Runic Magick
Today I brought back out my tarot and the bag of Runes Iset gave to me after trials. It's interesting because the first two runes I drew spoke of the same thing, albeit from perhaps a different perspective. Forgive if this rambles for I have imbibed of the red wine and I'm rather numb.
Rune one: Mannaz. It's interesting, since it and a passage from A Course in Miracles are saying the same thing at this time. The self is merely a concept. It has no real basis in reality. The real Self remains buried underneath all concepts and thoughts. But thought and feeling are all we really HAVE to try and figure out just exactly what this SELF is. If we acknowledge the inadequacy of these tools to assess, what are we left with? The Self remains unknown and unknowable.
Rune Two: Gebo Partnership with something unknown and unknowable? And how do I assess...anything? Obviously the current path isn't working, or I wouldn't be up so late babbling away into my journal. Is all you can offer me a nightmare? I wouldn't be surprised.
And then as a bolt from the blue the void answers. Be not impudent on this question. Do you think that simply because you can't pierce the veil that it becomes thus impenetrable?
Me: It matters not whether or not it will EVER be penetrated. If I can't do it, then it might as well remain forever cut off. If someone can do it after I'm dead, then what good does that do me? I won't be around to even share in their success.
Just keep writing fiction. A certain demoness is waiting for it.
You mean Neith? Yes, I'm sure she's just absolutely chomping at the bit for me to continue. I'd even love to finish and publish her works. Yes. I think I need at least three complete works to try and put them out on Amazon now. That's the next goal. With Bar of the Gods in reserve for a more "mainstream" attempt at publishing. Who knows whether a following will commence. At this rate, I still expect a great big reception of dead silence. What else is there to expect at this point?
How am I supposed to find wonder in a world that seems to heap nothing but scorn upon me? At least I'll have Fireball, a certain orange tabby kitten that's back at the Long Beach Animal shelter. There's no way I can pick the poor thing up though. Well Fireball and the littermate that I tentatively dubbed Edmund, after Sir Edmund Hillary. I would have named it Clumsy since it kept falling off things, but that seemed cruel. So Edmund it was. Yeah, like it's really gonna happen. Then we can watch the monkeys fly out my ass.
Rune one: Mannaz. It's interesting, since it and a passage from A Course in Miracles are saying the same thing at this time. The self is merely a concept. It has no real basis in reality. The real Self remains buried underneath all concepts and thoughts. But thought and feeling are all we really HAVE to try and figure out just exactly what this SELF is. If we acknowledge the inadequacy of these tools to assess, what are we left with? The Self remains unknown and unknowable.
Rune Two: Gebo Partnership with something unknown and unknowable? And how do I assess...anything? Obviously the current path isn't working, or I wouldn't be up so late babbling away into my journal. Is all you can offer me a nightmare? I wouldn't be surprised.
And then as a bolt from the blue the void answers. Be not impudent on this question. Do you think that simply because you can't pierce the veil that it becomes thus impenetrable?
Me: It matters not whether or not it will EVER be penetrated. If I can't do it, then it might as well remain forever cut off. If someone can do it after I'm dead, then what good does that do me? I won't be around to even share in their success.
Just keep writing fiction. A certain demoness is waiting for it.
You mean Neith? Yes, I'm sure she's just absolutely chomping at the bit for me to continue. I'd even love to finish and publish her works. Yes. I think I need at least three complete works to try and put them out on Amazon now. That's the next goal. With Bar of the Gods in reserve for a more "mainstream" attempt at publishing. Who knows whether a following will commence. At this rate, I still expect a great big reception of dead silence. What else is there to expect at this point?
How am I supposed to find wonder in a world that seems to heap nothing but scorn upon me? At least I'll have Fireball, a certain orange tabby kitten that's back at the Long Beach Animal shelter. There's no way I can pick the poor thing up though. Well Fireball and the littermate that I tentatively dubbed Edmund, after Sir Edmund Hillary. I would have named it Clumsy since it kept falling off things, but that seemed cruel. So Edmund it was. Yeah, like it's really gonna happen. Then we can watch the monkeys fly out my ass.