Thoughts

Holding Space for Magick and Monsters

There will be no blog post for the 7th.

There with be no blog post for the 8th.

The last two days were pure MAGICK, and in this way I will hold for them eternal space.

Apotheosis

I am blessed. I am blessing.

I am a part of a global family, a universal tribe made up of men and women across this globe who speak different languages, have different cultures and yet, express and experience the same true divine love. It is this love that connects us, regardless of understanding. It is this love that has ultimately brought us across all time, space and history to the grand intersection of NOW.

I do not know them, I know them. They permeate my being with their essences and I feel for them with complete abandon and liberation. I can tell them anything. I have told them everything.

Secrets I thought I would take to my grave, I gave confessed, to strangers – and I have been generously accepted, supported and truly, powerfully loved. That is Apotheosis.

It is an enchanting example of how people are taking back their responsibility. The exact opposite of ignoring the ugly things and letting your fears control your perceived reality. This is, as the fam calls it, “facing your resistance.”

This is power.

This is magick.

This is truth.

Recognizing Fear

Yes, see it. See it so clearly you understand it enough to reconstruct what it means for you. Rearrange the way you think about fear, yes, actually change what it means to your inherent cognition.

Yes, that clearly. That intensely and vigorously. Embrace even, and most especially, the parts that you least want to discover, confront and accept.

Look your demons square in their eyes and ask their name with the commanding authority of your divine birthright.

Look your demons square in their eyes and ask their name with the commanding authority of your divine birthright. Watch their monstrous features soften as you realize you were never tormented by them, you have been tortured by your fear of them.

Dare to create a new reality for yourself in which you don’t have to slay your dragons.

Dare to create a new reality for yourself in which you don’t have to slay your dragons. Allow your dragons the opportunity to teach you.

Pain is inevitable. We must grow and adapt, which requires change and that can feel abrasive – especially if we have been practicing resistance for our whole lives, like most of us have.

But what if the dragons have divine messages and we must but learn their way of communicating to unlock the secrets and freedom our hearts have always longed for? What if monsters are beautiful, scared and lonely? What if everything we are afraid to know isn’t actually what we’re afraid of?

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Could it be possible to choose our pain wisely instead of simply accept the victimization we inflict upon ourselves? Can we challenge our discomforts and develope the discipline for pursuing universal optimization and the devotion of personal mastery?

What if the only thing we have to fear really, truly is fear itself and the way it robs from our happiness by distorting our perceptions of reality?

Choosing Love

It’s not easy.

It’s not simple.

It will take our whole lives.

But expansion of love is our universal destiny.

We are all divinity learning to love itself, and all we actually “have to do” is decide that we do love ourselves. That we love every last bit of our naturally subversive, gloriously imperfect and infinitely fragmented divine Self.

Acting on radical acceptance. Demanding revolutionary honesty. Accepting that all progress starts with the infinitesimal fragment that is you, me, or any specified “identity” but that it is always going to ripple out and consequently effect the whole of divine Source. This is the essence of true morality and ethics: making the responsibility of blessing your own.

This is the essence of true morality and ethics: making the responsibility of blessing your own.

We are both separate and unified. Both “I” and the “other.” We must make a choice to sacrifice the temptations of ego and fear conciousness and allow the “I” to live in service of the “other” in order to truly integrate wholeness.

We will always be tempted to be “self-ish,” masquerading as mutations and manipulations of the pure divine Source, but we always have the choice to choose true divine love – the choice to see beyond the limits of our conditions, ego and fear and embrace with all powerful grace the totality of existence, which does include even these “selves,” the “others” and yes, even our “demons” and “monsters.”

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Thoughts

The Strangeness of Estrangement

I don’t talk to my dad, at all. We’ve been officially estranged for over 4 years now.

It wasn’t always like this. Granted, my dad and I never had an easy, comforting or reassuring relationship, but there was a time when I thought the world of him. He’s my dad after all.

Perhaps every little girl has those moments of seeing the whole world in their daddy’s eyes – at least, I have the memory of wanting too. I wanted the relationship he and my “naturally slender” sister had; to sit on his lap, cuddle up and eat treats at night with him… but, I was one of the chubby daughters which meant no food after dinner for me, and subsequently no bonding on the couch either.

Dad worked all the time as an entrepreneur, and that meant high stress, which he in turn took out on us at home. Of course, no parent is perfect, and even despite his anger issues and overinflated ego, I maintained a relationship with him well into my adult life.

The Point of No Return

I actually credit my ex husband with helping to first start distancing me from my father’s suffocating dogma and attempts to control. Still, it wasn’t until one of my sisters came forward with sexual abuse allegations that I started to see my difficulties with my father in totally different light.

Maybe this is why every therapist I’ve ever seen has wanted me to undergo memory regression therapy, telling me I have an abnormally high amount of my childhood “blocked out.” Maybe this is why I trained myself to wake up at the sound of my father’s footsteps even when I could otherwise sleep through a foghorn. Maybe this is why my guts tie themselves in knots at the mere mention if my father’s name and my skin feels like it’s trying to shrink back into my body at the thought of him being near me…

Did I want to believe it? Hell no. No one wants to think about their parent as that kind of monster.

