Let’s Play Name that Deity

Long black hair. Bold eyes that have a touch of madness sparkling in their depths. Feels like excitement and dread all rolled into one when he looks at me during a meditation. And he does look. Pale. Tall. Masculine. Prefers black. He stalks my dreams and his lessons are bitter tears I haven’t wept salting my tongue.

He lingers in the dark, dirty gray bricked room of a temple with a gray cement throne. He doesn’t like to sit on the throne.

He doesn’t want the throne.

Is that you Jor? The son of the Trickster radiates similar vibes to the father. I’m simply not sure.

Or is it someone else?

His love would be like fangs, sinking in deep, cutting on their way out. There’s something off about Him in the best way possible. I hate it when They don’t identify Themselves.

The Cauldron

He lingers near the lady’s fire soot collecting on his white shirt while he attempts to raise the courage for this endeavor. She sleeps in her small wooden home not even ten feet away, and he’s terrified to wake her. She is sure and true with a slap or an arrow, so he knows better than to anger her, yet constantly finds himself on the wrong side of her wrath. He quite expects to wake some morning as a squirmy little bug the pretty witch can stomp. He shivers. His strawberry blond hair shines golden in the flickering flames while he struggles to lift the cauldron from the hook, but he’s half her height, and his arms are still filling in with the muscle of manhood even though he’d gone through a growth spurt this past summer. The cauldron is hung too high for him to easily pull it down. The chill autumn air bites through his shirt as he sweats and struggles to lift the half full black metal pot from its resting place.

“Hurry or we will be caught,” his best friend whispers. With his dark hair and clothes he blends into the darkness much better, and he’s safer crouched behind a nearby tree.

“Help me and we shall be done twice as fast,” he hisses back. There’s a small chuckle then a boy a few years older than he is emerges in his dark green tunic, a shadow to the first youth’s light, and together they heave. The cauldron clunks off the hook into the embers.

“Ouch!” the blond whimpers brushing the sparks from his bare feet. The other boy in his boots elbows him aside fondly and braces himself lifting the cauldron.

“Quiet,” the raven haired teen groans eyes darting to the round wooden hut nearby, but no incensed witch comes screaming out after them. He pulls their treasure away from the fire and together the two teens struggle to make a fast get away with the heavy pot dangling between them.

“This is a lot of trouble to see the future,” the shorter boy grumbles to his best friend.

“Knowledge is worth some pain,” the other boy says with a sly grin jerking his head to the side to try to get his long dark hair to fall out of his clear blue eyes.

“Better yours than mine. Next time you’re not rousing me from bed for your foolishness,” the younger one grumbles with a laugh as they finally figured they were far enough away from the witch’s home to drop the cauldron to the forest floor. They were in a clearing, tall trees reaching with naked fingers to the sky. The water inside the pot was pitch in the night save for the silver of the moon vibrating in the steaming water.

“How do we use it?” the smaller boy asks his friend cuddling up to his side for warmth. They huddle there with the frost forming on the grass for several moments contemplating the cauldron.

“I don’t know. She stares inside and sees her future,” he concedes with a smile and a shrug. The younger boy sinks an elbow into his stomach and he grunts holding his side. “You’re getting strong,” he laughs. The glare he gets sends him into another peel of laughter that he stifles with a hand over his mouth. “You’re full of courage, are you not? Look,” the older one demands wrapping his arm around the smaller boy, drawing him closer.

“You want to know. You look,” the younger boy demands, but he does as he’s asked with half a smile. He leans forward and inside the moon swirls in his vision. He sees nothing in the cauldron, however, as he stands there wrapped in the warmth of the friend he loves most, the only person he’d die for aside from his dear mother, the moon shivers and trembles. Not in the cauldron, but in his mind, scenes lost from time unfold. He gasps in horror at the secrets yet to be unfurling, but through it all there is love as well. The constant presence he’s come to count on. Looking away he burrows in closer to the taller boy, pushing his face tightly to his friend’s chest, shaking his head. He doesn’t want to know everything. He certainly does not, but it’s good to know they will always be together.

“This was a fool’s errand. You are right. You are always right,” the darker boy gasps out the words after several minutes, but his hunger for knowledge keeps his eyes fixed on the endless darkness inside the battered, old, soot dark pot. For all that he claimed not to be the brave one, he hadn’t closed his eyes. He hadn’t looked away.

“Idiotic brats. I know it was you. Bring it back now.” A young woman’s irate yell sounds from outside the tree line and both boys jump in their embrace. Sharing a look they’re jolted from the seriousness of the moment. The short blond snorts out half a laugh, mischief lighting his eyes. Together, holding hands, they race as fast as they can through the darkness away from the clearing to search for a safe warm place to hide in and sleep away the little bit left of the night.

