Ask For a Sign, Get a Wonder

I asked Loki for a sign. Any sign would do, that He wanted me to do something in particular that I’d asked if He wanted me to do.

Then I waited. A few days went by. I forgot about asking for a sign for the most part.

Then it happened. Driving home during the evening I saw a full moon rising gracefully from the cityscape. It was snowing, almost a white out, and I watched her rise bone white and gleaming through the near white out conditions and brighter than the purple haze of light pollution I find so comforting in my Winter City. Then she slipped silently up into the cloaking clouds, teasingly slow, while I tried not to wreck while watching this spectacular feat of nature.

Well, I decided maybe that wasn’t a sign, but a coincidence.

Then my computer started acting up and wouldn’t shut down.

So I waited. I waited and waited…and I thought and thought and realized I was being stupid and did what He wanted. Now, He is happily sending me head rushes and tingles, and my computer is merrily working the way it was designed to.

Why don’t I ever pay attention to what He wants the first time?

Advice: Pay attention the first time, for He is the God of fucking your tech, car, and other breakables to get your attention. Also, He directs my attention to such amazing things when He’s trying to get me to pay attention to Him that it seems almost rude to dispute them.


Community Building

Buddhism teaches us that we must accept our demise, the end, the shuffling off of the mortal coil, before we can fully appreciate now. We can only fully live in the moment when we’ve come to terms with the fact that there may not be some far off, dew encrusted, “later” when we can sit down, take a breather, and glory in being a living, thinking, being. The whole idea of living mindfully seems to be one of those thoughts that has either migrated to paganism or was also inherent in paganism, but perhaps wasn’t articulated as well considering the fledgling state of Pagan theology. Paganism itself is such a broad category I hesitate to define what a core element is absolutely for everyone, but this is there in every entreaty to flow with the seasons, and I’ve never met a pagan who is anti-Gaia. Either way, it seems to be inherent in any religion that follows the cycles of nature. Death holds as important a spot on the wheel of life as birth. They must both hold positions of honor and have their day of power. In a way it is comforting as a write to know that every story has an end, since not having a great ending can be the ruination of an otherwise wonderful and interesting story.  I’m also a Northeasterner who came from a long tradition of “there’s always work to be done” (Puritanism) and “if you’re having fun it’s probably wrong” (Puritanism AGAIN), so you can imagine how long it took me to internalize the value of the freedom of acceptance. (I’m being lead to a kinky bondage scene for some reason with these words…Hmmm.) My life began mired in the religious propaganda of the struggle and war against sin and evil. Free time and daydreaming are looked down on in the micro society I called home because they gave you time to dream of wrong things (like the kinky bondage) or think the wrong things (Sex again?), and both are necessary to think through the deeper questions of life.

Christianity, the religion I extricated myself from to pursue a care free pagan life (No, seriously, I thought there would be very little responsibility beyond myself at the beginning.), is also focused on death, but not in the same way as pagans or Buddhists. The Fire and Brimstone brand I grew up with focused too much time on not only the horrors of the pit (Nary a marshmallow in sight, only demons and Satan, who apparently doesn’t have anything better to do than torture people.), but the death of Christ. The violent, horrific, death of Christ at the hands of barbarous, Roman (Read: Heathen/Pagan/Xenophobia Induced “Other”) soldiers because death was something to be feared, not accepted. Why? Jesus accepted his death, even though he had that moment of pure humanity when he asks, “Why me?”, which made that whole story more believable and made me like the man better. Death is to be feared because in Christianity, or at least in this version of it, death leads to your judgment, and everyone will be found lacking. Not real comforting is it? It also doesn’t tend to lead someone down the path of enlightenment.  Fire and Brimstone Christianity builds community of a certain sort based on fear and trauma, which is a rickety footbridge to stand on, especially with a large group of people. This type of atmosphere has people helping others to further their own agenda, which means they are more likely to abandon the community at the first sign of trouble and turn all of their focus inward, pulling away their support, which will leads others to do the same until you either have a community of faceless strangers smiling politely at each other across pews or even worse infighting and backbiting at the slightest provocation so that one member of the community can look better, stronger, brighter-and therefore be more worthy of God’s love, which he doles out by the thimbleful and pulls back at the slightest proof of humanity. People who spend their childhoods in these types of churches and who manage to get away and detox or deprogram are scarred in various ways. It changes people. It leaves them aching for a place to belong, but afraid to try to find it.  