At first, I simply stuck by my truth. I didn’t remember anything.

But of course, it’s not that simple… Here’s an excerpt from peice of writing about the night my sister confronted me about not fully believing her, 5-6 years ago:

The last time I went out with — she cussed me out for not protecting her from dad when we were little.
I would have stopped my heartbeat if I thought it would’ve helped me remember –
She asked me how I didn’t hear it – that I was in the room –
A month later and I still don’t know what to tell her.
***
The pain has become an illusion; emotion cooked from raw to rubber?

After that point, it didn’t matter anymore what I did or didn’t remember. I was too young and naive to protect her when we were kids, but as a grown woman I couldn’t just turn blindly from her pain… So I began to advocate for her.

This ultimately climaxed in a heated conversation with my father just over 4 years ago. On that fated day, I would tell him that a relationship with me is a privilege and not his right, and that if he wanted to be a part of my life he needed to prove to me that his children’s wellbeing is more important to him than his pride.

My sister had asked him to get a polygraph so I simply backed her request, posting our relationship as collateral. I haven’t had a conversation with my father since.

Only the Beginning of the End

I had hopes, at first. In denial that my father would actually sacrifice me for the sake of his self-image. Then I got angry. Really fucking angry. Finally, extremely sad.

I recall sobbing to close friends during the saddest, most frustrating periods: “I wish I could hate him! This would be so much easier if I hated him… But he’s my dad and I love him – that’s what hurts most.”

Still, it’s not only the emotional turmoil that amps up in a situation like this. There’s the family drama, people taking sides or something even worse: people not taking sides.

It’s enough to make you crazy: being accosted by a respectful member of my small hometown community and innocently asked, “how’s your dad?” I’m not a liar anymore, even for discretion or convenience, so I tell them I don’t speak to him – which they’re always surprised by.

My dad has a public persona, only people close enough to be family were ever unfortunate enough to see his private side. Still, I’m not going to air my sister’s business to the whole neighborhood either. So, I just end up looking like the rebellious and wayward daughter he paints me as, every time. He’s a Christian after all, and in his circles, that alone counts for everything.

Then there’s the inter-familial dynamics. My mom still talks to my dad, and so does my sister who shared the nightly cuddle ritual with him. The family not only feels divided, it is.

We all play it cool, but I for one can always feel the underlying tension. Trying to imagine my poor sister’s position is excruciating: “either they believe me to be such a self-deprecating and attention-seeking liar that I would fraudulently claim to experience such horrible atrocities, or they’re simply willing to have relationships with my abuser…” Who could stand to think such things about their family? Yet, this is the strangeness we are living through.

Wading Through the Muck of It

One amazing thing has come from all of this though, I’ve become somewhat of a lie-detector myself.

My dad started gaslighting me as a child, telling me that some of my memories weren’t real. He was also accused of infidelity and asked to take a polygraph by my grandparents when I was in middle school. Essentially, the “truth” surrounding him was always somehow in question.

I didn’t realise how this had effected me until I was an adult though, and only after seeing some of the unfortunate patterns it had created in my behavior. As a young adult, I actually sought out liars to be friends with. I was comfortable with my ex husband’s con-man delusions and an ex girlfriend’s self-confessed pathological lying because I was used to being fucked with.

Things not making sense was what made sense to me. Because of my father’s self-constructed truths, I was completely comfortable with others who would try to bend and shape reality with their wills as well.

It wasn’t until I noticed this pattern in my relationships that I started to understand the gravity of my grooming. I made it my mission to detect truth from the lies.

Developing a Truth-Line

It all started with observations, and this was the biggest take away: when people lie, they often get dramatic and seem desperate. They will very often use their emotions, voice and body language to try and convince you of their lie. In fact, this is the most important determinant: lies require belief in order to exist.

The truth is the truth, is the truth. It cannot, by virtue of being the truth, be anything else. In this way, it is self-assured, self-justifiable and rightfully, can remain peacefully at ease – even when under attack.

You can research, read, ask, study, scour, hunt, discover and pry all you want and you will only ever uncover more truth. Truth is an advocate for curiosity because it has nothing to hide. Lies however, will always ask for your trust because it’s essential that you take them on faith – they will crumble beneath an investigation.

Lies only exist in our consciousness. Without a mind to think them to be true, and with no basis in reality to actually back them up, lies simply cease to be. In this way, they must be spread in order to ensure they survive.

This is where the drama and desperation come in. Liars often make theirs an emotional plea because they really, truly, need you to believe them. Without your belief, their reality starts to crumble.

Now, having done this work of developing a compass for detecting truth, I actually find myself laughing at my father’s feeble attempts at manipulation. He’ll spend weeks, probably even months at a time, tirelessly writing letters to family members about how true his truth is – as if somehow that makes it more true…

Meanwhile, I’m still taking ever further steps away from his delirium.