Which Way Now?

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geralt, Pixabay

It’s been a hard ride trying to keep afloat on the surfboard of life. Inspiration’s been slow, as has bravery and the will to initiate change. Sometimes the Universe gets fed up and pushes you in the path of oncoming “traffic”, I’m currently peeling myself off the tarmac. This situation is eerily like the last time I wandered across a road and (metaphorically) ended up as road kill, food for crows. I also get a sense, no, it’s more concrete, of a lot of my readers losing interest in recent posts. Fair enough, the odd paths they were going down were making them a little indigestible. It happens. You could say it echoed a clearing out of psychic, emotional and physical debris. Put it plainly, the crap needed clearing. I can empathise with Herakles when he had to clean out the Augean stables (it was his Fifth labour), what a lot of manure to clear! So, you can see the dilemma I found myself facing.

I’m still feeling tired due to vestiges of the flu hanging on; and trying to be patient and less judgemental in my attitude towards people who bear me no good. Not an easy business trying to sift through negative projections (from both sides). It’s a work thing everyone, I don’t like games and certainly don’t care if I don’t fit people’s perceptions of who I should be.  It’s frustrating, nevertheless things have to be put into perspective. Far worse may be happening elsewhere.

Anyway, like the Roman god Janus I’m facing both past and future, but seemingly forgetting the present. It’s so easy to forget to live in the present, wishing desperately for the future to manifest now. Always running to get to that horizon, only to find that the moment has passed and the future is past.  What a revelation! A bummer eh?

Which way now? I’m planning to self publish a few of my flash fiction efforts, that’s a short term goal. It will require liaising with a couple of fellow bloggers who are happy to help me with this new venture. Something to look forward to. I’m starting to feel better already.

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RobinHiggins, Pixabay

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Approaching Thresholds

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ulleo, Pixabay

I haven’t posted in a while due to being ill with a horrible bout of flu. A week is a long time in politics and even longer in blogging. This lurgy deserves to have all manner of nasty things thrown at it. It’s rendered me unable to eat properly, coughing like I’ve been smoking for years (I’m a non-smoker) and very tired. Today is the first day I’ve felt able to function properly and it feels goodish.

I’m reserving judgement until the virus is dragged screaming from my system and thrown through whatever portal it came through. A tad dramatic admittedly, but when you’ve had a raging inferno inside you there is no other option but to use harsh language. It passes the time and occupies idle hands.

The day’s been mild and sunny, which has lifted my spirits. Although there was one minor blip on my horizon. Our kitchen door has a habit of sticking and it happened this afternoon. I’d left my phone in the living room and couldn’t climb out of the kitchen window (either I need to lose weight or the window needs checking for malfunction); a valiant and embarrassing effort was made though. I managed to free myself eventually.

I was seated at the kitchen table consulting the Oracle and wondered whether this was a test. You know, to see whether I was taking notice of the messages being conveyed. My divination skills are rather rusty and ripe for refining. Illness has a habit of focussing one’s thoughts and attention towards the inner. Living in a world filled with a cacophony of noise can render you almost deaf to important messages emanating from your subconscious. It can also blind you to things that need to be noticed, prevent you from seeing through illusions, of situations and people not being what they appear to be.

The Oracle from the Magician’s Tarot (Quareia), Jan Malique

It feels like there are many thresholds approaching. Thresholds are intriguing places, both in the waking and dream states. They’re places of transition and transformation, and in architecture are decorated appropriately to denote their significance. They signify the separation of the profane and sacred, and are assigned guardians to prevent the incursion of those not prepared for the experience to come. They are also places through which we pass from consciousness to subconsciousness, we thus descend into the Underworld if the Guardians permit us to.

Which brings to mind the descent of the goddess Ishtar into the Underworld. There is no way of avoiding this fate if we’re to gain one ounce of self-insight.

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5477687, Pixabay

The unravelling is necessary but its power must be restricted once the objective has been achieved, that is self-awareness and self-mastery. That doesn’t necessarily mean we’ll be permitted access to the doors waiting further on the horizon until further trials and lessons are completed.

