When I am in the company of greatness, and I am often in the company of greatness, I can start to feel like a very small pale human amongst very tall gloriously golden trees. Ancient trees. Wise trees. The temptation to become little is strong, to squish my heart into a little paper ball of failed dreams and smeared ink. But instead my heart is precocious. She beats like a proud little bird on the gael. I will not give in to feelings of inferiority! I too have a vision and a spirit that sings! I know that what’s inside me is the same greatness as the greatness inside of you. We are one water.
Boredom. I really don’t get it. The only time I am ever bored is if I’m waiting on someone else. I get anxious because I want to start doing, but I don’t necessarily have time to start. Know what I mean?
We, who are privileged enough with the wealth to be reading and writing this on the internet, are living in a world of miracles where there is so much information available, so much to occupy the mind and the hands. You’ve probably heard the phrase “if you’re bored, you’re boring” and as much as I hate the cliché, I think it’s probably true. Find something to do with your hands. Transform yourself into the kind of person you find the most admirable and interesting. (That is High Magic.)
Why are you stopping yourself from doing the things you know you need to do? Why aren’t you pushing forward in spite of your doubts and second-guesses, faking creativity until it comes? It is your aversion to these things that slows you down. You’re short-changing yourself with self-loathing. Every little bit helps. Experience accrues in a spiral pattern. What is boredom, but a lack of ingenuity, a fear of your own fearlessness, the fire in your belly going dark? DO NOT LET THIS HAPPEN TO YOU. Death is down that way. Boredom is bred in stagnation and stagnation is that death.
There’s an endless amount of fascinations in the world, endless forms and permutations. There is so much to do that we can start to feel overwhelmed by it. You may not consciously realize it now, but you have a destiny in mind for yourself. There is something in this world that you are passionate about, that you can accept and claim as your own purpose for being here. So start doing it. Here’s how:
Make a list. What are the activities and ideas that make you feel most alive? Go towards those things in any way you can. You may not be good at it now, but believe me, anything you put your attention to can grow within you. It all accrues. You may not be able to live within your fondest thoughts in this life, but you can talk about them and by communicating them, enrich others and possibly even make them more likely to be manifested at some time in the future. Take Buckminster Fuller for example. Plenty of the things he dreamed of never came to fruition in his life, but they still inspire us today. It is a labor of love and if you love yourself (if you are not afraid to love yourself), you will never short-change yourself with self-doubt again. There is only the love and service to yourself and your dreams.
And by the way, don’t be afraid to love yourself. You are strong enough to do it. Be bold and let that internal fire grow until it roars.
This morning when I woke up with my head still spinning pleasantly from all the whiskey gingers I downed like a champ last night, I realized: I am a lightworker. Yes the term is hopelessly entangled with some of the worst New Age clichés imaginable. I admit that fully. I don’t care. I’m taking “lightworker” back. Back from the fruity sorts who believe that promoting and propigating love and compassion and snork-the-whiskey-out-your-nose laughter is a serious thing, that it means your soul is ancient or even that it means you have a soul at all, and especially those who say it must necessarily equate to a belief in some kind of over-arching deity.
Yes we like to play with gimungous RPG characters who usually live in the sky or a paradisal abode we wish we could reach, whose generous bosoms swell with the golden milk of joy even as they fountain this same milk from their bountiful nipples and girthy trunks into our eager mouths, us docile supplicants lying supine below them as if in utter submission. Yes that is true. I admit that fully. We love to pretend that these things exist, are real, have substance because it adds so greatly to the play, to the joy, to the energy dance of existence. We can suspend our belief or disbelief for pleasure and then snap back to rationality when the playtime that demanded the suspension it is over, if it indeed ever ends.
It is okay not to believe. It is okay not to believe you are a starseed or that karma has anything to do with your need to extend healing in the forms of love, compassion, free handjobs, etc. Some people just have something inside them, maybe something really fucked up from childhood even, that fuels their need to give, to inspire their fellow upright-walking primates with glorious visions, kind words, heavy soups, inappropriate workplace massages and more.
And yes the term implies a kind of duality between light and dark and the poopie preference for one over the other. The kind of folk that would guffaw over this metaphor are usually the basement cellardwelling types who think it is cool to cling to walls in dank, moist places, slowly growing larger, some undiscovered crevices of their corpulent phosphorescent bodies rotting imperceptibly to their users. They could use some sunshine. These folks can’t laugh at themselves, let it slide and they certainly don’t know how to flow. It’s okay to love “the light” even if you are a freak goth mutant alternative non-conformist. Sunshine is good too and it fuels every thing we do down to the most minute detail. Our lives, our choices to dwell in basements becoming obese while jerking it to barely legal lesbian foot fetish porn, would not be possible without the sun. SO DON’T KNOCK IT. It’s okay to love the light and to want to illuminate and be illuminated instead of keeping yourself from the world, keeping who you really are a secret from the rest of the world.
