my priorities were, and they surprised me: I was more focused on what to bring to the circle on Saturday night (potluck something) than on the new home I was on the verge of purchasing. Reason: it was one of my homework assignments: attend a circle. They were the closest circle.
Celebration: Mabon. I’d heard of it (vaguely), but am not a Celtic practitioner. so had never celebrated it. I’m an Italian solo practitioner with a love for Sekhmet, and a healthy respect for Aleister Crowley, if anything, but Italians rose out of a land of agriculture; they also celebrated the last harvest, the fruit and grain harvest. I didn’t have the time to fully research the Italian equivalent of Mabon, but I would before the next one rolled around. Meanwhile, I needed food to bring to this one, after I’d packed most of everything in the kitchen.
Well, the one thing I knew I could make were Italian wedding cookies, but I didn’t know if they fit into the theme of “Last Harvest”, which I always associate with corn. (“Ahhhhhh ...... corn!”) Except ... do you bring corn to a potluck? I don’t spice it up or anything ... to me, corn is absolutely perfect just the way it is. I eventually decided to go with the Italian wedding cookies in the shape(s) of a crescent moon and magic mushroom (the closest I could get to the Eleusinian Mysteries of this month), and so there you go. Off to the bank to get a check for the house and the insurance; off to the grocery store to get wedding cookie ingredients, off to the storage facility to get more packing supplies ... and off to the sharps disposal bin to get rid of my needles. First day of vacation and I would already be exhausted.
To distract myself from anticipatory exhaustion, I sat down and started reading Michelle Belanger’s Sumerian Exorcism – which directed me to Henry Frederick Lutz’s Selected Sumerian and Babylonian Texts (University Museum, Philadelphia, 1919) – which I’ve been pouring through hungrily. Beautiful incantations, once you start ditching the “thee’s, “thou’s” and “thy’s” for more contemporary verbiage. In her introduction she suggested Lutz had translated the cuneiform without judgment, which may be somewhat true, as long as you ignore his tendency to write in language straight out of the King James. ‘Cause, trust me, did they speak that way in 1919? I’m thinking ... no. And I’m hoping ye all doth agree with me. Here's Lutz's version:
0 Shamash, at the foundation of the heavens thou flamest up.
The lock of the brilliant heaven thou hast opened.
The bolt of the heaven thou hast removed.
O Shamash, to the earth thou hast lifted up thy head.
O Shamash, thou hast covered the earth with heavenly splendor.
When thou lookest upon the land establishest thou light.
The way of the land truly guide thou!
The beasts of the field, the living creatures thou hast created.
To Shamash, like unto a father and mother they listen.
Food they are fed.
O Shamash, the chief of the gods art thou!
He who goes before the Anunaki art thou!
With Anu and Enlil a king of mankind art thou!
Guide thou the law of all the people!
O god of justice in the heaven eternal art thou!
Thou art the justice and the wisdom of the land!
Thou knowest the pious, thou knowest the wicked.
O Shamash, righteousness lifteth up to thee its head.
O Shamash, wickedness like a whip becomes torn through thee.
O Shamash, the helper of Anu and Enlil art thou.
O Shamash, the exalted judge of heaven and earth art thou.
And the god of man on account of his son devoutly steps before thee.
A command of peace, a command of life establish for him!
In loving kindness of a joyous heart
In gracious thoughts
May Shamash, the king of the son of his god, speak, so that into the hand
Lord of the kigallu of Kullab to thee, the hero in his land
0 Shamash, the lofty judge, the great lord of the lands art thou.
The lord of living creatures, the merciful of the lands art thou.
O Shamash, at this day purify and cleanse the king, the son of his god.
Whatever evil sorcery, which is in his body, may it be removed.
And here's mine:
O Shamash you rise in flames at heaven’s foundation
You have opened the lock of the brilliant heavens
You have removed heaven’s bolt
O Shamash, you have lifted up your head upon the earth
You have covered her with heavenly splendor
When you look down upon the land you create light
The ways of the land guide your rays!
The beasts of the field, the living creatures you have created
To you, Shamash, like to a father and mother, they listen.
And food they are fed.
O Shamash, you are the chief of the Gods!
You are he who goes before the Anunaki!
With Anu and Enlil you are truly a king of all!
Guide the law of all the people!
You are God of justice in the heaven eternal!
You are the justice and the wisdom of the land!
You know the pious, you know the wicked.
O Shamash, righteousness lifts up its head to you.
O Shamash, wickedness like a whip becomes torn through you.
O Shamash, you are the helper of Anu and Enlil.
O Shamash, you are the exalted judge of heaven and earth.
And the god of man on account of his son devoutly steps before you.
A command of peace, a command of life establish for him!
In loving kindness of a joyous heart
In gracious thoughts
May Shamash, the king of the son of his god, speak, so that into the hand
Lord of the kigallu of Kullab to you, the hero in his land
0 Shamash, the lofty judge, you are the great lord of the lands.
The lord of living creatures, and the merciful of the lands.
