Contemplation and Dedication

December 30, 2013 at 2:18 am (Chronic Pain, Living, Living With Chronic Illness, Mental Health, Spiritual, The Panniculectomy, Uncategorized) (, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , )

Today will be a year and a day since my ordeal. It has been a very difficult, draining, painful year. I have suffered so many different kinds of loss that I don’t know if I can cleanly separate one from another. They have come at me from every direction, from places I would have never suspected, and in ways that only made any sort of sense in retrospect. I spent a lot of time mourning. This should have surprised me a lot less than it did, having struck a complex and winding deal with Death herself, but I’m still a Fool who bumbles forward ignoring all the big “Dead End” signs along the way.

And then, a few days ago, a very small light was lit. I spoke to Hel directly, and the best way to describe what happened would be that I got my “annual review”. We spoke about times when I truly contemplated in the way She had asked, and times when I did everything I could to avoid said contemplation. She showed me in that transpersonal yet compassionate way how each distraction from my Purpose had been removed. It sometimes felt like a student of meditation getting wacked on the knuckles every time they were obviously not focusing. But I learn the best lessons through pain, both emotional and physical, so it’s not like She was speaking a foreign language.

After we went through the Year of Contemplation, I asked if my failures and misdeeds meant that I had to Contemplate for another year again. “Oh no”, She replies with a slightly amused grin, “It’s not like when a new lesson begins, the old ones end. It just means you are building upon the foundation, and contemplation was the first layer.” Oh yippie skippy.

The next theme came to me slowly. I saw some opportunities start to swirl and manifest around me, and having learned some of my lesson, I wondered if this was a test to see if I would give in to another diversion. As quickly as I could, I went back to Her and asked for clarification. I’ve made enough terrible mistakes already; I was willing to risk being told to figure it out on my own if it meant She might share more insight.

That’s when 2014’s theme was given to me, much in the same way that 2013 was the Year of Contemplation. This year is to be the Year of Dedication. I will still spend much time, likely even more than last year, in spiritual contemplation, but I will also be taking on the responsibilities of sorting out what people/places/things fall within my calling, and which ones only serve as distractions or hidey-holes where I can run away from the difficulties of my station. Some of the plans I have for 2014 have already shown how they are part of my Dedication, and other plans have already been deemed unfit.

I am still sorting out one aspect of Dedication, and I think my confusion is because I really want Her to give me a straight answer, and She wants me to find the right answer on my own. When I first was in preparation for the ordeal, I knew that She wanted some form of oath or promise that would bind me to Her. I had first toyed with the idea of becoming Her consort or spouse, and honestly the reason I didn’t explore that further was because I listened to someone I shouldn’t have who had big stakes in the outcome of that decision. But now I am unfettered (for the most part) and the question lays on the table again. For now, I am offering her my celibacy, which is going to be a very big challenge for me. For I am not only forgoing sexual contact as part of this experiment, but I am also consciously not looking or even really fantasizing about finding a new lover. (Right now, I have a mostly non-sexual relationship with Rave, and a few romantic relationships that are not only long distance, but that I rarely ever see; so the temptation has been present to try to find a new dating situation of some sort.) What I understand as the long term goal of this experiment has less to do with establishing a sexual or romantic relationship with Hel, and more about accepting the reality of my life at 40 years old.

I have tried, more than a few times, to establish a “family”. In some cases, I married or created a partnership with a person whom I felt was able and willing to establish a family unit with, only to have the relationships fall apart and with that, a complete cut-off from their life. Other than that, I have tried starting covens, communal families of choice, and other group dynamics that focused on a long-term familial devotion to one another, but most of them (really, save one) have all eventually given in to entropy. I know this yearning for family is partially due to the instability of my childhood; and that has become even more of an issue with my mother’s passing early in December. I have never met my father’s extended family, and my maternal one has become estranged from me over time. The feeling is even stronger and sadder now that both of my parents are dead; even my brother voiced his concern to me that without my mother, we may all lose touch with each other.

I also have always wanted children. I had the opportunity once when I was much younger, but I opted out thinking that I would someday reach a more stable relationship in which to bring offspring. I have tried, both in the unofficial “hey, let’s just stop using protection” path, as well as with a more formal “let’s track my ovulation and basal body temperature and have sex when things look ripe for it”, and other than a few miscarriages it just never happened. Now I am having unmistakable signs of perimenopause, and I don’t have a fertile partner of the right biological sex in order to give it one last try. And even if I did, my life is just not conducive to the responsibilities inherent in having a child, which is why adoption is not an alternative. My best hopes is to try to remain an active part of my godson’s lives, and accept my childless lot.