DON’T BOGART YOURSELF! Step into the spotlight, grab the mic and go crazy with it. Get it all out. It’s an EMOTIONAL ENEMA.
So. Back to my original point. I’m taking back “lightworker” from both the flakes and the people who make fun of them. Being a lightworker means neither that you must be unconventional (or novel) or that you must conform to what other lightworkers believe it means. It certainly doesn’t mean you can’t ever work in the dark, have bleak moods or feel inspired by a gothic aesthetic. You don’t have to be conventional or unconventional to ride this love ship passion trip. You don’t have to be a washed up hippie without a gourd (but don’t under any circumstances discount washed up hippies: they have the best drugs!) But on the other side of that, you don’t have to be a smug, constipated, unrealized fart either.
I am a lightworker. I am weird. Get used to it. Deal with it. You can laugh at me if you want to, but you’ll be the one on the sidelines snickering to yourself and pretending that you are really enjoying yourself, cloistering yourself from others because you are too afraid to show yourself to the world and risk the vulnerability of putting yourself into a new context. Weakling.
Much of this rant doesn’t make sense. Much of this rant has very little internal logic and flits in a carefree manner between topics and tenses. That is okay because I drank a lot of whiskey before writing it.
Mother Mosquito shoved an ancient pencil and scrap of envelope into my hands and made me take down the following list of spell components:
Feathers, keys, nesting dolls, figurines, dried flowers, pages from old books, strange stones, egg shells, branches hit by lightning, animal bones, nail clippings, beads, moonlight in a box, red envelopes, spent candles, old love letters, worn records, hand-me-down jewelry, flavored cigars, seashells, wooden spoons, antique mirrors, parchment, hard candies, cornsilk, broken clocks, magazine clippings, river rocks, graveyard dirt, dog hair, rabbit skins, puzzle pieces, glass eyes, fish hooks, mirror shards, hat pins, buttons, photographs, valentines, caustic liquids, rusted nails, brick dust, spiderwebs, teeth, old lace, liquors, menstrual blood, curiously strong mints, brine, razor blades, pine cones, drift wood, dollhouse furniture, honey, mushroom birds, false eyelashes, mardi gras throws, tarot cards, faerie wings, pills, toy cars, whiskers, ribbons, bells, whistles, coins, hair trimmings, shadows.
She eyed me with that sly sideways glance of hers and said, “When you’ve gathered all these things and know how to use ‘em, then you’ll really be somethin’, won’t you? Then maybe you’ll be ready. But not. Until. Then.”
A way out…
Let go of it. Change your response. Take control of your reactions. Understand that you do not have to be slave to your normal chain of emotions or to the expectations of others. Refuse to let it get you down. Refuse to let it stop you. Remember that your ego is a tool – use it, don’t let it use you. Use theatrics. Play. Remain ridiculously calm. Don’t struggle so hard; you’ll ensnare yourself even more. Step back and think for a moment. Attain inner peace. Silence. Stillness. Just for a moment, become nothing, become no one. Silence your critical mind for a moment, and let your dreaming mind work at unraveling your self-inflicted knots. Ask yourself if it really matters in the grand scheme of things. Try to justify it. Find out if it is for the “highest good” whatever you deem that to be. Find your center and stay there. Work to heal others by healing yourself. Work to heal yourself by healing others. Seek out emanations of love and beauty. Don’t let the fear of change stop your transformation. Forgive your perceived mistakes. As often as possible go towards what feels right and good deep down in your entrails and cojones. Put into life what you hope to get out of it. Play Devil’s Advocate with yourself. Examine the scenery from as many angles as possible.
Any Good Magician Could…
Read between the lines.
Notice trends, patterns and currents.
Recognize important similarities and disparities.
Use a good analogy.
Create something worthwhile.
Understand the power of names.
Work a mystery.
Employ associative thought.
Personify inanimate objects.
Make interesting small talk.
Appear eccentric. Or completely normal.
Become effectively invisible.
Put on glamours.
Shapeshift conveniently and convincingly.
Perform minor miracles.
Entertain hirself in the most bland environments.
Produce a clever parable.
Speak with passion and conviction.
Magic for the sake of magic.
Cultivate personal mythology.
Put morals aside when necessary.
Be quite contrary.
Act as healer, oracle, confessor.
Hex with a blessing, bless with a curse.
Transmute lesser elements into alchemical gold.
Feel a deep philios for hir fellow humans.
Act with compassion and mercy.
Lead without false authority.
Guide without vanity.
Incite a riot.