O Shamash, at this day purify and cleanse the king, the son of his god.
Whatever evil sorcery, which is in his body, may it be removed.
Well, in case anyone was thinking, "Huh?" Shamash is the God of the Sun in the Babylonian, Assyrian and Akkadian worlds. Sin was the God of the Moon (and NO, it was not the same word as the Judeo-Christian word for no-no's!) The two combined often opened incantations with the glorious, "Shamash in front of me! Sin behind me!" -- an acknowledgement that you're safe from harm morning and night.
You can read the joy of the Babylonians, Assyrians and Akkadians in this ... it's one of my favorite incantations!
Today - the Friday before closing - I started to shake a little. I had to change the propane, oil, electric accounts and went through hell with my current renter’s insurance company, who I finally dumped (sorry, li’l gecko guy!) in favor of another local insurance broker who didn’t leave ridiculous voice mails detailing the 1,001 required pieces of paper they needed before they would even speak to me 3 days before closing. Geico really needs to upgrade their bedside manner.
By the end of the day I was so rattled I couldn’t remember anything. The tremor in my hand was getting worse. I knew it was due to meds breaking bad, but was still staring at my own hand in befuddlement as though it didn’t belong to me.
I sat at the desk and wrote out grocery lists, “things to do” lists, trying to make sure the order was correct. I knew I had to tack some hours onto the cheap and easy cell phone I never used (because I absolutely hate cell phones), to call Dana the Fixit Guy later on in the day of closing. I was still trying to figure out what absolutely HAD to be done before I could move into the home. and what could wait until later.
And now, here’s where I knew what my priorities were, and they surprised me: I was more focused on what to bring to the circle on Saturday night (potluck something) than on the new home I was on the verge of purchasing. Reason: it was one of my homework assignments: attend a circle. They were the closest circle.
Celebration: Mabon. I’d heard of it (vaguely), but am not a Celtic practitioner. so had never celebrated it. I’m an Italian solo practitioner with a love for Sekhmet, and a healthy respect for Aleister Crowley, if anything, but Italians rose out of a land of agriculture; they also celebrated the last harvest, the fruit and grain harvest. I didn’t have the time to fully research the Italian equivalent of Mabon, but I would before the next one rolled around. Meanwhile, I needed food to bring to this one, after I’d packed most of everything in the kitchen.
Well, the one thing I knew I could make were Italian wedding cookies, but I didn’t know if they fit into the theme of “Last Harvest”, which I always associate with corn. (“Ahhhhhh ...... corn!”) Except ... do you bring corn to a potluck? I don’t spice it up or anything ... to me, corn is absolutely perfect just the way it is. I eventually decided to go with the Italian wedding cookies in the shape(s) of a crescent moon and magic mushroom (the closest I could get to the Eleusinian Mysteries of this month), and so there you go. Off to the bank to get a check for the house and the insurance; off to the grocery store to get wedding cookie ingredients, off to the storage facility to get more packing supplies ... and off to the sharps disposal bin to get rid of my needles. First day of vacation and I would already be exhausted.
To distract myself from anticipatory exhaustion, I sat down and started reading Michelle Belanger’s Sumerian Exorcism – which directed me to Henry Frederick Lutz’s Selected Sumerian and Babylonian Texts (University Museum, Philadelphia, 1919) – which I’ve been pouring through hungrily. Beautiful incantations, once you start ditching the “thee’s, “thou’s” and “thy’s” for more contemporary verbiage. In her introduction she suggested Lutz had translated the cuneiform without judgment, which may be somewhat true, as long as you ignore his tendency to write in language straight out of the King James. ‘Cause, trust me, did they speak that way in 1919? I’m thinking ... no. And I’m hoping ye all doth agree with me. Here's Lutz's version:
0 Shamash, at the foundation of the heavens thou flamest up.
The lock of the brilliant heaven thou hast opened.
The bolt of the heaven thou hast removed.
O Shamash, to the earth thou hast lifted up thy head.
O Shamash, thou hast covered the earth with heavenly splendor.
When thou lookest upon the land establishest thou light.
The way of the land truly guide thou!
The beasts of the field, the living creatures thou hast created.
To Shamash, like unto a father and mother they listen.
Food they are fed.
O Shamash, the chief of the gods art thou!
He who goes before the Anunaki art thou!
With Anu and Enlil a king of mankind art thou!
Guide thou the law of all the people!
O god of justice in the heaven eternal art thou!
Thou art the justice and the wisdom of the land!
Thou knowest the pious, thou knowest the wicked.
O Shamash, righteousness lifteth up to thee its head.
O Shamash, wickedness like a whip becomes torn through thee.
O Shamash, the helper of Anu and Enlil art thou.
O Shamash, the exalted judge of heaven and earth art thou.
And the god of man on account of his son devoutly steps before thee.
