To write … or to be “a writer”?
The end of March, all of April and part of May were a write-off. My M.E. and reactive hypoglycemia flared up so I was bed-bound for around 15 -20 hours of every day. Hell. Things stabilised in May, although “stable” to me still means “affected every day by my illnesses”. Sadly I had to come off the raw vegan diet in order to reach some kind of balance again. I still hope to go back to it, or perhaps just to the transition diet, popularly known as Raw till 4, but at the moment I’m just trying to crack down on being vegan as it’s tough giving up dairy completely.
My writing has picked up. I am working through a poetry course at the moment, learning about form and structure as well as content. I am half-way through the course and already see an improvement in my poetry (none of it is published yet on my poetry blog). Today I wrote a sonnet pastiche on Tennyson’s “If I were loved as I desire to be”. I’m pleased with the result. I get such a buzz from writing the main draft of a poem or from getting a lot of editing work done. I’m currently working on one of the main submissions for the course, a poem about the deep sea. So far I have 14 pages of draft work for a 35 line poem.
Feedback from friends on my recent writing has been good, although they are always supportive and vocal in encouraging my work. Feedback from the other course participants is … interesting; peer criticism forms about 50% of the course and I’m finding it difficult to offer constructive criticism. In private I gasp, “Oh my god, that’s awful!” or “Wow! I love it!” and that’s about as constructive as it gets. I’m not yet in the right frame of mind to take their poetry apart and offer helpful, critical suggestions. This latter ability will soon get some practice as I’ve joined a local writers’ group and we will be holding co-writing sessions but also critiquing sessions. The challenge is to learn to offer criticism but also to take it. At least all this literary criticism is toughening me up. What does surprise me is when I encounter someone who is “published” but whose writing is pretty dire … then I think, “Hey, I’m not quite as crap as they are, maybe I could do that too!” The main difference between us is less the quality of work and more the extent of self-belief. THEY believe they are writers and self-identify as such. I keep viewing myself as a dabbler, and even though (in my opinion) some of my writing is better than theirs, I pull back from calling myself “a writer” because it smacks of delusions of grandeur. But maybe I need to be a little more grand and a little more deluded if I’m ever going to make anything of my writing!
©StarofSeshat 2013
Easter weekend catch-up
It’s Easter weekend and the sky continues to try and snow, throwing down a sprinkling of flakes while frowning grey clouds upon an earth seemingly impervious to the rising sap that must be there, somewhere, hidden in the frozen ground.
I chanced a religious joke with my mother that involved Jesus hopping … it didn’t go down too well as “Our Lord” doesn’t do such things. Transubstantiation and walking on water is within his remit but hopping is for heathens, apparently.
Ghost now has a shoebox in her cage. She is blind, neurotic and scared of the world, but the shoebox makes her brave. If I touch her outside the box she squeals in pain and anguish, shudders and shrugs me off as if it is the worst thing in the world to be touched. But if I can trick her to jump into the shoebox, suddenly she collapses under my touch into a tooth-grinding flat rat with eyeballs rolling in her head with pleasure. The shoebox is obviously her G-spot.
I have set up a new blog today, one that will contain mainly my own poetry but also other poetry that appeals to me. In less than a month I shall begin a poetry writing course. I’m excited and keen to get my bardic finger out. I find that poetry is often the best way to exorcise a powerful emotion, quick and painful though it can be; prose is a long drawn out affair that tends to pull me into navel-gazing martyrdom. The link to my new blog is here: Seshat’s House of Poetry.
My back is gradually seizing up and I am desperate for a massage. Sadly my previous masseuse left the beauty salon. The salon has a high turnover of staff, which is never a good sign. The owner is a bitch with a penchant for blonde staff members; one of the masseuses wondered if her boss might be trying to establish her own Aryan Nation. After having seen her out in casual military wear, looking like a Dominatrix about to walk over someone’s face, I wouldn’t be surprised. The issue was complicated further by the salon refusing to massage me until FOUR months after my hysterectomy because they were concerned that I would pop open and spill my guts like someone standing on an ice cream. A ridiculous idea, and contraindications for massage after hysterectomies are 6 weeks, not four months. So now I’m on the lookout for a masseuse who won’t treat me like an overstuffed sausage ready to burst its skin.
Below a photo I took of purple crocuses down by the river, before the most recent cold spell:
©StarofSeshat 2013
A healing start to the year
It’s easy after months of not blogging to develop something like a phobia against tapping at the keyboard again. Much has been happening in my private/spiritual life that is not for public consumption; not everything has to be announced to the world. And as I practice my reserve, I find it becomes more and more natural just to remain quiet. So why break the silence? It’s not because I have something to declare or important things to share, it is merely an inner urge to write – and this is my forum.
The year has begun with a huge focus on the physical body and health. As many of you know, my health is not the best and hasn’t been for the last 9 years. I had been looking forward to my 30s, but instead I fell ill when I was 29 and have spent nearly a decade reeling from one health crisis to another.
In January I had a hysterectomy to get rid of fibroid tumours in my womb. I am still in recovery having to take things a little easier than normal … initially a lot easier as I wasn’t allowed to lift anything heavier than a large glass of water.
