Howdy Haunts!
I’m going to attempt something new for Patrons first – a sort of meditation journal if you will.
I think this might be an interesting way to share some intimate evocations of the mind’s eye and personal praxis!
Truth be told, this is my first time in a month or so back to using the meditation method proposed by PRAGMAGICK #13 guest Elizabeth Kennamer:
https://wethehallowed.org/podcast/pragmagick-13-oracle/
I call this first one “PSIONIC SNAKES or how I learned to reignite the spark and tumble through the void”
As I begin my nakedness is entrenched in a fierce hollow water from my shower. I sit cross legged in the tub and let the sound drown out my already hyperactive thoughtspeak. It takes me a while, as I am attempting more of a narrative meditation than my usual ramshackle transcendental technique.
Finally, I’m allowed the countenance to observe third person. I see my humbling physique curled, my spiky spine protruding out of my crooked posture. What an imperfect little creature – quite misshapen I ponder. Before I let my humility overtake I push my legs to straighten, with my forehead now taking the brunt of the hollow water. As I stand I begin to do somewhat of a junkyard LBRP as I watch from above. I begin to cast pink pentagrams with my index finger in shallow swoops, first drawing on the north, then the west, and so on. Each time a pentagram is casted it blends into each side of a psionic pink bubble, encasing my body about a foot each way around. When I am finished with eastern cast, I turn my arms inward and begin to lift. I see from above my bubble piercing the bathroom ceiling, my body still encased with it, as I move above my upstair neighbors’ apartment of which I’ve never seen. But here it is clear; they’re chatting as one sits at a sunny coffee table and the other dries their hair. There is gaudy art and posters that adorn their living room. I speak a hushed tone as if to see if they notice my force. They both look to the living room for a brief moment, and I continue ascending.
As I exit the attic and the roof atop, I am blinded by the sun. I can see my neighborhood bustle with the usual traffic. But I am transfixed at the cascade of the Rockies to my west, and the shadowed downtown skyline to my east. Quite a quixotic dichotomy, and for a moment I feel lucky to be blessed with the choice under a warm sun.
Still suspended, I dig for a zipper on the back of my neck. This is my exit from the skin suit I feel so tight and moist, quite bothered by actually. I peel the zipper from nape of neck, above head to groin, and begin to remove my skin one appendage at a time. Quite the process as it’s not unlike an extremely tight wetsuit, made even more fitted by sea moisture. Once the skin around my right arm is removed I take a gander at my palm. I see a translucent, celluloid like sheen around the form of my hand, but under further inspection through the glare of the sun, I see a nebulous array of galaxies that make up my form. It reminds me of that cosmic spider man suit, come to think of it: https://images.app.goo.gl/NX4ZytuyyuGynKRf9
As I gently fold the skin into a warm pile, I place it to my south, behind my floating figure yet still inside the psionic bubble. This is where I look to the rockies, then I look to downtown, and I simply whisper “Slither Hither” – this is when psionic snakes snap and crackle their tendrils that grow from my bubble, each infinite in their own direction. They begin to spit and flop like livewires as they begin retracting into me. The Westward one is forward time, the eastward the past. Both recoil and shock straight into my chest and groin, respectively. But I soothe them as pets, embracing their flapping tendrils to calm them. When their heads finally make it to my form, I hug them both and see them calmly sleeping with eyes closed. I hug them into my form and mutate as one.
I then proceed to look up to the sun. I will float into it. I begin to lift to the blinding light with the intent to climb through. As white drowns me out I begin to see the other side of the sun – and I hear frogs and crickets. As I pierce the membrane of the sun’s entrance I am in a cosmic lagoon. The sky littered with planets but lit by an insanely close moon. There is spanish moss and willows lit by fireflies buzzing about – it is night but it is loud with creatures abound. As I look up to the shore, it seems as if it is a suspended meteor above a lake. As I climb above the moss and algae and out of the lake/lagoon I turn around to see the lake is actually my left eye replete with my blue/grey iris creating the currents of water and my brown speckled birthmark my entrance from. It feels detached, it feels worried, as the eye slightly darts around – as if there was separation anxiety.