A command of peace, a command of life establish for him!
In loving kindness of a joyous heart
In gracious thoughts
May Shamash, the king of the son of his god, speak, so that into the hand
Lord of the kigallu of Kullab to thee, the hero in his land
0 Shamash, the lofty judge, the great lord of the lands art thou.
The lord of living creatures, the merciful of the lands art thou.
O Shamash, at this day purify and cleanse the king, the son of his god.
Whatever evil sorcery, which is in his body, may it be removed.
And here's mine:
O Shamash you rise in flames at heaven’s foundation
You have opened the lock of the brilliant heavens
You have removed heaven’s bolt
O Shamash, you have lifted up your head upon the earth
You have covered her with heavenly splendor
When you look down upon the land you create light
The ways of the land guide your rays!
The beasts of the field, the living creatures you have created
To you, Shamash, like to a father and mother, they listen.
And food they are fed.
O Shamash, you are the chief of the Gods!
You are he who goes before the Anunaki!
With Anu and Enlil you are truly a king of all!
Guide the law of all the people!
You are God of justice in the heaven eternal!
You are the justice and the wisdom of the land!
You know the pious, you know the wicked.
O Shamash, righteousness lifts up its head to you.
O Shamash, wickedness like a whip becomes torn through you.
O Shamash, you are the helper of Anu and Enlil.
O Shamash, you are the exalted judge of heaven and earth.
And the god of man on account of his son devoutly steps before you.
A command of peace, a command of life establish for him!
In loving kindness of a joyous heart
In gracious thoughts
May Shamash, the king of the son of his god, speak, so that into the hand
Lord of the kigallu of Kullab to you, the hero in his land
0 Shamash, the lofty judge, you are the great lord of the lands.
The lord of living creatures, and the merciful of the lands.
O Shamash, at this day purify and cleanse the king, the son of his god.
Whatever evil sorcery, which is in his body, may it be removed.
Well, in case anyone was thinking, "Huh?" Shamash is the God of the Sun in the Babylonian, Assyrian and Akkadian worlds. Sin was the God of the Moon (and NO, it was not the same word as the Judeo-Christian word for no-no's!) The two combined often opened incantations with the glorious, "Shamash in front of me! Sin behind me!" -- an acknowledgement that you're safe from harm morning and night.
You can read the joy of the Babylonians, Assyrians and Akkadians in this ... it's one of my favorite incantations!
Friday, September 20, 2013
The Passing of Peanut ... and Chaos Takes Over
The Salisbury peace was short-lived.
I came home to find Peanut stretched out on the carpet, looking uncomfortable and unwilling to eat. I had seen the other cats go off their food and recover after a few hours (and perhaps the upchucking of a fur ball), but Peanut was stretching out in increments all night long – first near the door, then under a dining table chair, then in the hallway outside the bedroom, then in the study. By morning, she was gasping. Into the carrier, off to the vet.
She died of congestive heart failure at 2:45 pm that day. Unexpected, shockingly fast; I was so devastated I came home and screamed my grief at the universe. Not Peanut. Not my baby. I sobbed for the next week, consumed by misery and loneliness. I was utterly isolated and alone; my heart shattered.
Once more ... off to Boston see Piero in a state of inconsolable grief, and holding an acceptance letter from a school of witchcraft ordering me to show up at the first class with a “heart full of joy”. Yeah. Good luck holding me to that. I was bursting into tears at odd moments, reminded of all three of them by some unexpected sight or thought; crying, “I miss you!” because I never thought emotional pain could be all encompassing like this.
As for showing up at Day #1 of class with a “heart full of joy”, I did try. I didn’t really accomplish it. The class was held from 7 until 9:30 at night, one Tuesday a month, waaaay past my bedtime, to the point where I knew I would have to take one Wednesday off per month for the next year, because there was no way I was getting up at 4:00 a.m. the next morning and getting to work on time. I knew I also had to buy a coffee mug I could carry with me on my way north, and drink from to stay awake.
So here was the homework assignment: write three pages in a journal every day. Find a place to meditate. Attend a circle this month. Practice feeling energy. Read Lesson #1 in the required text.
Not that I mind homework assignments – I don’t – but the chaos bothered me, as it seemed to have sprung wholly grown from the ground, without warning. Attend a circle AND bring a potluck item (after I’ve packed my pots and pans?) AND a mask (don’t have one … so sue me) AND move and find a place to meditate AND take a trip to New York City, and write three pages in a journal every day AND be sent on a week long business trip to North Carolina the week after closing on the house AND prepare a presentation to deliver in North Carolina AND deal with the aftermath of Peanut’s sudden death AND … move … and you get the idea. Chaos.
But even I don’t have it as bad as the place I’m studying at. They’re in the middle of moving to a new site and found that New Hampshire’s famous “Live Free or Die” motto only applies to anal retentive church ladies with pursed lips and constipated, dimpled, cellulite-laden rumps. Top of the list of anal retentive church ladies with pursed lips and constipated, dimpled, cellulite-laden rumps: one Christine Davis of Salem.
