“Can’t teach an old dog new tricks.” “The older a person gets, the more set they are in their ways.” “A leopard can’t change its spots.” “You can’t change the fundamental parts of yourself, the harder you try, the more you stay the same.” “It’s just a phase you’re going through, just ride it out …

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I’m confused something fierce. You see, my magic (life?) path had changed recently. I won’t be going ceremonial for some time. There are other things that have to be attended to first. The ecstatic path pulls me more and more away from plays at, and bastardizations of, western grimoric magic into the liminal states of …

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Evening chores seem to multiply around here. Since the roommates are off doing whatever they are doing away from the house, I’m watering their plants that they were so keen on getting. That they insisted on plants not suited for this climate is a different rant. One of the flowering plants was originally in a …

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So I have some imagery rattling around this skull of mine, and I’ve got to write it down and capture it before I start mumbling as I do my day job. It probably doesn’t help that I’ve been so tired lately, I’ve stopped dreaming. I know most folk don’t care if they dream or not, …

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I’ve skirted around the issue on Twitter and here on my blog many times. Have placed so much between the lines, there are acres between the furrows. On a few occasions, I’ve actually come right out and said things plainly, but apparently, not plainly enough. For my regular readers, I apologize for stating the blatantly …

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So, you folks have been reading my blatherings long enough to see that my norm is at least 2,500 words. Anything less is some pithy snark or a blatant plea for interaction. (Like this one.)

Now that I’ve been picked up by an anthology (Practical Pagans, check them out), I’m harassing even more people than I thought I would. (Also. Hello!)

I know I fussed before about full feeds versus summaries, and at the time, I was in favor of full feeds because my offline RSS reader only saved the summaries. Since, then, I spent a precious $2.99 and picked up the full version of Byline for my iTouch. I parted with my money because the full version will load the entire post on sync if it detects the RSS feed only has summaries (if it doesn’t autodetect, you can manually set it).

Then I really started looking at the RSS clients you folks use when accessing my blog, and saw most of those will do the same. So, there went my one gripe about full feeds versus post excerpts.

My question to you brave and bored folks that are still reading this far: Do I continue posting the entire 2,500 word entries entirely in the feed, or just the 50-100 word excerpts?

You don’t have to comment on this post. (If you’re reading the anthology, you might not be able to. Click on the post title in the anthology to come to my blog.) I’m also harassable by Twitter:@BandedNagini, Facebook (Kerian.Nox), and Google+ (Kerian Nox).

I’ll be participating in NaNoWriMo this year. ~rubs hands in malicious glee~ Just to warn you.

So hard, falling asleep. Perhaps it is from the past several weeks of too damn early mornings, and too damn late evenings. Even my nonsense dream count has faded. So trying to fall asleep, maybe I’m trying too hard. Because of the tensions in my house, I don’t feel safe. So I’m always on guard. Always keeping an ear out for sounds of trouble. As such, the normally very comfortable bed feels more to me like a pallet of concrete. The soft sheets feeling more like steel wool.

If only I had someone that would be alert for me. Someone at hand that I could give my trust to. Someone to watch over me.

Bah. It’s useless. I might as well get up and do something else for a while. I stretch and shift position, only for my bed to shift position under me. I open my eyes in surprise and look at the canopy above me. Seven graceful arcs bend at my movement, curving downward in swoops and arcs. At the end of each arc is a hooded snake head. Each snake head is identical to the head of my snake companion. As seven sets of eyes watch me, and seven tongues flick about me, I trace the heads and bodies back. Just above my head, I see the seven separate bodies merge into one large snake. I realize then, I’m laying on the snake’s body.

The impossibility of what I’m seeing confuses me. As I furrow my brow, one of the snake heads move close enough to touch. It flicks its tongue at me, teasing my nose.

“Eh, so now you have another trick up your sleeve, eh? Seven hooded heads, really? I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised you can be any snake, physical or mythological. Hello, my friend. Thank you for watching over me.” The snake again flicks at my nose, then brings all seven heads upright. I note the spread hoods of each individual head combine with its neighbor, creating a scaled scallop that is beautiful to look at.

I know I am dreaming, that I am sleeping, but I do not feel rested. The snake shifts under me slightly, shifting my body’s pose into one more comfortable. Six heads look in six different directions. The seventh looks at me briefly, as if chiding me to relax, then move to watch in a seventh direction. A deep desire for rest overtakes me. Smiling slightly, I relax fully into the coils of the watchful snake, and fall into a deeper sleep.

