On the other hand ... I still wonder why we pass things down without explanation or (probably more importantly) translation. For example, Maxine was describing the witches’ rune or chant, which I’d never heard of. It was supposedly a method of raising energy in a circle.
“The drumbeat intensified as we chanted the witches’ rune over and over again.
Eko, Eko, Azarak!
Eko, Eko, Zamilak!
Eko, Eko, Karnayna!
Eko, Eko, Aradia!”
Sanders, Maxine, Fire Child, Mandrake of Oxford, 2008 p. 97
She provided no explanation as to what was actually being chanted, which – to my mind anyway – is at best never a good idea, and at worst a possibly dangerous idea. Who or what are we invoking with this? Aradia I knew (I’m Italian, after all, and she’s ours thanks to Charles Leland), but who was Azarak, Zamilak and Karnayna? And what did “Eko, Eko” mean? “Hail, Hail” or “Come right in, have a spot of tea and take over my body!”?
Frighteningly enough, even Doreen Valiente didn’t know what it meant, and she was one of the witches passing it around!
The mention of Aradia made me think we were veering into Latin or Tuscan with this chant, “ecco” (correct spelling) meaning “Here is”, in the sense that you’re either holding up things and saying, “Here is a wand, here is a knife”, or in the sense that we’re welcoming a being into the circle, as in “Here’s Zeus!” I could be wrong (and please correct me if I am), but I think the same word, perhaps spelled differently, means much the same thing in Greek.
But translating “eko” as “ecco” is just an educated guess on my part. And it still didn’t answer the question as to who or what Azarak, Zamilak and Karnayna were. Not in the Encyclopedia of Spirits, or Dictionary of Demons, but I had packed some of the other spirit resources, naturally. In any event, I had no wish to raise energy by chanting a list of names or words unknown to me. The gods alone knew what would happen if I did; I sure had no idea and had no experience yet in banishing things I inadvertently invoked.
Luckily, there’s another version of it, a little less intimidating. Not sure where this one came from, but at least this one is understandable. As it fell off-metre during a few lines, I took the liberty of strengthening the beat:
“Darksome night and shining moon,
Hearken to the Witches' rune;
East, then South and West, then North,
Hear ye! Come! I call ye forth.
Powers--earth, air, fire, sea,
Turn now and come forth to me;
Wand and Pentagram and Sword
Hearken ye unto my word.
Candle, Censer, Cup and Knife,
Waken all ye into life;
Powers of the Witches blade,
Come ye as the charm is made.
Queen of Heaven, Earth, and Hell,
Send your aid unto this spell;
Horned Hunter of the night,
Work my will in magick rite.
By the power three times three
As I will, so mote it be.
By the might of Moon and Sun,
As ye will, it shall be it done.”
Naturally the word “hell” comes with a lot of christian baggage and here means “underworld”, as in Demeter and Persephone, not the one falsely recreated in “Constantine”. (And a gigantic ‘oh, pu-LEEZE’ to that one.) Imagine the other false one created by Carol Markus and her son in “The Wrath of Khan”, located in a huge underground cave. Also invented, but closer to my idea of the pagan underworld, anyway.
Sunday, October 13, 2013
Saturday, October 12, 2013
Michelle Belanger, Sekhmet, Phobias and Sex Magick Again
Ran out the door of a terrific workshop conducted by Michelle Belanger on Psychic Vampires, dashed home, frantically packed a suitcase and was back out the door at 4 the next morning after 2 hours of sleep.
I seriously dislike flying. Sekhmet was burning away a phobia of flying, but I was still suffering from air pressure changes, and usually staggered off the plane with blinding headaches and a runny nose. This time I had to be delightfully pleasant and charming as one of our VPs was on the same flight and graciously chauffeured me over to the Raleigh office. Last thing you want to do on a business trip is puke all over the shoes of senior management, so I managed not to.
Fortunately we didn’t sit together, so I was able to distract myself somewhat by reading, without having to explain that I was reading the biography of the woman who was married to the King of the Witches of the Alexandrian line, in England.
At the suggestion of the WC1 class instructor, I was now reading Maxine Sander’s biography, Firechild. I didn’t think I’d enjoy it all that much, but it turns out I did, because she describes initiation and instruction that is exactly what I think it should be … and not the twinkie nonsense women are spewing out ad nauseum in their frustratingly inaccurate and nonsensical Tinkerbelle wiccan books (“Clap your hands if you BELIEVE, boys & girls!”) every time I turn around. She both received and then delivered serious initiation training that was, in turn, amazingly intense, enormously valuable and sometimes almost cruel.
