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Charleston, West Virginia Plants and the Emerald Kingdom Purple, Magic & Sorcerers Uncategorized Writings

Me & Geography

Recently, I haven’t been feeling like myself. This could be from spending too much time on Facebook where you don’t get treated like yourself, but more as a dumping bin for people’s unwanted emotions.

The reason I was on Facebook, though, was because I couldn’t move for a while due to a kidney infection. And so I’ve been taking antibiotics which might also be causing me to feel strange as the bacteria I have loved and relied upon die off around me.

Last night in a dream, I was attacked by two men. A third one came up to save me, but it turned out he was a friend of the bad guys and stuffed me into their black van.

My life feels upside down. I live in a large historic house which requires money and care, but my husband’s job is building a cryptocurrency trading site that pays nothing. Nor does he want me to work, since he prefers I spend my time on music & other shadowy interests. So, financially, there is not just a paucity but a growing vacuum, with no sign of change in sight.

Psychically, I feel depleted because my husband sleeps through the day and works through the night, meaning I rarely see him. Lacking transportation or friends in this city, I rarely see anyone else either. I can make friends online, but there I am just a replaceable commodity. People are friends so long as political ideas align, but the second ideas diverge it is over. And still it is essential to talk about politics, because it is the only thing online people are passionate about.

And then I do astrology readings, which makes me feel both connected and depleted at the same time. I don’t charge for them, because it is easier that way.  I learn a lot from looking at people’s charts and I enjoy it. If I turned this into a business, it would limit the number of charts I could see. Nonetheless this creates a void situation. Psychic energy going out, psychic energy not coming back in.

It feels like my whole life is a void, one that I must fill with my own energy. But sometimes this becomes exhausting and I don’t want to entertain myself anymore. I want the world to take me for a ride.

So, as usual, I have devised an impractical solution. Unless you have a lot of patience, you should probably stop reading now, since this may be difficult to explain…

Basically, I don’t believe all humans live in the same reality. In the USA, we believe we are living in a scientific world, and things generally appear that way. But that is not how all humans experience things.

The different realities a human can inhabit correspond to the different climates and ecosystems of the earth. For example, as you move closer to the equator and heat increases, the objective grid of reality starts to melt. Scientific laws become more mutable.

Likewise, in places with dense plant life, more energy starts to come in from an alternate reality which I call “the other world” for lack of anything better to call it. This ‘other world’ is not a scientific one, but more closely adheres to the laws of dreams & imagination. Anything conceivable can be.

Water and humidity also create a more fluid and malleable reality than dryness. Hence, why our Judeo-Christian religions- in which spirituality depends upon restraint and holding fixed beliefs- come from the desert.

Therefore, in a tropical rainforest, science is at its weakest and magic at its strongest. In a northern climate (less sun, drier air, sparser plant life) rationality is at its zenith.

Higher powers, of course, can still come into play in Northern climates, but they will play by the rules, maintaining the perception that a person lives within a  fixed objective reality and not a swirling dreamlike one.

None of this means that location determines reality. Humans learn from nature for the purpose of re-sculpting it. Ecosystems are patterns. A northerner who felt their soul was dying could emulate the patterns of the south. A southerner who felt their brain was melting could emulate the patterns of the north. (Generally, northern patterns suppress the heart and enliven the brain, while southern patterns do the reverse.)

So, back to my own life. I am going to try to bring in more energy from the South- the tropical rainforest to be exact. Because in a rainforest, there are no voids.  Voids belong to the north and to deserts. In the rainforest, energy is so plentiful, you are constantly beating it back with a stick.

But why am I even sharing this with you- my faceless, invisible readers? Normally, I prefer to keep my inner world safely hidden. But this is yet another experiment I am trying. I am going to imagine you, reader, as a wise and loving friend, someone who truly understands me. Perhaps I will pretend your name is Brad.*  You are a perceptive and open-minded man with intense interest in everything I have to say. I love you, Brad.

* I might rethink that name. We will see.

Slippers & nature. Two forever friends. Plus, a very strained smile since we are so near the edge of a cliff, and Slippers loves to pull and is way stronger than me.
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Blue, Black, Silver, Water, Moons, Death & Ghosts Charleston, West Virginia Writings

The Reptile is the Magician

Sometimes I have the urge to go to seed- to just drop my identity and normal pursuits and be nothing. That is the state I have been living in so far this year and in that state I have nothing to express. Hence no posts or new songs.

