Bad Vibes

Oct. 2nd, 2006 10:22 pm
alynnwells: (Default)
A friend's husband has a feeling something bad is going to happen.

She saw someone dressed in white standing over her in the night. It terrified her. She said this has been happening more and more often lately. "Bhain Sidhe" ran through my head. I did not say this. But I also didn't soothe her by telling her about the number of times I've had non-malevolent watchers at my bedside.

Instead, I suggested smuding with sage, and gave her a brief method. To clear out some of the bad vibes and reduce the nightmare effect.

I hope it's just nightmares and bad feelings, and nothing worse.
alynnwells: (coyote)
Our network administrator walked on us this week at work. Just when you'd think things couldn't get more chaotic . . . there it is.

I was driving all over the state doing whirlwind tech support at the time. On the way home, today, I saw a lump coming up on the side of the highway, to my right. By the location and the coloring, I suspected it was a dead coyote before I was close enough to see it clearly. Upon visual confirmation, I braced myself for the spiritual remnants of outraged roadkill that I sometimes get.

Instead, something that wasn't that poor coyote, but was associated, crept up from the base of my spine clear up to the top of my head. Something not coyote, but Coyote, I think.

I'm just on the raw edge of being sick. I'm frantically trying to get my shit together for work, having only had one day off. I haven't stopped moving since this encounter.

I do wonder what will happen when I lie down to sleep, tonight.
alynnwells: (Default)
Why do I keep having dreams where I'm unable to protect my cats?
alynnwells: (raven)

I dream of a chariot pulled by two cats
and a lady who collects
fallen warriors.

A thousand years later,
I suffer through ten days of Avelox
like the rest
of the genetic rejects.

Words are.

Disaffected with peace,
full belly set a-churn by
antibiotics and
foreign policy,
I wonder that there will never be
a time to act.
I just wonder.

Not until I've had a child.
Not until I've published a book.
Not until our own pathogens have
reacquainted us
with the hazards of overcrowding
an eco-system.

Time ain't,
or rather,
like being drunk down through a
Klein bottle.

Once, I drank honey-wine
from a scrying bowl.
Now others start to look
to me
to answer questions.
So I tell them about the dreams.
alynnwells: (coyote)
Well, since I fly out for Rites on Saturday, I thought I'd post some random thoughts that crossed my mind while packing.

  • Leave behind your cell phone and your expectations.

  • You can never have too many dry socks.

  • Never play dice with the Great Spirit.

  • What do you say to a 6'5", 350 lb. man in a skirt? "Nice skirt."

  • 500 pagans can do some awfully shifty things to the weather. And, sometimes, shouldn't.

  • Peace, love, and an open heart, but dammit I need to be registered
right now!
  • One blanket too many is just enough.

  • No one's path is more or less valid than anyone else's.

  • When confronted by a river, it's best to swim. Even if your tent is in it.

  • "Never drink beer out of a scrying bowl." (Okay, that one's not mine, but I've always liked it).
  • alynnwells: (raven)
    I saw someone on the median on the way home. Who wasn't there. As I was jockeying my car around into an unusual parking space, I saw something snuffling around the dumpster. But it turned out to be a rock.

    Is this double-vision effect from fatigue? Is it that state where my focus softens and I can see through the walls between worlds?

    The answer, I think, is yes.

    I very much get the feeling of something snuffling around the edges, lately. My chaos zone is in full swing. I think Rites will be interesting this year.
    alynnwells: (coyote)
    Coyote ran in front of my car this week in rush hour traffic. I had to slam on the brakes.

    Pay attention. Buckle up and hold on tight.

    Yeah. It was that kind of week.


    Apr. 9th, 2006 04:59 pm
    alynnwells: (Default)
    So, since I've begun thinking about headspace and domain names (how's that for a combination?), my left shoulderblade has begun itching. Not itching, itching. But with a sense of expectation.