The threat of destruction (either real or symbolic) is heavily infused with ambivalence, it implies sacrifice and is part and parcel of the journey. The process brings fear but should not be allowed to overwhelm us. I’m not seeing things clearly and perhaps allowing the fear of whatever destruction implies, it isn’t always something negative.

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Dustytoes, Pixabay

I’m a different person to who I was a year ago, and a year before that, and beyond that. The passage of time has involved the shedding of old personas, much like a snake sheds its skin. Transitions and Thresholds have come and gone. Like the Shaman I need to face the invader (either physical or symbolic) within my system and ask why it’s there and what it wants. What lessons are to be gained from the interaction?

Self-awareness and self-mastery? For that I need to commune with the beings populating the inner landscape and my own self. I look to my ancestral line for answers to present day dilemmas and the gifts they’ve bequeathed (for good and bad). My healing will benefit them, for that is the greatest gift we can bestow upon them. It involves reintegration at the deepest level. A positive endeavour don’t you think?

The end. From THEREBEMONSTERSHERE.COM

Another intriguing blog that caught my attention. This post raised a smile. You may think me strange, human nature can be at times.

Death sighed sadly to herself, she exited her battered old VW beetle. Secateurs in hand, she strolled through Maggie’s ward unseen by all. Mr. D’arcy trotted at her heel, a large doggy smile on his face. Maggies ethereal form stood beside the corpse of Maggie Trout. Wild and terrified was her expression; her […]

via The end. — therebemonstershere.com

Highly Restricted -Twittering Tale #70 – 6 February 2018

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Photo by PIRO4D at Pixabay.com

My little ditty for Kat Myrman’s Twittering Tale. The horror of what was going to be unleashed left me a little lost for words. Make what you will of this news:

Headed Highly Restricted
It was lifted from locked files and sent to shadowy cliques

This was point of no return, and others had to be warned now

The contents were dire.
How could they unleash this on the world?

Surely It was Marketing gone mad? Why? Ken and Barbie sing show tunes.

(280 characters)

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Hot and Bothered – Twittering Tale #69 – 30 January 2018

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NY Times Best Selling Books

Kat Myrman’s Twittering Tale challenge this week provided interesting fodder. What book titles should I use?  Do I go down the road of either a gothic romance or penny dreadful? Decisions, decisions:

Her past was Diary of a Wimpy Kid, yearning after romance

Her reality is Fifty Shades of Grey, a forbidden palette and gallons of espresso

Lean In she implored And the Mountains Echoed with their laughter

Surely this was Proof of Heaven? Getting hot and bothered

How the Inferno rages

(280 characters)

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What is the Porpoise of Life?

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Image: Pinterest

Is this really true we ask ourselves?

 

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Image: Pinterest

Exactly my thought.

 

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Image: Quickmeme

Killing two birds with one, er, stone.

 

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Image: Quickmeme

Finally, the greatest question confronting sentient beings on this planet.

I’ve pondered long and have come to no final conclusion.

 

A Pox on All Spammers

Image: James_Jester, Pixabay

It appears one of my posts has been favoured by a select group of spammers. They’ ve been lavishing fragrant words of flattery and guile on it for months. Elusive is the post in question, and Elusive it’s going to be as I’ve deleted it now.

I’m sure His Nibs will be amused at the turn of events. One lot of spammers appear to indulge in nonsensical prose and the others, they’re linked to various porn sites. Quelle horreur! My delicate nature was terribly shocked, I had to resort to tea and cake to calm down. Perhaps I’m being naive, an innocent journeying through unsafe waters filled with all manner of sea monsters. To be honest I’ve been quite lucky with responses to my posts. So what am I complaining for?