One thing, though, that has been coming more and more into my mind is the importance of our reptile brain. The brain that rules sex, survival, rage, murder, and also (I think) magic. I see this brain as residing somewhere in our genitals. Its counterpart is the mammalian brain which lives in our heart and is concerned with love, relationships, and goodness. We tend to identify much more with our mammalian self while viewing our reptile as some crude, simplistic biological piece that exists primarily for breeding and the continuation of the species.

This I do not agree with. Although the reptile speaks the language of sex and survival, these are not his true goals, much less the survival of the species (which I seriously doubt any organisms give a f-ck about.)

The reptile is our connection to the black world of death and magic. He isn’t afraid of death, because he always has one foot in death’s alternate reality. Our reptile is connected to the primordial (but hardly primitive) ooze of pure knowledge that created us and he shares this ooze’s magical powers. He has the ability to transform and recreate reality at its most fundamental and even material levels.

There are multiple parts of us that connect into different realities. Different spiritual realities, for lack of a better word. The black world of death is just one of these. Each one of these worlds contains its own symbolic language. Sex and violence are the language the world of death speaks. Violent and sexual desires that come into our mind- especially when they are not in line with our heart- are messages from the world of death. This world can also speak to us through creativity and dreams (although both of these can emanate from other worlds as well.)

There is way more to say on this subject, but I am just beginning to figure things out. All I want to get across right now is this message: The reptile is far from a simpleton. He is a magician.

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Charleston, West Virginia Uncategorized

Good Books

Now that I have gotten disdain for books out of my system, I would like to share some of my favorites. The two things I look for in a book are a) that it be an autobiography and b) that it not be written by a writer. I don’t want to be impressed by someone’s writing ability; I just want to understand what they are saying. The more simple, the more I like it.

I like books by strange people and books by normal people.  Books by “great” people and books by ordinary people. Although ordinary people write books about themselves less frequently, when they do it is a treat. I would prefer a book about a day at the office to a book about the conquest of Rome.

A couple more thoughts…

  1. I hate it when autobiographies begin with endless details about a  person’s ancestry.
  2. Many autobiographies are spellbinding in the beginning but become vomit inducing once the person achieves worldly success. Pre-success self lives in a fascinating little world of dreams and struggles, while post-success self inhabits a dry, bloated reality in which they have become an object even to themselves.

So anyway, here are a few favorite books…

Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass by Frederick Douglass

I love books about people who must endure circumstances beyond their control. Two other things that make this book amazing to me…

Freddie’s fate is changed by a magic root.

He finds the “keys to his destiny.” What do I mean? Well, I have this theory that everyone has one- or possibly several- keys that unlock destiny for them. But these keys differ from person to person. One person might need to read every book they get their hands on to tap into their latent powers of luck, while another person might need to focus on growing their hair into long, golden locks.

Freddie had two keys- literacy and fighting. He knew he must learn to read at all costs and- and after receiving the magic root- he realized he must always fight back, even against his master, returning each blow with a blow.

As he admits in the book, this course of action would generally have guaranteed a slave’s death. But since it was his destiny, or perhaps because he held the magic root, it worked for him.

 

Up from Slavery by Booker T. Washington

Once again, a person who endured hardship and found the keys to their destiny. In the case of Booker, his destiny was unlocked through a devotion to practicality and manual labor. At a time when former slaves were being encouraged to learn French and run for office, he realized the value of learning a practical trade- one that would meet the true needs of humanity. He figured that a man who serves a necessary role will have a secure place in any community, while the fortunes of the high-falluting man will wax and wane.

 

Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl by Harriet Jacobs

I don’t know if Harriet ever found the key to her destiny, but anyone who has the will to spend 7 years curled up in a box to escape slavery is cool in my book. This made me feel better about all the years I have spent in near confinement.

 

The Crystal Horizon by Reinhold Messner

This book- about Reinhold’s first solo climb of Everest- helped me see how the road to glory is paved with drudgery, pain and hallucinations. I appreciated his simplicity and his willingness to risk his own life while not the lives of others. A cold, high & empty feeling pervaded the whole book, which I found very stimulating.

 

How I Found Livingstone by Henry M. Stanley

Now for a man who was completely willing to let others die in his quest for glory. But keep in mind that Henry was a soldier himself, risking his life for both the Confederates AND the Yankees, constantly putting himself in danger- not for a social cause- but in the name of Manhood and Adventure.