You are standing in a dark temple, only barely illuminated by light coming from somewhere above. There is a large altar before you with strange and beautiful faces, symbols, plants and beasts carved into it. You realize that this temple is within you and that this altar is a representation of your relationship with that which you consider sacred.
You kneel, staring at the glossy floor in quiet reflection and prayer.
The light becomes more brilliant. You to look up and behold a being that is at once great and terrible, beautiful and alluring. You recognize this creature as your Holy Guardian Angel.
You make a gesture of respect and the being nods.
“Why are you here?”
You know without a doubt that you are here to declare and define the Great Work of your life.
“Yes,” you answer with great conviction.
“What is your Purpose?”
Having already contemplated this for many days, you clearly state the purpose you’ve assigned to yourself for this incarnation, your reason for being, the very basic work that feeds your soul and inspires you to continue this life in the face of all sorrows and difficulties.
“What is your Will?”
Again, you answer clearly, listing all that you desire from the fruits of your labor.
The being nods.
“And your Means?”
You answer carefully, detailing the steps you will take to manifest your Work, knowing well that these steps could easily change depending on circumstances and intuitive prompts.
The being nods again impassively and seems to grow stronger, more defined as thought it is taking strength from these affirmations.
“Yes. This is good. It will be done.”
Your Angel fades back into the light and you take another moment of quiet repose to contemplate the interaction you’ve just had.
The ritual is over. You know that this is a sacred pact between you and your Higher Self, and that this is an important step in the manifestation of your Great Work. Memories of this ritual will serve as an anchor in the future. You also know that you will meet your Guardian in future visualizations and rituals to further cement your plans.
We have accepted the quest.
We have traversed the maze.
We have discovered the Great Vault of Wealth and Wisdom.
We are standing before the great doors.
We intone the proper incantation.
The doors are swinging open.
The lavish doors are creaking open, a sliver of light is pouring through.
The doors are thundering wide open; we see great treasures on the other side.
We are walking through the doors, our fingertips grazing the ornate carvings.
We are standing in the glowing radiance of a mountain of gold and jewels.
We are digging into the warm metal, putting jewels into our mouths.
We are testing the legendary swords,
And weighing the lost tomes of ancient wisdom in our hands.
We are skimming the parchment and vellum pages.
Becoming enlightened by these words and signs.
We are gathering a portion of the wealth to bring away,
Knowing that we can return anytime we wish to.
We convert the gold to common currency and begin to change our lives.
We change our lives forever.
We begin to change the world around us.
We are changing the world around us.
We have changed the world around us.
We are creating a new reality.
We create a new reality.
We have created our new reality.
We have passed our wealth and wisdom to the world.
Now we all know of our birthright.
We all know what is waiting inside us.
Now we all know the location of the Secret Vault.
It is inside.
Inside each and every one
Getting fuzzy around the edges as something prepares to come through. Powerful beginning, striking the match and setting the defixio ablaze.
Make way for divine madness! Open your mouth for the rain of fruit wine to cleanse your throat of the dust from the well-traversed trade roads of life. If you will lift your hands in praise and devotion, they will be covered with the light you seek. The light is the gold you seek; the gold that will buy your unmanifest dreams. Always pay for your desires and experiences with this gold and more gold will always seek you.
In my dream, I am carried aloft by two or three of the Anj. They take me forcefully, although not violently. It is understood that I have little choice in the matter. We ascend towards a bright white-gold light and as we get closer and closer to this light, I melt into thick pools of ruby liquid that the Anj catch in their hands and fashion into a huge ruby chalice. This ruby grail is my new body and I have all the experience of living as this beautiful vibrant cut glass. I am filled with the white-gold light and served to the poor of spirit. The light becomes a fire in their bellies, they are ignited with new passion for life.
My eyes are like hollows with fierce fires behind them. My body is like a portal that allows the numinous to be expressed. I am a chalice filled with the divine madness, and filling you with divine madness when you drink of me.
All the light flowing from me into rainbows bouncing everywhere, into you, into your blood. Spells powerful enough to shake a mountain, gentle as a feather on your cheek. Hands raised to the sky, offering devotion on the vertical axis of reality. The helix rises on fire, flames licking the atmosphere. I’ll connect to you through lightning bursts, complex chains of chaos running from particle to particle, the smell of ozone in your hair. Ashen faces, glorious blossoms bursting from their casings.
I have healed and been healed.
Where once she was pale and slight, she paints herself in all the vibrant colors of nature and even some not found there. She’s gone to the left at the fork in the road and travels in a cloak of twilight, her sanguine mouth glittering rubedo. I am she whom the winds fear, she whose mouth ever flameth, she hisses to the darkening sky. Her skin glows brighter in the gathering darkness and that image encompasses all you can see. She commands all your concentration as you examine the glints in her skin, doorways to other worlds and mirrors of your own majesty.
I am she, I am she. The Grail of Life!