It’s a lot to give up. When other people were dreaming of stellar careers and fancy trips, I’ve always had a far simpler vision of what I thought my life would be like. I just wanted a stable family life wherein all of the people involved had made a lifelong commitment to love and respect each other, and work collaboratively in raising some kick-ass children. I never really cared about what I would be doing or how much money we had, just that there were both adults and children in my life and that we had a loving, fun-filled home.

Then again, when I surrendered, first to Loki and later to Hel, I never asked for the family package. In fact, I consider myself lucky that I have been able to have the relationships I have experienced in the last fifteen years, and I have fond memories of all of them, even the ones that ended on bad terms. I know plenty of spirit workers who have been denied the opportunity to have mortal lovers at all, so I know they were a blessing. And there’s nothing written in stone that I won’t be able to have them in the future (yet); it’s just that I need to take this time to dedicate myself to the reality I am in, have been given, and to stop pining and/or trying to create a reality that is not mine to have. So the celibacy is less about not having sex (I am still allowed to masturbate, thank you Hel), and more about letting those dreams slowly rot on Her altar. If I were to take time to find and pursue a new lover, it would very much distract me from that process, and rekindle my hope.

And She has said that this is not forever, and that any changes to that I will have some say in. If Mx. Perfect-for-Del shows up, then part of that perfectness will have to be the understanding that sex is not on the table right away – not that it was with lovers in my past, either – and that my calling as Her shaman-and-sometimes-consort takes a huge precedence over any mortal, any day. It means that the tasks and responsibilities I take on this year as I begin to hone-in on what I am dedicating myself to are very much more important in terms of time, energy, focus, and availability. I will have to be very clear and unrelenting in my communication about what I am able to share with a lover, and if they can’t accept that, it’s better we know that up front, than spend a long time both hoping that things will somehow change.

I know that this year of dedication will be a lot of work. Not only personal work in the same way contemplation was, but also actual “must be awake, alert, and able to engage” types of work. My pain has been bad enough for the last two months that my doctor is very concerned, and I am also showing some early signs that I may have a new abscess. But part of what She wants from me is to find the balance between making time to do the things that allow me to be as functional as possible – like going to doctor’s appointments, seeking out therapies, eating well and getting what exercise I can tolerate, etc – but at the same time, not falling into another dark hole of counterproductive nothingness just because I feel shitty. I don’t know where that balance is quite yet, but I will sure be trying to find it.

I have so many other things to write about – obviously, my mother’s death being one of them – and honesty, I’ve started six or seven different entries and I eventually realize that I’m just not ready to share so openly yet. Another sad consequence of 2013 is that I had to learn to be much more circumspect about what I share online, as I have found more than once, someone using my words, my experiences, my life, etc as a way to attack, belittle, hurt, shame, or punish me. Some of the entries that I have deleted were purely emotional responses to such things, and I know that sort of pettiness does nothing but make me look like a jerk – I know this, because the people who did these things sure looked like jerks when they did it first. Instead, I am taking some time to note important thoughts, feelings, and insights, and when I am able to write from a less tumultuous perspective, I will get back into the swing of things.

But for now…

Hail Hel, Lady of Mercy and Patience.

Hail Hel, Who is as Warm as She is Cold.

Hail Hel, Who Loves Silly Fools Who Take Too Long To Learn.

Hail Hel, Giver of Life and Death in Equal Measure.

Hail Hel, Entropic Transformation.

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It’s Not About the People, Lesson 1

November 18, 2013 at 1:17 am (Death and Dying, Mental Health, Spiritual) (, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , )

This post has been brewing in my brain all year. I guess I was sort of waiting for a specific moment of inspiration or insight to commit it to an essay, but since my task was to contemplate what it means, not figure out what it means (both for me and in general), I’m going to share some places my year-long project for Hel has taken me.

This simple statement – It’s Not About the People – has been one hell of a koan-like puzzle for me. And merely sitting with my confusion, rather than trying to find my way out, taught me the first of many lessons that I have since tried to apply to my life.

Lesson One: Your Job is not to make people happy, or tell them what they want to hear, or do things for them so that they will like you.

