2/15 (Part 3)

2/15 (Part 3)




2/15 (Part 3)

Continued from 2/15 (Part 2)

2/15 (Part 3)

I leaned towards her the young maiden,
touching my nose to the tip of her head,
and breathed. 

The air was stale – and it was full of Death.

(and I…. know the smell….of Death.)

I could literally taste it, in my mouth.

And I felt her shame in my stomach as I connected with her,
she felt me intuiting all, allowing me in and even
opening her legs to me
(I observed/noted)
begging me to know her
as I began knowing her.

This….
“being”….
is something deeper than “Witch”…
something more than that.
Yes, that – but yet – not.

Not exactly. 

But,
that wasn’t what shook me.
What shook me was…
this particular being/energy….
was human – like me –
but not connected to me via
guides or ancestral lines or etc.

This was a soul
apart from my lodge….
   but, connected to it. 

Somehow.
this was the soul
of a person like me
but who,
unlike me,
is now among
the truly dead. 

My hands began to tremble as I
took on the full weight of that reality.

“What is this….” I say aloud,
standing up from my chair slowly,
fearful of where I saw this all logically leading….
fearful of where I was, and what I was doing,
and where this all was going ~
and fearful of the further isolation
it would most assuredly cause…


But I was in control,
 and I remembered
 and breathed.


And I immediately went to the staff,
taking it up in my hands to meet
what was rising.

“‘And the Good King,”
I said aloud, quoting
and inspection the staff
“Rides out and meets it.”

And the staff felt alive,
as soon as I touched it,
warmed by the heat of the fire;
like a hot fiery serpent alive in my hands.

And I lifted the staff in the air,
high above the fire and the flames.

And its power became like a living thing.

And I remembered everything about it:
It’s thought, its planning, its preparation, its creation,
years ago at the Lakehouse with Charlie,
birthed from the golden fires of my only begotten son’s heart,
assuming then-and-there an all-mighty mystical power simply by being
what it is, a thing infused by his hands and mine with true life/manna/magic by
means of being what it truly is: a manifested fruit of
true will and true intention and true purpose from a
true root of true love.

I dance, and lift up a
divine corporeal incarnation of symbol and meaning,
brimming and overflowing with energy,
becoming something altogether new
birthed from true will and true intention
and true purpose and true love

True magic.

And the life within the staff felt like
something infusing my veins,
weighing down my arms when I grabbed it,
and though my limbs felt heavy,
they were light as twin feathers,
infused with new life and new power.

And my chest went out,
and my chin went up,
and my arms, heavy with featherlight gold,
swayed up and down and left and right
as I lifted them both, dual wings of gold,
walking around the hearth and the flames,
holding the staff and retracing my earlier steps
with new purpose and golden vigor,
an exile of love and life dripping onto and into the ground
with each and every step I took. 

The girl,
watching on from the chair,
began to breathe deeply
and heavily from her chest,
watching.

I could feel her yearn
for life
for love
for peace
for fulfillment
for connection
and for love in full return.

She watched on from the chair,
eyes like two curious coals
concealing the indisputable
fact that a glow was now rising behind them.

I spotted it.
She saw me.
I wanted her to see
that I could see.

Her growing life
turned me on
and made me
wanna dance.

I flicked my eyebrows up and down,
letting her know how much the life in her eyes
lifted me up, turned me on, and set the feet of
my soul to dancing.

she saw,
and saw that it was truthful,
and believed.

Her eyes…  those eyes…
the shedding.. the peeling..
I could see everything in them,
and feel everything in them,

and she became as if naked before me,

 exposed and vulnerable
and I wanted nothing more
that to know her
and show her love
in every kind of form imaginable. 

“Mmmm” I said, seductively, as I 

strutted round the hearth the first time,
passing her by just like she passed me,
exaggerating it on purpose, moving like she did
but exaggerating it on purpose, as if it were some
wild, ridiculous overly-dramatic SNL impression,
looking deep into her eyes the whole time,
bantering and flirting and teasing,
allowing her to see me
the real me
and the heart
from where all of this comes.