I came from this type of background.

The acceptance of my meat wagon ceasing to exist was hard to deal with after I found myself beyond the indestructability of teenhood. I’m not exactly an oldster yet, but my life has forced me to face death more than once and acknowledge the very real possibility (and inevitability) of my own as well. The acceptance of death, and I’m not talking about obsessively making it centrifocal to my life like I did as a child and adolescent (the guidance counselor did not appreciate my poems personifying death), just going, “Okay, this is going to happen at some point,” made me realize that a sense of community and community building is absolutely necessary to life for people who have come to the point where they’ve had the existential crisis and come out the other side. If you do accept morbidity as an actuality, but can’t bring yourself to trust people, a subsuming and consuming depression might enter the scene. If I accept the fact that I am going to die, and any moment could be my last, I have to have a sense of responsibility and love for the people around me to continue putting in a hard day’s work at any endeavor. I can’t be running along fueled on greed. I have to love the people who are going to come along after me and reap the rewards of my labor if I kick the bucket tonight while I’m asleep. I can’t stop planning for the future.

I’m talking about a sense of community and not necessarily a sense of family because even if I didn’t have a blood family who would benefit from my demise I have friends and neighbors who might be able to come along and at least add some new reads to their library. I don’t have a lot by way of material possessions to leave behind, but I’ve left a lot of words in my wake. A lot of thoughts and ideas and memories were made. Until all of my friends die themselves there is always the chance that they might bust out with one of those stories, about that one time I did this, that, or the other thing. (That night I got drunk and puked in a bathroom that wasn’t my own for a few hours, punched out a suitor, kissed my ex-boyfriend’s girlfriend and slept rolled up like a burrito in a bed that wasn’t mine before kicking my best friend (who also liked that girl I kissed) awake who was sleeping under a desk to ask what time it is…yeah, that one gets told a lot. I’m not sure what I would have to do to stop the retelling of that St. Patty’s Day night escapade. It probably wouldn’t be legal in most states.) In the end, if I’m not talking about money or as might have been beneficial in antiquity a defensible home or food stockpile that could be shared amongst my family and neighbors, what am I talking about?

I’m talking about being helpful or useful in some small way while I’m here, even if it is only as an entertainer. If I write a story someone likes and reads more than once I count it as a win.  If I see someone having a bad day I might ask them if there is anything I can do to help. Lend an ear. I might watch someone’s kid for them while they go to the doctor or shovel my neighbor’s steps and sidewalk. If I leave a family member 10,000 dollars or if I visit them every Sunday for a year they’re far more likely to remember my visits fondly than what they bought with my money. (Which is good because I don’t have 10k.)

Community is as important as family, especially given that some people don’t have blood family they can point to or want to point to, and we should all find meaningful ways to help out locally in both the mundane and pagan communities and globally, if at all possible. Even a few hours a month of volunteering, or helping out a neighbor or friend, or tossing a few dollars to a local charity makes a difference over time. I’m not feeling very creative at the moment, so I’m sure other people could come up with some better things to be doing in the community, but the point is to think them up and commit the time or money if you can to doing them. This article turned into a touchy, feely, Yule season post at its core, but I didn’t intend for it to be. It really didn’t start out that way. I started thinking about all of this stuff while writing poetry (some mediocre poetry) for Himself, and since the poetry wasn’t working out the way I’d hoped these meandering thoughts took precedence.

Feel free to take them with a grain of salt or two, and have a Happy New Year! 

I’m going to go shovel our sidewalk. Again.


Please drink responsibly. Either stay home and booze, get a cab (You lucky urbanites you. I know you country folk don’t have this option.), or have a designated driver (Pay this person in money or favors. They probably should not be sexual. Negotiate beforehand while sober.). Never drink and drive.