The Importance of Celebration Rituals

As a Lokean working within a framework of an amalgamation of several practices (Wicca/chaos magick/Heathen-ish magick/chanting/you name it) I suppose I can simply claim to be an Eclectic Lokean Practitioner working closely with a small group of Norse Trad deities. All of that is assuming you include Loki’s family in the Norse Tradition framework, which some do and some don’t, but I firmly do because of Loki’s blood bond with Odin, if for no other reason, which I see as then passed on to His Children (at the very least) though I digress. In working with Loki and His Family my love has grown for Them, and I’ve grown increasingly fond of tending my altar. Daily, I give offerings. What I give varies depending on my mood, Theirs, and my funds, but often includes sacred smoke in the form of incense, candles, beverages, alcohol, and specific foods when the request is made. I do all of this willingly and with a deep joy in my mind and heart. My love for Them, Their love for Me, this is the energy surrounding my altar.

One day recently I didn’t get to my altar in the morning as usual because life decided to get in the way. That evening when I finally stole some time to tend my altar my husband made the peculiar comment that it had seemed “dead” all day. He’s grown used to the blossom of energy overflowing into our home even if he wasn’t aware of exactly what he was sensing.

Tending my altar for Loki puts a fierce bolt of satisfaction in my chest and lights me with part of his Divine Fire.

However, as much as We Both benefit from Our small daily rituals, I still need do ritual for myself as well. In the last year I’ve celebrated Them, Those God/desses I’ve become close to alongside Loki, daily, but haven’t been marking the seasons or doing much work for myself. I’ve started doing ritual for me again, and the difference in my internal balance is phenomenal. Often times I convince myself doing a ritual will take too much time or planning, make it seem like a burden in my mind, but with very little bits of planning I realized it doesn’t have to be that way. After the most recent ritual I’ve done in my home for myself and my family, a small blessing for fall, I felt like I’d spent a day chanting or doing something else deeply restful on a mental level.

Celebration is self care. Take care of yourself and you will be better able to live your life for you and Them.

Loki is constantly asking me to unwind and I’m finally, finally figuring out the pieces to the puzzle.

Much of my blog seems to focus on the never ending conundrum of balancing the spiritual with Mundania. Maybe because I have small children demanding most of my attention during downtime connecting with myself sometimes seems like a monumental effort, when simply tending my altar and connecting to Loki isn’t so much of a problem. Everyone has something pulling at them, demanding they stay stuck in Mundania. Sometimes obligations are good, grounding, and sometimes they are a distraction from our spiritual health. It all depends on which way you tip-too much into the spiritual or the other, into Mundania, and you find yourself unhappy and don’t know why.

Daily ritual, the million small things I do with Them in mind up to and including tending the altar, helps open my mind to the Gods each day. I’ve found I want the daily connection. Seasonal ritual, on the other hand, actually seems to be a blend of grounding in “reality”, since we are marking our physical time, and the spiritual because we are often invoking the Gods or inviting Them into our midst, especially for the Holidays. I plan to set a place for My Sweetest Friend, Loki, at our Harvest Home celebrations (Mabon-Thanksgiving) this year.

There is a reason our ancestors chose to celebrate so much. Maybe it was to relieve the stress of the day to day, but it was to give us a time to Love as well. Ritual is usually a time for love, even if the love is not hearts and flowers. I cannot think of a single type of ritual with the Gods that would not involve our love for the Gods, Theirs for us, or Both. Even something historically harsh like asking the Gods for victory in battle would require the love of the God being petitioned for the petitioner because you don’t usually smite enemies for people you don’t like. Even the simple act of making offerings to the land spirits where my home is situated is still love from me because I don’t offer for any other reason.

Ritual is self love.

Self Love: Taking care of you because you love your own insurmountable spirit and would like to see it happy. Can include:

Mundane~ eating healthfully, shower, shave, tooth brushing, exercise, good friends, good wine, great entertainment, fantastic sex, loving Others and allowing Them to Love You.

Spiritual~ psychic cleansing, ritual, exploration of the senses, adoring Our Beloveds, respecting Our Own Power and energies, acknowledging the inscrutably singular essence of the Self, allowing Ourselves to be afraid but use the fear as a tool, working with our Beloveds, examining Our life lessons with an open mind, being playful and not taking every aspect of the spiritual seriously because play is special and rewarding.  

Dreamscapes and Apples

Time for another potentially meaningless dreamscape episode from Ki.
So-this dream seemed to take place in it’s entirety between 5:30 a.m. and 7:00 a.m. …sort of. It was a continuation dream from earlier in the night, but after I woke up to drink some water it got more vivid, or perhaps I just remember those parts better because they were the closest to when I woke up for the day.

In any event…

I was a male of my own age in High School. I wasn’t supposed to be there, and the entire thing had a 21 Jump Street sort of vibe, and I’m not sure why I was there really other than I wanted to finish my senior year. For some reason I never did get to graduate from High School and I looked young enough that I decided to go for it and someone was stupid enough to let me in. I got the impression that I was close to getting away with all of this. It was spring, when a female teacher found out about me. She confronted me in the library, but she didn’t actually confront me, she did decided to have sex with a student in front of me instead-doing something wrong but knowing I wouldn’t be able to tell anyone without possibly outing myself-and she was getting off on the thrill of having a voyeur.

