Yule-Tide

My wife and I have been together for 3 years, and got married this past August. This will be the first Christmas we spend together in it's entirety, and we will be spending it with her family. I'm very excited to experience her family traditions, and even more so to see her on Christmas morning. Usually we split to join our families on Christmas eve, and spend the night and morning with them, then meet up around noon. This year we spend Christmas eve day with my family, then spend the night and Christmas morning with her family.

 Anyway, it's got me thinking about tradition and the importance of the season. I celebrate Christmas. It's how I was raised, and it's how I connect with the season. However, while I identify with Jesus, I also have a deep respect and love for the pagan traditions. I feel as though they have survived for good reason, and that the majority of the magic of this time of year is best described by that language, those traditions and legends. After all, we know this isn't the actual birth date of Jesus. The time of year was chosen to be celebrated as Christmas by the church because Yule was already so immensely popular in northern Europe, and the winter solstice celebrated around the world. Why not jump on? Also, helps crush opposition, but I won't get into that now. 

In a year full of pagan celebrations and feasts, why choose Yule to be the time of the year when we celebrate Christ's birth? I think it's the feeling. Yule is the time of year when we celebrate hope, joy, and love. Instead of looking forward into the cold dark winter, the hard months ahead filled with ice, deep snow, and bitter cold, we look instead at the best part of ourselves. It's as much about having one last warm, joyous meal together before the ice and snow keeps us apart, as it is about taping into the pure magic that is naturally occurring this time of year. Whether it's an internal or external force that it pours forth from, or a bit of both, it can be overwhelming if you open yourself up to it. Exactly like Jesus. It can get caught up in being told how you're supposed to feel, following the rules to achieve the  perfect Christmas, or perfect christianity as dictated by society. Bigger and flashier, simply being more than those around you. Through presents and decorations, a better Christmas, a better christian. We do the same to our spirituality. We idealize it based on what society says is the best way to celebrate. But if we can cut through the massive amounts of distractions and break through to the pure feeling, the pure relationship with the quiet moments alone, and with loved ones, when we feel the earth and the spirit of God, that's Christ, and that's Christmas, and that's Yule.

My wife and I are truly blessed to have been raised by people who understand that, and I look forward to the day that we make our own Christmas together.

Lady Gaga: Prophet of Joy

I love Lady Gaga.

Yes, I said it. Probably not a terribly ground-shaking comment, but I often find myself defending my position.

My first real encounter with Lady Gaga was while I was working as a dishwasher at a hotel restaurant. The radio in the kitchen was always set to the local pop station. The only problem I have with this station is that they have a really bad habit of overplaying a song. I could hear Poker Face three or four times in 4 hours. I probably would have heard it again later in my shift, but the kitchen crew and wait staff would clear out, and I would immediately turn the radio to CBC. Learn some stuff, or listen to Stuart McLean recite an ode to pumpkin pie. So, hearing Lady Gaga so often, and in such a repetitive manner really turned me off of her. Also, I was listening without any context, so she seemed like any other blonde, poorly choreographed pop star. Not worth my time thought I, with an arrogant, self-satisfied smirk.

A few months later, being quite comfortable in my Anti-Gaga position, my wife (then girlfriend) brought home the double album The Fame and The Fame Monster on CD. I was shocked, as she had always agreed with my conclusion of "Gaga? Pffft." and now she's all a twitter (not that) and telling me how wonderful these albums are. Then she played Speechless and the world ended in a hyperbolic fun-splosion. Yes, fun-splosion. That one song, so well written and so different from her singles really intrigued me. I listened to both albums, start to finish and I was hooked. Also, South Park gave her the stamp of approval, and I do whatever Stone and Parker tell me to. Just like they would want.

She's Brilliant! Driving beats and bizarre lyrics. Thinly veiled, cutting metaphors, and an underlying message of "Fuck it." that really resonates with me.She inspires individuality and self-respect. She mocks the main-stream while at the same time changing it for the better. She's an artist that will forever be reinventing herself and moving forward and I'm excited to see each new step. She's about having fun, and embracing the euphoria and joy that is existence.

Life is too short not to dance to Lady Gaga.

What and odd young man...

It's a glorious day. God is great, humanity is great, and we dance together through the universe together, forever spinning and joining in glorious orgasm. Take this time to glory in existence and feel the raw power that is your life force. The universe pulses through you and you through her. There are no words to describe the magnificence and joy that is unadulterated life. Feel the beat of your favourite song. Don't let anything stop you. Feel it all, feel it through your sinew and bone and blood and into the deepest parts of your soul. Explode with the awesome and awful righteousness that is the unstoppable, untameable, unnameable, untraceable eternity. Life is an exclamation point. God is the line and you are the point. You are the point. It's the only way to be.