“Christine Davis, a mother of four, said she opposes the project [which is to say, the school of witchcraft moving into her neighborhood] and fears the end result will be potential vandalism to nearby properties, traffic, disturbances and declining property values. "It's going to be a really hard selling point," she said. "We're family-oriented here: I'm part of the community and don't want to see this happen."” (New Hampshire Union-Leader, November 14. 2012, by April Guilmet)
Vandalism??? Declining property values? And apparently, according to dimwits like Christine, witches don’t even HAVE families. I should sue the bitch for libeling me personally, and while doing that, I have a few choice words for Christine Davis alright, libelous demon and constipated church goer that she is:
Lady, I’m more concerned about demons like YOU than anything else. You AND the family you’re raising to be even more demonic and evil than you are, and if ANYONE dragged the local property values through the mud and down into the underground, it sure the hell t’warn’t me. Spawn-squirting cow. Did I ever tell you how much I loathe women?
(I know, I know – you’re all shocked beyond words at this news).
I came home to find Peanut stretched out on the carpet, looking uncomfortable and unwilling to eat. I had seen the other cats go off their food and recover after a few hours (and perhaps the upchucking of a fur ball), but Peanut was stretching out in increments all night long – first near the door, then under a dining table chair, then in the hallway outside the bedroom, then in the study. By morning, she was gasping. Into the carrier, off to the vet.
She died of congestive heart failure at 2:45 pm that day. Unexpected, shockingly fast; I was so devastated I came home and screamed my grief at the universe. Not Peanut. Not my baby. I sobbed for the next week, consumed by misery and loneliness. I was utterly isolated and alone; my heart shattered.
Once more ... off to Boston see Piero in a state of inconsolable grief, and holding an acceptance letter from a school of witchcraft ordering me to show up at the first class with a “heart full of joy”. Yeah. Good luck holding me to that. I was bursting into tears at odd moments, reminded of all three of them by some unexpected sight or thought; crying, “I miss you!” because I never thought emotional pain could be all encompassing like this.
As for showing up at Day #1 of class with a “heart full of joy”, I did try. I didn’t really accomplish it. The class was held from 7 until 9:30 at night, one Tuesday a month, waaaay past my bedtime, to the point where I knew I would have to take one Wednesday off per month for the next year, because there was no way I was getting up at 4:00 a.m. the next morning and getting to work on time. I knew I also had to buy a coffee mug I could carry with me on my way north, and drink from to stay awake.
So here was the homework assignment: write three pages in a journal every day. Find a place to meditate. Attend a circle this month. Practice feeling energy. Read Lesson #1 in the required text.
Not that I mind homework assignments – I don’t – but the chaos bothered me, as it seemed to have sprung wholly grown from the ground, without warning. Attend a circle AND bring a potluck item (after I’ve packed my pots and pans?) AND a mask (don’t have one … so sue me) AND move and find a place to meditate AND take a trip to New York City, and write three pages in a journal every day AND be sent on a week long business trip to North Carolina the week after closing on the house AND prepare a presentation to deliver in North Carolina AND deal with the aftermath of Peanut’s sudden death AND … move … and you get the idea. Chaos.
But even I don’t have it as bad as the place I’m studying at. They’re in the middle of moving to a new site and found that New Hampshire’s famous “Live Free or Die” motto only applies to anal retentive church ladies with pursed lips and constipated, dimpled, cellulite-laden rumps. Top of the list of anal retentive church ladies with pursed lips and constipated, dimpled, cellulite-laden rumps: one Christine Davis of Salem.
“Christine Davis, a mother of four, said she opposes the project [which is to say, the school of witchcraft moving into her neighborhood] and fears the end result will be potential vandalism to nearby properties, traffic, disturbances and declining property values. "It's going to be a really hard selling point," she said. "We're family-oriented here: I'm part of the community and don't want to see this happen."” (New Hampshire Union-Leader, November 14. 2012, by April Guilmet)
Vandalism??? Declining property values? And apparently, according to dimwits like Christine, witches don’t even HAVE families. I should sue the bitch for libeling me personally, and while doing that, I have a few choice words for Christine Davis alright, libelous demon and constipated church goer that she is:
Lady, I’m more concerned about demons like YOU than anything else. You AND the family you’re raising to be even more demonic and evil than you are, and if ANYONE dragged the local property values through the mud and down into the underground, it sure the hell t’warn’t me. Spawn-squirting cow. Did I ever tell you how much I loathe women?
(I know, I know – you’re all shocked beyond words at this news).