New Year’s passed me by because in my head this operation was my “New Year”. It is major surgery and entailed risky complications at the very least. If I survived … if I didn’t succumb to infection or complications … then it would be a new beginning, a new relationship with my body – this is what I thought to myself.
I spent 2 months prior to the operation researching the effect of hysterectomies on gender identity and the essence of what it is to be a woman. I read medical texts and feminist literature. I read about bodies, hearts, minds and social roles. The only conclusion I came to from all the personal interviews was that I could not in any way predict how I would feel after the hysterectomy: some women who never wanted children, suddenly found that they grieved their childlessness, other women who were secure in their womanliness felt threatened and “less” of a woman.
My own response has been balanced and undramatic. I think I did all my grieving, questioning, worrying and oscillating in the months before so that after the operation I could just focus on my body. And that is what I have done.
Recently I have changed my diet to a low fat rawfood vegan diet (no more cooking!). According to the Mayo Clinic (the leading body for scientific research into Fibromyalgia), this is the best diet in terms of reducing symptoms of Fibromyalgia. Would I recommend this diet to other people? Am I going to become a vehement advocate preaching the benefits to non-Vegan cooks? Nope. In fact I would go so far as to advise people not to do this diet unless they absolutely, definitely wanted to. It’s a tough diet and not for anyone who is half-hearted about their health or looking for a quick fix. I hope I can stick at it. I already see the benefits for me personally, and that’s the most important thing. If you’re interested in learning more about the raw vegan diet, see my Minimalist blog: HERE
Since losing my womb I have made a conscious effort to connect with the cycles of the moon. I am once again doing regular ritual work at the new and full moon. It’s been a busy time since my operation what with Imbolc, the moon cycles and the upcoming Spring Equinox. It’s good to exercise my ritual finger after it being so long dormant. Ritual connects me with the seasonal cycles, the astrological movements, my own body’s rhythms and the spirit world. It is healing and empowering on so many levels.
In addition to ritual I am meditating more often, having found meditative approaches that work for me – sometimes mantra based, sometimes visualisation based, object focused or “blank mind”.
Every day I am making an effort to connect positively with my physical self. I am working hard at my own healing process, focused on the future and the will I wish to make manifest. Consequently I am feeling for the most part strong, content, positive, hopeful and physically connected. Yes, I still have wobbly moments and down days, but I am moving forwards and beyond that.
The key for me is a multi-directional approach: I do not work just with my body, but with my mind, heart and soul as well. No part of the self should remain untouched when striving for healing. We cannot compartmentalise our existence and focus on one part to the exclusion of the whole. Healing is a holistic experience, if not, then most likely we are just putting plasters over broken bones.
©StarofSeshat 2013
Where’s Seshat?
See if you can spot me in this beautiful video, entitled Erbeth Transmission I. I am there as a piece of artwork by Lloyd Keane:
Lashtal thread: The Knowledge and Conversation of the Evil Genius
An interesting thread on Lashtal covering LHP, HGA, Evil Genius, Black Brotherhood, etc. Worth a read:
LASHTAL THREAD
Chakras: Sahasrara
Chakras are centres of energy which govern certain zones of the body; they convey energy between dimensions (or planes of existence) and are centres of subtle forces, the generation of prana (energy) and higher consciousness.
Sahasrara is located at the crown of the head or is sometimes considered to be above the physical body. Its lotus contains a thousand petals, of which five represent all the letters of the Sanskrit alphabet. Through this chakra, universal existence, with no boundaries of “I” consciousness in the body, is realised.
Parambrahma rules this chakra, symbolised by the triangle of consciousness (called Veeja). This centre represents the overcoming of obstacles, and merging into the void, or the supreme light beyond form, an experience beyond description, according to most yogic scriptures and saints.
Meditating here enables one to cross the boundaries of creation, preservation and destruction so you can taste the sweet nectar (amrita) that flows in a constant stream from Sahasrara. One is no longer subjected to birth or death. At this state of awakening, individual identity disappears forever and one identifies with supreme consciousness. Remember that the deathless state does not mean one will never leave the body, but rather that the conscious mind merging with the infinite is achieved as a permanent state which will not be disrupted by the body dying.
Brahma
Chakra Structure
Sat Nam
Seshat
Information source: Energies of Transformation, A Guide to the Kundalini Process, by Bonnie Greenwell PhD.
©StarofSeshat 2012
Chakras: Ajna
Chakras are centres of energy which govern certain zones of the body; they convey energy between dimensions (or planes of existence) and are centres of subtle forces, the generation of prana (energy) and higher consciousness.
Ajna is located between the two eyebrows and is the source of two nervous flows, one through the eyes and the other through the mid-brain.
This chakra governs inner vision and the dynamic activities of will and knowledge. This “third eye” is associated in many cultures with light, inner knowledge, intuition and psychic abilities. Opening this chakra involves the integration of both the intellectual and emotional poles. When Kundalini reaches this chakra, consciousness transforms.