Allow yourself to be filled with it, to overflow with it and revel in your inability to contain it. You are incapable of containing it. You are incapable of being contained. Explode into the universe and it will explode into you and together and forever you will dance in ecstasy. You are invited and you feel it within yourself but for some reason you fear it and you recoil. Don't. That's not even a strong enough word, "don't", you can't, you must not give in to the feeling of despair and turmoil and drudgery that so many of us fall into. That's not why you are here, you are here to dance and explore and explode with joy and wonder! Don't let the weight of existence overpower the power contained within. They are one and the same and when you flip that coin, when you turn the weight on your shoulders into the power under your feet you will know why it is, why you are and even better, you will know why you don't know, can't know, and it is glorious.

It is glorious.

I am a child of love and beauty and peace and eternity and I can never use it up for it is everything.

I love you.

i am weak and i am flesh and i am finite, but that which looks out from these eyes is greater than the sum of it's parts and when i let i go, I become so much more. I become We, We become Eternity.

The beat of the drum, the drive of life, the power that will not be contained. Stands defiant in the face of oblivion, glories in the face of obliteration, laughs and dances like a child in the presence of ruin and becomes Life!

Mournful Whale Wail

Yesterday I learned that Whales commit suicide. What a depressing concept. I just never considered the possibility that Whales would intentionally beach themselves. Why would they do that? I know they must live difficult lives, and we certainly make it worse, but why off themselves? 

Not all of them commit suicide, certainly a percentage do get confused in storms, are sick, or exhausted. Some apparently just want it all to end. My understanding (which is extremely limited, I no smart.) is that Humans are the only species on Earth intelligent (or dumb) enough to understand our own finite existence. A Squirrel understands that a Hawk could kill it, but it does not understand that even if it avoids Hawks forever it will someday die of old age, or disease. Maybe they don't even understand that much. Maybe they only understand that Hawk = Pain. So for a Whale to truly commit suicide, by our standard definition, it would have to understand that it is finite, and has the ability to end it's own existence. If it understands that, what else does it understand? 

There are examples of animals killing themselves, though it is usually inadvertently. There is a bridge where Dogs routinely jump to their deaths, seemingly without hesitation. Squirrel road-kill seems to skyrocket in late fall, when they might become aware that they do not have enough food stored for the winter. These examples are weak references to suicide. The Dog bridge has no explanation, and the Squirrel road-kill could be instinct, or more associated with a hectic and distracting drive to get better prepared for winter. 

Some animals will become depressed, and waste away. Animals that have lost companions or mates often stop eating. This probably can't be called suicide. In order for it to be called suicide, the victim must understand that it's actions will lead to it's own end. It must also have a concept of the past, present, and future. For example "This event in my past is torturing my present, and will continue to do so in the future. It will not get better." This is of course a fallacy, as all things must pass. That being said, the afflicted exists only inside themselves and therefore creates a world in which the pain is omnipresent.

Coming back to the Whales: They are very sensitive beings, who form very close relationships. It is plausible that when they lose a loved one, either a mate, a child or a companion, they certainly feel the pain as much as (or perhaps more than) we do. Perhaps this drives them into an emotional spiral where they rage-beach themselves, having no concept that it will kill them. I know I've felt emotional pain so intensely that without thought I attempt to turn it into a more manageable physical pain. Not proud, just saying. On the other hand, perhaps they have a concept of death that we don't associate with animals. Perhaps Whales are smarter than we give credit, and they know exactly what they are doing to themselves.  

In the end, this begs the question: Just what do Whales sing about?

Rune Casting

    I am a Want-to-be Runecaster. I'm not entirely sure when one switches from attempting to be, and being, so it's probably best I don't just throw around the title. I started in late August of this year. I was inspired by my dear friend Patricia, who is a Tarot Reader. She read for my wife and me, and did a spectacular job. She's insightful and intuitive. Her passion and joy for reading inspired me, and I began looking into the culture and practice earlier in the summer.

    Through vetting several websites (my criteria involve active and welcoming forums, thorough essays on the topic, grounded language, and proper spelling and grammar.) I learned a lot, and was directed to a few different styles of readings. I let it go for a bit, and just let myself digest what I had learned and decide whether it was really something I should do. My wife and I were also getting ready for our wedding in early August, so that took most of my attention. It was a great wedding too. Easily the most beautiful day of my life.

    After we got back from the honeymoon, we were in a book store and I looked for some books on spirituality and readings. It was a big chain store, I'm sure I don't need to name names. The selection was weak, and kind of insulting in some ways. Why is a bestiary of the dark ages sitting next to a book on zen living? However, one thing did catch my eye, a book on runecasting. I didn't think I should buy the book itself, but the concept sang to me. I ran the idea past my wife, who supported the idea. Then I talked to Patricia about it, and she thought it was a good idea too. So, encouraged thus I began to look into runes with enthusiasm. After a couple of weeks, I came to the decision that yes, I would endeavor to learn this skill, and that I would do so by making my own set.

