100

When I went up to the second floor at my paycheck job last night, I was met with something curious sitting on the chair near the landing. There were some cards sitting there and, upon closer examination, they were from some kind of Goddess-oriented oracle deck. Each of the three cards had a Goddess pictured on it with a short sentence describing the purpose of the card and then a quote that presumably was attributed to the Goddess pictured.

This is a very odd thing for me to find at work, as I have never once ran into anything vaguely esoteric at any drug treatment program I’ve worked at and especially not at one that serves teenagers, like the one I work at now. After I looked at them, I hunted around a little bit to see if I could find the whole deck. It wasn’t in any of the second floor common spaces, nor was it in any of the first floor common spaces. I didn’t see it in a cursory search of all the bedrooms [teenage girls tend to spread ALL of their belongings out and leave them for me to trip over in the night].

I’m quite sure they didn’t just materialize out of the ether, but it was very interesting that they chose to show up there. The three cards, in order, were Yemaya, Guinevere, and Athena. Yemaya’s card was labeled as ‘Golden Opportunity’ and the short saying was ‘Important doors are opening for you right now. Walk through them.’. Guinevere’s card was labeled ‘True Love’ and had a short saying about how the Universe is providing me love right now, and Athena’s card was labeled ‘Inner Wisdom’ and stated ‘you know what to do. Trust your inner wisdom, and take appropriate action without delay.’.

Given what I wrote about in my most recent post for Gods’ Mouths 2.0, it made me laugh. Talk about putting an exclamation point on the sentence that was already italicized and quite bold in type. My Gods are nothing if not blunt and to the point.

As I approach the fourth year marker of belonging to Mr. Mister towards the end of this month, this bluntness and undeniable message is of great comfort, especially in the midst of my current personal struggles in my faith and relationship to Him. In this bluntness, I feel great compassion and, honestly, quite cared for. It is not that I don’t feel this way on a mostly regular basis, it is just that it sometimes gets overshadowed by the weight of everything else. This sometimes feels like a weakness or a failing, but He doesn’t view it that way [He made it perfectly clear that He believes me ready and strong] and, most importantly, I don’t view it that way when I think about it logically. I am painfully human and contain all that being human means, which includes doubt and fear and tentativeness.

There has been a shift, though, in the midst of my own personal shitstorm. It is a palpable shift and it is currently reverberating through my life. I was told several years ago that it would happen and that it would hurt quite a bit when it did but, as I often do, I thought it would never come. Not because I thought I could put it off, but because I thought I would never deserve it or He would never think I was ready. It felt too incorporeal to grasp, much like the Mister Himself.

But, like all things will, it has come to pass. He has managed to find His way deep into my heart despite my best attempts to keep him out and, as the diviner who told me this years ago said, He has dug in His claws and it hurts like hell. He doesn’t do it to be cruel or mean or to express some kind of made-up anger or disappointment in me, He does because it must be done. One of the things I love about Him is that He is pragmatic in a way that I, and no other mortal I have met, can be. It’s not that He doesn’t have feelings, it’s that He sees through them and around them to see what the best possible action is. This is not unique to Him at all—I believe it is a function of all the Gods to some degree. I mean, in my relationship with Sekhmet, She is endlessly pragmatic and perhaps even more so than the Mister.

I can practically feel each nail, though, as He claws His way through my body into the parts that I hold back. Or, at least, the parts that I can hold back from others, just not Him. Most people don’t go looking for the less-than-pleasant parts of me because they’re not fun or kind or considerate or containing of much humanity at all. He, however, is not most people and, to Him, all parts of me are useful if I am willing to make them so.

Like I said, things have shifted. I do not hear Him because He does not speak, but I can certainly feel Him if I turn my focus and attention towards Him. I get impressions of Him that are breathtaking and terrible. He wants to eat me alive and I run towards that. In fact, I can’t imagine anything more wonderful than that right now—to be totally engulfed by Him and consumed. It wouldn’t be pretty or without pain, but it would be marvelous.

I won’t say that things are great right now—far from it. I am looking some very difficult things directly in the eye, because that is what He wants from me. I choose to do it because it’s good for me and because I love Him and because there is no better way for me to express my love at the moment than to rip out my insides and hand them to Him with the prayer that He finds my offering pleasing.

And I can’t tear those insides out fast enough. I can’t wait to rid myself of the things that hurt me without my permission. I am tired of recording dreams that leave me ill at ease and I am tired of seeing sickening memories through a haze of denial and disassociation. I just want it done. I want to take the scalpel solely in my hand and cut out the cancer.

That’s not how it is done, though, or how it will be done. My hand holds the scalpel, but He adds His finesse to my rudimentary skills. While I could push forward and charge towards the abyss at full speed, it would only undo everything that has been done thus far. He has walked with me every step of the way in the last four years and has made a deep investment in my general happiness and well-being. Why would I shake free of His grasp, run directly into traffic, and undo everything He has patiently pieced together? I can’t think of a bigger disservice short of refusing to do the work at all.

But it is scary and it is terrible. I am being given the pieces to the larger puzzle here and there and, though it is much closer to being completely undone than it is to being finished, the picture it forms is disturbing at best. I can feel the barrier between me and that which I cannot totally see thinning. Whatever is crouched there in shadows is large and intimidating and, when I think about it, I get physically ill. I have a pretty good idea of what it looks like and what makes it up, but it is something that I can’t jump the gun on until I have the complete picture, as it’s final form, as it were, will bring about some serious repercussions in other people’s lives and will have perhaps permanent consequences. I try and gird myself against the coming storm, but I know I can’t be totally ready. I know it’s going to suck. I know I’m going to struggle to keep it all together because, in some ways, I’m struggling now though it’s minor compared to what’s waiting behind doors number one, two, and three.

