A Season of Bards

My Dear Ones,

It is no secret that I love bards. The whole damn concept from our shared Paleo past to Thomas Rhymer and Tanhausser,  down to Tom Bombadil.  As someone who needed remedial tablature when he played bass in a grunge/goth band in the 90’s, I realize that poetics can match lyric and a rhythmic strum.Willis Barstone was quoted as saying that “Spiritual writings are meant to be sung”, and that if one couldnt translate them into a way that fits into poetry or song, then frankly your translation is less than useful. By now I am assuming that everyone has heard Alan Moore talk about Bards. If not I include it here below:

“Now, as I understand it, the bards were feared. They were respected, but more than that they were feared. If you were just some magician, if you’d pissed off some witch, then what’s she gonna do, she’s gonna put a curse on you, and what’s gonna happen? Your hens are gonna lay funny, your milk’s gonna go sour, maybe one of your kids is gonna get a hare-lip or something like that — no big deal.

You piss off a bard, and forget about putting a curse on you, he might put a satire on you. And if he was a skilful bard, he puts a satire on you, it destroys you in the eyes of your community, it shows you up as ridiculous, lame, pathetic, worthless, in the eyes of your community, in the eyes of your family, in the eyes of your children, in the eyes of yourself, and if it’s a particularly good bard, and he’s written a particularly good satire, then three hundred years after you’re dead, people are still gonna be laughing, at what a twat you were.”


To me, the power isn’t that a Bard can make your dumb ass a laughing stock for generations, or worse casting maledictions through the ages with every retelling, re-singing of your satire. (Though that would suck.)  Bards have the power of revelation. They can reveal new things that have no ever been thought before, or at least thought in a very ,long time.

A Bard is more than a force of PR, but a true artist who creates as she speaks. Abracadabara indeed. The intiatory force of Bardic spellwork moves on a cultural level, not just an individual one. It keeps records, gives prophecy, and changes how a body thinks. It changes how a body relates to the world.

The positive lies in every time someone approaches an artist and says, “Your work helped save my life.” The negative lays in state with every poor teenager who is bullied into suicide. One doesn’t need to be a Bard to use the tools.

A siren song, a bansidhe wail, an angelic chorus.. weaving words with rhythm and breathe is powerful. The use of profound mnemonics to know family lines and the histories of nations and clans. Oral histories that give us far more often a far more accurate telling of things above the official narritive.

As the story teller, the Bard has an intimate control of the narrative, and can reweave it at her will. This is important, because this is going on constantly.

“I assure you from God’s Olympian perch that government is a shared myth. When the myth dies, the government dies.” – Leto II to Moneo, “God Emperor of Dune”

We are made of stories. Our whole world is. It’s how we make sense of everything, how we orient ourselves in time and space. Control of the narrative. Bards were the libraries of preliterate culture.

Bardic powers tended to come to those who visited the otherworld or who were just foundlings to begin with. As much as I like Alan Moore’s “Art IS Magick” thing.. I am unsure if that is too little or too much.

Once upon a time a young man named Muhammed was very sick. Everyone thought he was going to die. In fact at one point, everyone thought he was dead. To his Mind he saw armies of menacing figures. Legions of the diabolic ready to set snare to him, and lead him away to perdition. “But then appeared a marvelously beautiful being, exhaling a sweet perfume, who with invincible force repelled the intruders.”

“Why are you?

“I am Sura Yasin.”

As it turns out Muhammed’s father was reciting the 36th Surah of the Koran (usually recited for the dead) at his son’s bedside, believing him to have passed away. The boy was Abu Abd Allah Muhammed ibn Ali ibn Muhammed ibn Al Arabi Al Hatimi At Ta i. He was later known as the Shayk of Shayks. That was one of his first experiences in the Alam Al Mythal.

It is the other world that grants wisdom and prophecy. And there in lays the true power for all story tellers. It is a telling of the Deep Mythic, those things that may have never happened, but are always true. More than a library for this work, the Bard is a gate through the other than Gnosis flows through.