Just before the dream deepened, I heard a disembodied voice ask the snake, “Has the dreamer awoken?”. But I was too far gone to answer.

I felt a shift in awareness. I tried to open my eyes, but I had no eyes to open. I tried to lift my hand, but I had no hand to move. I just was. I willed then, to see, and I saw. My vantage point was in the depths of space, but still within the heliosphere. I was so far from the sun, it appeared more like a large star, than the gravitational dominator of the planetary system. Despite the distance, I saw the sun and the planets with sharp clarity. I identified each planet with ease. As if in recognition, each planet glowed brightly in response.

In the most furthest of reaches, I felt the echoes of someone laying asleep in the coils of a seven-headed snake. A man’s voice, asked, “Has the dreamer awoken?”. But there was no response. And the dreamer smiled faintly in her sleep.

Within the heliosphere, the sun and the planets were now glowing with unbelievable light. Without the heliosphere, the stars, nebulae, and galaxies echoed, mirrored, and added to the gleam by glowing with the light of their own innate existence. As the light combined to overwhelm my vantage point, I heard a woman’s voice say, “Your initiation, it has already begun.”

As she spoke those words, the dreamer held in the snake’s embrace smiled strangely in her sleep. She shifted position so that she was laying on her left side, propped up somewhat on her left elbow. She laid her left hand over her heart, and raised her right hand as if in a gesture of blessing (or invocation). When the words faded, she allowed her right hand to rest on her hip, and moved her left hand so that her head was propped on it.

When the dreamer settled back down into deepest sleep, again the man asked, “Has the dreamer awoken?”. Again, there was no response from the dreamer or the snake that watched over her.

In the depths of space, darkness was banished by the light. But I knew, even as I watched, the light was actually the darkness. The two were the same. The acceptance of all things as they are was what changed the darkness into light. What appeared dark, only did so, because mortal man did not have the eyes to see what was there. I accepted this, and a mystery spoke in the depths of me. But it is a mystery I am unable to place into words. Again the woman spoke, “Your initiation, it has already begun.” I yielded to the unviewable light, and was removed from that place.

I woke up, in the seven headed snake’s embrace. All seven heads looked down on me with patience. As we observed each other, I knew I had been changed. My right eye and my right hand were marked. Or rather, the mark that had always been there, was now visible. I wanted to remain here a little longer, but in the distance, I heard the sounds of alarm. An invasion had begun. A call to all able to hear the klaxon. A call to arms.

I leap from the snake, fully awake. Before my feet have touched the marble tile floor, I have called to myself my “magic clothes”. Another step forward, I reach out with my right hand and call the cane to hand. Yet another step forward, I reach out with my left hand and call the longbow into my grip.

But I hear a disembodied voice say, “Has the dreamer awoken?”. I turn to look back at the snake, and see I am still sleeping in the snake’s embrace. I am still on my left side, still propped up on the left hand. And still the strangest of smiles on my face. I note the “dreamer” has not woken yet, but the klaxons are still sounding. I turn away from the snake and run into the enveloping light.

I continue running. Marble floor gives way to hard dirt. The light lifts off me and I find myself in a great plain. It is morning, and the sun shines brightly in the cloudless sky. I know behind me is a sacred place, a holy place, and is where the call to arms originated from. Far in the distance, far to the south, I see advancing hordes of people and beasts. This is why the call was given. Marauders cry intimidations and promises of plunder.

There is nothing between them and the sacred place behind me. Nothing, except me. I call on the runes, chanting and invoking them. A thick field of grass like plants erupt in the space between me and the marauders. They appear to be blades of stiff grass, but they will slice at any foolish to charge through it like blades of surgical scalpels.

I plant the cane into the ground beside me, and raise my bow. By my will, something like an arrow appears docked in the bow, ready for me to pull and aim. I aim, and wait. Gauging the enemy’s advancement, I release the first arrow to time with the enemy arriving too many paces into my field of fire.

As the first foe falls, I hear a cheer off to my side. Another has answered the call to arms, and is slinging projectiles of his own. We smile at each other and resume our assault on the common enemy. Soon, the field is filled with other protectors. None of us spoke the same language, or even used the same type of weapons. Some were long range assault, and some had waded into the elkgrass to take up infantry positions. A few, I noted, were not attacking at all, but were providing support to those that were. We all were united in the defense of the sacred space, and were working united from a deep, unspeakable instinct. There were no gloryhounds, no great heroes to lead and inspire us. Individually, we didn’t matter much to the field of war. But collectively, we were destroying the enemy.