The goddess of Ajna is Hakini Shakti, with six faces and six arms. When she is red this indicates Kundalini knowledge is fully awakened; when white she represents a state of calm; when dark-blue she is about to proceed into a formless state. If seen as a mixture of white, red and black she is demonstrating a blending of the three gunas – sattva (harmonious consciousness), rajas (activity) and tamas (inertia).
Meditation on this chakra is said to bring visions of the highest truth and ultimately the wisdom of the Self, the highest knowledge. It is often referred to as the governing chakra for all of the others, and some yogis recommend concentration only on the ajna, or initially there, before awakening the energies of other chakras. It can affect the development of the qualities inherent in all of the preceding chakras, and enable an aspirant to reach a state of non-dual awareness. Complete mastery of the lower chakras is believed to be only possible once you have acquainted yourself with ajna.
Hakini Shakti – Ajna Chakra
Sat Nam
Seshat
Information source: Energies of Transformation, A Guide to the Kundalini Process, by Bonnie Greenwell PhD.
©StarofSeshat 2012
Chakras: Visuddha
Chakras are centres of energy which govern certain zones of the body; they convey energy between dimensions (or planes of existence) and are centres of subtle forces, the generation of prana (energy) and higher consciousness.
Visuddha is located in the neck. The lotus petals, of which it has 16, are grey or silver (sometimes a smokey purple).
These petals contain seven notes of the musical scale, poison and nectar, and seven “calls” used for exorcism, sacrifice, fire ceremonies, self-determination, blessing and exaltations.
Associated with the power of projection or expression, this suggests the beginning of priestly or occult powers.
This chakra is also associated with conquest of the ethereal state of matter which governs the expressive mind. Visuddha is an expression of creative activity and inspiration, along with the ability to receive nurturing and connecting with the inner source of grace: the inner giver and receiver are one.
Energising this chakra involves devotional practices such as ritual, prayer, chanting, using sound vibration and creative expression.
The god of this chakra is Siva in a half-male, half-female form (Ardhanariswara) sitting on a white elephant accompanied by the yellow Sakini Sakti (goddess) with four hands. Whereas he has mastered diverse knowledge, she reigns in the lunar region, over the minor mysteries.
Visuddha controls both arms and is the centre of sense-withdrawal (pratyahara). Through concentration on Visuddha, one loses sensitivity to heat, cold, pain, pressure, touch and temperature in the arms. The tantras say its instrument is the ears, used in such a way that the sounds of the world are not distracting and only one sound is heard: nada (a less intense sound of Om) or the name of God.
Meditation on this chakra brings one to the threshold of liberation.
Ardhanariswara
Visuddha chakra
Sat Nam
Seshat
Information source: Energies of Transformation, A Guide to the Kundalini Process, by Bonnie Greenwell PhD.
©StarofSeshat 2012
She returns
I was up till 4am this morning revamping a new look for the blog. Having returned after a long hiatus, I felt that the old look smacked too much of the past: friendships and relationships gone, moods and events I have lived through and survived. I am more focused in the present with a hopeful eye to the future these days. The past may still haunt me on the odd occasion, but it no longer masters me. I have moved on.
Connecting with like-minded others has been key to me returning to the blog. It is so nice to have a conversation about things occult where you don’t have to teach someone the language you are using to converse with. I no longer have the tolerance or wish to sit opposite vacant eyes and blank faces while I speak about my path; I prefer to save those cherished words for someone who can say, “Yes, I understand” and “Exactly!”. I have been lucky to meet some great people within the occult community, who embrace me for who I am and nod in recognition of the way I walk through life; it may not be their way, but they see a seeker in me, just like themselves.
For those of you interested in the more personal details: Queenie is no longer with me, she passed away earlier this year with a brain tumour. So it is now just me and Ghost, my partially blind, neurotic, albino rat.
I have become a Hypnodomme: a Domme who works with hypnosis to induce and cultivate submission and submissive experiences in (primarily) men. I have been doing this for a year now, and it is hugely fulfilling on several levels. I have dedicated this work to Pomba Gira, who brought me to hypnodomming in the first place. I always said that I wished I had an alter-ego, although I imagined more of a Carmen Miranda sashaying into the room with a pile of fruit on her head. My alter-ego teaches me to be stronger and to engage from a platform of strength. It has been a very healing journey, but not without its bumps in the road. Pomba Gira will bring about change in your life by turning things on their head and shaking you apart in a whirlwind of swirling doves. But She always brings me to a better place, as long as I keep striving forward in my service to Her.
I have been reading about ophiolatry (snake worship) in Ancient Egypt, and I may write an article in the future about that. But I shall finish the pathwork I began through the chakras. I will put together links of all the chakra articles, so that you can then read them in one go. I am inspired to return to the chakras as I am working on doing a series of trances based on the chakras. I have also been asked to do a workshop for a Tantric Temple, so as basics for my preparation I shall be exploring the eroticism and sensuality found within each chakra.
I hope you enjoy the new look of the blog and find something of interest in each of my posts. Please do subscribe to the blog using the Email Subscription button on the top right side of the homepage.
It’s good to be back after so long.
