Letters to Loki # 28 (untitled)

Dear Sly One,

I was a busy day today. Mainly, I was just doing a lot of minor tasks and then running around with the kids. A good amount of the shock with respect to my grandmother's death has worn off. I'm not wandering around incapacitated with grief. This surprises me, because I was extremely close to her. Instead, I keep thinking that it was good that her suffering from dementia and the pains of old age has ended. And the thought that she is now with my grandfather keeps running through my mind.

I have placed the prayer card for her from the funeral home on my ancestor shrine. It is right next to my grandfather's. It feels like the right thing to do. I want to do something more for them but nothing pops up in my mind. It just keeps going back to what my grandfather said to me when he was dying from cancer: just take care of your family and work on your book. I am doing my best to keep those things as my focus. A part of me says that it isn't as important as some nebulous other thing I 'should' be doing. I'm pretty sure that is my perfectionism and inner critic talking, though.

I've been doing some thinking, when I had some quiet time today, and I realized that my inner critic is a vicious bitch who just wants to destroy me. It isn't the same thing as my inner editor, if that makes any sense. In my last therapy session, last month, I told my therapist that my inner critic wasn't this monster. But, after some serious consideration, I came to realize I was doing two things to hinder myself. The first was denying that I had that problem, to some extent. The second thing I realized I was doing was that I was attempting to defend my inner critic a lot like how I defended my abusers in the past whilst in the relationship. The first realization annoyed me. The second rather horrified me.

I'm not entirely sure how to proceed forward with this knowledge. All of my feeling of disturbance and discomfort is no longer focused on my grandmother's death but rather the fact that I have been perpetuating the abuse cycle in my self talk. Don't really know what to do about that. I'm sure I'll think of something.

Letters to Loki # 27- The Rollercoaster has come off the rails.

Dear Loki,

I was feeling like things were beyond my control for a little while now. And then my paternal grandmother died early Monday morning. Now I feel like I'm just holding on for dear life as the rollercoaster is plunging into the abyss. Routine is basically what has gotten me through the last few days. I can't really do much of anything to be of help with getting things settled over at the farm. I can't do much to comfort folks. There is a whole lot of 'I can't do anything to help.' going on right now and it is a somewhat upsetting position to be in.

I know some of this is colored by the fact that I slept really poorly last night and I somewhat anticipate more of the same tonight. I am a little bit in a state of shock right now. I think it is taking the edge off of the grief. I am pretty sure that the calling hours at the funeral home are going to be rough on me. I know that the memorial service is going to be. I don't know if I'm going to be going through this with a stoic reserve like I did with my paternal  grandfather's death a few years ago or if I'm going to be openly weeping this time. I am unsure about what I'm going to do if I get caught up in that.

Emotional extremes don't feel safe to me. Stoicism was something I adopted because of how intense emotional experiences resulted in negative consequences when I was younger. I know that I need to get used to this. I know that the stoic response to everything isn't healthy for me. At the same time, I am very apprehensive about this because the people who taught me that powerful emotion isn't 'appropriate' are the ones I am going to be around.

I keep trying to will myself to 'get over' all the anxiety and what not. It isn't working out that well. I honestly don't know how this week is going to turn out. I'm just not sure of what to do in this whole mess. Keeping my head down and doing the daily routine is going to work for only so long until all of this catches up with me. I will some how get through this. Hopefully it will not turn into an utter disaster.

Letters to Loki # 7

Hey there Loki,

I'm not sure what I should write. I just learned that my great aunt Jackie died last night. I suppose I am in a bit of shock. I feel horrible for my great uncle Ed and my second cousins Eddie and Wayne. Also for Wayne's boys who have lost their grandmother. I'm pretty sure that I won't be able to make it out to Long Island for her services.

It upsets me to watch the fading and dying of my grandparent's generation. While I recognize that it was simply a matter of time, it still bothers me. They have lived through so much. I don't know if it is selfish and cruel of me to want them to hang on a bit longer. Down inside me, however, there is that little girl who wants to keep her whole family close. The passing of my great aunt just reminds me of how much of that dream has and is slipping out of my fingers.

I'd write more but I just don't have the words.

Crossposting: In Memoriam

This is not the first time I have had to mercy kill an animal. Like the first time (almost two years ago a baby bird fell out of a nest and broke its wing), I did my best to make sure that the creature suffered as little as possible. In Swimmer's case, it was a fatal dose of a fishy anesthetic (clove oil, if you ever need to use it). In the birds, it was breaking its little neck. In both cases, I felt horrible about doing it.