Still, those are the events that were real learning events, the ones that stuck with you. They taught her things she could use. They let her pick the wrong herbs out in the wild and watched dispassionately as she retched them all back up again. They left her in a trance in the woods all night – alone. The hard housekeeping work – brass polishing, robe laundering, cleaning floors, walls, altars ... each act done with focused intent and enormous concentration. I was finding myself more and more inspired and despairing of ever finding initiation instruction here in the USA like that. (Actually, the first WCI instructor did initially strike me as a bit of a slave driver, but then she also told me a lie about Charles Leland which irked me a bit. Okay, it irked me a lot. She’s going to really work hard to get past that lie.)
But back to Maxine. On the negative side, a lot of her talents seemed to be inherited … for example, astral projection came really easily to her from a very early age, while others of us need to struggle with simple things like basic meditation and feeling energy between the palms of our hands. Her mother wavered between the occult and the rigidity of the catholic church ... which had to make for an odd upbringing. And lastly, the book devolves into being insufferably British now and again, obsessed with “knowing your place” and dubbing people “royalty” within the occult world. I find that difficult to get past ... especially when women here in the U.S. demand you call them “Lady Such and Such”, which generates in me a raised eyebrow of disdain, mainly because it makes women sound like they never grew up past their fairy tale-believing days when they really wanted to be a “princess”.
Be that as it may, so far it’s fascinating.
I had raised the spectre of sex magick again last entry, and came across the three spirits Sitri, Beleth and Zepar, three of the so-called “demons” that the Judeo-Christian Solomon controlled. And you know how defiant I am about taking a definition (i.e., “demon”) from the judeo-christian-islamic world without first doing my due diligence on their personality and what they do. The majority of them, (so far anyway) seem to be completely – or mostly – free of malice or anger or hatred or any other personality trait that would earn them the title we now know as “demon”.
I am of the belief that those of us in this generation need to be the ones who research these beings and systematically strip the title of “demon” from them. Until proven otherwise, they will be “spirits”. So, here are three conjurable “spirits” I found:
“The 12th spirit is Sitri, he is a great prince & appeareth at first with a Leopards face, and wings as a griffin. But afterwards at ye command of ye exorcist, he putteth on a humane shape very Beautifull, Inflaming Men with womens Love, and women with mens love, and causeth them to shew themselves Naked, if he [it] be desired, &c. he governeth 60 Legions of spirits, and his seal to be worne is this.”
http://www.esotericarchives.com/solomon/goetia.htm
Original Purpose: Sitri is a lust spirit and causes men and women to be passionate and get naked around one another.
Author’s Notes: Invoke Sitri for seduction rituals (become Incubi or Succubae). Invoke Sitri during sex magick to boost the energy raised. Sitri can also be called up when you seek to infuse any creative project with passion. (Connolly, S. (2010-09-02). Daemonolatry Goetia (p. 60). DB Publishing. Kindle Edition.)
Then there is Beleth:
He can breathe fire. He can shape shift, and can manage about three shifts in a day before he wears out. Human (winged or not) is his favorite and most-seen form; his true form is slightly beyond human comprehension and for the sake of interaction is not used often.
He can transport himself and other people between summoning circles, even if it means crossing between dimensions. Beleth is capable of moving between a highly technological location to a magical location and back again, though this requires a great deal of energy and leaves him exhausted afterwards.
If someone successfully makes a contract with Beleth (which not only requires the agreement of Beleth and the character involved in the contract but the agreement of the players of any third parties), he can do more. His specialty is that he “causeth all the love that may be, both of Men and of Women, until the conjuror hath had his desire fulfilled” (LKS).
Finally, Zepar:
Zepar is a Great Duke, who tries to seduce women, and if requested by them, he can change his shape into that of their beloved man, but makes them sterile. He has twenty-six legions of spirits under his command. Other sources say that he makes women love men and brings them together in love. He is depicted as a soldier with red clothes and armour.
Now comes the fun part - learning how to invoke .... and not forgetting the controlling and banishing part ... one of the three of them. More later.
I seriously dislike flying. Sekhmet was burning away a phobia of flying, but I was still suffering from air pressure changes, and usually staggered off the plane with blinding headaches and a runny nose. This time I had to be delightfully pleasant and charming as one of our VPs was on the same flight and graciously chauffeured me over to the Raleigh office. Last thing you want to do on a business trip is puke all over the shoes of senior management, so I managed not to.
Fortunately we didn’t sit together, so I was able to distract myself somewhat by reading, without having to explain that I was reading the biography of the woman who was married to the King of the Witches of the Alexandrian line, in England.