I will admit, I am a people pleaser. Growing up, I compensated for my lack of charisma and attraction by being the friend who makes you happy. If you need to laugh, I have funny jokes and stories. If you need someone to help you move, I was there and brought three friends. If you need a rare-edition book for your master’s thesis, I will devote time and energy to find it. Nowadays, I joke about my “magickal rolodex” being my superpower, in that I know such a diverse number of people who also have a wide range of skills, collections, and interests, that no matter what you might need in your life, I probably know someone who has it or can help you do it or someone who will do it for you.

But these things carry a price, something that I have to stop ignoring and come to terms with. As I am losing mobility, having fewer and fewer good spoon days, and my resources are dwindling, I just cannot afford to be all things to all people. Sometimes I can’t even afford to be one thing to the right person – looking at some of my recently failed relationships, it’s obvious to me that there were parts where I just didn’t show up and engage enough. And I’m not deluding myself into thinking that it’s all related to my physical health – I’ve been pretty depressed this year and sometimes my ability to engage with others was extremely limited because of my depression. I am taking steps to at least face how bad my depression has gotten, but right now I don’t see an immediate burst of sunshine on the horizon. My counselor reminds me that sometimes the true observation is “Things fucking suck right now.”

As I explored this facet of the koan, I really began in earnest to think about and enact some much-needed boundaries in my life. There were definitely areas that were sapping my resources fast and dirty, and it will not surprise you that most of those areas reacted with the biggest and more painful responses when I tried to stifle the flow a little. There were some people/places/things that had come to expect me to jump when they called, to never ask for compensation for my time and efforts (and in some cases, even refusing to reimburse me for monetary investments). It has cost me at least one friendship, which broke my heart. But at the same time, it gave me an intense sense of clarity as to how some people define what it means to be a friend – that for some, if you’re not actively adding benefit to their life in a tangible way, you’re not worth a phone call or email once in a while.

I also had to turn this part inside out, and I will admit that I am still a work in progress on this. I had to look at how I deal with the vast amount of relationships (not just romantic/sexual, but all different kinds) I consider important and detail to myself what levels of effort these relationships need. The obvious example is my relationship with email – I have a reputation of never answering my email, or not answering it in a timely fashion. I tend to hide behind physical excuses, although they are sometimes legitimate, about my inability to sit and type for long periods of time. (I have tried dictation, but it doesn’t work as well for reasons that I won’t get into.) But I’d be a big fat liar if I said that was the only, or even the most common reason why I don’t respond to emails, return phone calls, or other forms of communication. I did a lot of meditating on the whys and wherefores about this, and two flaws I have decided to work on. One is feeling overwhelmed too easily. It would be embarrassing for me to admit how small a day’s itinerary can be before I throw my hands up and freak out. Like most people, I have days when I am more or less productive, but the days I am less productive have become to far outweigh the more productive ones.

Part of that is a honest coming to terms with how much actual energy I have on an average day. Although most people have days where they plan much more than they can actually accomplish, that has become almost a daily occurence for me. I’m either wildly optimistic about how much I can do, or I’m overly pessimistic and do very little. The problem becomes that there are rarely days where I land somewhere in the middle – once I fail to accomplish one or two tasks, I throw in the towel and spend the rest of the day goofing off. It also has the effect of beating myself up over stuff I failed to accomplish, as well as a slowly increasing backlog that becomes really overwhelming (vs. my anxiety driven feelings of overwhelm, which may or may not relate to the actual amount of stuff I’m supposed to be doing).

This leaves me in a pretty obvious quandry: If I make “make people happy” or it’s corollary, “Do things so people will like you”, my first priority; but I am coming to stark terms about exactly how much I can expect to accomplish on a regular basis – something has to give. And although in a dream world the solution would be to find the power-up magic pills in my real-life video game and suddenly have more stamina/less pain; the harsh reality in my real-life documentary is that I can’t always make people happy if their happiness is contingent on me keeping up with correspondence or doing other forms of work (especially for free – but that’s less about money and more about reciprocity).

Hel comes to remind me, or maybe just school me, that my first and most important priority is serving the Gods, and the work that They ask of me. So learning how to create better boundaries and knowing my limitations when it comes to “the people”, helps me be a better shaman and God-employee because They get my best. Many, if not all, the people in my life give lip service to understanding this, but I can probably count on fingers how many really grok how that has transformed my life. It has been difficult, because obviously what I would like to do with my life and my time is sometimes at direct odds with what They want from me. And in some cases, I have been tasked with doing the same thing over and over again until something happens (that is outside my control), and it feels downright wrong to spend time on something that has a high chance of being shoved back in my face, rather than spend time answering email and being social. But this is only one of the harsh realities of the price I paid to live in December, that although I had already forfeited my Will to Loki, that the deal with Hel included forfeiting most of my Life. This is compounded by the other, less obvious “benefit” that I have several Divine Bosses, and even a few that just Boss Me Around, and the tangible web/chains of the many oaths and Relationships I have developed over time has made me very circumspect about my own cavalier attitude I once held about accepting the offer of Whatever God Showed Interest, rather than really sitting and figuring out if I had the time and energy I would be asked for.