I passionately love life. Even when I am suicidally depressed, I still have a deep love of life. The act of ending another life grieves me. I have had times where I seriously considered going vegan because of how much it bothers me that other lives must end so that I may live. But, unlike the case of life feeding on life to survive, the act of extinguishing the life of another creature with no benefit to myself feels dirty.

Galina Krasskrova spoke of miasma a little while back. She mentioned something about how dead bodies are sources of that contagion. I can whole heartedly agree with this proposition and I can state, first hand, that the instant life leaves the body miasma is present. Lingering illness has its own miasmic qualities. In the case of Swimmers 2.0, the miasma of his illness and death had me feeling deeply disturbed and filthy.

Spiritually cleansing helped some with that, as did utterly scouring and cleansing the tank. Still, it took me a little over a week to right myself after that. Swimmers was a typical betta fish. Some people would say that I'm too soft hearted for being as disturbed by the fact that I had to kill him as I was. I am fairly certain that feisty little fish has progressed onto another life. If the way he met his death is any indication of how his next life is going to be, Swimmers in his next incarnation will be a force to be reckoned with.

For my part, I'm going to do my best to honor his memory by making sure that his replacement (a white betta named Ghost) lives a long life. Aside from that, I think it is going to take a while for me to again have warm fuzzy feelings towards the scent of cloves.
Original Post Here.

Diamonds and Trees

Something I saw on FB reminded me of a conversation that I've had a few times with Beloved. We both want our remains to be cremated when we die. I don't want to just sit in a box on a shelf, to be honest. No matter how pretty that box might be. Considering it all, I truly like the idea of having my ashes turned into diamonds. They figure they can get about nine diamonds out of the average body. As such, I would want three to go to each of the guys in my life.

Another option that I am interested in and would be more then happy to support is the idea of my ashes nurturing a tree. The prospect of my life feeding another life feels even more fitting then being turned into diamonds that could be passed down through the family. I don't know which option is going to be the right one for me when I expire. I do know, however, that planning and considering what I want done with my remains will make the day that I die easier for my living family members.

I love them and I don't want them to be struggling with these kinds of heart wrenching decisions in the midst of struggling with the grief of it all.

New Moon Musings

Waxing Corn Moon (Age: 2 Days)

Sign: Virgo, void of course @ 7 pm

Weather: Cloudy, rainy

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I missed the exact date of the New Moon, but I am still going to do my monthly ramble. I sit here with a legacy of my deceased Aunt Shawn on. I can feel her with me. She has no commentary or anything to share, but her presence is a comfort. I keep looking at the ring and wishing that I hadn't pushed her away from me during the last year of her life.

I think back to when I was younger and I see a mixture of good and bad memories. I reflect on the past and I try to keep up this practicing of mindful kindness towards myself. Aunt Shawn was a big part of my life. I loved her deeply and I still do. I think she's proud of what I have done with my life. I think that she would have seen the kind of mother I am and been pleased with what I am doing. I am more then a little bit certain that she is would be proud of what I have accomplished with my education and my spiritual growth. 

I try to spend a little time during the New Moon reconnecting with the beloved Dead from my life. Today, I sit here drinking Red Rose tea with heaps of sugar in it, like I had when I was younger and visiting her and my Auntie Adrian. I'm wearing her ring on my first finger of my right hand, just as she wore it on hers. Sometimes, reminiscing and sharing the company of the Dead is a stronger way to reconnect then all the fancy rituals you can think of.

Hail to the Dead! May you find peace in your repose. May your memory be praised and loved.

First post of the new Solar year.

Waxing Wolf Moon (Age: 13 days)
Sign of Cancer
Weather: Unseasonably warm,
cloudy w/ intermittent rain showers
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Ave, Dea Madre! Gloria Plena!

It is the eve of the Full Moon. I have strung a fifteen decade Goddess rosary. As I strung the beads, I prayed. It sits upon my altar now, after I have taken it out into the night and shown it (and my other personal prayer beads) to the moon.

I meditated upon the Mother. I prayed to the Mother.

My heart breaks for the gulf of distance between my human Mother and I. It isn't that she lives on the other side of the country or that there is some great physical distance between her and I. It is an emotional distance. One that I suspect she is beginning to realize is the result of her mistreatment of me.