    This was so much fun, you don't even know. With my Father-in-Law's permission, I cut a branch off of the apple tree in his yard. I cut it into 30 (the  alphabet is 24 letters, but best to have spares) or so round pieces of similar size, debarked and sanded them. I studied the elder futhark, the runic alphabet, the Norse and Danish runes which I felt the most connection to both personally and ancestrally. I learned their shapes and meanings, and their relationships to one another. I wrote them down, over and over again. When I was ready, and had all of the necessary tools and materials, I began carving them. One by one, I carved them and meditated on them. I poured myself into each carving, feeling the meaning of what each rune needed to be. I then stained each rune with my own blood. There are a few reasons this is done. Some say that it prevents another person from leaving their psychic mark on the runes, or taking ownership of them. For me, it represents intent. It says to myself, and the Universe that I have done this, not half-heartedly, or foolishly, but with passion and intent, intent to reach certain goals, and to always reach for a higher plateau. I'm not here for a laugh (though interestingly, my runes have a sense of humour) or to play at it and toss them aside when I've had my fun, or when it gets difficult. As a result, I have a very strong connection to my runes.

      I have done readings for three people, aside from myself. Patricia was the lucky first recipient of my runecasting (not really "casting", but a layout. I'm working up to casting.) and it went well. I miss read the last rune, her future rune, which was embarrassing. The next two readings were less successful. I would say my biggest obstacle is getting over my shyness. It really impedes the reading, because I close up. It's like I have asthma of the personality. The next reading I do, I have to let go, and embrace the moment. I can't worry about what the querent thinks of me. That's what happens; I think to myself "Oh no, they're going to think I'm a big weirdo." Which is dumb, because if they really think it's weird, then they won't ask to have it done, and I do them a disservice by closing up and not doing it right. Which they will then think is weird.

    There is a lot I have to learn, and I am dedicated to learning. I know I'll make mistakes (with me, it is inevitable) but I'll keep going, and actually get skilled at something for once.

So I had this weird dream....

Usually when I have weird dreams, I just shrug them off, or at most have a chuckle over how silly or peculiar they are. This one was different, for some reason I can't really explain. Some of the details are a bit hazy, so bear with me while I do my best to recount what took place.

I remember walking around the grounds of a big stone castle. The castle was very tall, but had little to do with the dream, other than being a setting. The castle sat on a large flat ledge on sheer cliffs. So behind the castle, cliffs reached up beyond vision, and there were cliffs going down in front of the castle. I remember looking down the cliffs into darkness, but there were many waterfalls and tiny ledges. At one point I fell down, and had to climb back up, which was surprisingly easy.

All over the grounds different deity's walked around. No one told me this, it's just one of those things you just know in a dream. They didn't look glamorous or powerful, just regular people, but I knew them to be gods or at least beings more powerful than myself. Most of this dream left me in an observational point of view, and not taking part. I was like an invisible spectator. I saw two gnomish looking gentleman talking, and felt compelled to eavesdrop. They were short in stature, and had long beards. One had a brown beard and the other had a white beard. They seemed extremely melancholy, and talked about how it was nearly time. The brown bearded one seemed reluctant to continue with whatever their plan was, but the white bearded chap argued that they had no choice. They seemed to resign themselves to this doom, whatever it was, and I felt how terribly sad and afraid they were. They went and sat by a brook that led to a waterfall off the cliffs. They washed their hands and faces, and once again the brown bearded chap needed encouragement to continue. They both seemed to agree that what they were doing was a) wrong, b) damning them, and c) unavoidable. The pain they felt and I shared was heavy.

Then a young girl approached them. She was probably between eight and ten years old and had the look of a princess without being gaudy or pretentious. Just extremely calming and wonderful to be around. The bearded chaps seemed happier to see her. She told them it was time, and the pain came back, but they nodded agreement. They went to either side of her, each grabbing one of her arms with both hands. They took her to the brook and drowned her. It was terrible. Not that it was graphic, or violent (she didn't even struggle, and the poor bearded chaps wept so hard) just terribly sad. She floated down the brook face down and over the side of the cliff she went.

At that moment there was a flash above the castle, and a shout. The three of us looked up and saw a woman, clothed in a soft pink gown slowly flying down from the parapets. Her wrath was terrible, and as I looked into her eyes I knew that I was no longer a passive spectator. She came down on us with such anger, and such hatred. None of us fled, though I wanted to. The bearded chaps just stood there, weeping and waiting for their punishment. I was going to protest, and claim my innocence in the matter, but I couldn't, or wouldn't. I seemed to know that she would not listen, and that somehow I was guilty.