    The three primary powers in my life, Coyote, Fox, and Raven, have wanted to be on my left shoulderblade for awhile. Actually, I think Coyote belongs on my left ankle, Fox on my right hip, and Raven on my right shoulder. But for various reasons, I don't think that ankles and hips are the best places for tattoos. They would be perfectly happy with the left shoulderblade, with Fox in the middle. And the shoulder is a spot that doesn't show in interview clothes, which is my usual objection to tattoos. It's also a spot that doesn't stretch much if your weight changes . . . within certain parameters, of course.

    I think that when I reach the weight I need, it might be time to do this thing. I itch that way. On the other hand . . . a shoulder would also show in a wedding dress. And just in the last year or so, I've come to think I might eventually wear one of those. How do you reconcile tattoos and wedding dresses?

    This would be so much easier if I could put them on my neck, beneath my hair. But they don't belong there, though I've occasionally wondered if I could put their footprints in vertical line, there. Unfortunately, that spot seems to be saved for a willow tree . . . should I ever decide to do that one.
    alynnwells: (Default)
    I read Laurell K. Hamilton's Anita Blake books. Anita has a line in one of them about hating all this new age crap, and hating it worse when it works. Words to that effect. Could be fugue of my life, I think. It's taken me a very long time to come to terms with the fact that what I do makes me sound like a complete loon to most people. It's taken even longer to accept the fact that the touchy-feely stuff is also true, and I still don't necessarily do it with the best of grace.

    In the last two weeks of stress at work, meals in the car, lunch meetings, and sleeplessness, I've re-gained all the weight I've lost in the last two months. But really, that's not saying much--I've been fighting with the same damn ten pounds since last August. Two good weeks and then a bad one. Eight weeks with a dog-bitten knee where I can't really exercise. A cold here. Bronchitis there. Up and down and up and down through that ten pounds like a yo-yo. Getting angrier with myself and more depressed each time I try to get under that 170 lbs. mark and don't quite make it. I've complained to a couple of people that I never had body image issues until I started losing weight.

    So, the weigh-in was last Thursday. That's when I discovered the two weeks/two months thing. I'd known it already, but yeah, that's when I saw the number. I have been contemplating the food/comfort link that does have some part in this, deciding that maybe this is the one piece of the eating equation that I can choose to change without being unhappy with the results. On my way up the hill to the weigh-in, I had this mental image of myself going at that link with a hacksaw, weeping and striking at it.

    And suddenly, I had one of those "everything you know is wrong" moments.

    I've never had a shortage of willpower or backbone, but my self-esteem and self-concept growing up sucked rocks. One of the most difficult things for me to do in terms of learning to do certain kinds of trancework was to stifle The Complainer. That inner voice that everyone has to some degree, I think, that says, "This would all be okay if you'd do it my way," and finds fault with everyone and everything. In me, this voice is very strong, and the faults it finds include my own. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I have an inner voice that addresses me as "Hey, dumbass." I tried to beat the complainer down. I tried to bury her. Nothing worked.

    Then, one night at a fire circle, I heard her in a new way. The complaints were like a baby crying. I had to re-arrange the way I dealt with myself to pick her up, and comfort her, and essentially love her to death.

    As I drove up the hill to the weigh-in, I realized again that I'd been trying to make changes on the basis of hate and fear. It's the modality a lot of us are brought up with. I mean, we all know that "love thy neighbor" only holds if he's not trying to blow you up, and that fear of hellfire is what's supposed to keep you on the straight and narrow path.

    My path has never been straight and narrow. And I can't seem to make changes out of any place that isn't love. Taking another 30-ish pounds off my knees is something I have to do because I love myself enough to do it. And I don't need to use food for comfort, now. I have so many other precious, beloved, and comforting things in my life. My cup runneth over. And if I can focus on that, the fear and desperation fall away. And rather than take that link out with a hacksaw, I think it will simply fall out. Like a baby tooth, or a hair that's ready to be shed.
    alynnwells: (Default)
    I saw The Chronicles of Narnia tonight. Parts of it moved me. Especially the scene of the sacrifice, and especially the gathering of troops, and especially the joining of battle.

    It's disconcerting to know that I am not made for peace. I mentioned this to [ profile] kenilyn. She said, "None of us are."