I gather myself and look towards the entwining willow and spanish moss and ascertain this is Sephiroth. I notice quite quickly a small wooden door encased in the bark above me and know that that is the entrance to where all things grow. It frightens me as I recall it being a place of enveloping flora and fauna. I recall not needing to breach it in any sequence as Hecate and Hermes showed me that there are shortcuts around the spheres, each one leading to any and I am not required to traverse them in any order. I see to a higher branch on the left a large lantern and choose to open it’s glass encasing and follow through.
I’m now slowly falling on to the rolling hills of some celtic land, umbrella in hand, as I slowly descend into the autumnal terrain. One lone tree sit on the hill behind me, and in front is a collection of brownstone like structures, each with vastly different features behind vastly different gates. I remember I would like to see Hecate and Hermes, it has been too long and I am disappointed in myself. I tuck the umbrella inside a town coat which I’m now wearing and proceed to gander at the gates as I pass by. I choose a stone like graveyard gate with an alley entrance behind it. As I walk to the door a grunt disciplines my absence from behind the door. For some reason I think of the gorilla doorman from Who Framed Roger Rabbit!
As I’m lead inside a dingy lounge, Max Roach the jazz drummer, sit alone on stage under a single spot light. He shuffles odd and arhythmic percussion as I scan the mostly empty room. It is here Hermes shakes my hand.
Hermes is a huckster I thought to myself. His skin tanned an unnatural orange with glistening white teeth. He seems to be the owner of this bar, thus making me reconsider this place to be my childhood’s tomb. As we sit and wait for Hecate, Hermes admits he’s the one that has been aiding in my sleepless night – tossing me rapidly through heavy dreams and night anxieties. It was his way of saying, “Time to stop by.”
Hecate approaches – she is grayscale – a sort of antithetical aesthetic to Hermes and asks me to dance. I am over confident and take her hand, then I realize as we reach the floor that I don’t know how to. I thought I could do anything in this place. She tells me “You can do anything you already know here, but you can also learn anything you don’t.” She tries to teach me a three-step erratic dance to Roach’s drumming. I’m perplexed as she laughs. She then opens a hatch from the floor and drops me through.
I’m in a cobblestone town on a rainy night. It’s desolate and I am cold. I see a light shining from a window of a dilapidated town home and know to go through it. As I shimmy and scale the wall to open the window – the light evaporates my clothes and I am wet and naked. I tumble through the window into a blinding desert.
In the center of this desert is a DaVinci like man, spread apart and both shooting and retaining the blinding light that surrounds me. I try to talk to him but he can’t hear me over this loud light and screams to me, somewhat in agony, “What do you want?” I ask him if I can touch the light and he nods. I reach out to his hand and the light refracts and cuts me in half! I lay on the desert floor, bisected as his screams raise. The ground slowly turns to the same light and now I am floating in an abyss.
I see a purple nebula in the distance and it is warm like a womb. I hear Mother. Just a voice. As I frantically reach for my bisected lower half as it floats away, she says “Sometimes it’s easier to put yourself together in confined spaces” and a trunk appears. I grab my free-floating midriff and climb in to the small trunk. It’s too small, I think. But I can already feel myself becoming whole when the bottom gives out.
I’m in the place where everything grows! I feel tricked! As the vines entwine me, roaches and insects fill my gullet – its here I realize they are aiding in my regeneration, connecting my arteries and stomach back together, but it hurts and I’m frightened. As soon as I feel somewhat to one I’m back at the lagoon.
I sit and stare at my eye-lake. It’s calmed. Dripping wet, I can feel the shower in this somatic reality begin to pierce this one. I take deep breaths and just enjoy the crickets and frogs I hear yapping around me. I know it’s time to crawl back through the birthmark in my eye, but I wait just a little longer. I try to take in this cosmic lagoon a little more, with the moss and algae glistening from the moonlight. “Just a little longer,” I think.
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