Lord Loki and The Hijacker, The Paranoia, and The New Life

I’ve been dreading writing this post, so I figured it was about time to get down to it.

When Loki first tapped me on the head, did the “big reveal” so to speak, I’d been “daydreaming” a precursor to much of my actual writing, about a fanfic I was considering putting together for Marvel!Loki. I hadn’t considered much that by constantly thinking about, talking out loud to, and actually burning incense for Him a few times I might be invoking a very real, very strong, very old, (strangely familiar) presence, but I did.

At first it was little things…my story absolutely refused to go down the trail I wanted it to. I fought with Loki and fought with Him until one day when we were in the apartment I constructed in my mind (It was very real by this point. I even knew what the curtains looked like and where to find the spoons.) he pulled a dainty espresso mug from somewhere and placed it just so in front of Himself, sat down across from me and looked directly at me (in case you haven’t ever had this happen to you in your own mind, it is kind of frightening) and we had a chat. We had a chat about several things that day, and then I brought myself out of my daydream/meditation and had a very quiet, very thorough break down.

Was I going crazy?

Maybe. Probably not, but maybe. I wasn’t actually hearing voices or anything of that nature, but what just happened to me seemed so real.

Overactive imagination. I totally wrote it off. Yes, that is how I chose to handle things. Ignore them completely.

Very adult of me, I thought as I went about my day. Now, I wasn’t a novice magick worker at this point, nor was I a novice at interacting with the things that go bump in the night, but sometimes strange things are simply too strange.

The next day I went back to my “daydream/meditation” because why wouldn’t I? I’m working on a story. I pretty much convinced myself that the day before was a fluke and wouldn’t happen again. And it didn’t, not exactly, but my story still went where it wanted and not where I wanted. And why was that? Loki refused to do what I wanted. He was, instead of pairing up with the lead I wanted him to pair up with, looking for someone Queenly and Kind, and then he told Thor he wanted to ask me to dance, but I he was afraid I wouldn’t want to.

…I came out of that meditation, after some direct eye contact.

Two days in a row. Twice isn’t a fluke exactly, and when I came out of meditation I wasn’t alone. I had a definite presence in the room with me.

Guess who?

At this point I freaked out and started looking online for anyone who could help me. I don’t remember exactly what I searched, but that initial panic lead me to the term “godspouse” and “godspousery” and some very nice people who helped to reassure me I probably wasn’t having a schizophrenic break. …you know, probably, because they don’t really know me.

It took about a week of me mulling everything over and talking here and there with Loki to realize that he WAS in fact a God and that He was in fact “talking” to me.

Then, I jumped into the pool with both feet. The deep end. With my clothes on.

In my newly informed excitement I wanted to open a deeper connection to Himself (the ignorance that surrounded this undertaking shocks me today). So, I ripped open a hole in my energy and invited Loki in. I didn’t bother to ask if that is something he wanted at this point, and He later informed me it wasn’t something He even needed. I ripped the hole open and left it open after several hours of chanting/working/calling and basically tossing out all kinds of shiny things to local predators. Nothing happened. No miraculous possession from Loki took place, and I basically forgot about it for a few hours, chalked it up to “those things don’t actually happen, or if they do they certainly don’t happen to me” and then went about my night. At some point in the evening my husband came home from work (he’s also an energy worker, amongst other things). We started tossing around energy, playing with energy, as we sometimes do to gear up for meditation/energy work/whatever and then Loki showed up. He sat with us for a while and allowed me to borrow some of his energy. At some point I got tired and wanted to go to bed and my husband wasn’t, so I told him goodnight, kissed him on the cheek, and went into the bedroom. I’d no sooner closed the door than something sank into me, right into that hole I’d left wide open and never closed. My body felt like it was crawling with snakes and snake energy. I had a vision where a gray, winged hag looked right at me and swooped toward me in front of a backdrop of red mountain rock. She had long hair and she looked pissed off. It scared me enough to jolt me out of the vision and I stumbled and crawled to my husband.

At first he laughed and said, “You’re covered in snakes. How are you doing that?” Then the look on my face must have registered and he realized I didn’t want it to be going on.