Maybe it would be useful to tell our stories again, share our histories, and more importantly start making and living them. Everyone is getting in on the game after all. Why not you? The official narrative was never very rich anyway.

Alchemical Advice: The Black Phase

Blackening is a state of death. It is a state  of putrefaction. Burning things blacken.  They throw off soot and smoke and horrid smells that will make your stomach panic and try to escape out your mouth. Your eyes will water, you will sweat.

In the Internal Art, this manifests as some of your more… impure habits being spurred. The ones closest to the surface (those most recently acquired and the ones you do most frequently) will go first. This will release some noxious vapors to be sure, but it will also start to hatch those latent Karmas which are harmful to you and to others. Rage, depression, overeating, undereating, self pity, blame shifting, and any number of other unhealthy qualities that are quite literally sucking the life out of you.

These habits and seeds of corruption are natural manifestations of your accumulated Karma over.. well.. forever. What you are doing in the black phase is cooking them till they burst open, bloom, wither and die. They are seeds and patterns of life force that are deeply seated, some of which you have had your whole life. You are getting these poison dragons to rear their heads so you can see them, and deal with them.

Beware of interacting too closely with them. They hold a hydra like quality in that if you cut off a head two more can spring back. Cut the weed and spread the seed. If you involve yourself in them, even to fight them, you can make them stronger, and they will simply hide again  in a new home and crop up when you arent paying attention.

This is why you must always pay attention. When you are doing this work have a contemplation practice. A simple one, just let things arise and burn themselves out. Putrefaction is Nature’s slow burn, the fire that feeds itself. But if you don’t participate direction other than watching them burn themselves out, they will have little hold on you. You’ll get the old urges to be sure, but you will not act, and they will fade, and then return, and fade, and return, and fade.. till they are done.

It is the difference between:


and b. “Rage has arisen. It is neither good nor bad. I shall neither act on it, or fight it, I shall simply let it go. ”

The reason I use the rage example is because when doing the Work, in the Black Phase you will become depressed. Without cultivating your Awareness through Meditation and Contemplation you will become inexplicably depressed. The energies in your body will ride you like a pony right into the ground. As such make sure you keep doing things like: Getting up in the morning. Going to work. Making love. Basic hygiene. continuing to try. And of course not shitting directly all over everything anyone nice does for you, or anything good that happens.

Depression sucks because after a while you literally forget how to be happy. You vaguely remember where happy is, but for the life of you, you can’t remember how to get back there. It is fucking awful. Just remember that depression LIES. Just assume that if you are in a depressive fuege that everything that the lens of depression is showing you is a lie. It’s called a mental illness for a reason, and just do your damnedest to get well again.

These things will poison your mind, your heart, your relationships, and your environment if you are not watching them like a very chill hawk.

Which brings me to my second bit of advice: Cleanse and Purify.

Have you ever dealt with roadkill? Was your hands. Have you ever handled raw meat? Wash your hands. Did you just wipe your backside? Wash your hands.

Are you doing Black Phase Work in the same spot every day? Cleanse and Purify before and after. You will literally be seething with these subtile energies. They will leak into your chair, your carpet, your house, your clothes, your car. Everywhere. It gets everywhere.

I have a friend who owns a horse farm. Do you know how often she cleans her gear and car? Every day. Do you want to know why? Because she doesn’t what to smell like a literal barn every day of her life.

Those pollutants will do you no good if they build up in your place of practice and turn it into a septic tank. Cleanse and purify.

I know my fellow spiritual dumpster divers out there will shout, “But your purity isn’t MY purity, Jow! I Revel in filth!”

Possibly. But there is a difference between you thinking my house smells awful after cooking Chicken with Forty Cloves, and water that will give you amoebic dysentery. One of those is a preference thing, and the other will make you shit blood till you die.

Don’t shit blood till you die.

Now my last bit of advice, because Alchemists do things in threes, is a social one. Be prepared to do two things a lot: “Act as if”, and apologize.

Those people who are brave and kind enough to see you through this are treasures. Treat them as such. Even when you are doing this foolish, foolish thing, you must behave like a grown assed adult who is responsible for your own actions.