I will survive it, though, and I can do the work because He says I can do the work and that I am ready to do the work. I trust Him to see further into this than I can, so I’m not too worried. The only request I have made of Him is that, if it is within His power, He leave me functional enough to go to work and do my paycheck job and to go to school and continue my education in pursuit of larger-picture goals.

In truth, I don’t really want to do this work. I’ve said for years that, despite the fact that I remember very, very little of my life prior to my leaving for college when I was 19, I don’t need to remember because it’s not affecting my life in a detrimental way. Except now it is and, if I want things to change, I have to open the door myself instead of hoping it will blow open by happenstance.

In the same breath, though, and with the same truth, I want to do this work. I want to know what hides inside my head because I do not grant anything but the Mister power over me. I want to know because it will facilitate eventual joy for me. I want to know because He knows and He knows better than I do in this situation exactly how this hurts me. I want to know because I want nothing that is within me to stand between Him and me.

I tell myself I’m ready and that I am prepared for the reality of whatever is held in the tumor that encapsulates my past. I tell myself that I have the tools to handle it. I tell myself that whatever and whomever has hurt me in the past no longer has a means to do so in the present. I know, though, that the rest of me is not so convinced, at least not yet, or this encapsulation wouldn’t exist. It’s relaxing, though, and it spills out in things I haven’t thought of in years and things that make me wince and things that make me actively angry and sickened. I sit and white-knuckle through it because that’s what I can do. I sit there and I look at these things and I cry and get angry and I scribble it out or I pound on my keyboard and I remind myself that the past does not own me and that it no longer has permission to keep living inside my brain.

My hunger for Him outweighs any conscious or unconscious desire to remain where I am, though, and I know that the push for self-knowledge will eventually prevail. It’s going to suck like nothing else, but it will be done. I am nothing if not stubborn and I’m not willing to let this slip through my fingers. If I have to be Andy Dufresne and crawl on my belly through a mile of shit just to breath the free air, I will and I will do it with as much happiness as I can muster because He will be waiting for me on the other end. It won’t matter that I will be tired and covered in shit and holding myself together with broken fingers because He won’t care because I will have done it.

This is where four years has brought me. I stand on the edge of an inky, shit-soaked blackness and I take tentative steps forward because I trust that He is not leading me astray. I trust Him when He tells me through other people that this is what needs to happen and that He knows I can do it and that I will prevail and that I am more prepared and more ready to do this now then I have ever been before. After four years of inching forward for three steps and then stumbling backwards for two, the time and place for stumbling is over. After four years, I trust His judgment that I am ready because, if I wasn’t, He wouldn’t put me up for it. He’s not interested in breaking His tools in ways that don’t benefit His plans. He is not cruel and does not set me to tasks with the intent to see me fail.

After four years, things have started to make sense. The words that He said to me four years ago when I stood in the woods in central Massachusetts and told Him that my life and existence was His have clicked in my brain and have caused certain tensed muscle to relax. After four years, I can see some of what other people told me He sees in me when I look in the mirror. After four years, I can see the total insanity of the three years prior to His claim of me where the voices from the outside pounded relentlessly on my doors. After four years, I can see the usefulness of those experiences and how they apply now. After four years, I am finally in a place where it is okay to trust Him and let Him lead the way, even though I still kick more than I would prefer to.

And here I am.

He continues to shape me and strip away my illusions about myself, about other people, and about my world in general. He sets me to work in ways that benefit others but also that benefit me. He reminds me via those I trust to hold His words that I am worth His time and that I am important to Him and that He has not forgotten me and that I have not displeased Him or disappointed Him with anything that I have or have not done. Though He does not outright dispel my fears and insecurities, His continued presence knocks them back into submission. He grants me the gifts of showing me what awaits me when I finish this belly-crawl of shit and pain. He allows me the privilege of seeing His own feelings on things that happen, even when they hurt my heart [there is nothing quite as intimate or as painful as knowing that your divine Partner hurts over the same thing that you do and that it’s something that neither of you can control].

I carry all of that with me through the miasma of this current ordeal and I do things differently now because of it. I am choosing to do things that please me and comfort me, even if they are not things He has asked me for. When I have the money, I buy flowers for His altar because I love Him and because I like to look at flowers. When I am at home, I lock the collar He directed the purchase of because it feels like His hand is around my throat and that is deeply comforting to go to sleep to. I resolve to mark the occasion of the day I cut myself for Him and gave Him my life and I make plans that I hope He will enjoy.

This is my one hundredth post to this blog. This blog has stood for just about two and a half years. One hundred pieces of what my life has been like. It’s not a lot, but it says a lot and, as I read through some of them the other day, I can see the various threads being woven together. The tapestry is starting to form and I am so excited that I, as the weft, get to be wrapped around Him, as the warp. Even as the monsters in my head become visible and my body fails to behave appropriately, I am happy. I am, for the first time in my life, deeply fulfilled. I am blessed with every breath I take and I truly live a life beyond compare. I never could have imagined that this is what would have come up for me ten years ago. I never would have thought that I was worth all this effort and attention. I certainly didn’t believe any of the Gods cared about me as anything more than something to kick now and then. I can say with certainty that I know my God loves me and, in return, I love Him desperately. Life, in all it’s shit and humanity and flailing, is beautiful today.

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~ by Alex on September 11, 2013.

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