In short, I started acting with the Gods the way I acted with my schoolmates when I was in Junior High School. I didn’t care if you were a Jock, a Prep, a Freak, a Stoner, a Bad Kid – if you showed me the least amount of attention, I would do almost anything you asked as long as you continued to be my friend. I mean, I had more than one person say, to my face, that they really liked being my friend but they didn’t want the people at school to know (because then they would become secondary targets to the teasing/torture I got on a regular basis), and made me agree to keep our friendship a secret. I am not quite so desperate when it comes to Gods, but I know people who have been, and continue to be so. They are just so happy that Someone, Anyone is paying them attention, that they don’t really think through what the consequences might be. Loki may be showing you some attention, but don’t come crying to me if your life gets completely upended and you can’t seem to make heads or tails of anything anymore – invite a God of Eternal Change into you life, you get exactly what’s on the tin. Odin may propose marriage to you, which sounds romantic and important and satisfying, until you learn that He wants you to abstain from human relationships, or decides that you should quit your only-means-of-financial-support job and travel around the country helping the homeless and doing ritual for Him. There are lots of stories like this, and they tend to be the stories that you don’t find on the Internet – they are the ones told around campfires, or after rituals, or during pastoral care sessions.

This is where lesson 1 bleeds into lesson 2, so I will let you know what lesson 2 is as foreshadowing for my next essay:

Being a shaman means that you work for the Gods, not for your clients.

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Opening Up Yet Again

April 20, 2013 at 4:48 pm (Death and Dying, Hospitalizations, Living, Living With Chronic Illness, Medical, Mental Health, Spiritual, The Journey Towards Diagnosis) (, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , )

I am having another surgery. We’re not sure exactly when, but it will be before the week is out; my best guess right now is either Tuesday or Wednesday. The surgery will be very similar,  but not identical, to the surgery I had in December: they need to open my abdomen, remove an infected abscess that has now grown to the size of “a large grapefruit”. The various departments that have been working with me since I got admitted last Thursday have being doing all they can to try to avoid this surgery for many reasons.

Firstly, every abdominal surgery I have, weakens the abdominal wall and makes me even more prone to hernias and other serious re-occuring medical problems. As these abscesses are happening as a reaction to other abdominal surgeries, in a fucked up way removing this abscess may cause more to form in the long run. These surgeries are stop-gap measures so as to avoid a much bigger, more invasive surgery; one in which they would have to remove a portion of my bowels. My plastics surgeon, Dr. Sacks, is still hoping that pumping me full of high dose antibiotic via the PICC line will soften the abscess and help it break down on its own, but he’s the only doctor still hanging on to that hope.

This surgery will be different because I won’t be having a panniculectomy this time. Instead, they’re going to cut a smaller incision, but a larger hole. (Dr. Awesome described it as being about the size of a loaf of Wonder bread.) They will remove the abscess and any infected tissue that surrounds it, but they won’t close the wound when they’re finished. If they did that, they’d be leaving a perfect place for a new abscess to form. Think of it this way: instead of just evicting the tenants, we’re burning the house down.

So what’s going to happen is they will leave the wound open, but pack the empty space with a special kind of bandage that will help keep fluid from building up. I will likely have to carry around some sort of knapsack or fanny pack that has the motors in it, but I will be able to leave the house and go do stuff as soon as I feel able. This being said, I’m currently not planning on canceling any of my upcoming gigs except for the BR class (since I’ll likely be having surgery that day.)

Here’s a cute little tidbit: Either because I mention it in passing, or something triggers it, my doctors are finding out that I have nicknames for them. They mostly know about Dr. Awesome. The resident that I see weekday mornings complained, so he’s Dr. Fabulous. When I saw the guy who is working this weekend for Dr. Sacks’ service, I flat out asked him what he wanted to be called, and he decided on the Grey’s Anatomy moniker Dr.McSteamy – but I dunno, he looks more like Patrick Dempsy than Eric Dane.

This is McDreamy, Patrick Dempsey And this is McSteamy, Eric Dane.

