It has been almost two months. I hurt my shoulder and hit a lull in the stress that shifted into various panics about health and finances. Halthaya is a fucking horrid thing, that drags you back and down into the malaise.
I’m really feeling that old, tiring, tired anxiety. Loneliness has also weighed against me. And the end of summer with its stir craziness and OMG—it’s almost over! BS.
So, yeah, I’ve fallen out of things. ________ vanishing for a week and a half exacerbates it. My toenail, my shoulder, job anxiety, no internet, [school] anxiety—the world sucking—well, I’ve noted the odd suicidal ideation and don’t know what to do but not fester inside.
I—don’t know what to do with the magic. Hine & co. would say to keep spelling, but—well—to what end? The same stuff I always want? I also feel tired, but now I feel stressed again. I sit just to relax? What can I spell that isn’t just psychology?
* * *
It’s been over two more months since I last wrote here. I invoked the aid of many back on the 9th and 10th to help support me in my [school stuff], and that trial is behind me, and I have thanked those whose aid I sought. Odin, Angus, Dagda, Lugh, Ogma, Dana, Freya, Athene.
Samhain approaches, and I think I should do something. It’s Wednesday night—maybe I should—I don’t know—feast and remember. There’s only one party, mostly with people I don’t know.
I have had a notion of late—I had it while walking and trying to embrace the Summerlands—there is a light that is myself and my ray, my path out of and into [the Star Goddess]. It shines and I—have—am, an imperfect lens through which that light shines into the world here. This indexical incarnation. The light, as I’ve previously considered in this codex, is both something removed but also a product—a result, a process?—of my gaze, of the act of seeing and looking towards myself. Often, I encrust myself so that I shine clouded and fettered, the shadow cast into the world warped and not as much my own as it could. (I try to reject absolute essentialities—and the idioms of commerce and commodification.)
Awareness of the light, the medium—my life, and existence in this realm and the chaos(mos); I think—and the process alters the process and the iterability of our experience through differentiation and particularity. My recent ideas about Deleuze, Agamben, and __________ have some bearing, but I must—well, light. The light and color of the Summerlands, of my connection to my “higher” “divine” self, to my “Pure One,” that’s what the light and shining touch. Life as celebration, as love & magic.
I grow abstract, I fear.
Thorn talks about the fire that we cultivate within us—but I wonder if light may be a better sense for me? Fire and light—fire as light, light as fire.
As a guiding metaphor, though, light can emanate—fire, for me, has a source, has fuel. It consumes. Light—well, strictly speaking, light requires these things, but I can imagine limitless, magical light better than fire. Oh, I am very much a being of fire—but—
I have also learned that paralysis has hindered me often. That I magnify my fears. I am more like Prufrock than I ever wanted to admit—I fear to dare, to dare to disturb the universe. And so I falter.
But [the Path] may be a matter of looking to see the path of our light, from where it seems to originate, through the imperfect lens and follow its path into the world. But, do not just think of oneself as a lens—always beware of metaphors—a shadow is also cast. We resemble the light that passes through, and we resemble the shadow cast.
I have—slept better of late. I had a long period of getting to sleep only to wake up from 5-8 and not be able to fall back asleep, consumed with anxiety. But—that’s aborted of late.
* * *
I celebrated Samhain tonight. Nothing too special. Consecrated the space. Spoke with Dana and the rest, asking for help, really. Meditated. Basic aligning. Relaxed. Tarot reading. There are—rough times ahead, I suspect. Not easy. Not—catastrophe, I don’t think.
I am tired and depressed and anxious. More tired at the moment, though. It is a new year.
* * *
________ made a small poppet to siphon “negative energies” and to scare off spirits of ill will. ____ anthropomorphized the poppet and felt sad for it, which derailed that a bit—but it got me thinking. I am not sure what to do, though—
I feel like it should be something that goes out into the world, something physical and ritualized in some way.
- Carve into candle and burn it
- Book of weird things you leave someplace—or a page with sigil(s) on it, burned or cast into the world
- get a sketchbook and sketch
- paper dolls? (that seems kind of appropriate, but lame)
So look into some watercolors and a sketchbook and pencils. Hell, crayons.
Also, habitual points of view are a problem. Look away from the monitors—look from new perspectives. If you need to break an obsessive thoughtform, move. Do a dance, a chicken dance.
I wish I knew how and what I was doodling.
Sa fah loh tee dah.
Devotional poetry—anaphoric poetry
Dana ________ The Earth, the Moon
The Sky The Sun The Stars
The Storms The Dark Sky
The Wind The Trees
 Written mid-August 2013.
 Written late October 2013.