As I sat and I prayed to the Great Mother, I thought back to the first, secret pregnancy. Even as I was terrified that I'd be forced to marry the monster that had raped me, I was thrilled to carry within me a little Life. When I miscarried, I was heartbroken. I kept secret my mourning.

As I sat and I prayed to the Great Mother, I thought back to the birth of my eldest son. I thought of the joyful anticipation and excitement I felt. I felt that I was truly one of the most blessed women in all the world.

As I sat and I prayed to the Great Mother, I thought back to the birth of my youngest son. I thought of the times when I wasn't filled with confusion and terror. In its place, there was a blessed sense of peace, gratitude, joy, and anticipation.

As I sat and I prayed to the Great Mother, I thought back to the argument between my mother and I that set off the chain of events that brought me to the current state of affairs. I was torn between the desire to simply pass off her words as braggadocio and the horror I felt that she had gone so far as to threaten small, defenseless children in an effort to manipulate me. I was torn between my love for her and doing what was just.

I find myself seized with the strongest urge to pick up the phone and call my parents. To just tell them that I love them before I go to bed.

Goddess help me, I don't know what the right thing to do is. Is it to reconcile with them or to remain distant? I pray. I meditate. I cast cards and throw runes. All things leave only that question hanging in the air. There is no sign either way, so I remain where I am at.

I feel on the verge of weeping. Even the Wolf's Father's kindness isn't penetrating this overwhelming sense of sorrow. I am doing my best to leave this in the Mother's hands, but I feel like I have cut out my beating heart and laid it bleeding upon the altar. I don't know if it is the altar of my conscience, the altar of justice, or the altar of the Gods.

I only know that I hurt and that I miss my mother, as crazy and flawed that she is.

Suicide: more thoughts

Moon phase: Waxing Corn (Age: 5 days)
Moon Sign: Libra
Weather: Fair skies, seasonable; drought continues

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I've been giving the matter a great deal more thought over the last two days. It has been difficult for me to dig down through the layers to get to the most genuine of my feelings on Summer's suicide. I recognize the shock, disappointment, and anger were part of my response. The anger, however, grew for reasons aside from the fact that I was upset that she took her own life. It rose up and overrode the other feelings in a fashion that blinded me for a time to what I truly felt.

I have had time now to sit and examine the subject. And to examine my response to it. At the root of it all, I feel pity and compassion. At the time, I didn't feel comfortable with those emotions. I pushed them aside and grabbed hold of the anger. I recognize that the stages of grief include anger, but I didn't expect to cycle through to it so fast. I still hold to my initial statement when I learned of what happened: she should have picked up the phone, not the pills.

As I look at this, I must admit, I found myself going back to when I was actively suicidal. That phone call for help was one of the hardest things I have ever done. My hands were literally shaking with fear. I was fairly certain that if I couldn't get my therapist on the phone that I was going to do something terrible. I remember feeling terribly alone in that moment.

I can only guess how alone Summer felt at that time. In my case, I heard my mother's voice screaming in my ear. I don't know what was going on in Summer's case. I suspect, however, that the pain of her illness had reached an intolerable level and she was desperate for a way out. I don't think she was thinking clearly, because with out the influence of mental illness she was a vivacious person who virtually glowed with her love of life.

I pity the suffering she had and the crippling psychic pain that drove her to this act. My hackles go up at the fact that she killed herself in almost the exact same fashion that I had planned. The timing of it also leaves me uneasy because it hits too close to home. In some strange fashion, I find myself reminded to be thankful that I didn't kill myself and that I had gotten help. I don't know if that makes me a freak or not.

You will be missed, Summer. May it be that you have found the peace you were so desperate for and healing in the arms of the Goddess.

Suicide: How I view it.

Moon phase: Waxing Corn Moon (age: 3 days)
Moon Sign: Virgo
Weather: Fair skies, warm but seasonably so; drought still persists
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A friend of mine committed suicide a few days ago. It surprised and disappointed me. I felt some pity for her. Then I got angry. Really angry. I then took a step back and said to myself "Why are you angry, you contemplated it? How does your Tradition view suicide?" Those two questions stopped me cold in my tracks and have been rattling around in my mind for a little while now. Beloved's position was pure anger, as was that of Stormcrow. Both men had an excellent point when they expressed their disdain for one's final act to be of such selfishness. Both of them held out that the dead no longer were effected by their actions in this world, but left a tangled mess behind them for the living to sort out as a result of their final action.