    What can I say? You don't really find my jati in times of peace. She's right.
    alynnwells: (Default)
    Pete mentioned that he thought his bathroom was haunted. When I asked why, he mentioned that he has a very specific morning routine . . . and he's been finding things out of place from where he leaves them in that routine. So either it was haunted, or it was the gremlins again, or he was losing his mind. I asked him if he wanted me to play ghostbusters for him, and he said "Sure."

    When I checked, I did indeed find something inimical. That surprised me. Somethings, I'm used to. Inimical, I don't see much of in my immediate vicinity. Since I had permission, I threw it the hell out and sealed the front entryway. It had not been in the bathroom, but rather, in the closet that shared a wall with the bathroom. When I found it, anyway. So the closet felt all kinds of tainted.

    I recommended sage incense or smudging sticks, with my usual smart-ass remark about not being sure why it worked--maybe the smoke was just so nasty that nothing wanted to hang out near it. He said he had sage, but mostly used rose. Rose is . . . purity, if I recall rightly. Sage is actually to drive the nasty stuff out. I made the distinction. I got a look I couldn't exactly read, but I interpreted it as similar to other looks from other people which boil down to "You shouldn't be serious, but I think you are. I'm not sure I'm comfortable with that. But I'm also not sure you're wrong." He'll tell me if I'm off-base. ;)

    That's okay--I'm not sure I'm comfortable with it, either. Which, sadly, doesn't make it not so.

    Pete's apartment has always felt just fine to me, before. So I asked him if, by any chance, stuff started moving around at about the time his new roommate moved in. He thought about it and decided the answer is "yes." He's never done formal shielding in that place. I don't either, anymore--I don't generally need to. When a big change like a new person in residence and stuff moving in and out happens, it tends to mar the pre-existing balance of things (in this case, general "Pete-ness" making the place pleasant and keeping it cleared-out).

    It was not pleasant, yesterday. When I went to bed, I found the whole atmosphere very disturbing. So after I strengthened my personal shields, I spent ten minutes doing lick-and-a-promise shielding on the whole apartment. I felt better, afterward. But I do hope he uses the sage before the next time I visit. I may threaten to bring some up, myself, and do formal wards that will make the whole house smell nasty. ;)
    alynnwells: (Default)
    Last night, while doing laundry at my parents' house, I heard someone come in through the back door. Only I didn't actually hear it. What I had was the realization that I had heard someone come in two minutes before. After that, I kept having the realization that I was hearing someone rattling around upstairs. It finally occured to me that there was a ghost upstairs. For a loose definition of ghost.

    It wasn't a Person. It wasn't a Thing. It was . . . an alien? Even Things have a certain look to them. This didn't fit that look. It (he?) was human-tall, and humanoid, and really definitely Not From Around Here. That's why he was being so obvious--he had never been here before, and he was curious. I told him that was okay, but please not to knock things over. And that if he freaked my mother out, I'd have to throw him out.

    I mentioned to [ profile] kenilyn that my life seems to have become weirder. She said, "No, you just notice it more."
    alynnwells: (Default)
    This won't integrate properly with my friends list if I put it in my blog, so I'm posting it here.

    Get your own spectral analysis from Area 23®

    Not the least bit valid, I'm sure, but amusing nonetheless.


    Feb. 14th, 2006 09:59 pm
    alynnwells: (Default)
    A friend mentioned to me the other day that in a crisis situation, he tends to panic.

    I tried to think of a time when I've panicked. There've probably been several, but I can't think of any off the top of my head.

    I had another nightmare two nights back. The usual kind: sitting up in the dark, turning the switch on the lamp again and again to no effect, only to realize that I'm still asleep. Did I fear? Yes. Most definitely. Did I panic? No, not really. I kept functioning through the fear.

    I figure this is important. Some day, it won't be a dream.

    Sometimes I'm not convinced it's a dream, even now.
    alynnwells: (Default)
    I had to brave the mall, and the evil poser store (Hot Topic), for shoelaces, yesterday. I hate malls. I hate my cloak of invisibility, especially, which makes it possible for every one of the stupidly high number of people contained within to run into me. But worse, I just hate the way they feel.