So even if you don’t feel like being nice, or not yelling, do it anyway. Be professional at work. Be kind in your home. Actively work to be the best you that you can be, even if that is the last thing you want to do. Just because you chose this, does not mean others need to suffer. Yes, your judgement is impared. You chose to impare your judgement. Yes, your spirit is burning. You chose to refine your spirit.

When you slip up and are a bucket of crap to someone, because you can’t act as if you were a functional human being, you must (must? MUST!) apologize, and make amends for the stupid thing you did. Own up to it, take responsiblity, and make amends. Fix as best you can, what you broke. This will enable you to have people who want to talk to you when you regain your sanity.

These changes will likely hit you on every level. Physical, Mental, Spiritual, so please, if you choose to do this, take care, and make haste slowly.

Looking for something new to learn?

If you haven’t yet, and have the money to spend, I would highly advise that you give Jason Miller’s Strategic Sorcery class a try.

Why you ask? Well good, I’m glad you did.

1. You will likely learn at least three new things that you wouldn’t have otherwise. Things that you will use.

2. Jason is a great dude to learn from, and very approachable.

3. You can’t tell over the internet, but he smells delightful.

4. Your fellow students: Interacting with a variety of folks and seeing their results and experiments is not just fun, it is useful. It’s also a good place to meet new “camp friends”.

5. It starts Friday! Get some!

On a serious note, it really is a great class. Very informative, and done by a dude who walks his talk. If you are new to occultism/Magick and want a place to start with more interaction than a book, this is a good choice. If you are already a seasoned practitioner and just want to do some continuing education, this is a very good choice.

So.. yeah! Do something new. Class is almost in session.

A Beautiful Mother’s Day (Observed)

My Dear Friend,

Today was quite a lovely day indeed. Deb and I took my mom to New Hope, PA for a magical adventure. Literally. Mom wants to get her witch on.  It was Pride week so the city was virtually wrapped in rainbow flags, overflowing with bikers, and a spirit of celebration was all around.

We first stopped for lunch at Marsha Brown’s which is a Cajun/creole restaurant housed in an old decommissioned church. Mom and Deb had some really kick ass burgers, and I had a passable crispy eggplant po’boy. A trip was taken to Twist for fiber arts purposes, and of course the main event: Witch Stores.

We stopped at Mystical Thymes and Gypsy Haven. On the way up mom shared with us some of her problems with her current landlord, and we decided to make a plan involving spell work, and thanks to the proprietor of Mystical Thymes, it also involved some strategies on renter’s rights.

Back home we went to make some Magick and eat some bread pudding and have some coffee. Deb read Mom’s cards, and we both took turns at cleansing the magical tools and such that my mom confiscated from my aunt who was trying to save her very unwholesome marriage with Magick.

I have to say, my aunt had a pretty good arsenal. Sage, herbs, curios, goofer dust, cards, runes.. It looked like a satchel Giles would carry in Buffy the Vampire Slayer, except no crucifixes or wooden stakes. Maybe Mom left those for my aunt. I am not too certain what exactly my aunt was trying to do (not sure she knew either. ), but she was sure well supplied for.. whatever it was.

We returned much of the cleansed goods, and kept those that were donated to our cause.

Mom is really finding her own in her Cronehood. I am really proud of her for some reason. She always reverenced Mother Earth as her Goddess, but I really love that she is leaning in to this new phase and taking this phase of her life to be all about her.

It was such a blessing to have such a wonderful day.

The Favor of Kings… and how to avoid it.

My Dear Friend,

A few years ago I lobbied that the place of the Worker was at the left hand of power. Serving Kings and elites. John Dee syndrome. Everyone wants to hustle to better themselves. That isn’t shocking. However, I have since changed my tune.

There is a pseudo-Chinese curse that goes thus: “May you gain the notice of those in high places.”

Aghori Vimalananda warned: “Never become friends with a King, a Yogi, Water, or Fire.” A King can kill with a word, a Yogi with a glance, fire burns all it embraces, and water drowns all it loves.