I’ve been doing some serious thinking about this whole thing from a spiritual perspective, as well. I’ve talked it over with my pastoral care counselor, my Clan’s shaman, and other important spiritual folk in my life. At first, I was really angry at Hel, but I’ve come to peace with that now.

The first thing I have come to sit with, and to dwell within, is the shattered illusion that just because I made it through December’s ordeal doesn’t mean that I am never going to be sick, or in the hospital, or need months of bed rest. I had somehow convinced myself that if I just healed from that surgery, everything else was going to be smooth sailing from there on out. The arrival of the madness quilt, as well as the writing I’ve been doing for the book, let me sink into this soft comfort zone of not having to deal with all this death and dying stuff.

I had forgotten that way before I accepted this deal with Hel, I had agreed to be the Dying Man for Baphomet. Part of that Job is to explore the spirituality of dying and of death, so as to bring peace to others. In an odd way, the December ordeal was a formalized first step in that process, a “put up or shut up” moment if you will. I had talked about being the Dying Man, but honestly I hadn’t really thought about the nitty gritty of the death processes. Once I knew I had to face the surgery in December as some fashion of death, especially not knowing if that fashion was going to be literal/physical, I started doing a great deal of reading and research about the physical act of dying. I looked at pictures of dead bodies for the first time, real dead bodies and not just live models made up to look dead. I watched documentaries about how we treat our dead, the funereal processes and ancestor veneration. I read a ton of Near Death Experiences, and attempted to have my own through meditation (and meditation alone, I promise you.) Even after I woke up on the other side of the ordeal, I wrote a lot in my private journal about how the death process feels and what it’s like to be newly dead.

All of this, though, lived inside my own head. I still haven’t said very much about what happened to me, or what it meant, or how it changed the way I saw my own life and the lives of those closest to me. I’m not sold that it’s meant for public consumption, and by no means am I trying to say that I will continue to get abscesses until I poop out some incredibly spiritual insight on the means and manner of death and dying.

I do feel, though, that it’s important for me and for those who allow me space inside their head (by reading this blog or being my friend or anything in between) to cherish their lives. Each and every spoonful of energy is important, and what you do with it matters. This doesn’t mean you should never rest, running around trying to make every moment the best possible moment to the detriment of your soul and body; but it does mean that you can celebrate the fact you’re alive as often as you need to. You don’t need – nor should you really want – constant reminders that this life could end at any moment and therefore you should launch into everything that scares you or gives you pause. But even in the scant few months I’ve been back among the living, I have already fallen into the old pattern of allowing circumstances to overwhelm me. I spent more time feeling stressed and emotionally wrought because the effect of making choices that put my desires and needs before those of others keeps holding me back. I even got a message from a God telling me that if all those pulling me in a thousand directions didn’t stop, Hel would revoke Her permissions around having human relationships.

I let it get that bad, and it got that bad fast. It wasn’t anyone’s fault but mine, and I own that. The reason this abscess got as advanced as it did is because I put off going to the doctor. I saw the swelling and had a strong guess as to what it meant, but I was so intent and focused on the idea that I was moving on from all of that medical stuff and focusing on my Work I ignored it for far too long. And what really sucks is that I didn’t even accomplish what I really wanted to do with my time instead of seeking medical care; I spent the majority of it feeding the needs of others. This surgery is, in my own mind if not in reality, a direct consequence of not putting my own needs in front of the needs of others. Of not creating and enforcing my own boundaries around my time and energy. I like to think that it’s also the reaction from other people not respecting my feeble attempts at boundaries, but blaming others isn’t going to get me anywhere, and it’s not them that are going to be walking around with a giant vacu-wound on their bellies for a month.

As your friendly neighborhood Dying Man, I will share with you that the hard lesson I’m still working on. I have a life – my own life – and it is absolutely necessary for survival that a good portion of that life belong to me and me alone. This sounds very elementary, but for those of us that spend so much time helping and serving others it can be the hardest lesson to learn. It’s very easy to put your own needs aside, to internally compare the needs of someone else to your own and always decide that the other is more important.  Even more personally, I need to remember that my soul needs the body to express itself, and because taking care of my body is so much more boring than taking care of the soul.

Another big issue is that it’s hard to start building relationship and life skills when you’re surrounded by those who expect you to have a doctorate degree. It’s a two way street in some ways – I can muster all my strength to build and maintain boundaries, but because I’m still learning what it takes to make them it’s too easy for others to steamroll over them without a thought (or better yet, stand around and say, “Aww, look, Del made a teeny weeny boun-da-wee. How adorable!”).