At the suggestion of the WC1 class instructor, I was now reading Maxine Sander’s biography, Firechild. I didn’t think I’d enjoy it all that much, but it turns out I did, because she describes initiation and instruction that is exactly what I think it should be … and not the twinkie nonsense women are spewing out ad nauseum in their frustratingly inaccurate and nonsensical Tinkerbelle wiccan books (“Clap your hands if you BELIEVE, boys & girls!”) every time I turn around. She both received and then delivered serious initiation training that was, in turn, amazingly intense, enormously valuable and sometimes almost cruel.
Still, those are the events that were real learning events, the ones that stuck with you. They taught her things she could use. They let her pick the wrong herbs out in the wild and watched dispassionately as she retched them all back up again. They left her in a trance in the woods all night – alone. The hard housekeeping work – brass polishing, robe laundering, cleaning floors, walls, altars ... each act done with focused intent and enormous concentration. I was finding myself more and more inspired and despairing of ever finding initiation instruction here in the USA like that. (Actually, the first WCI instructor did initially strike me as a bit of a slave driver, but then she also told me a lie about Charles Leland which irked me a bit. Okay, it irked me a lot. She’s going to really work hard to get past that lie.)
But back to Maxine. On the negative side, a lot of her talents seemed to be inherited … for example, astral projection came really easily to her from a very early age, while others of us need to struggle with simple things like basic meditation and feeling energy between the palms of our hands. Her mother wavered between the occult and the rigidity of the catholic church ... which had to make for an odd upbringing. And lastly, the book devolves into being insufferably British now and again, obsessed with “knowing your place” and dubbing people “royalty” within the occult world. I find that difficult to get past ... especially when women here in the U.S. demand you call them “Lady Such and Such”, which generates in me a raised eyebrow of disdain, mainly because it makes women sound like they never grew up past their fairy tale-believing days when they really wanted to be a “princess”.
Be that as it may, so far it’s fascinating.
I had raised the spectre of sex magick again last entry, and came across the three spirits Sitri, Beleth and Zepar, three of the so-called “demons” that the Judeo-Christian Solomon controlled. And you know how defiant I am about taking a definition (i.e., “demon”) from the judeo-christian-islamic world without first doing my due diligence on their personality and what they do. The majority of them, (so far anyway) seem to be completely – or mostly – free of malice or anger or hatred or any other personality trait that would earn them the title we now know as “demon”.I am of the belief that those of us in this generation need to be the ones who research these beings and systematically strip the title of “demon” from them. Until proven otherwise, they will be “spirits”. So, here are three conjurable “spirits” I found:
“The 12th spirit is Sitri, he is a great prince & appeareth at first with a Leopards face, and wings as a griffin. But afterwards at ye command of ye exorcist, he putteth on a humane shape very Beautifull, Inflaming Men with womens Love, and women with mens love, and causeth them to shew themselves Naked, if he [it] be desired, &c. he governeth 60 Legions of spirits, and his seal to be worne is this.”
http://www.esotericarchives.com/solomon/goetia.htm
Original Purpose: Sitri is a lust spirit and causes men and women to be passionate and get naked around one another.
Author’s Notes: Invoke Sitri for seduction rituals (become Incubi or Succubae). Invoke Sitri during sex magick to boost the energy raised. Sitri can also be called up when you seek to infuse any creative project with passion. (Connolly, S. (2010-09-02). Daemonolatry Goetia (p. 60). DB Publishing. Kindle Edition.)
Then there is Beleth:
He can breathe fire. He can shape shift, and can manage about three shifts in a day before he wears out. Human (winged or not) is his favorite and most-seen form; his true form is slightly beyond human comprehension and for the sake of interaction is not used often.He can transport himself and other people between summoning circles, even if it means crossing between dimensions. Beleth is capable of moving between a highly technological location to a magical location and back again, though this requires a great deal of energy and leaves him exhausted afterwards.
If someone successfully makes a contract with Beleth (which not only requires the agreement of Beleth and the character involved in the contract but the agreement of the players of any third parties), he can do more. His specialty is that he “causeth all the love that may be, both of Men and of Women, until the conjuror hath had his desire fulfilled” (LKS).Finally, Zepar:
Zepar is a Great Duke, who tries to seduce women, and if requested by them, he can change his shape into that of their beloved man, but makes them sterile. He has twenty-six legions of spirits under his command. Other sources say that he makes women love men and brings them together in love. He is depicted as a soldier with red clothes and armour.
Now comes the fun part - learning how to invoke .... and not forgetting the controlling and banishing part ... one of the three of them. More later.