This book is also an interesting glimpse into Africa of the 1800s, though through a traveler’s perspective. People offended by the racism of days gone by should avoid this book, since Henry believes in the superiority of his own race.

Growing up with Draja Mickaharic by Luke Cullen

A simple book in which Luke recounts his childhood training with a magician. It is not fantastical, however. Even his teacher-the magician- explains to him that magic can only alter the odds by 20%. Eventually, the author decides this advantage is not worth the cost and forsakes magic for an ordinary life.

 

The Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Grahame

Not an autobiography, but probably the best book ever written. Timeless animals doing timeless things. What more could you ask for?

 

The Story of My Experiments with Truth by Mohandas K. Gandhi

A good book for those wanting to take a more extreme approach to life. Drinking his own urine is just the tip of the iceberg. I may have been better off never having read this book, since it fed some of my own extremist tendencies and sent me down a strange path for years. I never drank urine of course, but did develop self-torture routines of my own for the purpose of… actually, I can’t remember exactly what the purpose was supposed to be. To be stronger, I suppose?

But I have come to the conclusion that self-flagellation only works as a spiritual path if you are a man. Because it is the nature of man to rise above his emotions, whereas it is the nature of woman to glean wisdom from hers. Only men should try to conquer themselves.

 

Eight books is enough for now, but I may be back with more later…

Me, when I lived in a place that had bookstores. Living in New England brought out my scholarly side for some reason.

Oh, and do you happen to like songs about books? Here are a couple to consider…

The Brown Library (a song about the ultimate library contained within the Earth)

I love to Read (a song about a person who loves to read, but of course they read the ultimate books- the ones hidden in nature)

Categories
Charleston, West Virginia Sky Blue, Ether, Flags, and Fairies The Pine Fairy Videos

The Pine Fairy Loses Faith but Clings to Survival (Video)

Categories
Charleston, West Virginia Music & Songs Purple, Magic & Sorcerers Sky Blue, Ether, Flags, and Fairies The Pine Fairy

The Pine Fairy is blasted by the past on his way to capture a Saturnine Wind.

 

 

Walking through flowers surrounded by thoughts of her when she was down on her knees
Wind in my hair but there’s nobody there much less somebody begging to please
Maybe tonight my wind will come
Maybe tonight the sky will unfold
Maybe tonight I will hear the words
Life is a story that’s already told, I’m told.

Clouds at my back I can get nothing back but a picture that’s turned upside down
Clouds that are pink, though I struggle to think I just twist and fall back on the ground
Maybe tonight my wind will come
Maybe tonight the sky will unfold
Capture it quick in a sack of gray
Maybe tonight I will truly be old.

A flag, a sky, a kite, a lie
A memory that fades, twisting and flying away…

Walking the path that I carved with my own feet wrapped in my own cotton cloth
Walking the path to the cliff where I stand with my staff on the edge of the drop off
I know what they say about me
I know who they think I am
And if I’m magic I don’t really know that
I know that I’m not quite a man.

Maybe tonight my wind will come
Maybe tonight the sky will untwist
Capture it quick like a flag of gray
Folded and holded with twine round my wrist.

Download MP3: The Pine Fairy Is Blasted by the Past on His Way to Capture a Saturnine Wind

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Blue, Black, Silver, Water, Moons, Death & Ghosts Charleston, West Virginia Music & Songs Purple, Magic & Sorcerers Sky Blue, Ether, Flags, and Fairies

Introduction to the Pine Fairy

 

 

The stars and moon were calling
but he didn’t hear.
The night was cold and piney
it was clear.
He stayed inside and cried
as though somebody died.
His heart was breaking in two
on the inside.

The owls were cold and silver;
they were harsh.
Green things were fermenting
deep within the marsh.
He rested his head down,
a king without a crown.
The staff held in his hand
was made of larch.

Why did he cry?
Cause he was learning to love himself.
But why?
Because no love came from anybody else.
People say they care
but they can’t always be there.
At times it’s best to think
of something else.

The stars were going crazy
on a whim.
Tomorrow night he may be there
dancing right beside them.
But right now he is tired.
His brain is blue and mired.
The produce on his shelf
has all expired.

Why is he tired?
Because he’s learning to love himself.
But why?
Because he can’t get love
from anybody else.
He lives in a forest of pine.
His home is hard to find.
No one has knocked upon his door
in the longest time.