To have the favor of kings is to be made a chess piece for designs more convoluted than you can imagine. Even our modern power elite have their uses for you. They may not be the uses you want to be used for.

It’s also the problem with fame. Fame can become infamy very easily. I am sure Zen Jen got a bit of a boost being Energist to the Housewives. But if Zen Jen was Energist to the Clintons.. I think it would be a bit different, and much less light-hearted. Maybe some weather control for smooth skies for a flight from Nicaragua to Arkansas. Or something even less friendly.

Marilyn Monroe had the favor of the Kennedy clan till she didn’t, and was found dead in her home.

John Dee had the favor of Gloriana till she died, and then he retired to Mortelake, selling his possessions to eek by.

Jack Parsons had the favor of the military industrial complex until the unfortunate explosion in his home lab.

The tallest tree is always cut first.

It is a grand temptation to power, to be that close to the hand that pulls the strings, but those strings are tangled. What moves the puppets can wrap the neck just as easily.

There is wisdom in smallness. There is sense in simplicity. There is longevity in uselessness. It’s easy to think that a useless thing is destroyed first, but that isn’t usually so.

A gnarled tree is useless to the wood-cutter, as it is a lot of work for them to cut, and no one can make anything useful of the wood. Being useless means that you can’t be used.

Let me say that again: Being useless means you can’t be used.

To court the favor of Kings is to make yourself a tool for those Kings. Good tools do their jobs. Good tools are useful. Good tools are used until they break.

Useless trees grow while their useful siblings are cut to make useful tools.

How to Pay Attention.. and maybe get a refund.

My Dear Friend,

I am currently on mini break in the wonderful Lovecraftian state of Rhode Island. Jamestown to be precise. We did a brief drive by of Coventry, which boasted no less than three occult book stores! Two of which were closed and one of which you must need a token of some kind to find, as it has several addresses.. none of which led to an actual store.

However, at the moment I am sitting at a lovely cafe by the water, on a retreat mini-break to collect myself, renew my vigor, and sharpen my focus. My better half is on her laptop right across from me, and it looks to all outside parties as if we are engaged in a really serious game of Battleship.

I needed this get away more than I can describe to you. Let’s be honest. Life can be exhausting. Just the day to day business of living. It is easy to feel pulled in 10,000 directions at once, because most days.. we are. So many things compete for our attention that are completely valid and useful, and ten times that number that are just useless distraction.

Remember, where the mind goes, power goes. Where is your power going? Take a few deep breaths and say it out loud: Where is your power going?

Your attention is a commodity. It’s a thing that can be gathered, spent, taken from others, or stolen by others. You literally pay attention when you focus on someone or some thing. The stronger your ability to focus, the stronger your mind, and the more deftly you’ll be able to control your vital energies. Also the more invisible connection and information you will be able to get in general, be it from a conversation with a friend, a Yantra, or a complex sigil array.

Sacred art and architecture are things that are used to capture and direct your attention to the Divine. To provide ease of communion and contemplation. They focus the observer, and can give by design a sight of the Invisible. A spiritual imprint is left, like a witchmark, a token, an invisible sign that you have done something, and been somewhere special.

Television is pretty much the exact same thing by design. At one time a means of distributing information and entertainment, it is now a clever box that takes your attention and imprints it with images of the designer. It is an engineered experience designed to produce a change.  Either way it’s programming.

Look for old tropes, catch phrases, patterns, triggers, memes that have infested you, and are using your Life to play themselves out. They aren’t you. They are just patterns. They are just programs. They are just a snarl in the weave. Easy enough to untangle with time.

You can also call back the attention taken from you by the things themselves, reach out to those things that diminish you, feed off of you, and take back what is yours.

When you are centered in your body without pouring out your Life through your sense organs, you will have a sense of quiet observation. From there you can generate more Awake/Awareness, and have stronger faculties of focus and attention.

I know that sounds rather austere. However it’s not like you won’t be using your senses. Think of it as staunching blood loss so you can enjoy your favorite bodily functions.