Seshat
©StarofSeshat 2012
Podcast with Scarlet Imprint
Worth listening to:
Geb, Nut and the role of Shu
I was asked for my personal response on the following well-researched essay: The Symbolic Meaning of the Scene of Geb, Nut and Shu by Joost Kramer
My first response to the text is to question why the author hasn’t tried to determine what is meant by sky and earth. He has assumed that Geb and Nut represent the profane elements and that the separation or upholding of Nut is a cosmological scene, “merely” a creation scene. Even though he queries this, he still does not question what else Geb/earth/underworld and Nut/sky/the stars might represent.
The arching figure of Nut, as he says, ranges from east to west; he identifies the east, her “backside” as he so quaintly puts it, as the origin of birth, the place where the sun rises – the west is the place of the setting sun (where the sun is eaten by Nut – conception was often depicted by ingestion in Egyptian myth) and the entry point to the underworld where the night barge travels, battling Apophis in an eternal fight to resurrect the sun each day. Nut in this sense can be seen as the daytime pathway, or the pathway of conscious awareness.
The fact that Geb is indicated to have Osirian overtones in his title as Lord of the Netherworld is interesting and ties in with my hypothesis above. Geb may be the father of Osiris, but there is a school of thought that all gods are emanations of the gods before them leading back to Atum or to Nun (the primordial watery abyss from which all things came); so I do not see a contradiction in one deity being another and yet being separate. As such I would suggest that Geb represents not only the Underworld and the world of the dead but the deep unconscious, the primordial being within each of us, The Hidden.
The author, in his attempt to explain the separation scene, has concluded it is not a separation scene (although he continues to refer to it as “the separation scene”) but simultaneously has, I think, neglected to consider the symbolism of Shu standing on Geb and supporting Nut. I think the author is correct in seeing a sense of movement in the scene, a cycle of life, the cycle of the day; and naturally within a funerary context it would be easy to conclude that it is merely a representation of the death and resurrection of the corpse concerned.
But what about the meaning for the living. Who is Shu? Interestingly, Shu means “emptiness” or “he who rises up”. I would posit that Shu is us, that we are Shu and only by standing with our feet in the underworld, while supporting the stars (cf Aleister Crowley – Every man and every woman is a star) can we engage ourselves with the cosmic movement of deity, really align ourselves with the daily triumph of Atum over his enemies and the nightly battle with the primordial demons of our inner, hidden selves. Shu is also identified with “air”, an amorphous thing that can only be sensed by the external movement of say the wind, but without which we cannot survive.
Within this scene, I would not see separation, but an absolute necessity of joining; an emergence of the Übermench, the human being that takes an active role in the spiritual cycle: a person who becomes empty and whose spirit is raised up – but just as a living person cannot progress by solely burying their head in the ground of the dead, neither can they progress if they give into the purely conscious, profane world with its beautiful distractions. It would be so easy to spend a life just watching the sun moving across the sky and to watch the twinkling stars without seeking beyond the light reflecting off our own retinas.
©StarofSeshat 2012
Rant alert: Bandy Gnostics ;)
I’ve been feeling a little blah today. A flat-liner day, reflected in the grim winter weather that has robbed the world of colour, encasing the sky in grey, sapping vigour from anyone and anything.
I have several occult books on the go at the moment – a case of double-dipping multiplied by factor χ. The foreword in one book is a concatenation of obfuscating terminology … just like that sentence. It makes me want to shake her and demand why she has to veil the simplest of things in sentences that wrap themselves around and strangulate your left temporal lobe (governing language and comprehension). I attended a talk by this woman, and she’s no better in person. I listened for about fifteen minutes and then whispered to my friend, “Are you understanding any of this? I think my brain must have died after I left university…” But no, my friend looked up from a doodle on her pad and scribbled, “She’s talking rubbish!” Who knows if she was or wasn’t? She seems innately incapable of clear and simple communication, and yet she is published and called on for talks. Hey-ho. Horses for courses. Maybe my brain is just not hardwired to understand her. Like sexual chemistry, our lobe chemistry is so radically different we could never indulge in pleasurable intercourse.
Thankfully I’m not having the same issue with other books … in spite of some abysmal editing and poor translations. My proofreader and editor head just won’t switch off. When I think of the number of editing and proofreading runs a translation would go through in my job, I wonder if some of these occult books get barely a cursory read-through before being approved for print. Why oh why can’t there be quality writing with good information in all occult books, instead of in just a cherished few? Sometimes it feels like any old magickian/witch can publish any old shit. Oh AND, it’s doing my head in that so many seem to be jumping on the back of David Beth’s Voudon Gnosis and are flinging around the word gnosis like it gives them kudos just to bandy the word around. I have followed several writers for years, and it is only since the success of David’s books that certain people have started to define themselves as Gnostics and use the word gnosis. I don’t think this is a coincidence. Sad, sad to be the ducks following in the wake of a sailing ship.
Ooh, I’m being a bit of a bitch today, hey? Must be hormones removing the censors of bland pleasantries. That’s the benefit of being independent and “unaffiliated”, I can just say it how I see – personal opinion. Never take my word for it. Read and draw your own conclusions.