 

Download MP3: Introduction to the Pine Fairy

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Blue, Black, Silver, Water, Moons, Death & Ghosts Brooklyn Music & Songs

Every River

 

Probably the most traumatic part of living in Brooklyn was the cockroaches. When you lose control of your personal space, and cannot make it safe and clean despite your best efforts, you lose a part of your mind.

Portrait of black man with red shirt and red background.
Moses was a black man, and his favorite color was red.

The first time I saw one I didn’t think it was real. I had just turned on the bathroom light in my newly rented apartment when a three inch long creature- that looked to me like an Egyptian scarab- quickly scampered down the drain. I didn’t see what a magical scarab would be doing in my apartment, and I didn’t see how something that large could have disappeared down the drain, so I figured it must have been a hallucination- and hopefully a sign of good luck! I thought- like the phoenix- it was the sort of creature I would only see once in a lifetime.

But unfortunately, it was just one member of a very, very, VERY large tribe, that tormented me day and night, and that is about all I can say on this subject without losing the contents of my stomach. Suffice it to say, this was just one more element of my life which felt intolerable, out of control, and left me turning to magic for answers.

Perhaps because I lived in a black part of town, most of the magic I learned seemed to have African-American origins, like Hoodoo for example. One book I read was called the 8th, 9th, and 10th Books of Moses. In the preface, it refers to Moses (if I remember correctly) as the Great Hoodoo Man of the Bible. It caused me to see Moses in a totally new light. Before, I had always thought of him as someone chosen by God to do God’s bidding with little will or volition of his own. Which isn’t very relatable, since most of us don’t have burning bushes to turn to for advice and have to figure out life for ourselves. But in the hoodoo version of Moses, he was more of a self-made man- a powerful, wise magician who led his people to freedom through his own knowledge, strength and cunning. Which makes sense when you consider that “God helps those who help themselves.”

 

Download MP3: Every River

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Blue, Black, Silver, Water, Moons, Death & Ghosts Brooklyn Music & Songs

Not Here, Not Now


Nude woman crawling on waves, towards stars, with light pouring in through head.

 

I wrote this song while living in Brooklyn, when my mind was beginning to decompose from endless periods of solitude… first a year living off the highway in Santa Fe and then- I don’t know how long- living in the scary filth of Brooklyn, cut off not just from other humans, but also from the natural world since it took hours of expensive transportation to escape the urban grid.

My one connection point with nature was an abandoned lot that contained a metal rod sticking out of the ground. If I stood on the rod, I could see what appeared to be a creek in the distance, although it may have been a drain.

In Brooklyn, I started doing strange things I would never have done before, like buying tabloid magazines and reading them from cover to cover, eagerly devouring every story about celebrity weight gain and two-timing ex-boyfriends. And I would read them while polishing off family sized bags of Combos in flavors I used to hate, like Pepperoni Pizza Pretzel.

You might think someone with a lot of time on their hands and the freedom to do as they wish would make the most of it, taking up all sorts of new hobbies and interests. But instead I found that, in the absence of friends, money, nature, love, and beauty, it was difficult to be interested in anything at all. The only books I could bring myself to read were books about magic. I was especially interested in spells for invisibility, and would rarely leave the apartment without trying out one spell or the other. My favorite was to hold a crystal pointing downwards and imagine myself being swallowed up by the earth. I also began dressing for invisibility, and really constructing my whole personality around being as inconspicuous as possible. Because when people DID notice me, it was not a good thing.

Once I was walking down the street, when out of a window an invisible voice shouted “You’re ugly! You’re ugly! Hey you in the orange shoes- You look ugly!!” It was mortifying and he kept shouting it over and over again until he finally yelled “You’re not ugly, but your shoes are! They don’t match your skirt! Don’t wear those shoes with that skirt!”

Another time, a group of twenty or so kids who had just gotten off the school bus started throwing glass bottles at me. Equal to my fear of the bottles was my confusion and humiliation when none of the other adults did anything to stand up for me. I don’t know if this is because I was the only white person, or if New York is just a culture where everyone minds their own business regardless of what is going on around them.

It seemed commonplace for people to talk about me as though I wasn’t there. Once, two girls a couple feet away from me had this conversation: “Oh my god, she looks like a ghost!” “That’s what white people look like! Haven’t you seen a white person before?” “No, look! She looks like a real ghost! Like a white sheet!”

Download MP3: Not Here Not Now