Once you’ve found a way to build up your faculty of attention,   attention you have spent elsewhere, and untied knots of complexes and habit, you will find yourself more alive, not less. More aware, more plugged in. Gifted with an increased capacity to enjoy.

After all, don’t we pay our best attention to those things which are enjoyable? Isn’t that why we go on mini-breaks in the first place?


Magick at the Ends of Empire:Part I – Causes and Conditions

My Dear Friend,

Right now I am sitting in my dining room, listening to Melody Gardot’s “Your Heart is Black as Night”, and having a good think. I started writing this letter days ago, but never finished it. I would use life stuff as an excuse, as if we didn’t all have lives that took up our time. I’m compulsively concerned with wasting time lately.

I know I go on often about us living in strange and interesting times, but I don’t often elaborate. I’ve entrusted Gordon to do that for me. (And by entrusted, I mean he was doing that anyway, so why should I add my own pedestrian two cents?)

I was thumbing through “Magick Without Tears” the other day and musing on the life and works of the TGB. Meddling, it seems, falls under the purview of Wizards. We can jenga Fate, we can tilt the wheel, we can find the Red Queen more often than not. I’ve been wondering what we’ve been doing with all of our vaunted prowess.

An associate of mine proudly quotes that all he wants our of Magick is “Unfair Advantage”, and as an honest answer, I can respect that. There however seems to be a certain lack of social responsibility there. Enlightened self interest when carried to its logical conclusion must end in some kind of civic duty, as no person is an island.

For ultimate good or ill, at least TGB tried. He lived by his principles and did so quite to the end of his rather eventful life. Globe hopping, game of thrones-ing. It all sounds rather glamorous, and if we are keeping score he did do a decent job of influencing movers and shakers to great effect.

Is this the Aeon of Horus that he wanted? Probably not. Not with less freedom, more restriction, and more surveillance. However we are where we are. Now the big question is what do we do about it?

We can do what we’ve done: meet in back alleys and in basements. Set up in field and festival. Join hands and try to levitate the pentagon. Unless our efforts are spilling out into the greater field of activity, they aren’t strong enough to survive the current of the world as it is, and the world as it is, is incredibly broken. If all we are going to do is fiddle while the world burns, then we better be cranking out a masterpiece.

“For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities and powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places.” -St. Paul – Also one of the many reasons he was favored by many Gnostic sects.

Whatever powers and principalities run the world don’t like random pieces on the board. Things need to go as planned. Except the plan is terrible. Whatever horrible game of global realpolitik is going on depends on distraction. It’s a slight of mind trick. Three card monty with the pot being the life of the planet. (“Aviary”, by Ego Likeness just came on, btw)

We don’t see the hands that pull the strings. An Alchemist I greatly admire once said to me in passing that the greatest enemies that humanity faces are invisible in one form or another. He isn’t wrong. The Path is Cash and Prizes. The Path is Self Development. The Path is carving the future. If we don’t others will for us.

I’ve said before that the world is an interesting place. Both good and bad. And I worry for us. I worry for you. (It’s how I show Love, Dear. ) Because without action, nothing changes. What are we to do in a world that is at once out of control, and at the same time set completely with control mechanism after control mechanism? Some might worry about disturbing the balance of things, but to be frank, the balance is already disturbed, and the scales are doing a jig trying to find equilibrium. Remember last letter where I spoke of Indra the Adamantine? This is not Indra’s order. This is the consequence of a dire corruption. This is dangerous time, and the world sickens because of the deeds done, and looks for a remedy.

It will take more than prayer and spellwork. It will take more than just you or I being amazing. (Who are we kidding, we are already far more than amazing, darling. ) It’s going to take action, and before that it will take community. It doesn’t have to involve masturbation and costumes, (later then.) but there does need to be a conversation, and whats more, connection. Without connection old ties fall apart. Without connection we stay silent, or scream lonely at the ether.

There is a lot to think of for both of us, because agree or not, something needs doing.

“Save Your Serpent” just came on, and I am tired. I think it’s time to call it a night.