A slightly peeved
Seshat
©Starofseshat 2011
THE BLACK HEART CAMPAIGN
Heads on fire and drunken lights
Oh, days devoured by hungry nights
In love’s secret domain…
- Coil, “Love’s Secret Domain”
The Black Heart Campaign is an art project, marketing initiative and magical crusade raising awareness on behalf of Love. Not the bloodless, homogenized, socialized Love that already gets so much lip service in this world today. Wild Love, Dark Love, Heretical Love, Unpopular Love, Dangerous Love. The Black Heart Campaign aims to acknowledge such Love and to enthusiastically celebrate it.
One immediately thinks of romantic feelings and sexuality. These are Big Things, obviously, and should certainly be taken to their own fullest and most idiosyncratic expressions – but the Black Heart Campaign also encompasses much more. It is total. It encompasses every aspect of life and existence.
The psychologist Abraham Maslow showed that people generally have the same types of needs: air, water, food, shelter, sexual satisfaction, friendship and intimacy, intellectual and aesthetic stimulation and personal growth and fulfillment. The problem is that there are so many people who decide upon specific ideals, models and rules for how these needs should be expressed and fulfilled, and that these ideals, models and rules are correct for everyone. Some of us disagree – and disagree strongly – with these ideals, models and rules. Subcultures form around the alternatives.
Those of us who have travelled through various subcultures that embrace the “dark” or “extreme” aspects of existence can often be characterized by a spirit of pure revolt against the standards, values and aesthetics of Everybody Else. This is completely understandable. However, we must recognize that all of the time and energy that we give to the hating of what we hate is time and energy that is taken away from the loving of what we love. That hate, itself, can be great fun in measured doses – but if we look honestly at ourselves and those around us, we are forced to admit that this is often excessive.
The Black Heart Campaign aims to shift the balance.
The Love that flows from the Black Heart is not sloppy, syrupy or sentimental. It is not a Love that turns the other cheek. It is certainly not an “unconditional” Love, because no such thing can truly exist. We love something or someone because we find it or them to be exceptional and preferable to something or someone else – it or they satisfy a unique need or desire – and this is the condition that can never be absent in love.
Your energies flow in the direction of your attention. Your attention is, itself, an energy. Obviously, psychologically, what you focus your attention on expands and becomes stronger in your mind and in your life. Not-so-obviously, magically, what you focus your attention on expands and becomes stronger in the world. What do you want to nurture and empower with your attention? What nurtures and empowers you or what diminishes and weakens you? What you love or what you hate? Do not dilute your attention and scatter your energies – concentrate them! Lavish your attention and love on what and who brings you joy and watch those things grow.
Furthermore, expressing and pursuing your Deep Desire(s) is the only path that will take you to your kindred friends, allies, lovers and others that share your passions and can help you to fulfill and enjoy them. How else could you find each other? The actions that you take in your pursuit of your obsessions will take you to where the others are. Your forthrightness about them will help the others to recognize you.
So, look deep within your own Black Heart and find the ideas, images, sounds, smells, tastes and feelings that most electrify your soul. Bring them forth, hunt them down, draw them to you and weave a life of wonder from them. Make that life an eternal flame of ecstasy and freedom, the blazing glory of the Black Heart.
Edward Pandemonium, Halloween XLVI/2011
Self and Other …
Whoremoans [sic]… Yesterday was a day when things flipped on the edge of a coin. Great one minute, in tears the next; everything feeling poignant. Months ago in such a hormonally driven state I cried when I saw a dancing dog. Really? It’s just a dog. But it’s dancing! Sob!
The brilliant biting sun of yesterday replaced today by clouds and a deeper chill. The ground is still too warm, throwing up crocuses and spring flowers which will all be killed with the first frost. So much death on the horizon – winter creeping up and taking us by surprise. The reasoning mind noting the excess of berries on the tree; people drawing on old folklore about heavy berry harvests meaning a harsh winter. Geese flying in Vs, unsure which direction they should head in. Robins happy but not looking fat enough to survive, as the instinct to overeat and build a fat reserve is inhibited by the plethora of insects still buzzing on warm days … even the odd wasp and bee. Bees should be sleeping deeply and dreaming of flowers by now.
I sat in the garden yesterday writing A Plan, saw Other (the local stray cat – named Other by me and my neighbour as he is the “other cat” who doesn’t belong round here). I called to him. The look of recognition and joy touched me as he scampered down the wall and pegged it down the long garden to see me (good job he didn’t start dancing). Normally he is such a reticent cat. Our first moment of contact was during a session of yoga in the garden. I settled into lotus for meditation and when I opened my eyes there he was sitting in front of me just staring – from awareness of Self to Other. That was the first time he let me touch him. Since then he can be approached cautiously. The last time his lip caught on a fang and I saw the beautiful skull underneath his black and white fur: “When you die, will you rot in my garden? Will you? Hmm? Will you? Purrrr. Do that for me!”
I’m in skull withdrawal and the paltry offerings of commercial Halloween do nothing to satiate my need for bone or decorative skullwork. Samhain fast approaching. Some acquaintances off doing their own thing – apparently I’m too “dark” for them. I think they are right. I have something else planned with Others: part of three days of ritual – one day for me, one day for a man I care deeply about, one for me and my friends. And so my own awareness expands from Self to Other.