Things got hazy around there, in my memory at least. I remember coming back to my body, where I was sleeping in bed, and drawing power from myself. I remember being sucked back into the dream, but being told by either myself or my cat, Nimue, to remember something. I think it was the power I had just grabbed.

I came back to the queen, but now we were in a car, and I was the little girl. The queen and the two bearded chaps were in the car, the queen driving. I remembered my power then, and all I could think to do was push out with it. Pink and blue bolts of lightning filled the car, and I remember the brown bearded chap smiling, and the white bearded chap trying to stop me. The queen screamed at me, and I was so afraid of her and felt so small that all my power drained.

It was snowing, and I was wearing a snowsuit, while the others wore coats and toques. We stopped to get gas. The queen made the bearded chaps wait in the car to watch me. They stared at me. The white bearded one told me that this was fate, and we could not escape it. I looked at their sad eyes, and again remembered my power. A thought entered my mind, that was overwhelming. Nothing could stop me from walking away. I opened the car door and got out. They didn't try to stop me. The queen came after me, but I climbed over a steep snowbank and disappeared into the storm, while she screamed and raged behind me.

Then I woke up. That's it.

More happened, in different spots in there, but I can't remember.

Kicking Cats

So today I caught myself doing something I do all the time and it got me thinking, so bear with me. Stream of consciousness here.

Whenever I leave my apartment, my cat gets curious about the door and the world on the other side. She's no stranger to the outside, she was a stray. She is now, along with my wife's cat, an indoor cat. She seems fine with this, and when presented with an open door will investigate no further than the threshold. She used to make a run for it, but hasn't shown much interest lately.

Nevertheless, whenever I go outside and she does show interest, I stick my foot in front of her and block her potential exit. Why? Well, I know that there is danger out there, especially for her. There are  cars, tomcats, raccoons, dogs, eagles, and disease. It is not safe. I care about her so I protect her. Is that a life worth living? I assume any life is worth living, but that might be because I am a spoiled North American. Either way it's got to be a strange life. A life of captive decadence. No escape from the free food, warmth, love, and things to claw.

If I am so worried about protecting her from the real world (which I understand doesn't end at my door, but you get my meaning) then why do I go out there? Presumably I should have just as much to fear from outside as my cat. If there is danger out there then I have to assume that danger is the nature of reality. If so, then does that mean that nature is maligned towards me/us? Or is it that nature is simply indifferent to me? That seems the obvious, logical choice. It would seem hubris to assign that kind of opposition. Unless it's directed without malicious intent. What if suffering makes the world go round? As if misery and death were the energy our existence is meant to create. That doesn't make sense, because why then would there be anything other than misery and death. Perhaps anything else is illusion crafted by ourselves, enslaved beings without external hope. My goodness, that's dark. I feel kind of bad just writing that. What a disgusting and hopeless existence. I'm having a pretty good time, so it can't be that bad. It's just that one doesn't have to look far to find that suffering. If I can live such a relaxed and peaceful life, why can't everyone? Does this mean I have to give everything up and live in the woods? I'd like that, actually. Does it mean I live with this heavy guilt? It's second nature for our generation and our place to waste. We do it subconsciously, and it's worked into the systems we have created.

You know that empty spot? The one that, if I could describe it physically, sits in your chest. It's kind of heavy, and aches. What is that thing? Sometimes, the more I think, the worse it gets. Maybe it's worry, or guilt. It's kind of like fear, but without the adrenaline. It feels impending in some way. I don't really know why I use the term "empty" but it seems to be the best word for it. It's asking for something. Spiritual fulfillment seems the most likely request, based on where it is and how it feels. So, I suppose I need to be more spiritual. People already think I'm weird about this stuff.

For example, I tried to tell my mother and sister about making my rune set, and expanding my awareness and all that crap, but they weren't very receptive. Mom is too Christian, and I think my sister might be an atheist now. That's cool, I support those things. I'm still judeo-christian, I just feel that I connect better with practices from my genetic history. My people never lived in the desert, I don't relate to those analogies or symbols. You know what though? I get why they don't approve. They have their thoughts and beliefs and need them, just like I need mine. It's a gruesome disconnect though.

Back to my earlier point, about needing more spirituality. Why? Why do I need it and not others? I don't see this in my brother or my sister. I can kind of see it other people, and it's obviously a genuine need in my heart. Why then, doesn't everyone go through this? There are physical people and there are spiritual people. Are we supposed to talk about it, or is this a division thing? Can I talk to people about this hole in my chest, and expect some kind of understanding? Or am I admitting something negative and socially taboo about myself?

So that, in a few brief paragraphs, is how I think. Not in words though, it's more emotions and pictures, with a  narrative delivery full of gravitas and urgency.