Her fear,
present and presented,
was overcome by every single step I continued to take
as I danced the fiery dance of life and love.

And she loved it.

LOVED it.


And her stretching grin
made her aura aapear like a child’s
and she became so, so soft.


Yet it bothered me still,
for I could see that her head was still bleeding ~
and that she was indeed, and very clearly dead,
despite the wonder of the present moment. 

I intuit/feel/see the rock her head was smashed on.
I intuit/feel/see all of the associations with AJ that this, for many reasons, forced into consciousness.
I think of the rape.
I think of her birth mom.
I think of her neighbor.

I think of her cravings.
her darkness.
her hiding, carefully controlled

I think of the The floor tile. The kitchen. The headboard. The chair.

And I remember all I saw
and all that was shown to me
and all that I begged, pleaded,
not to see and witness
but had to endure.

(And I remember October 2020,
when my choice was made, and
the stake driven through 3 pairs of hands.)

My covenant and my commitment,
fresh on my mind…..

fanned the flames of my dance

and pacified the voices of worry and fear.

I marched around the fire a second time,
now becoming more inventive in my dance.
I freed myself to feel, and like a boy from
Neverland, or the jolly green man of the forest,
I danced and leapt like a wild animal in search of his mate ~
and she giggled and laughed and watched each jump and step ~

and I noticed the threads across her mouth start to fall away…

I flirted with her as I passed,
heavily and overtly and purposefully,
dragging a finger across her sown lips
admiring them and their opening as the object of my desire,
touching the strings and burning them off with fingers like some sun god,
with a goofy, confident, cocky seductive playful grin as each one hissed,
slowly removing the threads from her lips and, spotting a final one,
pulling the last hanging thread off her lower like a
lap-dancing whore pulling off her client’s final sock
before the deed.

I marched around the fire a third time.

And as I do,
I spot the items at each corner of the square hearth,
placed there by myself,
just hours earlier,
with specific meaning and purpose
with specific instructions by my guides.

But, what purpose?

I’ve already forgotten and supressed…

Yet,
because all of these earlier preparations
had been so thoroughly and meticulously completed
and adhered to and honored as if they were sacred rites of ritual,
I was instantly brought back to center
and I fully understood their meaning
just as soon as I stopped and breathed
and connected with each one.

These odd items, so strangely placed,
 must have looked like absolute madness to anyone witnessing;
yet, to me, as I “walked the ways” this night in the dark,
they were like bright, clear-as-day guiding lights in the darkness,
lighthouses of light and love
burning and reminding and
pointing me to the next step,
the next turn, the next thing to heal;
the next way to health, whole, and home. 


And I came to the East corner.

I placed my thumb in the yellow of medicine wheel,
and looked down at the item on the corner of the hearth.

Ah – yes!
The Egg.

The one seed left,
placed in the East,
the remaining source of life to survive
the great flood, the great storm.
The Single Egg of Hope
of A New Life Reborn
by sheer Will. (ie, Faith, Hope, and Love)

Chaak was watching,
connecting the dots on
what all was happening
and now eagerly chomping at the bit
to do what he does best and bring
the rains upon the lodge’s final seed,
helping to bring it to life. 

I reach out for the egg, slowly.

Flashes of suppressed memories and
forgotten associations come to mind –
where the egg came from,
how Charlie found it,
what he called it,
his intuitive egg drawings years prior…….


Static electricity cracks right as I touch The Egg.
and I cannot help but think of Zeus’s answer to
Odyssesus ~ the explicit lightning and thunder clap
heard upon the late shores of Ithacca.

I feel the weight of the moment
and touch the egg in awesome wonder. 

The Egg was more than “warm” and more than “hot”
It effused some thing other than “heat” from itself;
it was completely FILLED with white-hot LIFE,
and it was as if this life itself was leaking from the egg
bursting at the seams and anxious to get out. 