Last night I finally finished Leonora Carrington’s book, Down Below. This is the problem with reading 20+ books at the same time, I am a water-book-boatman, skimming over the waters, drawing lines between ideas and reading deeper meanings into connections between multiple sources. I believe each moment to be an opportunity to experience a greater lesson than just the words on one piece of paper or the words from one person’s mouth. Rarely do I dive into just a single book, but that too is a refreshing and different lesson, necessary at times.
Her final words describe how she slipped from madness to lucidity through the words of a “reasonable man”. The world in which she had guided the planets and seen the true nature (or warped nature) of those around her dissipated like mist on the river. “He ‘deoccultized’ the mystery with which I was surrounded…” She realised that medication was just medication not a form of hypnotism, and that her obsessions with one man (who patently took advantage of her vulnerable state) could be broken by having sex with another.
All in all a most unsatisfactory ending; but such are endings in life. Encounters, situations and people are rarely cut clean and tied up with a nice bow. It’s a blood and guts affair that hurts, but with awareness it is a pain of purging not festering.
An awareness of Self and an awareness of Other – at times an inseparable dance or a balderdashing bashing of heads. But My time is currently one not of moulding Myself to anOther’s needs and feelings but of re-creating My sense of Self and Being. If Other fits My “occult” world, it may stay; if not, it may be deoccultized, as I continue to defy that thing called a “reasoning and reasonable mind”.
©StarofSeshat 2011
African Alchemy’s post: Red Ink
Copied from my dear friend at African Alchemy, her post RED INK:
Slavoj Žižek at OccupyWallStreet going viral:
So what are we doing here? Let me tell you a wonderful, old joke from Communist times. A guy was sent from East Germany to work in Siberia. He knew his mail would be read by censors, so he told his friends: “Let’s establish a code. If a letter you get from me is written in blue ink, it is true what I say. If it is written in red ink, it is false.” After a month, his friends get the first letter. Everything is in blue. It says, this letter: “Everything is wonderful here. Stores are full of good food. Movie theatres show good films from the west. Apartments are large and luxurious. The only thing you cannot buy is red ink.” This is how we live. We have all the freedoms we want. But what we are missing is red ink: the language to articulate our non-freedom. The way we are taught to speak about freedom— war on terror and so on—falsifies freedom. And this is what you are doing here. You are giving all of us red ink…
Woman as Guerrilla Art
I’m tamping furious that the bastard council didn’t even let the Guerrilla art stand for a week before they removed it (see this link -> HERE). The area looked sanitised and wiped clean, the presence of the two stags still hanging somewhere in the air.
I have been slowly digesting yesterday which was a pretty dire day. Woman wasn’t at art group. She has injured herself. I was surprised/not-surprised at the lack of emotion in me at that news. I found it interesting that Alpha Psych who so patently has a thing for her, gravitated to her seat and spoke about her art with the postscript, “Although we shouldn’t talk about her when she’s not here.” Preferably not at all, I thought. I find her simpering, weak-woman ways irritating. She is one of those women who plays the helpless female, batting her eyelashes like she’s in a sand storm. I look to the men and see with horror that they fall for this manipulation. It may look endearing in a woman under thirty, but post-50 you really need to chuck the hormone replacement and grow a pair.
As I walked past the copse cleared of stag-art, I thought about how nearly every female friend has confessed to me that they have hairs on their toes … as if it is an admission of something grotesque, anti-social and, even, inhuman. We are primates. We have hair, we have odours, we need food and sex. We are not hairless, odourless, silicone sculpted, poison-injected doll substitutes but creatures with lumps and bumps, blemishes and squidgy bits. We are not sanitised areas cultivated with weed killer, we are living Guerrilla art… and we too are subject to removal.
Sometimes we remove ourselves, sometimes others remove us. In my own case, one indicator of my Presence is an acknowledgement of my needs and the subsequent follow-through. Plastic dolls have no needs. Guerilla art demands your attention and emotional response.
Recently, people keep asking me, “What can I do for you? Is there something I can do for you?” and the question surprises me each time, baffles me, leaving my mind to scrabble for something, the multiple censors hacking at thoughts like a series of slicing blades, trying to find something to say, something doable, something that isn’t “too much”. Asking for anything is a HUGE force of will for me. The double edge of this being that if I do ask for something (and usually I will start with something very, very little like “message me”) and for some reason it is not possible, or life gets in the way for no other reason than life throws a curve ball, then I take that as proof that I am plastic to that person; I withdraw and shut down.
In my five-year relationship with my abusive ex I asked for something once. We lived in a small flat. I was in the living room, he was in the kitchen, and I asked him to please bring me a glass. He was so enraged that he grabbed the dirtiest glass and tossed it at me on the sofa. Serves me right for relaxing enough to think I could ask for something… except of course, now I think, what a tosser (literally and metaphorically)!
But things are very different these days. I am a different person, changing rapidly, although I still really struggle with asking for things. Fantasy is one thing, reality is another.