Wednesday, October 2, 2013
Il Volo at Radio City, Piero Barone in a Jacuzzi and Everything Else Breaks Down
In so short a time, a little over two years, they had gone from a small “Meet Il Volo” performance in the Los Angeles outdoor Americana mall to selling out Radio City Music Hall. I knew I had to be there to witness this. I know I would rather see him in New York City than in Boston ... until Boston gave me a front row seat, and New York gave me a seat in SS after a mere 15 seconds of ticket sale time had passed, that is. THEN Boston was irresistible.
I didn’t know they had sold out until I got there. I knew I had to get out of the awful hotel for dinner – OH MY GOD that hotel was disgusting. Manhattan at Times Square. And it was actually a Sheraton! Absolutely disgusting. I swear I thought I was going to the other Sheraton across the street (7th Avenue and 51st-52nd Streets), and how I ended up in the garbage pit I ended up in I had no idea – another Sky Sadist gut-busting giggle fest, I’m guessing. Hit the wrong button, ended up in hell. No pool. No room service. In the middle of dangerous renovations. Filthy walls, filthy bathrooms, broken bed springs, angry employees - everything that could be wrong with the place WAS wrong with the place. I walked in the front door and went into shock, it was so awful.
I ran out to dinner and ended up at Morell’s Wine Bar & Cafe on 49th, just across Rockefeller Center from Radio City. When I came around the corner of 51st and saw “SOLD OUT” on the Radio City marquee, I swear, I grinned like a lunatic. My boys!!!! SOLD OUT! They claimed they were speechless. I wasn’t. Right at the corner of 51st and 6th, I shrieked, “Yes!”, and didn’t care who heard me, or even looked at me oddly.
Best dinner I’d had in ages, pan seared rock cod, shitake mushrooms, broccoli florets, sitting on a white wine and spinach puree; everything sprinkled with clover. Heavenly. Absolutely heavenly. A Tempranillo (which I should have written down but didn’t – and ask me if I care if it was a dark red with fish! No really. Go ahead and ask me) rounded it out, and the wine was exquisite. I should go get some. If I could remember what it was. Argh! But really. Heavenly.
Came back to the world’s most expensive and filthy garbage dump, eyed male urine droplets on the bathroom fixtures, tried not to puke, and took a shower. Then started dressing. Then realized I hadn’t packed any extra bras. (*sigh*) Oh, of course not!
The blessing? For once, my make-up went on flawlessly. Not a smudge on me.
Radio City was so bursting with people they sent us around to the side door to check bags and run wands up and down your clothes to make sure you weren’t sneaking a meth lab in under your coat in honor of “Breaking Bad”. Another blessing: my seat, even if it was an SS row, was on the aisle, so I didn’t have to trip over anyone to sit down.
They didn’t go with the silhouette opening, but did a live opening … and when those magnificent golden curtains lifted and everyone could see them, the entire hall erupted with cheers and shrieks. Thunderous. One of the first things Piero did was walk in an intense circle and you could see he was trying to ground an excess of frenetic energy
The concert was awesome. They were awesome. Don't believe me, go watch some of the videos on YouTube. I adore Il Volo - can you tell?
Losing track of an entire day in my inner mind’s calendar meant all sorts of other things went haywire. I realized on Sunday I should have picked up my newly cleaned comforter back on Wednesday, and had put it off thinking I had an extra day. Now it was Sunday and the store was closed.
The clothes washer in my apartment was now broken (of course it was!!); I’d never used the hell-on-earth that was the communal laundry room. Threw the dirty clothes into the machine along with the goop only to THEN read the sign on the wall that said, “No clothes washing after 8 am”. THEN discovered you had to pay a ridiculous $2 per load with a “card”, but no sign told you which “card” they meant. Credit card? Laundry card? What?
I had a washing machine in Seabrook, an hour away, but a car with a “service engine soon” light that kept going off and no way to get it looked at until the following weekend. I could have done my grocery shopping up in Seabrook, too, were it not for the fact that I needed ice cubes. The credit card didn’t work in the laundry room, so I now needed to get into my car and find a &^%$#@ laundromat. And I am so not happy about it I’m shaking with pissed-offed-ness.
Losing a day also meant that I would not have the time to get my blood work done as planned. I had to wait until next Saturday; messing up my ability to get the car worked on ... messing up my ability to get to Seabrook on the cusp of my having to fly to Raleigh for an entire f*cking week and sing kum-bah-yah in yet another bonding event.
I sat trembling in my apartment on Sunday morning, trying not to cry, desperately trying to think of blessings to recite.
Piero was kind enough to post photos of himself in Atlantic City, where they went post Radio City Music Hall ... in bed with a mirrored ceiling, and in a jacuzzi in his bedroom... both of which he found so refreshingly astonishing, he had to take photos of himself in both, looking like the King of Atlantic City.