I hope you are well, look out for yourself, and stay safe,

Catching Up..

My Dear Friend,

I’ve gone a bit off book lately. I know there are a few blogs that manage to stay on message AND interesting at the same time, and mine has not been one of them. What’s a boy to do? Well.. wine helps.

I’ve decided that I’m making this more of a love letter, an intimate sharing among friends, rather than screaming at the internet. I figure if I am talking to you, instead of yelling out the window, it may pique your interest more. It’s not that I am pandering for an audience (though it is nice to be appreciated, Dear.), because these letters will be here weather you read them or not. It’s more about finding your voice, and voices change over time. This is my latest iteration.

Let’s catch up. Since we’ve last talked I’ve made a career shift into managing a sales team and running a clinic. It’s much different than simply being your friendly neighborhood bodyworker/healer. Many mantras, a lot of hard negotiations, and a few difficult days later to get it. I do wish I did a bit more prep on myself before I got there, but here we are. You get what you worked for and now you must manage it. Getting your spot in the future is a lot like buying your own home: you never realize how much work it truly is until you get there.

Don’t worry, I won’t be beating my breast and lamenting my successes too hard. It’s just a change, and all changes need a period of adjustment. All caterpillars to butterflies. All that dissolves, reforms.

I’ve been focusing on my Alchemy lately. Combining all I have under that umbrella, as for me it blends all things and makes them whole. It’s been slow work, even with such a heated calcination, one must be careful not to crack after all. If you choose to tread the Royal Road, please be aware that your outer world will twist to shape your inner work. In some ways it would be easier to contain it all in a simple crucible. But when you are the materia the world is your athanoor.

And keep in mind as the heat of your Tapas gains notice, obstacles will be put in your path. The world wants to crack your vessel and steal your work. Steel yourself! Remove those blockages or outwit them. As I found out to my detriment, an ounce of preparation is worth a pound of cure. Indra sends His minions to restore blessed order. Persevere. I’m not saying the world is out to get you. I am saying the world resists large jumps of progress. The world resists inertia until you have enough inertia to move the world. Too many movers rips things up, causes too much Chaos. You can’t especially blame Indra the Ever Bright, Indra of the Blinding Magnificence. He just doesn’t want to see too many fires raging out of control. It disrupts the flow of things, and I can appreciate that.

Speaking of the Order of things lately, Interesting times, eh? It’s like the world is playing a strange combination of Russian roulette and combined with three card Monty. That needs another full letter; too much to go into here.

In other news: I’ve obtained a find copy of The Hermetic Garden, and have enjoyed its study dearly. We can go over that at length in my next letter unless other matters are more pressing.

Anyway, I’ve talked enough, please, tell me about you!

We interrupt your regularly scheduled programming..

Dear Reader,

Define for me the word: “Listless”.

I have been wondering for a while where I wanted to take this blog. Not this post, but this blog. Admittedly I’ve been all over the place lately. Most of it washing out as either heart-breakingly sentimental bleeding all over the internet, a hint of slapstick, and powdered sugar self help dusted on top. You’re sweet to say it isn’t so, but we both know that it is.

I know every entry can’t be Oscar gold. (Is there an award for blogging? Will blogging eventually be rolled into a legit form of journalism? Am I wearing pants while I write this?) However, I do think that they should be at least passably good, and have some sort of point to them. It’s a struggle with the melancholic temperament, the search for meaning. There needs to be a point.

It’s time for some changes in programming.

I’ve also been reading less of the interblag in general lately.

There are a few I keep up on, and a few I wish I would post, but my interest and enthusiasm in general is at an all time low.

I’ve been phoning it in, I’ll admit it. I’ve been so wrapped up in other things that I’ve been there for you less and less. I’m not proud of it, but it’s true. I’ve been doing me. Exploring my horizons, working to put food on the table, and I know that’s left you lonely.

I’m back from the road now, and I know there are few tried and true ways to jump start a relationship like ours. We’ll go back to basics, you and I. A little you, a little me, a little Magick. I can’t promise I won’t stray sometimes, but I can promise I’ll always come home..