In order for me to survive and thrive in the life Hel has granted me, using the skills Loki imbued in me, reacting to the hot pokers Baphomet has fucked me with, I need to take more time for myself at all costs. I need to stop wasting time worrying about things that don’t directly relate to the work (and Work) in front of me. This also means that when other people try to lead me down paths unrelated, I need to be more brutal and straightforward about distraction and what distractions support and uplift me and which ones make me depressed and unmotivated.

I will write more about the impending surgery once Dr. Sacks actually decides it’s going to happen. For now, prayer for discernment and clarity of communication would be the most helpful – and NO REIKI PLEASE.

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I Want It As Much As You Do

January 18, 2013 at 12:15 am (Death and Dying, Living, The Panniculectomy) (, , , , , , , , , , , , )

I get the gentle reminders, the emails, the comments in conversation. I hear them and I feel kinda guilty. I sit in front of my keyboard, the ragged notes hastily jotted down in the ICU by my side, and I try to describe the experience I had in the Underworld on December 28th.

Part of the problem is that I’m still remembering, bits and pieces hit me at the oddest times. I’ll be drifting off in thought and then another memory, in full technicolor, will hit me, one that I haven’t had before. I try to write it all down, try to make it fit into clunky, odd looking words, for myself if for nothing else.

The first challenge, I recently figured out with help from my friend Hugh (a wonderful writer and poet in his own right) is that there is no narrative to my experience. I cannot draw a timeline in which things happened in a precise order. I can try to force the images, the blocks, the pieces of patchwork into some sort of made up fictional narrative, but it doesn’t seem to want to be locked down like that. How does one tell a story without the sense of linear time?

Secondly, as I’ve said before, parts of it are deeply personal. It would take me more paragraphs to explain some of the symbols and images I saw, because you don’t live in my head, know my entire life story, or have the same reaction to certain archetypes/images/thoughts/feelings as I. It don’t know if the story wants to be weighed down in lots of explanations and footnotes, because it loses something in the process.

I don’t feel ready. One of the bigger messages I got is that this is a year of contemplation, and it may be that I’m supposed to go over these notes, try to recreate all the little scenes and memories over a much longer period of time. I am pretty certain some things that I remember will only make sense once I’ve had a chance to go a little further in this journey, like when an author drops a seemingly random piece of information about a character in chapter 2, never mentions it again, and yet it’s that tiny little factoid that solves the whole plot. In some ways, part of me is still down there, sitting on a rock having a big think, hoping that if I give it more time to marinate, it will make better sense to me.

I feel like I owe you a story, something, some piece of wisdom that came from my experience. So here’s something I feel like I can talk about, but ask me any questions and I’m likely to crumble.

Everything is a choice, she whispers. So many people, especially those ‘spirit worker’ friends of yours, makes everything in their life out to be an absolute, it must be this way, the Gods told me so. They speak of it as though this life was thrust upon them and now they’re just following orders. You can always say no. You can always walk away. At any point in time, if you are doing something, anything, and someone asks you why you are doing it, you should be able to tell them about your choice. Not all choices are fabulous and wonderful; sometimes the right or best choice is the drudgery and the discomfort. But it’s still a choice, still something that you made a conscious decision to do. Every single day, you choose to go to work, because you think if you don’t you’ll lose your job and go broke and be homeless and eventually die of starvation. You create this future in your head where the only right answer is the one you’ve chosen, and every other option ends in ruin. But how do you know that if you take today off, you might just run into someone at the Starbucks who’s looking for a new such-and-so, making twice as much money as you’re making now, in a part of the country you’ve always dreamed of living in?

Don’t get me wrong; there are wrong choices. Or at least, choices that have outcomes that are uncomfortable, and steer you away from your Purpose. But even if you’re going to make a wrong choice, you need to do it with an open heart, knowing that part of being alive is that you have complete autonomy over what your body does and does not do. You might have to make accommodations for things like disability and disease, but if you want to sleep 18 hours a day, you can make that choice. If you never want to see the sun again, you can get a graveyard shift job and only shop at 24 hour grocery stores at 4am. Nothing about your life is written in stone – not even what the Gods want you to do. We understand that you always have the right to say no, to choose something else, and then it’s our job to meddle and push and try to convince you to make a different choice, but there are plenty of people we approach for one reason or another who just ignore us, convince themselves we’re just a manifestation of mental illness, or purposefully choose to do something else because who wants to be in truck with an Invisible thing that might tell you what to eat, what to wear, what job to take…it feels like you’re surrendering that choice when you take on the yoke of working for us, but even in that we know, and honor, and are appreciative of, the choices you make that benefit us.

