I’ve been hyper-focusing on the mundane recently. Money worries. To the point where I fooled myself into thinking that the whole point of this existential shebang was to have money. It’s not like I am talking savings or a house, I’m talking enough money to pay bills and buy food. I am skimming my grocery list culling the unnecessaries and finding low-cost alternatives to what I need. That’s the kind of money worry I’m talking about. It’s difficult elevating my mind to my spiritual life although it’s always there whether in the “messages” received through synchronicities sent by “the universe” or in the spirit contact awake or in dreams. The other night my hands were seized and shaken hard. My response was a firm, “Fuck off!” … I have other worries right now. But perhaps I need a firm shaking in general. Perhaps all this stress is a form of soul shaking. A friend the other day congratulated me on my “uncomfortable progress”, that I was a “go-getter” she said in her Utah drawl and that I seemed to be moving forward even if it was the progress of a person dragging herself over broken glass.
I don’t know the future outcome. If I did I could digest it, adjust and make plans. It’s the unknowing that jibes. The unknowing calls for that thing I find so hard to do – letting go. It’s such a New Age-ism, “Hey man, just let go and trust in the universe!” Ah, fuck off. I’m neither open to being shaken by spirits or to having my hair stroked by a patchouli scented bro. This shit is hard. This kind of stress accompanies me every moment of the day. Only my dreams have been clear of money worries, instead I have dreamt of blood … a man in black kisses me and gifts me with a silver DNA helix that is melted down one side; a Heathen woman attacks me and steals my blood; a friend slides a silver device into my neck and also starts to take my blood … I am obsessed by blood these days, firstly as I consider my heritage and then secondly because I seem to have secondary hemochromatosis (still under investigation). Blood has spilled even into my art as I am embroidering a red blood cell based piece for exhibiting at a show next year. Anyway, at least my dreams seem to hold onto things other than money and mundane stressors. I’m doing what I can. I was told once that I was “resourceful”. I didn’t know what they meant, but now I know that it’s because I make a little go a long way, I turn situations to my benefit even if it is through death-defying mental gymnastics. That latter is a double-edged sword as it has also made me put up with crap from people for longer than I should have because I rammed on my rose-tinted glasses. Sometimes shit is just shit.
I am a Chicken Licken, always have been. Chicken Licken who had a nut fall on his head and instead of thinking, “Ah, nut!” runs around shouting, “The sky is falling in! The sky is falling in!” Whereas money worries and health worries can indeed bring a sense of celestial Armageddon, ultimately I need to chill my boots and do what I can. After all, the future does not yet exist and my degree of worrying is like facing an opponent in the ring and believing that I can beat him through fantasy alone – my inimitable mental gymnastics won’t stop me from being hit squarely in the face. But it’s up to me whether I get up again or not. Some days I honestly don’t think I will get up. I’m throwing in the towel. Other days I re-find my sense of purpose and it’s not to pay bills – although that has to be done – no, that’s not my PURPOSE. I did not slide from my mother’s belly with a desire for financial stability and money will not keep me warm in the grave. I have never had nor wanted the social standing that comes with money, so it has never been part of what makes me, Seshat.
Yes, I have done magick to help my finances and it worked exactly as I had intended for it to work. But on the same day I had confirmation that all would be well … another fucker arrived and put me back in the same situation as before. So obviously I need to be in this uncomfortable phase for another 6 months or so, which is when it will be resolved one way or another. “Uncomfortable progress” – it just depends on what you choose to see as progress. Another scan? Progress. Another blood test? Progress. Another 25 page form to fill in? Progress is a page at a time … This blog post? Progress, as I slowly pull my head out of my own behind and look around blearily at the world and realise that it’s kind of spring, in spite of the recent bout of snow. Yesterday I saw my first butterfly – large and luminous, lemon yellow, called a “Brimstone” … the devil waving hello. Fucker. After all “uncomfortable progress” is his watchword.