I am here in ____________ at a park next to campus. It is a place of comparative quiet and calm in the sea of concrete 1960s industrial slab humanity that is ___________. Elethis and Dana stand in the same direction as they do in _______.
Koranith is strong and close here, and the sense of the cityscape is potent, but it does not foreclose Haisuith & the rest. It is not a matter of escaping Koranith—don’t think of it like that. It is more akin to filtering. The “Green” is here, thrusting up rhizomatic into the Scape, into Koranith, but it is possible to fashion communities in harmony with Haisuith and the Green—just as easy as anything else I think if you aren’t lazy or “capitalist.”
The sounds of birds, maybe a frog, and traffic and construction—The trees here, oaks, are probably some of the older ones here in ________, had I to guess.
Channeling [Elethis] and opening the chakras—especially outside in the Green—I feel like light and closer to Saiyûnor.
Learning to thrive in the Scapes, in Koranith without losing Saiyûnor and Haisuith is perhaps one of the reasons you’re here. You know the Green, are far more a part of it, but Koranith and its ilk have their purposes, their significance.
[WtaW] Here at this park.
Glamour is not “illusion”—it is art and beauty and aesthetics. It is the transfiguring light that transforms reality into experience. You can get caught up in it, slave to it; you can perform & adlib your role in it; or you can weave it & fashion it.
Glamour is a magic of everyday life & performance. It is omnipresent and on-going. “Magic” too often becomes segregated into a cell, a single place and set time. Ritual is handy, useful, at times sacred, but magic can go beyond “magical times” and into magical life.
Alamûri embraces this view, and the “innately magical” quality of fae & elves is mostly that we don’t segregate magic to special times. That magical mindset marks us as uncanny, fey, and weird to others.
As I settle into this park, Koranith seems to pull away into the distance. Or as I relax into the Green, at least.
I find myself wishing to explore more such places. Wish I had done so more often.
Dana is constant and always Present, as is Elethis—as am I, I think. I am _____; I am immortal in my manner, the shining spirit anchored to Faerie and to myself & my myriad existences. Eternal actor, art, and weaver and role/part, the artistic subject that authors and remixes itself into new settings and scenes and realms.
At a Starbucks now. Much more Koranith; much more the Scapes and ________ here.
There’s a sense of something—more ordered. Law, rigidity. By no means absolute, but those responsible for it want it to be. But the birds and animals don’t give a shit. And there is the underlying land, buried but throbbing under the concrete.
I think part of the trick is to look beyond the surface mask, the materialistic imposition, the banal “glamour” that you see and experience. Recognize it. Remember your presence. Assert subtly that presence. Know how to blend in. (I’m not sure I’m doing that very well.) Look up. The sky and trees defy rigidity, point to magic, the Chaos in the system.
Moving against the grain, off-path, helps, but calls attention to yourself. The Green is used as a release valve in Scapes—channel Chaos/Life into designated spots for aggressive control (gardening), but those also become marginal spaces & liminal. Without constant maintenance, they go wild. And urban decay functions similarly, but it goes off into hybrid territory until—eventually-nature triumphs and reclaims.
The Green creeps in all over the place.
One of the real fights I’ve had has been against boredom and tedium and the press of—I’ll call it Koranith, but it’s the press of the necessary mask or role performance circumstances impose. Too often, this role winds up being normative, often corporate CS BS. That’s what gets me annoyed and chafing against it all—and it’s easy for that performance to distract us. “Fake it until you make it”—or perform until you do—is one of the heaps of everyday existence, especially in mûl-ôl.
Back at the park. I decided during a re-read of Carroll that his quantum whatsit attempts to “scientize” CM have really fallen away since he wrote it—and the more science you know, the better rhetor you are, the more that paradigm becomes flawed. And I can’t take a lot of what he says seriously. Carroll is useful early on, but I suspect I’m not going to get much more out of him. Even Hine is more self-therapy than, well, magic. Where they are helpful is in deconditioning and resisting halthaya and more.
I want to move my arms and gesture and so on. I tighten my body and constrict my limbs too much. I guard my self, constrain, when I want to be free—it’s an acting issue, that touches on glamour and alamûri. I want to move of my own free will in the scene around me. People will note your movements, react and submit to them—you are a giant.
You should have tried acting. Not professionally—actually, you did that class at [uni]—
It’s also about relaxing into the scene, into the glamour, into your own body. Walking into a place with relaxed confidence. Not just the nonsense guys tell each other, but there is an element of that—I have to admit.
Koranith recedes away from the big streets—or the Scape does. The roads are the big ley-like lines, with traffic the currents of energy—people and their intentions–.
–roads and lines of traffic have always mattered, of course. Relative quiet, isolation also help.
There’s a cemetery in the park—I knew it was there—and it’s surrounded by a chain link fence. Outside, it doesn’t read as much. Hardly register it. Inside, you quickly feel it. The presence of the dead. Over 40+, if not 80+ dead women, children, and infants—numbered and named—and you feel something there. I paid my respects, but I did not linger or try to peer. And the fence does a surprisingly good job of hedging it all in. A boundary of metal, posts in the earth, marking the domain for the dead. Simple magicks of demarcation and definition. There’s a gate that’s open, but the fence seemed sufficient. And beyond is the Green space, the haven it is—then the Scape. And the crick forms yet another boundary.
The Dead and the Green.
The swaying of leaves and branches in the wind, it’s always something that spurs, focuses/calms, inspires me—reconnects me to magic in some way.
I had the notion earlier that we are tall, like the trees (not as tall as trees, but Tall, not “big”). Or we should be.
The trees in the cemetery were more sentinels than the others. But the dead changed them. They were not—well, like the others.