People say they can’t meditate, and you know the truth – it’s more that they cannot find a way to choose to meditate. It’s not like it’s a terribly difficult skill, and it’s easy to get better over time, but it means making that choice, every day, to set aside time to do it. People do this about prayer, about going to rituals, about celebrating their faith – they think that spirituality is a frivolous task, only to be undertaken by force, habit, or boredom. The reason we keep reaching out to people like you, Del, is because you can be living proof that choosing a life that puts spirituality at the top of the priority chain can still be a full and enjoyable life. So when you get together with your friends and gripe about what the Gods ask you to do, you’re working against this very simple Purpose.

This transitioned into talk about my friend Jon, who factored heavily into my experience with Hel, and I’m not ready to talk about that yet.

I want to share it with you. And I will. Over time. In pieces. As I get to better understand them, and glean what needs to be shared from what should remain personal. I am honored that you’re interested in what happened, that you don’t just dismiss the idea that something significant happened to me that day, but I need more time to write it out.

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He’ll Look Around the Room; He Won’t Tell You His Plan

January 1, 2013 at 1:59 am (Hospitalizations, Living, Living With Chronic Illness, Medical, Spiritual, The Journey Towards Diagnosis, The Panniculectomy) (, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , )

Maybe it’s all the opiates, but I keep wanting to say something profound about how this year was full of upheavals for me and sound all poetic and mystical and intelligent. But really, I think it would just be rehashing stuff I’ve already said and done, and after surviving my ordeal I have very little desire to look backwards anymore – at least for now. I am choosing to look towards potentiality, towards the empty status update box, the (mostly) empty Google calendar, the blinking cursor at the beginning of the open Word document, and taking a nice deep breath.

A lot of my recent Underworld journey* put my feet on a very specific path, and the first step, 2013, is about being a year of contemplation – and really, things have all fell in line to make that very easy. I’m moving into a house where I will need much less help taking care of myself; both in that it is all on one floor and therefore I can make my own food, do my own laundry, and the like, but also because I will be living with my full time slave who receives such joy in her service. (And boy howdy does it make a difference when someone who you rely on for assistance does these things with an open and happy heart, rather than a resentful and lazy one.) I have much less teaching commitments, and I’m not really planning on chasing down more. (My plan is to submit to events I’ve never taught at before, just to see what’s out there, and possibly choose to ::gasp:: attend a few new things, too.) I have enough money to pay my bills and just a little extra to have a nice day now and again. I have the ability to focus on doing a little more work from home when I need more scratch, and a little less when I don’t.

Except for the all the follow up doctor’s appointments and the regular medical merry-go-round, I really don’t have a lot of reasons I have to leave the house. I mean, I love my friends and will want to see them from time to time, but there’s something to be said for the fact that we looked really hard to find something in the much more accessible city of Frederick, only to end up in the much more out-of-the-way city of Hagerstown. A casual trip to Baltimore or DC would be much more of a drive now than it was before, and we really only have a handful of friends who live less than 30 minutes away from H’town. On top of that, we found a tiny little complex that’s mostly meant for senior citizens (who were cool with us moving in when they found out I was disabled), so I expect our neighborhood to be quiet and respectful as well.

After the crazypants monkeyhorseplay that was 2012, the idea of spending a year in sacred contemplation sounds absolutely, well, divine to me. I know it scares some of my closer friends and lovers, because I do have a tendency to cocoon away from the world and not notice how long I’ve been gone until someone comes in and pulls me back out again. But I will have to find a balance, because I need this time of quiet, stress-free thinking and feeling if I am going to truly figure out what happened to me on Dec 28th.

I know many people are waiting with somewhat baited breath to hear about what happened to me and why it was decided that I was to return to the land of the living, but unfortunately it’s going to take me some time to piece it all together. Instead of something like having a dream, or even a living/waking experience, it was more like I came to in ICU with a head full of foggy memories that weren’t there before, even though I didn’t have the physical connection to those memories. I am fumbling at words here, and most of the examples or metaphors I would use might only serve to confuse the matter. For those of you who have had ecstatic trance experiences, or dissociative episodes, or perhaps even possessory experiences when you were the seat/horse, it kinda felt like that – like you’ve come back to your body, and you know it’s seen and done things that your consciousness wasn’t present for, but every so often something triggers a memory, a foreign thought, that feeling of being right on the tip of your tongue but not quite there.