The logical part of my brain agreed with this but the anger ran deeper then that. There was some sort of spiritual aspect to it that had me stumped. As such, I meditated upon the matter. I contemplated it as I lay sleepless the night after we had learned what happened. I rolled it around in my head as I was walking my son home from the bus stop. Then it finally hit me where the anger stemmed from.

I can accept that one will commit suicide to escape pain, to escape a poor quality of life, or as an act of resistance. I can accept that suicide can be accidental or a result of one's thinking getting completely distorted by things outside of their ability to control, such as the side effect of their medications. Suicide makes sense in these contexts. It may not be the ideal solution in the eyes of a third party, but to the person who is deliberately acting in this fashion, it will have been perceived as the best possible solution available to them. And as the First Law of Human Behavior states: All people shall act according to what they believe to be in their best interests according to the information they perceive to be available and relevant.

My anger came out of the fact that this suicide was a result of poorly managed depression. This young woman, according to what information I have learned from sources that were close to her prior to this event, intentionally disregarded elements of her illness. It is this that makes me angry. She knew she was on a collision course with a suicidal mindset but refused to address it. As one who has lived with recurrent bouts of suicidal depression for most of their life, I know what that feeling is like. At one point, I had several friends drag me back from walking out into traffic. As terrifying as incidents like that were, I struggle daily with suicidal thoughts as a result of my post-traumatic stress disorder and chronic, recurrent depression.

Why haven't I killed myself? It isn't out of cowardice, as my Mother once accused me of. It is courage and a grim determination to meet my responsibilities. It is my sense of honor. I have duties to people around me that I must uphold, lest I prove less then honorable. My friend knew she had similar duties to people around her. She chose not to make an effort to meet them, even if it wasn't perfectly. It was a cowardly act.

Now, there is a distinct possibility that the information that I have is incorrect. It may be that complications from her antidepressants caused her to become suicidal. If that is the case, my anger is mitigated somewhat. As this change in her thinking occurred, however, she should have addressed it with her doctor. Suicidal thoughts, generally, are not something that strike out of the blue unless there is a preexisting condition that is manifesting in that fashion. As such, she would have had a window of opportunity to get help for her crisis. An opportunity that she allowed to pass by.

I do not feel proud of my own suicidal tendencies. I am rather ashamed of them, actually. I, however, continue to fight them because I refuse to dishonor myself by failing in my obligations. It is my experience that the Gods punish dishonor. It comes in strange and at times subtle ways. But it does come. I have known people who bore the mark of a curse upon their aura and learned why. I have no wish to know how one who willfully dishonors themselves and commits suicide makes recompense for their failure to keep their oaths and meet their duties.

Edited to Add~ I realized as I reread this that I was writing my way through an emotional flashback. I believe I will let this post stand, but I need to give the entire situation more consideration before I post again on the topic. I apologize to any whom I offended.

Waxing Mourning Moon & Memories

Moon: Waxing Mourning Moon
Sign: Aquarius
Weather: Unseasonably mild, high thin clouds
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I don't know why I did it but I looked at her blog. A part of my heart broke as I looked and read. It was as though I could hear her voice again as it sounded in life, not that strange whisper of clairaudience that I hear now when she visits me. I looked at it and I wanted to cry.

I miss her so much. So many words left unsaid. So many things that I wanted to share with her but it just doesn't work well now that she is no longer here walking the green earth with me. Oh, I suppose I could tell her everything I wanted to say but I can't ever feel her arms around me, see her smile, or listen to her laugh with that husky, rich laugh that she has after she's drunk a bit too much coffee and snuck a cigarette or two.

They say that we have soul mates and kindred spirits. I believe she was one of mine. I believe that she was a long lost soul sister of mine whom I wish I had met long before she came into life a few years ago. I cherish the memory of her laugh and everything about her. I'm struggling to live with the courage that she thought I had. It's so hard when you realize that everything about a friend is gone except for the echo of their life.

That spark, that essence of them is not here anymore. It's across the veil. And as close as they can come to us, they can never fully reach us except with heroic effort and some cost to them. So, I sit here and I mourn. I struggle with tears that refuse to be shed and this lost, confused sense of hope. I know we will meet again in the green fields of the Otherworld. We'll laugh and talk of my son and our husbands. But right now, I just want to weep because I can't hear her voice.

And the pain of her bodily absence from my life deadens my ear and senses to her presence on the otherside. Though I'm sure she knows I am there and grieves for me even as I grieve for her, as she always seemed to know my pain even though we didn't know each other for very long on this earth.