“Ask Loki to help!” My husband cried in his panic. Loki shrugged. Literally. Shrugged. I’d done this to myself, and He either couldn’t or wouldn’t help-maybe to teach me a lesson? Maybe He actually couldn’t? I don’t know.

I sat down on the floor and I forced whatever/whomever it was inside of me out and my husband held his hand over my heart, where I’d ripped open a hole, and pressed his own energy into it to try to heal it. I was shaking in his arms. I was freezing. I couldn’t warm up. He helped me to bed where I passed out exhausted.

The next day I woke up to an entirely new reality. A reality I wasn’t prepared for, didn’t want, and made me feel afraid of everything. For the next week I felt extremely paranoid, keyed up, and frightened to be alone. It was horrifying. I now realize looking back that I was exhibiting symptoms of PTSD. I had suffered an attack, through my own stupidity, that left me reeling. There was suddenly a new reality of invisible danger. Not that I hadn’t interacting with scary things over the years or been frightened, but this was different. This was a whole new level of play for me that I wasn’t ready for.

I spent the next week terrified to be alone in the house. The hours when my husband had to leave and go to work were interminable. Even when he was home I didn’t really feel safe until I was wrapped in his arms hiding in his energy signature. I felt like I was being trailed around all of the time. I probably was because I’d proven to be such a tasty and interesting treat to something lurking in my area. My bedroom was the heaviest warded place in my house, and I found myself not wanting to leave it in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom because it was outside my heavy ward line, which doesn’t particularly make sense since my first experience also happened in my bedroom, but that is how I felt. When I found myself pissing in a cup to not have to go to the bathroom (Yes, I did that.) I realized I needed to get my act together, and fast. I was falling apart, shaken to the core.

After that first week spent quaking in my shoes with Loki casting “love and worry for me” in my direction, but not being particularly helpful otherwise, I started mending. The energy left over from whatever the hell had been in me for a few minutes was vile. I worried it was still there, lurking somewhere and would do something horrible to me or my husband or children. I started scaring myself and doing more damage to my own wellbeing than the actual possession did. I dreamed up all sorts of horrific scenarios before I realized I was driving MYSELF closer to nuts than I was to start with and started taking my thoughts in hand. I started using a combo of “boxing” (taking my bad thoughts, putting them in a box, and getting rid of them in my mind) and using holy light to block them out when I had them. Sometimes I would have to do this several times, but usually it worked. I started working on my warding, personal and otherwise. I started getting my shit together. I started building up my defenses. I went from almost nothing defense wise to overkill, but I think I needed that to start healing in my mind and energetically.

This experience had also awakened my already keen energy senses. I now could feel everything flitting through my living space that registered on the “other” scale and that in and of itself was also scary. Thankfully, for my own sanity, some of this keen sense has worn off. I’m sure some folks would have mourned the loss of it, but in my day to day life It wasn’t useful. It was distracting.

Then, I started to get energy back up from the warding. I was warding, warding, warding, and not grounding at all. I started to feel very detached and light headed all of the time. I was very “airy”. I had energy overload. After a few conversations with some people in the “know” I started grounding regularly, and that brought me back closer to reality and my old self.

However, my reality had permanently changed. Loki didn’t leave.

During this time I was terrified of Him because of the stupid shit I had done. So, I started trying to block Him out. Drive Him off by ignoring Him.

In case you don’t know Loki very well, let me tell you He is not mortal. Time doesn’t work the same way for Him. He has time to wait shit out. He started following me around EVERYWHERE and when I locked down further, making myself willfully headblind to Him, He started bugging my extremely sensitive Husband. It got to the point that my Husband would leave the room when I came into it because Loki immediately started demanding he tell me to stop blocking Him out. Stop. Doing. That. Irritating. Blocking. Thing.

I decided to try to assuage Him by offering Him some whisky, but I didn’t stop blocking Him out even when I was doing that.

He broke the offering glass.

I continued ignoring Him and my husband got more and more irritated at the situation.

After about a MONTH of this I was more myself. I calmed down a bit and decided if He wanted to talk to me so damned bad I would talk to Him. I meditated with Loki. A whole new world opened up to me.