    Then, it occurred to me that there might be a reason why I hate the way they feel. And I reinforced my shielding. It helped. So I reinforced it again with a visualization of a cinder block wall. I immediately felt so much better. Not only that, but people quit running into me. Maybe it's coincidence. I still feel like I should've done it years ago.

    I did acquire shoelaces.


    Jan. 16th, 2006 07:14 pm
    alynnwells: (coyote)
    I never did find an appropriate drumming track. I did manage to find . . . it's hard to describe. Kind of an industrial equivalent of a singing bowl. It was neutral enough that it was useful as a sonic vehicle, but non-natural enough that I couldn't go very deep when I journeyed.

    I discovered someplace new, though. Raven took me to a little house that looked awfully like a gingerbread house, with snow on the roof in the place of the icing. I met a woman there . . . I guess I'd call her Grandmother Dog, although that's now how I addressed her. At one point, she turned into a dog. Partly to get my attention, I think. Since I wasn't having any luck getting where I needed to go with regards to finding out about the summons, I asked her about the other thing that's been bugging me: a general sense of being a little out of control, mostly with regards to my health and eating and sleeping patterns.

    She placed the palm of one hand on my forehead and the palm of the other low on my belly and said, "That's because this and this are out of alignment."

    Son of a gun, she was right. She had her hands on two of my chakras, and while everything up to my neck was reasonably in tune, my third eye was completely out of whack. So I spent several minutes in the lower world doing breathing exercises, of all things. I feel quite a bit better, now.

    I swear, sometimes I really do need the neon sign treatment, don't I?

    a visitor

    Jan. 12th, 2006 09:58 pm
    alynnwells: (raven)
    Raven came to me today in the Safeway parking lot. I have only seen ravens on three occasions, before. Each time, I was moving. Today, Raven flew overhead, not very far, with wings outspread, and said just one word to me. Since he was flying, and I'd never seen a raven in flight before or heard one call, I actually had to locate a recording of a raven call to be sure. Not, I suppose, that it would have mattered--I knew I was being called, regardless of who was doing the calling.

    Maybe I can journey tomorrow night. There must be sound files of appropriate drumming somewhere on the internet. Gods know this apartment is just a little too loud to journey without sound.


    Jan. 11th, 2006 07:18 pm
    alynnwells: (Default)
    [ profile] gabefinder pointed me at a book called Urban Shaman, by C.E. Murphy. It made her think of me. I'm about a third of the way through it, now. Ye flippin' gods. I'm spending half my time going, "Yeah, I hate it when that happens" and the other half going, "If it were that clear-cut for me, I'd have been useful far earlier than I was."

    It's really quite entertaining, though the style isn't quite what I'm used to and I can tell it's a first novel. I'd call it fiction; I suppose most people would call it fantasy. The Tucson Pima Public Library has neatly avoided the whole issue by shelving it under mystery. Which, I suppose, is apt in another way, too.


    Jan. 10th, 2006 03:26 pm
    alynnwells: (Default)
    I mentioned to my boss, today, that I just feel scatterbrained and unrested after dreaming that I was being smothered by someone last night. (This makes perfect sense in light of previous conversations we've had about Journey's dreams). I mentioned that I hate dreams about being smothered or drowning, because I think I actually stop breathing with my physical body during the part of the dream where I can't breathe. He suggested that it might be a sign of sleep apnea--which, evidently, doesn't necessarily cause snoring. The sleep apnea incorporated into my dreams, though it likely happens more often than it's reflected in dream.

    I'm not sure quite how much weight to give to this. I mean, what do you suppose I'm incorporating into my dreams when I'm stabbed, shot, or poisoned? What about when I'm sucked up into a tornado? Or worse yet, dropped out of one, my dream-ear doing all the expected crazy inner-ear things you'd expect. What about when I die?

    And what would you suppose is the cause of my occasional foredreaming, then?
    alynnwells: (Default)
    Okay, somebody needs to read The Wastelands of Flint, and the remainder of the series, by Thomas Harlan. I need to be able to talk to somebody about these, dammit. :)
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