Sunday, September 8, 2013
Piero Barone: After Damiana Tea and Dressed in Black, He Looks like a Hot Cross Between a Priest and a Gunslinger
Ahhh, another day at Salisbury. No sunburn this time. No obnoxious brats. Peace. Closed-eyed tranquility. Refreshing. I was going to say, “no bird-brained women”, until I remembered the two morons who left a plastic bag of snacks laying on their beach towel before wandering off – completely forgetting that seagulls aren’t stupid. For those two women “bird-brained” would have been a compliment. The resulting squabble among the gulls over who got the last piece of red licorice (who knew gulls liked red licorice and cheesy-bites?) was pretty funny ... as was the expressions on the faces of the two dingbats when they returned and found their food bags spread out all over the sand – minus all the food. Gulls looked happy, though.
For those wondering about Piero’s version of “No puede ser” – I’m guessing if you asked Carlos Marin of Il Divo, he’d know exactly what you were talking about – “No puede ser” is one of Spain’s most favorite tenor arias from the zarzuela world, and Carlos came directly from the operatic and zarzuela world himself, so you know HE was familiar with the number.
Think Gilbert and Sullivan – operettas with a common touch; that’s the Spanish art form known as the zarzuela. One of the most popular zarzuelas is La tabernera del puerto, by Pablo Sorozábal, written in 1936, with libretto by Federico Romero and Guillermo Fernández Shaw. Christopher Webber of Blackheath, London, UK provided the full synopsis of the zarzuela, providing the context of “No puede ser”. Some background: Marola is the beautiful barmaid, Leandro is the handsome young sailor (who is madly in love with Marola), and Leandro has just been told an untruth: that Marola is using him as bait to smuggle illegal drugs. Leandro (wise little cutie that he is ... or maybe I’m thinking of Piero) doesn’t believe a word of it, and sings “No puede ser” ("It cannot be!") Lyrics and translation follow:
"No puede ser" (Leandro)
¡No puede ser! Esa mujer es buena.
¡No puede ser una mujer malvada!
En su mirar como una luz singular
he visto que esa mujer es una desventurada.
No puede ser una vulgar sirena
que envenenó las horas de mi vida.
¡No puede ser! porque la ví rezar,
porque la ví querer,
porque la ví llorar.
Los ojos que lloran no saben mentir;
las malas mujeres no miran así.
Temblando en sus ojos dos lágrimas ví
y a mi me ilusiona que tiemblen por mí.
Viva luz de mi ilusión,
sé piadosa con mi amor,
porque no sé fingir,
porque no sé callar,
porque no sé vivir.
TRANSLATION
It cannot be so! This woman is good.
She cannot be a bad woman!
In her look, like a strange light,
I've seen that this woman is unhappy.
She cannot be a cheap siren
who has poisoned every moment of my life.
It cannot be so! Because I've seen her pray,
because I've seen her love,
because I've seen her cry!
Those eyes that cry don't know how to lie.
Bad women do not look like that.
Glinting in her eyes I saw two tears,
and my hope is, they glint for me.
Vivid light of my hopes!
Take pity on my love!
Because I cannot pretend,
because I cannot be silent,
because I cannot live!
http://www.zarzuela.net/syn/taberna.htm
And here’s another example of l’uno e solo singing it, this time in Phoenix.
Update: Witchy Brew (haha) Evaluation
Now, this is not the same thing as the Damiana aphrodisiac steeped in alcohol. I need to find a container for that. This was the damiana tea: equal parts Damiana, Angelica root and Saw Palmetto berries. Instructions are to take one cup per day for two weeks. “Seems to have stimulating effects on sexual performance.”
It actually sorta worked after one cup, so I am seriously looking forward to 14 cups. By “sorta worked”, I mean that I was actually involved in something else an hour after I drank the tea, which was actually delicious. Really! I think it was the angelica root that added the very delightful and distinctive flavor to the tea – it was excellent! In any event, I was in the midst of packing, when all of a sudden I found myself thinking about ... sex. I actually thought, “Why the &*^& am I thinking about ...?” and then I looked at the clock. One hour exactly. I have to admit, I burst out laughing.
Of course the general state of arousal could have also been encouraged by Piero posting another photo of himself – dressed all in black, looking like a cross between gunslinger and a priest. Or, to put it another way, if you’re an Italian tenor, “sembra lei un incrocio tra un pistolero e un sacerdote”. Mmmm-mmmmm! I almost lost consciousness he looked so hot: the dangerous bad boy crossed with the [supposedly] unattainable.
Lucky for me he isn’t the latter, or I would have been moved to confess all the lustful thoughts I have had about him since he was 17. And thank goodness he isn’t the former, either, or he might have shot me. And someday he wants to have 6 kids?? Some woman is going to be delirious with joy when he starts THAT program!
And so, back to the Incubus.
It occurred to me ... and I have no idea why it took me this long ... that it didn’t matter what christians thought of incubi, or what qualities they attributed to incubi, or even what Enoch said about them. The ONLY thing that mattered was what I – me – myself – thought about incubi. If I (me-myself-I) did not believe them to be bad news, then they weren’t. It was that simple. They were bad news only if I bought into the nonsense spewed out by the church ladies with the pointy hats brigade.
