Escape From a Swarzschild Radius of Insanity

paul-kidby_granny_weatherwax-001

 

I have finally become a refugee.

From Twitter and Facebook, that is.

Last night I deleted both accounts before I went to bed and woke up this morning with such a sense of relief that I knew I’d done exactly the right thing.

I started out years ago on Twitter with 40 followers and ended up with over 1.5K of the buggers. This is not a good thing, as anyone conversant with the horrific phenomenon of Twitter can attest.

Twitter. It’s a great tool for keeping up-to-date on whatever news you’re interested in; you get the latest breaking stuff first, plus much of the as-yet-unverified speculation. But with that comes a clamouring clinging of hanger-on demons which will eventually deeply wound your sanity if you’re even halfway in your right mind to start with.

Some issues, let’s face it, are bound to be emotive. Transgender Rights, the Patriarchal control of the globe, Donald Trump…So you make a resolution to rise above the gutter-wiping of the basest Tweeps. I’ll just observe, you tell yourself, and take in arguments from both sides – to which end, you include a broad spectrum of class, race and political affiliation in your Follow list. Sounds about right.

But gradually, over months and possibly years, you find yourself taking sides. taking umbrage at the others. Taking seriously the emotionally immature rantings of a faceless archon who uses 140 characters to inflict as much pain as possible. And you find yourself doing this, too; becoming habituated to being as pithily nasty in as short a text as humanly possible to someone you don’t even know.

This is the template for all 9 rings of Dante’s Hell to coalesce and eventually collapse into a screaming, barking mad black hole of insanity.

And Facebook? With even the best of intentions of keeping it confined to family, you find yourself scrolling through endless reams of photographic saccharine memes, brain-deficient repetitions of somebody else’s endless idle time…nope. Just Nope.

And so I left those places. Threw them to the West, iconic icons and all, turned on my heel and walked away.
Because I can’t be having with this any longer.

Pic: Paul Kidby’s rendering of Esmerelda Weatherwax
Advertisements

Coming Into Focus

Well, I’ve successfully de-Googled and de-Twittered myself.
I hope.

My blog and much of my online identity was heavily snarled up with Google, so it took a little time to sort out, but it’s done now.

I’m retaining this blog and all of 2 friends on Facebook – my son and my partner. All other “friends”, all pages, all groups – unlinked.

The thing is not so much the hysterical shouting about the NSA and how the governments of the world are spying on us – much of that is true, but it’s the risk you take being online – it’s more that I really need to get back to a place where the real world is primary, and my attention is not so much in danger of fragmenting into a thousand billion ineffective pieces.

So now, while I wait for the stodgy network at work to process my code, or sit in traffic, I’ll be engaging with the world on the ground, so to speak.And getting back some of that awesome power to really concentrate on remembering who I am, as well as making sense of the superficially nonsensical.

So I haven’t gone away. I’m actually stood on the real Earth again, looking around me in, initially, slight bewilderment.

Observing incarnation coming into focus once more.

Hecate Propylaea

In honour of the Full Moon of the Scorpio-Taurus axis, which I always associate strongly with Hecate, I will be burning Myrrh tonight and holding the eastern seaboard of the US in my thoughts.

It seems as if, whenever I’ve had a moment to rest my mind today, I’ve looked into it and seen there a picture of unutterable peace and joy: a place I visited once in a dream and have never forgotten.
It was on the edge of the ocean, and the full moon hung over the blue-black-purple waves rolling to shore, casting silver and bright white highlights over all. There was a cove to the north, and a human-built structure on the natural jetty standing with huge doors open wide.

I saw it only once, but I have never forgotten it, or the way it made me feel. So at peace, so full of the beauty of life and night and moon and sea.

And now I am holding this place close to the surface, between the small stresses of the day and the wondering worry about Hurricane Sandy.

May Hecate guard your gates tonight.
May She fill us all with the beauty of moon-sea-night.
May She bear our light into the eye of the storm.
Blessed Be.

Holding Space

There’s this thing that humans do, sometimes. It’s called holding space.

Our divine imaginations are capable of not only describing in detail, but creating and keeping alive entire other dimensions. We are storytellers, and world creators. We are energy conduits and containers of Spirit. Often, the way we hold space is to weave a tale  – imagine it into Being, populate it, breathe Life into it.

 I’m not sure if other animals do this. Tell stories, sure: birds, dolphin, whales, elephants and great apes are very likely storytellers par excellence. But holding that spun tale open in perpetuity for generations to move into and inhabit? I strongly doubt it, although perhaps I am wrong.

Decades ago, a talented storyteller named Frank Herbert opened up not just one planet, but an entire universe of feudal-systemed society, ecospheres and groups of human and non-human peoples – this dimension has established itself in this world through the minds of its readers.
  Who has not heard of the Litany Against Fear? Or aligned themselves, in some instance or other if only briefly, with the Sisterhood of the Bene Gesserit?
 OK, I’m talking about people similar to me here – readers, and absorbers of books. People with finely-honed imaginary talents whose spirits are never confined solely to this planet, this time, and this set of realities.

And so it is that – although I admit my deep bias straight off the bat – I found myself asleep in the luxury of a mid-morning nap, dreaming in a world of Rusts, and Clockwork Angels, and a Chronicler named Charles Anderson.

My only son has – for me at least – managed to create a space and hold it open in enough vividness for someone like me – for me – to step into it once the bindings of consensus reality are loosed in sleep.

Shevek Moore’s novella-length story, The Day The Sky Caught Fire, is a truly space-holding creation. It’s a space I’ve never been in before, and I was caught in its copper-toned magic for the first time. I suspect I’ll be back, too. And, as I have said, I and all his ancestors are incredibly proud of him.

Pic: Blue Fire Studio, Owl Holding Space for the Dream of Love

Read Obligation

…by Scylla

“Unless you have to. Unless the spirits demand it. Unless you have no other option: Do not walk the Witch-path. You’ll come out the other side mad, dead, or a shaman. And them ain’t the best odds. “

Well said Scylla. Who is not, I might add, my dog of the same name.

But also:

You could come out all three. Mad, Dead and a Shaman.

Just saying.

Pic: Found somewhat inexplicably here

Heart Decoder

Working for the fatal downfall of the Patriarchy – which is just another name for Civilisation, in my book – has many,many options open.
One of the ways to get into the guerrilla war against The Machine is to open yourself completely to yourSelf, as much as you can.
Opening your heart chakra (decoder) is one of the most beautiful things a human being can do to this end.

Here’s Neil Kramer, from the ARC convention last year, with more to say (and a more succinct way of saying it):