It took a long time for the hole I ripped in my energy to heal and for me to feel wholly myself again, even with daily attention to it.  I still do daily centering and warding on my person. I still have fear from time to time because of the hijacker I took on instead of Loki, but I’ve worked through it, obviously, to the point that I’ve continued on with my devotional work and built on my initial relationship with Himself.

I am still scared shitless to do any possessory work. I don’t want to, and Loki hasn’t asked me to.

There is a lesson in this for others, so I’ve decided to stop being embarrassed that I was stupid and talk about it. I’ve read stories of other people, heady with the rush of figuring out that gee, the Gods really are real and their own, individual, beings, (I don’t know why this is so much of a thing in retrospect, but everything makes more sense in hindsight) doing shit they weren’t prepared for and getting zapped. Read my story. Don’t do stupid stuff. Don’t get zapped. Don’t do this kind of work without support personal, hopefully experienced support personal.

The lesson is that the Gods won’t always help you. The lesson is look before you leap. The lesson is leaping can lead you to love and fulfillment, but getting to that love isn’t always painless.

In a way I feel like maybe Loki didn’t help me so I wouldn’t do something so idiotic without any support in the future. I’m not really sure. I’ve never determined whom/what my hijacker was.

from a newbie horse

I feel this is good info, really-so, I am reblogging.
I would also like to take a moment to say that this, in part, is why I am extremely hesitant to begin down the road of possessory work. I’ve got trust issues out the wazzu (Yes, my Wazzu.), so I’m not exactly cool with the idea of handing over the controls of my meat wagon.

An Anon Godspouse

Hey everyone.  I’m a new horse, still flailing and confused.  I’m asking Anonspouse here to blog this in their blog for me because my current blog is read by people who don’t quite understand to put it lightly, but I need to get it out there.

Horsing is the term used for housing a spirit, or God, in ones body temporarily. (Hopefully). I’m still new to the general Godphone thing, so when Loki was like “move over I have something to say to this person” I was like simpledog.jpg and shrugged my shoulders and let Him in.  He said what He needed to say then popped out, no harm no foul.

One day, Odin decided to be like “Heeey, you can do that for me too?” And I’m like woah holyshitballsitsodin *hides* but reluctantly agreed.

Now, I’ve read the book A more experienced godspouse recommended and I made sure they…

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Hailing The Family

Last night I lit candles in honor of all of Loki’s family. Sigyn and her children. Angrboda and her children. Himself. I also lit incense and meditated for a few moments on the idea of honoring his entire family. Then I did something that never fails to result in an energy jolt.

“Hail to Loki and all of his family, known and unknown.”

Bam! Energy jolt. Lightening in a bottle.

I don’t know if his family is that big or why exactly that happens every time, but I say it without thinking before I do it.

Poetry and Prayer

What is the difference between a poem I write for a deity and a prayer I write for a deity?

The answer is nothing, depending on the day and how I read it. Nothing, if my heart beats true and I mean every word that falls from my lips.

I am feeling that deep, inner searching that pops up during the winter months. Perhaps it is time to write some poetry for Lord Loki. I’ve also been looking for a way to thank Sigyn for her comforting presence, so maybe I will try to write something for her too.

Something tells me writing poetry for/with Loki may result in a few dirty limericks.

Radical, Aggressive, Hypersensitive, A-historical, Unenlightened and Illegitimate


“What kind of person is able to say this—to celebrate differences? This is the question I struggle with. Who are those who can embrace polytheism, accepting a bit of chaos in their spiritual perspective without denying rational modes of thinking? Who are those who are able to suspend belief and disbelief at will and are equally comfortable with scientific discourse and magic ritual?” Margot Adler, Drawing Down the Moon (p. 36).

Polytheists have been called a lot of things, and appear to be miserably misunderstood.

Let’s start from where we’re all at now.  By “we,” I mean everyone who’s claiming to be Pagan of one sort or another, for various reasons finding the term useful to define themselves and hoping to get along.  It’s been called a “big tent” or “umbrella”– both are useful for sheltering people against rain for a little bit until actual shelter is reached or found.

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