She was beautiful in a darkly exotic way. She was a very curvy woman, hips, thighs, breasts all extremely rounded an alluring. Her hair was long and dark, her lips were pillowy and red, and, now here’s an odd part, when she took off her shirt her breasts were apples. They were still breasts, as in still flesh, but they were vibrant red apples…tattoos? It has stuck with me because they were APPLES. Now, this might be my brain getting literally with some descriptions (How many times have I read about boobs being the size of apples or something like that? What else…peaches…yes, female anatomy is compared to fruit and flowers quite often.) I just can’t shake the imagery. And when her shirt came off she became decidedly somewhat demonic and menacing. I watched her have sex with the other student feeling upset about it. It was wrong that she was taking advantage of him, but I also didn’t want to get kicked out so close to finishing my Senior year. I was being forced to decide between what was right and my own life milestone, and honestly the guy she was on didn’t seem to be unhappy about the situation at all. In the dream I walked out of the room and outside into a snowstorm, walking away from the building that was very much like the High School I did graduate from and I was buried in guilt. Then I woke up.

I’m not always great at breaking down dream imagery, but there’s a chance I feel like someone is going to stop me before I succeed at something I really want-and right now there are a few things I’m working on. I do sometimes think of sex as a weapon, depending on the situation. The entire dream was so bizarre though. And the apple symbolism? Well, apples immediately draw to mind Adam and Eve or the Golden Apples of immortality. Eh, there are so many ways to get Freudian and weird with a dream like this.

The Simple Life

Simplicity.

I would wager simplicity isn’t something most people associate with Loki. He’s a God of Change. He’s a god of Mischievousness. He’s Mr. Tricky. With Loki’s love of Truth though, at least the truths we tell ourselves, He’s also a lover of the direct route. The long and winding road is good if we’re learning something or if it is necessary, but we don’t always have to take it just because we’re His. He will build convoluted schemes, but at the end of the day that’s work, and when we’re dealing with ourselves unnecessary.

Short thoughts on a long day.

Building a simple life is easier than building a scaffolding of fixes. How can we build a simple life? Have people we trust, trust with everything, and keep them close. Have a life direction. Follow it. Have a life goal. Achieve it. Have friends and keep faith with them. Be loyal and understanding. Have ethics and abide by them, but always leave room for the gray areas and then always approach them calmly. Keep faith with your Gods, They love you and you love Them. Make time for Them. Don’t allow unimportant things to suck your time away from the important ones.

Hail Loki!

Be Me

I’m me, myself, and I no matter where I try to hide, and one resounding message from Himself is always to BE myself. Don’t try to hide that smirk, don’t try to force my life down a path that sucks my soul, don’t avoid the things that go bump in the night or the darkness of my soul. All of that shit is me too.

Be me.

Don’t try to avoid things that scare me because those things are the things I need to learn. Fear is my friend. Fear is a teacher, but fear isn’t to be wallowed in. Fear can be harnessed. Fear is an energy and if I learn to use my fear, that wild careening energy, rather than letting it use me, I’ll be unstoppable.

Be me.

Do be there FOR HIM. Do be there for MY PARTNER. Do take time out for ME. Do devotion work. Do leave offerings for Everyone who inspires, helps, and sometimes just because They’re Loki’s LOVES. Do write. Do love my family. Do walk away from people who are not supportive. Do sink into the Otherness every day, but do realize I have this body and this life and Mundania needs me too.

There is nothing I cannot do so long as I don’t exhaust myself trying to hide my essence.

Be me. Be His. Be Mine. Be Ours.

Writing: Pulling on the Other Side – The Need for Creativity

The Need for Creativity

I write because I have the need for creativity. There is a strong desire in me to pull the thoughts from my brain out, turn them around, examine them, and then spill them onto paper for others. Sometimes the thoughts are there raging, searching for the paper, and other times I have to coax them out of the corners of my mind like shivering scared animals. Sometimes I write as devotion and sometimes I write because I just have the desire, the burn, but no matter what I am writing I am always writing for me too because when you break me down I am words.

That’s why I identify with Silver Tongue. I AM WORDS. I may not have the tact to wield them well at all times, but they’re there.

When I talk about writing I talk about me because I’m in the mix. The ideas are mine, even when they’re building on other ideas I’ve seen and read anything that comes out of my brain is revamped and remixed with a piece of my soul in it. Even when it’s bad it’s mine. When it’s good it’s mine. There’s nothing of my words that aren’t filtered through me at least a little bit. Sometimes I write something and don’t really believe it or it feels like it came from somewhere or someone else, even though it is filtered through me, and then I feel more like I’m pulling on the other side-pulling on the spirit realm or that place where all ideas hang out in a hazy fog like the Greeks of Old imagined. Perfect ideas just waiting to be discovered, downloaded, into our primitive brain. And that is an act of adoration of the divine for me-when I have the chills as I write and realize I’m writing something that for me, at least, is an unrevealed Truth of the universe. There are times when I write and I feel I’ve tapped into GOD or a god or something bigger than myself.

I write because I must and I write because I want to and I write because my life wouldn’t be the same without it. I write for people when I love them. I write for my Gods because I love them. When I write, especially for someone, it is an act of love, and quite often this goes unregistered on Mundania, in the real world, and it’s seen as a self indulgence and an act of self centered mental masturbation, but

I write because my core being has words swirling in it.