After my massage which has left me feeling marvelous and fully anchored in my squidgy femaleness, I went for a coffee at my favourite cafe. I saw an interestingly lopsided coffee and walnut cake and asked for a slice (that was always my favourite as a child … the thrill of surreptitiously sneaking in a hit of caffeine as I wasn’t allowed coffee or tea until older, the same justification saw me develop a love of rum and raisin ice cream … !). As the manager cut me a slice, she nodded to the new cook, a young girl, and said, “Cake looks lovely, K.” And it was, so I took the time to scare the bejeezes out of K. by sneaking up on her and growling “Gorgeous cake” in her ear … She blushed and looked chuffed to bits, nervous because cake-making is her new endeavour in the kitchen.
I hate it when women diss other women, when they sit in a public place, point and list the faults. “Look at her extensions! Look at her belly! Look at the way she’s dressed.” It used to be easier to mumble agreement, but actually, no: the girl with the bad extensions has a pretty face, the woman with the big belly looks like she would be a real laugh and great to cuddle, and the woman with the odd clothes looks like she doesn’t give a shit, so yay for her!
I always make the effort to acknowledge the good things about women (I don’t say anything to men because the usual assumption then is that you are cracking onto them … booooring!). When I worked in the bookshop, a woman came in with her 80+ year old mother in a wheelchair. The old woman had fancy nails, and I said how lovely her nails looked. Her face lit up like a beacon, “Really?! I’ve never had a manicure before, my daughter just took me this morning!” and she beamed with pride. I was so pleased I said something, kicking aside that cruddy English reserve that means you “shouldn’t” engage on a personal level with strangers (I only engage personally, incapable of doing otherwise).
The thing is, women need that positive feedback. And I hate women who enforce the negative cycle of synthetic moulding, the belief that anyone else should conform to anyone else’s ideas. Yes, men play a huge role in this; whatever the pundits say, this is still a patriarchal society. And as a friend and I joked recently when discussing weight, the last thing you want from a man is a bloody solution (have you tried such-and-such, why don’t you go on a diet)! No, what you need then is for him to say you are gorgeous and perfect, because to be honest, you probably are: note how I slip easily into pointing the finger away from myself to you – I can dish the compliments, although I struggle to take them. But I do love those friends who have actually said they are willing to invest “years” into complimenting me until it finally sinks in … drip, drip, drip – it feeds my parched soul and yes, I do feel the desert in me starting to bloom, for which I thank you.
So, embrace the gorilla [sic] in yourself! Be hairy and smelly. Eat and have sex. Be beautiful, because you just are.
©StarofSeshat 2011
Scarlet Imprint on The Tower & Armageddon – Seshat on a microcosmic response
Thrilled today to find that Scarlet Imprint had posted a new blog entry with a field recording of Peter (one of my favourite magickians in “the public eye”) giving a talk on Armageddon, Babalon and the challenge facing us as individuals and as humanity.
Here is the blog post:
… do take the time to listen to the entire talk, unlike many speakers, Peter is very easy to listen to and the time flies by. I know that we are all attuned to 5 minute focus these days, but push yourself a bit!
The talk was interesting for me on a personal level for several reasons. Babalon entered my life in 2008; during that time she stripped me bare, turned my life upside down and threw me into a period of extreme turmoil and terror. After my last (and hopefully last) suicide attempt, I awoke initially peeved at the world, that it was still there and I still had to engage with it. A month later, Pomba Gira came down on me and I became her devotee. In turn, she has also stormed through my life, but in a gentle-raucous way, the way that extreme laughter can make you hurt but feel so good. So much has changed both in my head and heart since she came to me (and by coincidence Scarlet Imprint have recently released a book on Pomba Gira: Pomba Gira and the Quimbanda of Mbumba Nzila by Nicholaj de Mattos Frisvold – I will be reading that after my current study book, Holy Harlots, Femininity, Sexuality, & Black Magic in Brazil by Kelly E. Hayes).
In the talk, Peter spoke about Armageddon and the need for magickians to respond (I won’t detail his talk here, because I really think you should listen to it yourself). All of what he said reflected my own thoughts over the last couple of years, and my own personal revelations – yes, on a macrocosmic level, but more specifically on a microcosmic level. And just as I have struggled with the concept of my own life being something I wished to preserve, so part of me listened and thought, “Is humanity worth saving?” Through my own studies in paleontology I have seen a distinct pattern in the life of the earth and its animals, and our own destruction, in which ever form, seems inevitable and justified. In my own mind, I do not see that Armageddon is coming, but that it has come, it is too late for mankind [sic], but not for individuals – as contradictory as that may sound.
I agree that there is huge benefit in learning a martial art, connecting with like-minded communities (specifically within the magickal subculture), learning how to glean our needs directly from nature rather than relying on oil-driven industries: yes, all of that is right and rather along the lines of “good advice will never harm you, even if it won’t directly cure the situation” (not that Peter was suggesting a “cure”).