It’s getting near bedtime again. Back to the teapot, and some lovely experimenting!
For those wondering about Piero’s version of “No puede ser” – I’m guessing if you asked Carlos Marin of Il Divo, he’d know exactly what you were talking about – “No puede ser” is one of Spain’s most favorite tenor arias from the zarzuela world, and Carlos came directly from the operatic and zarzuela world himself, so you know HE was familiar with the number.
Think Gilbert and Sullivan – operettas with a common touch; that’s the Spanish art form known as the zarzuela. One of the most popular zarzuelas is La tabernera del puerto, by Pablo Sorozábal, written in 1936, with libretto by Federico Romero and Guillermo Fernández Shaw. Christopher Webber of Blackheath, London, UK provided the full synopsis of the zarzuela, providing the context of “No puede ser”. Some background: Marola is the beautiful barmaid, Leandro is the handsome young sailor (who is madly in love with Marola), and Leandro has just been told an untruth: that Marola is using him as bait to smuggle illegal drugs. Leandro (wise little cutie that he is ... or maybe I’m thinking of Piero) doesn’t believe a word of it, and sings “No puede ser” ("It cannot be!") Lyrics and translation follow:
"No puede ser" (Leandro)
¡No puede ser! Esa mujer es buena.
¡No puede ser una mujer malvada!
En su mirar como una luz singular
he visto que esa mujer es una desventurada.
No puede ser una vulgar sirena
que envenenó las horas de mi vida.
¡No puede ser! porque la ví rezar,
porque la ví querer,
porque la ví llorar.
Los ojos que lloran no saben mentir;
las malas mujeres no miran así.
Temblando en sus ojos dos lágrimas ví
y a mi me ilusiona que tiemblen por mí.
Viva luz de mi ilusión,
sé piadosa con mi amor,
porque no sé fingir,
porque no sé callar,
porque no sé vivir.
TRANSLATION
It cannot be so! This woman is good.
She cannot be a bad woman!
In her look, like a strange light,
I've seen that this woman is unhappy.
She cannot be a cheap siren
who has poisoned every moment of my life.
It cannot be so! Because I've seen her pray,
because I've seen her love,
because I've seen her cry!
Those eyes that cry don't know how to lie.
Bad women do not look like that.
Glinting in her eyes I saw two tears,
and my hope is, they glint for me.
Vivid light of my hopes!
Take pity on my love!
Because I cannot pretend,
because I cannot be silent,
because I cannot live!
http://www.zarzuela.net/syn/taberna.htm
And here’s another example of l’uno e solo singing it, this time in Phoenix.
Update: Witchy Brew (haha) Evaluation
 |
| Love Potion #9 |
Now, this is not the same thing as the Damiana aphrodisiac steeped in alcohol. I need to find a container for that. This was the damiana tea: equal parts Damiana, Angelica root and Saw Palmetto berries. Instructions are to take one cup per day for two weeks. “Seems to have stimulating effects on sexual performance.”
It actually sorta worked after one cup, so I am seriously looking forward to 14 cups. By “sorta worked”, I mean that I was actually involved in something else an hour after I drank the tea, which was actually delicious. Really! I think it was the angelica root that added the very delightful and distinctive flavor to the tea – it was excellent! In any event, I was in the midst of packing, when all of a sudden I found myself thinking about ... sex. I actually thought, “Why the &*^& am I thinking about ...?” and then I looked at the clock. One hour exactly. I have to admit, I burst out laughing.
Of course the general state of arousal could have also been encouraged by Piero posting another photo of himself – dressed all in black, looking like a cross between gunslinger and a priest. Or, to put it another way, if you’re an Italian tenor, “sembra lei un incrocio tra un pistolero e un sacerdote”. Mmmm-mmmmm! I almost lost consciousness he looked so hot: the dangerous bad boy crossed with the [supposedly] unattainable.
 |
| incrocio tra un pistolero e un sacerdote |
Lucky for me he isn’t the latter, or I would have been moved to confess all the lustful thoughts I have had about him since he was 17. And thank goodness he isn’t the former, either, or he might have shot me. And someday he wants to have 6 kids?? Some woman is going to be delirious with joy when he starts THAT program!
And so, back to the Incubus.
It occurred to me ... and I have no idea why it took me this long ... that it didn’t matter what christians thought of incubi, or what qualities they attributed to incubi, or even what Enoch said about them. The ONLY thing that mattered was what I – me – myself – thought about incubi. If I (me-myself-I) did not believe them to be bad news, then they weren’t. It was that simple. They were bad news only if I bought into the nonsense spewed out by the church ladies with the pointy hats brigade.
It’s getting near bedtime again. Back to the teapot, and some lovely experimenting!
Saturday, September 7, 2013
Piero Barone's Hard Body and Snake Charming
September. This is turning into one of the busiest – and most emotional - months so far this year. Aimco did it AGAIN – took two months rent instead of one. Replay of Property Bridge and Grand Theft Rent.