I didn’t know they had sold out until I got there. I knew I had to get out of the awful hotel for dinner – OH MY GOD that hotel was disgusting. Manhattan at Times Square. And it was actually a Sheraton! Absolutely disgusting. I swear I thought I was going to the other Sheraton across the street (7th Avenue and 51st-52nd Streets), and how I ended up in the garbage pit I ended up in I had no idea – another Sky Sadist gut-busting giggle fest, I’m guessing. Hit the wrong button, ended up in hell. No pool. No room service. In the middle of dangerous renovations. Filthy walls, filthy bathrooms, broken bed springs, angry employees - everything that could be wrong with the place WAS wrong with the place. I walked in the front door and went into shock, it was so awful.
I ran out to dinner and ended up at Morell’s Wine Bar & Cafe on 49th, just across Rockefeller Center from Radio City. When I came around the corner of 51st and saw “SOLD OUT” on the Radio City marquee, I swear, I grinned like a lunatic. My boys!!!! SOLD OUT! They claimed they were speechless. I wasn’t. Right at the corner of 51st and 6th, I shrieked, “Yes!”, and didn’t care who heard me, or even looked at me oddly.
Best dinner I’d had in ages, pan seared rock cod, shitake mushrooms, broccoli florets, sitting on a white wine and spinach puree; everything sprinkled with clover. Heavenly. Absolutely heavenly. A Tempranillo (which I should have written down but didn’t – and ask me if I care if it was a dark red with fish! No really. Go ahead and ask me) rounded it out, and the wine was exquisite. I should go get some. If I could remember what it was. Argh! But really. Heavenly.
Came back to the world’s most expensive and filthy garbage dump, eyed male urine droplets on the bathroom fixtures, tried not to puke, and took a shower. Then started dressing. Then realized I hadn’t packed any extra bras. (*sigh*) Oh, of course not!
The blessing? For once, my make-up went on flawlessly. Not a smudge on me.
Radio City was so bursting with people they sent us around to the side door to check bags and run wands up and down your clothes to make sure you weren’t sneaking a meth lab in under your coat in honor of “Breaking Bad”. Another blessing: my seat, even if it was an SS row, was on the aisle, so I didn’t have to trip over anyone to sit down.
They didn’t go with the silhouette opening, but did a live opening … and when those magnificent golden curtains lifted and everyone could see them, the entire hall erupted with cheers and shrieks. Thunderous. One of the first things Piero did was walk in an intense circle and you could see he was trying to ground an excess of frenetic energy
The concert was awesome. They were awesome. Don't believe me, go watch some of the videos on YouTube. I adore Il Volo - can you tell?
Losing track of an entire day in my inner mind’s calendar meant all sorts of other things went haywire. I realized on Sunday I should have picked up my newly cleaned comforter back on Wednesday, and had put it off thinking I had an extra day. Now it was Sunday and the store was closed.
The clothes washer in my apartment was now broken (of course it was!!); I’d never used the hell-on-earth that was the communal laundry room. Threw the dirty clothes into the machine along with the goop only to THEN read the sign on the wall that said, “No clothes washing after 8 am”. THEN discovered you had to pay a ridiculous $2 per load with a “card”, but no sign told you which “card” they meant. Credit card? Laundry card? What?
I had a washing machine in Seabrook, an hour away, but a car with a “service engine soon” light that kept going off and no way to get it looked at until the following weekend. I could have done my grocery shopping up in Seabrook, too, were it not for the fact that I needed ice cubes. The credit card didn’t work in the laundry room, so I now needed to get into my car and find a &^%$#@ laundromat. And I am so not happy about it I’m shaking with pissed-offed-ness.
Losing a day also meant that I would not have the time to get my blood work done as planned. I had to wait until next Saturday; messing up my ability to get the car worked on ... messing up my ability to get to Seabrook on the cusp of my having to fly to Raleigh for an entire f*cking week and sing kum-bah-yah in yet another bonding event.
 |
| Piero Barone: The King of Atlantic City |
I sat trembling in my apartment on Sunday morning, trying not to cry, desperately trying to think of blessings to recite.
Piero was kind enough to post photos of himself in Atlantic City, where they went post Radio City Music Hall ... in bed with a mirrored ceiling, and in a jacuzzi in his bedroom... both of which he found so refreshingly astonishing, he had to take photos of himself in both, looking like the King of Atlantic City.
Sunday, September 29, 2013
New Home ... and Amtrak Needs to Fire Julie - Seriously
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.
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.
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).
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