Life….

I stared at The Egg held in my hands. 

Life…..

“All that awaits is your command.”

The Hooded Man, calling to me a short distance away,
from somewhere deep in the woods. I look towards his voice.
“We await you, as you directed us.”

I nod, smiling, and grateful.

The egg was beating, pulsating,
like a heart.

I look back towards the girl.

She’s looking at me,
eyes wide with wonder
the glow in her eyes ever brighter
wondering what on earth it is that I am doing
and what on earth is it that I am capable of
and is he going to do that for me?

“What do you want?” Came the question again, asked to me so many times over the years…and  it all comes flooding back…

I look at the girl.
Feel the life in my hands.
Smile.
And slowly, struttingly, dance my way to her,
Life itself burning holy holes in my hands

I grinned the sexiest grin as I strutted towards her, ever-enjoying the irony of the moment. She sat there, in the chair, staring and bewildered disarmored, disrobed, and divinely disoriented by every purposeful step I took towards her direction; she, a young, beautiful, ripe, half-naked with torn white dress, many-times ravaged and head ever-bleeding from bashing; this concubine, this precious girl, overwhelmed with this mysterious light of a love that knows no fear and does not stop, will not stop, even in the face (and smell) of death.

 Holding The Egg, and looking at her smiling, I sat down in the chair with her.

She was like a cuddly, curled stretchty cat desperate to touch and be touched; knowing she had full freedom and full love and full acceptance, she cuddled into me, hugging my left arm as soon as I sat, nuzzling her head into my chest. 

It was as if the Universe fell silent, all eyes and ears on Us (and me especially) ~ and it felt like I suddenly found myself center-stage of some kind of very special, very important, very sacred event taking place, live like some reality tv-show, and she and I were the real-life show. 

The moment was heavy. 

It felt exactly like it feels
when its time for a preacher
to preach

(if, that is, said preacher knows
what its like to go to the master
for his many loaves and fishes)

She stares at the egg in my hands.

 I remember His words.
“Feed my sheep….”

But it also felt
exactly what it feels like
to be the groom
at your own wedding

There was a finality,
in the whole thing.
(It’s not like there
were a dozen eggs;
only one.)

you could feel the finality in the air.

An ending – and a beginning.

“Do you wish to proceed”

the question I’ve heard so many times before,
at crossroad junctures just like this one
(but never this large) pops into my head

I gulp.Here goes nothing.

I look at her,
into her, deep into
her eyes.

Her lips,
ruby red,
beckoned me
for Life.

Do you wish to proceed?
came the question again. 

All awaited my answer.

Yes,
I say in my mind,
definitively.

Yes, I do.
And WILL.


All eyes in the nearby universe
turned towards me,
and especially all within my lodge.

Time to seal the deal.

Here goes nothing.

“Well….  I think it would be best to begin by noting the Hexagram I came with here tonight. Furthermore, I uh -“ 

She interrupted me, immediately.

“Oh shut UP.” She looked up at me,
with a huge mischievous (and slightly apologetic) stretching smile ,
 “Pleaaaase” she sarcastically said with a funny flirtatious face,
and blinking with a snicker as if apologizing,
plastering on quick young-girl expression for good measure
and flirty button-pushing.

(And, though dark and deviant and
diametrically opposed to submission,
her level of self-awareness, humility,
control, and balance in this statement
was fucking hot (and reminded me of a former friend)
and I found that surprising, seeing as the particular person
saying it to me now, the one sitting here with a bleeding head,
is both ghost and goddess and god knows what else. 

She observed me thinking all of this.
Realizing all of this.
Taking it all in. 

Her eyes wondering if it would change my decision
about my connection and commitment to her and her soul.

Her natural reactions.

And as we gently rocked gently in the swing
she was assured via the feelings and vibrations
and frequencies exuding from my chest
of what is True.



And the maiden,
diasarmed and tucked into my arms,
breathed and purred deeply.
 

Continued in 2/15 (Part 4)

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