When the slumlords at Royal Crest Estates in North Andover FORCED all of their tenants to pay rent by automatic bank account deduction, I told them this was going to happen. They made up some appalling story about how they were cutting down on their office staff (they haven’t) and were too lazy ... sorry ... too BUSY to process the checks people delivered by hand, and this was why they were forcing all of their tenants to sign up for this automatic deduction thing.
And here we are! Woke up Tuesday morning to discover Royal Crest Estates had taken two rent payments instead of one, and were balking about handing me a refund check that same day – which you would think anyone with a conscience would promptly do. This is Saturday morning and I still don’t have the money back. Nice interest garnering scheme, wouldn’t you say? Is the Massachusetts District Attorney listening or is he/she in on the scheme?
But there are better moments in September than battling Royal Crest Estates and AIMCO over grand theft rent ... I start the year-long witchcraft studies in New Hampshire. I go to New York. I spend the night in Boston – same place as last year. I see l’uno e solo (“The One and Only”) not only once but twice and I’m sure I don’t need to tell you who THAT is.
And if that weren’t enough, I am preparing to move again – sometime in the next (mumble, mumble) months – a decision made when the Evil Slumlords took it upon themselves to raise the rent to a whopping $1400 per month (and then deduct it twice – AGAIN!), and so have begun a slow, very methodical sorting of possessions. Things to keep, things to discard. Exhausting, carting empty boxes and bins back from the storage shed – my late brother being the one who took them there.
I decided to transfer notes from the witchcraft course at Enchantments all the way back in 1988 from a three-ring binder to a file folder, to save space. Half way through the process, I had to laugh ... I have no idea why, but I had decided at the time to hide what I was doing (“ooooh! Witchcraft! Naughty, naughty!”) from prying eyes ... although goodness knows what set of prying eyes I thought I had to be worried about. In any event I decided to record some things (fortunately not all) in runes. Or code. Something symbolically unintelligible, anyway! The only problem was: I neglected to keep the key to the code with the notes I was keeping, so I have no clue now what I wrote. I need to look up some runes to see if maybe I used a standard set of them and hoped “prying eyes” wouldn’t know what they were.
WORD OF ADVICE: Keep a reference to the location of any code you choose to use – in the same place you keep the notes, lest all of your brilliant thoughts and stunningly intelligent ideas are lost forever!! (*sigh*)
Or, more accurately: “D’oh!”
On the other hand, one of the many fascinating handouts from 1988 caught my attention: a recipe for Best Aphrodisiac - ever. This one uses whisky as a base; I am not at all fond of whisky and should find something else; I’m thinking of my favorite Old Ipswich Rum or spiced rum. Problem: in this lengthy recipe, the author is switching back and forth between tablespoons and liters, to ounces, to milliliters to centigrade. [Insert heavy sigh of annoyance]. Oh goodie. Recipes like this should come with conversion tables ... this is as bad as the unintelligible runes.
Reminder to myself: THIS IS WHY you purchased saw palmetto berries and angelica root – which arrived on Thursday. What didn’t arrive, unfortunately, was the food scale. Was planning to purchase one anyway, but now – thanks to the annoying recipe – I needed one, to measure the aphrodisiac ingredients properly.
Although – did I actually need it? “Some users of the combination tea (Damiana and Saw Palmetto) report that, taken an hour or so before sexual activity, helps to produce a more satisfactory experience. One cup per day for 2 weeks.”
So, regardless of the food scale, perhaps I only needed to use the same volume of Saw Palmetto and Damiana leaves in the aphrodisiac recipe using the liquor. Hmmmm. Shall report on tremors in the sexual earthquake scale ... when I actually experience any. And speaking of lust ...
Piero Barone has returned to the USA for Tour 2013, and so far he and the Il Volo boys have Vancouver, Los Angeles, Fresno, San Francisco and Phoenix under their belts. Better still, the One and Only has a new solo that knocked my socks off:
So tonight, I’m going to start mixing the aphrodisiac and investigate the properties of horsetail. This one makes me smile. It sounds so “witchy”, as though I’d snuck into a pasture in the middle of a stormy night and deprived a skittish horse of its tail. No. (And I wouldn’t do that even if the spell DID call for a horse’s tail). “Horsetail” is actually a grass – shavegrass – and, according to http://www.ancient-wisdom-herbs.com/proddetail.php?prod=Horsetail has the following magickal associations:
“Feminine, Saturn, Earth. Snake charming, fertility. To summon snakes, make a whistle of the stems & play. The plant may be used in fertility rituals, mixtures or sachets, & can be placed in the bedroom to achieve the same purpose. Health, Fertility, To Strengthen Work and to keep focused. Bring out the self's own Stable Emotions, prosperity protection. Snake Charming.”
Snake charming and summoning. Hmmm. Ahhh, zee plaizure zat comes wiz zee double-entendre, non?