That’s how we get the machine to go, n’est-ce pas?

Infinite Mittens.

While driving down a scenic NJ highway:

Deb: What do you think you want to blog about today?
Jow : No idea. The well is dry, unlike my sinuses.
Deb: You can do the Alphabet game. Just think of something meaningful that begins with “A”.
Jow: Alphabet, Aardvark, Apple.

Deb: Something meaningful..
Jow: Angina!
Deb: Angina?
Jow: Heart Pain.
Deb: Uuuughh.

 “Ph’nglui mglw’nafh Cthulhu R’lyeh
wgah’nagl fhtagn!

Deb: …You can write about being infinite! (As per a previous conversation)
Jow: Being Mittens? What does that even mean?
Deb: Being INFINITE!
Jow: Ohhh.. Well that is a good idea.

It’s good to know that we have our hard of hearing octogenarian banter down now.

Aside from being a meme, “in that moment, I swear we were infinite” is from the book/movie “The Perks of Being a Wallflower”, which is expertly done. I respectfully disagree with those who don’t like it.

Infinity is a problematic concept. Usually it’s a qualifier bounded by a noun: “infinite time”, “the infinite universe”, etc. In truth it’s something that needs to be experienced rather than talked about or defined by a formula. The only quality that Infinity would possess is that of boundlessness. No boundaries.

It’s a pretty deep thing. We’re talking the Ain Soph here. Ginnungagap. Wuji.

In most cosmological models it’s the base on which creation is built. Any time you loose a boundary, you are one step closer to the Infinite. However, every time you loose a boundary it is a little death. It’s that tricky thing where you gain by losing and lose by gaining.

It seems to be the mystics problem with “The World”. We are all infinite, put into finite forms and situations delineated by time/space. That push/pull causes apparent suffering as we get attached to things that will eventually disintegrate and fall apart.

It also highlight’s most folks problems with “Mysticism”, in that it runs counter to everything that nature urges us to do. Most people want to “be someone”. They take pride in “defining traits”, and when they have to make a stance, sometimes respond with “That’s not the kind of guy I am.” Boundaries give us security, a literal leg to stand on, and a way to navigate the world we live within without being trampled.

As a kid I had very poor boundaries. I would regularly give away too large portions of myself, my time, my money, for the sake of others to my own detriment. Then the pendulum swung the other way in young adulthood, where I was isolated, cold, distant, and selfish. More than once when being asked for help from someone I would respond with the heart warming:

Frieeeeeends Huuuuuug..

 “If it’s so important to you, do it yourself. You can’t do it yourself? Then you better think about things that are easier for you to manage.”

I was a cuddly as a face hugger, no? I am surprised I have any friends left from that period.

Now that I’ve mellowed some, and stopped being such an insufferable brat, I’ve realized that I need to do both. Being infinite doesn’t mean giving up everything as much as not identifying with it.. which is harder to do when you don’t give it up. “Being someone” isn’t constantly and violently living with a copy of “Atlas Shrugged” stuffed into your ass, (better in your ass than your mind, IMO) all the while policing your boundaries so hard that you chase off every bit of emotional warmth available to you.

Part of being infinite means that I realize that those were both me, and now I am something new. A chain of experiences and perspectives that shift like a great worm moving through space/time. A waveform of the Infinite.

That’s the fun part: I get to choose. When I was a violent, awful, miserable husk I did have an experience of the Infinite, like I had when I was a child in prayer, and that was the outcome: Choice. I was choosing to be this. I was choosing to be miserable, and I made the conscious choice not to be that way. I could be either. I could be anything. I could go out tomorrow and hunt down neighborhood children and turn them into sausage. I could leave the house and never come back, wandering the earth like Kane from Kung Fu. I could go to work and have leftover stew for lunch, and prepare for our yearly Operational Standards Review.

I can do any of those things.

It’s my choice, because in this moment, I swear we are infinite.

The life and musings of a modern Pagan, Magician, Alchemist, and Householder