Luckily, Rave was at my bedside and ready to jot down notes of the things I remembered in the immediate hereafter, when I was still in ICU and hadn’t yet fully realized what my brush with death was. I just had all these memories that both did and did not feel like they belonged to me. Like I said earlier, I’m grasping at words and failing quite a bit.

Over the next few days, I did some talking to various mystical types who were able to just listen to what I had to say and give their insight when they had any. I know when I get to the new place and set up my altar, some of the images will coalesce. When I get time to journal freely, and to get back into a meditative practice, and do all the shaman/spirit worker type things I have been putting off for a while now, it will all come into view.

So for now, I leave you with two thoughts based on my Journey:

1. Everything you do is a choice. You may feel like you have no say, like it’s the proper thing to do, that it is required of you, but in the end, the only things you have to do is “stay black and die!” (-Joe Clark, Lean on Me) That is, everything that is outside of your autonomic system is a choice. Spend a day being conscious of all your choices, every one. Do you always drink coffee that way, only because it was the way your mom drank coffee and so that made sense to you? Do you have to be someone’s girlfriend just because you slept with them last night? Do you know why you chose not to shower today, why you put your hair up, why you were mean to your coworker? Think about it, and become painfully aware of every single choice you make, and wonder what would happen if you fell out of step, made a different choice, went in a completely different direction?

2. Every time I go into surgery, I get a song stuck in my head. I have no idea why this was the song of my panniculectomy, but it was also heavily used as the background music for my Ordeal. It is “Pumped Up Kicks” by Foster the People. It is about school shootings, so that you’re trigger warning.

I like this second version a little better; and yes, I first heard this song on The Voice. Sue me.

 

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Holding Vigil

May 24, 2012 at 12:26 am (Death and Dying, Uncategorized) (, , , , , , )

The entry before this one, “A Desperate Prayer”, is about my friend Jon. He is currently in the ICU at UMass.’

He was found on Monday afternoon unconscious and unresponsive. He was rushed to a local hospital, who quickly acertained that he needed more care than they could provide, and he was then transferred to UMass. The people he was living with found his mother, since ICU is blood-family-only, and got her to Massachusetts. Luckily, Jon was staying with a clergy person, and this clergy person has been able to go and pray over Jon. Also, Jon’s mother has been very open with the clergy person, and has been keeping us in the loop.

I don’t want to go into a lot of details here, but I will say that the cause seems to be a drug overdose/interaction.  (Edited to add: This has been brought into question, and I will admit my information is third hand at best.) It is unclear if this was purposeful or accidental. He is young (27), but his health was compromised. He contracted an infection in the hospital, so on top of the coma he’s been running a fever.

Jon is a Hel’s son; relating to Deity as an offspring is something we have in common. We frequently talked about being “children in a spouse world”, since most of our friends are Godspouses or Godslaves. He is heavily modified; including a cutting on the small of his back that I augmented and helped ash. He underwent an annual hook suspension for Hel; I kept promising that one of these years I would facilitate it.

He spoke with a child-like lisp and generally carries himself with a lilt. He would playfully hit on me, but only when I was packing. I let him touch it once. He is adorably affectionate with those he loves, and rarely turns down attention. He is, in turns, deeply attentive and serious about his spirituality, and scarily unconcerned about the future. He is functionally allergic to planning ahead.

Jon has a beautiful tattoo to Mani on the back of his skull. He has a romantic relationship with Mani, and it is definitely mutual. When he speaks about Mani, his whole face lights up.

It is pretty certain that Jon will never wake up. If, by some miracle, he does, he will be severely disabled for life. Every day that passes, lowers his chances of survival. Tomorrow is either day four or six; we’re not sure how long he was unconscious before he was found.

I am keeping my schedule generally flexible so I can go to Massachusetts when it is time. I have asked to be a part of any rituals that are held in his honor or on his behalf. I admit, I’m not feeling optimistic at all. In an odd way, I feel like letting him go peacefully and quietly is the right choice, but it’s not my choice to make. All I can do is wait for the phone call. I have a candle flickering in the background; I prayed hard over it and asked Hel to use its light to guide him in the right direction, wherever that may lead.

Please pray for Jon, and for Jon’s mother. I can’t imagine what it must be like to know that your child’s life is functionally over, and all that’s left is to turn off a machine. I don’t blame her for taking her time, for looking for hope, for taking everything as a positive omen. But on the other hand, my  heart tells me he wants to go. If you are friends with Jon, and this is the first you are hearing about this, please comment and I will send you full details via email.

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