When the slumlords at Royal Crest Estates in North Andover FORCED all of their tenants to pay rent by automatic bank account deduction, I told them this was going to happen. They made up some appalling story about how they were cutting down on their office staff (they haven’t) and were too lazy ... sorry ... too BUSY to process the checks people delivered by hand, and this was why they were forcing all of their tenants to sign up for this automatic deduction thing.
And here we are! Woke up Tuesday morning to discover Royal Crest Estates had taken two rent payments instead of one, and were balking about handing me a refund check that same day – which you would think anyone with a conscience would promptly do. This is Saturday morning and I still don’t have the money back. Nice interest garnering scheme, wouldn’t you say? Is the Massachusetts District Attorney listening or is he/she in on the scheme?
But there are better moments in September than battling Royal Crest Estates and AIMCO over grand theft rent ... I start the year-long witchcraft studies in New Hampshire. I go to New York. I spend the night in Boston – same place as last year. I see l’uno e solo (“The One and Only”) not only once but twice and I’m sure I don’t need to tell you who THAT is.
And if that weren’t enough, I am preparing to move again – sometime in the next (mumble, mumble) months – a decision made when the Evil Slumlords took it upon themselves to raise the rent to a whopping $1400 per month (and then deduct it twice – AGAIN!), and so have begun a slow, very methodical sorting of possessions. Things to keep, things to discard. Exhausting, carting empty boxes and bins back from the storage shed – my late brother being the one who took them there.
I decided to transfer notes from the witchcraft course at Enchantments all the way back in 1988 from a three-ring binder to a file folder, to save space. Half way through the process, I had to laugh ... I have no idea why, but I had decided at the time to hide what I was doing (“ooooh! Witchcraft! Naughty, naughty!”) from prying eyes ... although goodness knows what set of prying eyes I thought I had to be worried about. In any event I decided to record some things (fortunately not all) in runes. Or code. Something symbolically unintelligible, anyway! The only problem was: I neglected to keep the key to the code with the notes I was keeping, so I have no clue now what I wrote. I need to look up some runes to see if maybe I used a standard set of them and hoped “prying eyes” wouldn’t know what they were.
WORD OF ADVICE: Keep a reference to the location of any code you choose to use – in the same place you keep the notes, lest all of your brilliant thoughts and stunningly intelligent ideas are lost forever!! (*sigh*) Or, more accurately: “D’oh!”
On the other hand, one of the many fascinating handouts from 1988 caught my attention: a recipe for Best Aphrodisiac - ever. This one uses whisky as a base; I am not at all fond of whisky and should find something else; I’m thinking of my favorite Old Ipswich Rum or spiced rum. Problem: in this lengthy recipe, the author is switching back and forth between tablespoons and liters, to ounces, to milliliters to centigrade. [Insert heavy sigh of annoyance]. Oh goodie. Recipes like this should come with conversion tables ... this is as bad as the unintelligible runes.
Reminder to myself: THIS IS WHY you purchased saw palmetto berries and angelica root – which arrived on Thursday. What didn’t arrive, unfortunately, was the food scale. Was planning to purchase one anyway, but now – thanks to the annoying recipe – I needed one, to measure the aphrodisiac ingredients properly.
Although – did I actually need it? “Some users of the combination tea (Damiana and Saw Palmetto) report that, taken an hour or so before sexual activity, helps to produce a more satisfactory experience. One cup per day for 2 weeks.”
So, regardless of the food scale, perhaps I only needed to use the same volume of Saw Palmetto and Damiana leaves in the aphrodisiac recipe using the liquor. Hmmmm. Shall report on tremors in the sexual earthquake scale ... when I actually experience any. And speaking of lust ...
Piero Barone has returned to the USA for Tour 2013, and so far he and the Il Volo boys have Vancouver, Los Angeles, Fresno, San Francisco and Phoenix under their belts. Better still, the One and Only has a new solo that knocked my socks off:
So tonight, I’m going to start mixing the aphrodisiac and investigate the properties of horsetail. This one makes me smile. It sounds so “witchy”, as though I’d snuck into a pasture in the middle of a stormy night and deprived a skittish horse of its tail. No. (And I wouldn’t do that even if the spell DID call for a horse’s tail). “Horsetail” is actually a grass – shavegrass – and, according to http://www.ancient-wisdom-herbs.com/proddetail.php?prod=Horsetail has the following magickal associations:
“Feminine, Saturn, Earth. Snake charming, fertility. To summon snakes, make a whistle of the stems & play. The plant may be used in fertility rituals, mixtures or sachets, & can be placed in the bedroom to achieve the same purpose. Health, Fertility, To Strengthen Work and to keep focused. Bring out the self's own Stable Emotions, prosperity protection. Snake Charming.”
Snake charming and summoning. Hmmm. Ahhh, zee plaizure zat comes wiz zee double-entendre, non?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)