This issue is irritating, like a banal pop tune stuck in your mind. Or a runny nose and unproductive cough. His Nibs is shaking his head in despair, it appears I’m enjoying complaining.  How rude! What is the world coming to when you can’t even moan in your own Shed. He gives me a look that speaks volumes in several known and unknown languages. Wrong move on my part…

I’ve not had much time to concentrate on developing the blog due to longstanding commitments. My recent wanderings have given me sore feet and precipitated a certain ennui deep within the spirit. Perhaps it’s due to the separation from familiar friends, Anubis, and the troublesome Hare (yes, I’m talking about you, you tea drinking fiend). Perhaps it’s due to being caught in a rut, of going over familiar ground over and over again. So much so that I’m stuck in mud up to my ankles.

The inner creative landscape has shifted profoundly, ebbing and flowing. At times emerging scorched from the rays of an ever-growing sun. One evolving into a giant, ready to go supernova. Then the greening of this landscape began at the close of last year. I finally managed to clean the dust off many projects, vowing to get back on my spiritual quests. Too many distractions caused me to lose focus. Have they taught me anything? Much. The Hero engaged upon the greatest quest of their life often suffers doubt, lack of faith and despair. Their inner resolve is prey to dangers lurking on the path, which can seem terribly lonely and lacking light in many ways.

What does this have to do with my spammers? Not much, except to release the words that have been dammed for so long. My musings had become a mystery to even to me.

His Nibs smiles beguilingly, we have an important appointment approaching. So you’ll have to excuse me. The Shed is due for redecoration and I have to contemplate my navel and ponder on the meaning of Lif. Or fight dragons, but as I like dragons this isn’t going to happen any time soon.

The Impossible is Possible He Says: A Return to the Beginning of Things

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Me in 2015

I don’t like being photographed, due to shyness mainly. For purposes of this post a decision was made to use a photo, a selfie (I dislike those things usually) taken in 2015. She stares at me with a look I remember well, filled with secrets and questions. The core of this person remains unchanged, as much as a whirling vortex can.

A whirling vortex?” he repeats slowly, the look on his face is thoughtful. His Nibs appears out of thin air, typical of these deities to indulge in dramatic behaviour.

His absence has been longer than usual, which has given me time to tie up a few loose ends. I look at his face for indication, any indication of his thought processes. He draws sigils and hieroglyphs into the air, sacred symbols etched in fire. I see a raging ocean struck many times by lightning. The First Time. Anubis is in his golden form orchestrating the play of elements. There is silence in this place of the first creation, a silence that is infused with many layers of meaning. The Mound is yet to appear. Strange that I should be witness to this again.

Image: Golden Anubis, Jan Malique

Being born is an initiation, a period of trial, tribulation and learning. We infuse our lives with beauty, pepper it with tears and sadness, and write its story in our personal Book of Life. The time has come to continue my story in the Book of Life. He hands it to me gently and smiles. I stare at it with the same look my other self had in the photo. She was yearning for change and wondering whether her circumstances would shift, evolve. Sometimes the perceived impossibility of the task at hand can throw you off kilter. Introspection can bring with it fears and uncertainties. They are unavoidable but necessary.

“I’ve stood on the edge of towering sand dunes peered down at you, watching your every move and thought. Your eyes have reflected the incandescent light of stars burning at the edge of galaxies, throwing illumination into the heart of darkness. You seek, question and demand, as you should. What answers have you obtained? You smile and give me that look. Filled with secrets and questions. Are you ready to serve, to pierce the illusions of this world and act? Take care to speak honestly and without prevarication. Serve higher ideals. The Impossible is Possible”

Anubis intends these words for those who are ready for the Journey.

His eyes burn with ancient fire and his hand gestures towards the unfolding of creation within the First Time. This journey is one towards the beginning of all things, a return to Source. We sit on the Sacred Mound beneath the waters of Chaos, the Eight peer at us intently, alien frog and snake headed creatures from a time before time. A return to the original womb of being can involve dangers, realisations of truths we may not be ready to face. I sense movement of the Eight and also of something more…The waters of Chaos bubble and shift constantly. His Nibs watches, silent as the depths of the Void, and as inscrutable.