But I am drawn once again to reiterating things I have been saying for years and experiencing for years. There is a need for us to drastically dispense with the trappings of our “social selves”, to realise that the persona we project is usually not who we truly are. Mental health is a case in point: where else do you see such a dramatic and often violent stripping of the social niceties to reveal the true bones of a psyche, often damaged by the demands and experiences of a sick world. We become the earth, walking examples of excessive stress, tired hypocampi, exhausted adrenal systems. We are ravaged and pile-driven, raped in the head, raped in the body – literally and figuratively. And like some inverse homeopathy we continue to feed the disease with more disease: as pagans filling our heads with fluff and saleable shit, buying our spirituality with the “must-have wand”, the matching cloak … all the while we are layering more and more plastic turf over polluted ground, allowing the pollution to sink deeper and deeper into our souls.
There is something in experiencing the head-smack of mental health WHILE practising consciousness and awareness, because you can bypass years of deconstruction and experience the polluted soul much more quickly than, say, someone who is stuck at the material level of life consumption and believes themselves to be “well”.
My last suicide attempt shook something within me and my health in very many ways has started to climb since then. It felt like a final purge of soul pollution, and even though I experience the dregs occasionally, I am in a place of construction and re-formation, aided by by the spirits of Lucky Hoodoo and my devotion to Pomba Gira.
I doubt I am expressing myself half as eloquently as Peter, but the point I want to make is that we, as magickians and witches, should not get stuck at stock-piling cans of peaches because I personally believe that nothing will save our world, and this is a natural cycle on this particular planet. But there is a microcosmic Armageddon playing itself out within each of us, and it is up to us individually as to whether we respond to it or die face down in the poisoned earth. There is more than this planet, and the transmutation of our Selves has to go hand-in-hand, or even take priority, over what we can change in the visible, mundane world. What we see is merely an echo of a greater reality; our microcosmic experience broadcasts a macrocosmic echo.
One night I was walking and saw a tree. Then I saw through the tree and experienced the essence that was expressing itself as a tree in this world. There is a dire need for us to find our own essence, the point of being that is represented as us on this plane of existence: because who we think we are, is not who we truly are. And if we continue not-knowing, that will be our own personal, inevitable Armageddon.
©StarofSeshat 2011
My face in a tea-cup
Today I went to my private spot at the cathedral, had a cup of tea and a smoke. Like a true English person I braved the rain, thinking “It will just refill my tea-cup,” and then I experienced that sense of justification when the sun finally broke through, “I knew you would! You bastard!” as I sat there steaming slightly in the sun, buffeted by the wind.
I looked into my tea-cup and fished out the leaves that had blown in. My hair was all over the place, my fringe now long enough to cover my eyes, so I felt like I was a teenager hiding from the world. Face in a tea-cup. Amber Leaf drifting around me in swirls on the wind. An old man across the courtyard stared at me. I glanced occasionally at him and each time I saw him staring I felt like I wanted to cry. It was the human contact. I think I must have looked a sorry sight, because he didn’t look unkindly at me, rather curious and sympathetic.
So, as is my wont when I feel emotional, it’s time to start distracting you from my vulnerable state – look at the shiny-shiny, don’t look at me!!
On my way back I discovered some Guerrilla art, a declaration about recycling, hidden in a copse of bushes. Everyone who saw it was grinning, including me… I LOVE Guerrilla art. Photos are a bit blurred because they were all taken with my mobile phone:
… and a bush I happened to like:
©StarofSeshat 2011
A fascinating and vibrant woman – Freya Aswynn
Another great podcast by Occult of Personality:
Occult of Personality intervew with Freya Aswynn
Love more than coital
I have been thinking a lot recently about what is real and what is fantasy in relationships specifically, about love and lust. Some of the people I have spoken to have grabbed hungrily onto my words, wishing to deny any sense of fantasy when all we have is fantasy, never anything real. They are the grabbers, the hungry-needy. They are not the lovers. But then when you find something real and all others tell you it’s fantasy… well, they just don’t understand.
I once had a love affair with a man whose name I never knew. You might be thinking it was a one-night stand. In fact, I never touched him or spoke to him. You might be thinking it was a crush on someone in the public eye. Neither/nor.
I was standing on the train from Athens City heading for Piraeus Port where I was catching a ship to Rhodes. I was 25 and had a rucksack more than half my size and nearly my own weight. I was with my abusive ex. This was the second stage of our journey after he had left the monastery.
I noticed a man looking at me. He was maybe twice my age, shorter than me. He was a business man, wearing a smart suit and carrying a brief case. He had the most beautiful, liquid chocolate eyes I had ever seen.
We stared at each other. Occasionally I would look aware, scared that L. would see me looking at another man. But always I would look back to this man.
We spoke to each other with our eyes. It was love. He was so gentle and kind. There was nothing in him that grabbed at me or smirked over me. He looked at me. I looked at him. Our souls loved while around us people read newspapers, chatted, spoke to each other with their frontal brains, everything within normal social bounds.
And then this man’s stop came. He gave me an almost imperceptible nod of the head, like a courtly knight bidding farewell. And I felt a pang of grief at him going.
Was that nothing? Was that fantasy? For us it was a real moment of joining and love; with no words, no touching, nothing that the conventional world would class as real.
There is more to making love than coital positions.
©StarofSeshat 2011