The storm continues around us, but we‘re sitting in a space set apart deep within the eye of the storm. A place of deep significance and sacredness, the First Temple from which all others were birthed. Again I sense movement of the Eight and also of something more. From out of the gloom emerge his priests, jackal headed men bearing his mark. They stretch into infinity, forming a processional way into the depths. This is the path into the depths of the subconscious, hence the guardians of the portals safeguarding the way. There are places where no light has ever pierced, where no voice has uttered sound. We dare to pass through these halls of silence, and dare to emerge intact.

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Image: Trandoshan, Pixabay

He employs sleight of hand, confuses our senses, makes us believe the real is unreal and takes us to the very edge of reality. We stand on the precipice and peer over the edge. We peer deep within our selves, for that is the purpose of this journey, of any journey, to find our truth and speak it.

The Eight churn the waters of Chaos, creating life where there was possibility and promise. The Sacred Mound waits our return, it is time for emergence, manifestation of all possibilities and promises. The Benu bird utters the first sound that breaks the eternal silence and the child Ra emerges from the waters in his womb of Blue Lotus. His light pierces the eternal darkness and so it begins. The Sacred Mound waits on our return and embraces us as we emerge. From silence and darkness does life emerge, looking out into a vast Universe filled with mysteries.

Anubis is known by many names, one being the Walker between the Worlds, another being Psychopomp, and another The Opener. He’s a shaman par excellence, guardian of the portals between the different states of consciousness. We meet him at significant points in life, so as to be eased into states of death and resurrection, symbolic and real. What’s prompted this bout of soul searching? I’d ordered a book written about Anubis and had to wait nearly three months for it, due to delays that seemed to go and on. This issue tested my patience severely, at one point I thought he was “pulling on my chain” just to see what I would do. It unveiled aspects of myself that needed looking at, and here I am looking at some of them.

Smorgasbord Laughter Lines – Be careful what you wish for.

These will certainly cheer you up.

Smorgasbord - Variety is the spice of life

A woman was walking along the beach when she stumbled upon a Genie’s lamp. She picked it up and rubbed it, and lo-and-behold a Genie appeared. The amazed woman asked if she was going to receive the usual three wishes.

The Genie said, “Nope … due to inflation, constant downsizing, low wages in third-world countries, and fierce global competition, I can only grant you one wish. So … what’ll it be?”

The woman didn’t hesitate. She said, “I want peace in the Middle East. See this map? I want these countries to stop fighting with each other.”

The Genie looked at the map and exclaimed, “Gadzooks, lady! These countries have been at war for thousands of years. I’m good, but not THAT good! I don’t think it can be done. Make another wish.”

The woman thought for a minute and said, “Well, I’ve never been able to find the right…

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Cross My Palm with Catnip: A Tale of Dark Undoing

Image: Alexas_Fotos, Pixabay

She looked longingly at what he was offering her. Its enticing aroma made the blood race through her veins, rendering her powerless against the siren song.

“Come me to me” it whispered in her ear. How could the spirit hold out against such a gloriously rampant tidbit? He knew what he was doing, all part of the plot to get her to “spill the beans”, but she was determined to hold out. The air shimmered with heat and something quite pungent, and dangerously addictive.

“Meowww”, her soft voice implored. A little paw was held out pleadingly, would he release her from this torture? This was becoming annoying, her teeth ground together, claws unsheathed. He would feel her wrath and she would draw blood.

“Come on sweetie, you need to take your medicine, be a good girl. That’s it, come here”.

She was entranced, held captive by the prize offered. It was almost within reach, almost within grasp, near, so near. She held out a paw again, gazing at him with soul melting eyes. Her body was that of a domestic cat but held the heart of a lioness. With jaws that bite and teeth that pierce and crunch.

“Gimme, gimme what I want” she yelled at him.

Would he relinquish the prize?

Image: jeanvdmeulen, Pixabay