The enemy changed tactics as the land assault was failing under our collective defense. Many of the land attackers began to retreat as airborne weaponry was engaged. I watched as something like a cannon was pointed in my general direction. I knew I was being targeted, but I did not run. My place was to attack, and as long as I was able to use my longbow, I intended to continue firing arrows. To reach me, meant being in range of my longbow. I was able to cripple the cannon, but not before it launched a volley against me.

I knew running would be useless at this point. There was magic at play here. The volley would come to me. So I sought to take out as many of the enemy as I could. Just before the volley reached me, a large man carrying a shield wider than he was tall ran up to me. I pulled down my bow as he stood over me and shielded us both. The volley bounced against his shield, rattling noisily as it broke into pieces and crumbled onto the ground around us.

My ears are ringing from the sound, but I am unharmed. He lowers the shield as I stand to face him. He looks me over, seeing I am unhurt, and smiles broadly. I return the smile and nod in thanks. He bows slightly in return. He looks about, sees another volley launched against another defender, and rushes off to shield him. No words were spoken between us, but no words were needed. We each have our part.

After some times had passed, we defenders were victorious. The marauders suffered critical losses in their attempt to sack the sacred place. For every 1000 men that had entered the field of battle, maybe 2 or 3 struggled to flee. As they retreated into the distance, I and my fellow defenders cheered in a multitude of languages. One by one, the defenders left the field. Many of them that had set up defensive positions or magic left the defenses in place. I pluck my cane from the ground, allowing it and the bow to return to my innermost parts. I turn to leave, but leave the elkgrass and the runic magics I had used behind. As long as the sacred place was whole, the elkgrass would remain green and the runic magics would remain strong.

As I begin to step away from the sunny plain, I hear a man’s voice say again, “Has the dreamer awoken?”. But this time, instead of a disembodied voice, floating on the barest of breezes, the voice comes from a distinct direction. From within the sacred place. That the speaker is present causes me to pause. “Come, Kerian. Come here, girl.” I feel the words more than I hear them, and I follow them. To the interior of the sacred place, I go, where I am surrounded by shifting mists that close behind me.

Here, in the middle of the sacred place, is a priest of a different pantheon. Those that he serve are those I have been warned away from. I am to be wary of Them, because of my personal makeup, I would easily be lost in Their embrace. I am warned not to approach Them on my own, but to wait for Them to call me forward instead. The priest holds his hands out to me, and bids me to take them. But I hesitate. “Come girl, They have things for you.”

I do not move to take his hands. “I’m sorry, Sir. I can’t. I am beholden to Loki, I can not take what you offer. I can only watch from afar.” I do regret not being able to step forward, but I do not want to risk being in the position of having to choose who to serve, and who to anger. Suddenly, I feel hot hands resting on my shoulders. I look behind me, to see who is holding me. Loki himself stands there, his grip on my shoulders unrelenting.

“Did you think I would hold you captive, like a prize bird in a lovely cage? You travel more than I do, why begrudge you this as well?” He looks at me with the greenest eyes I ever did see, and smiles a sly and toothy grin. “Go wander about, girl. Go where you need to go, learn what you need to learn, and do what you need to do.” He touches my cheek, gently. “That you remember my mastery of you is touching.” He grips my jaw with a unnaturally hot grip. I do not flinch from the action, nor pull away. “But remember, girl, in your travels, you belong to me.”

Loki laughs, spins me around to face the priest, and pushes me roughly forward. I do not have to turn around to know he has left me alone with the priest. “So, girl, do you see me?” I look at the man, there is a cloud of smoke surrounding him.

“No, I don’t see you.” I try to peer through the cloud.

“Ah, no mind. You will soon enough.” The priest has a handdrum in his left hand. With his right, he begins drumming a strange and complex beat. The sound catches me and the rhythm ensnares me. My will is made subservient to the drum and I start dancing in place. Just as I thought I could handle no more, the priest places a djembe and a pair of congas in front of me. Unbidden, I switch from dancing to drumming, and am caught up even further into the maddening rhythm.

As I play, I hear music and sounds from many different cultures from all over the world, and from many different times. I hear didgeridoos and kotos playing the same melody. Field made panpipes and electric guitars playing call and answer. I am overwhelmed in the scent of flowers and fruits, of volcanic dirt and swampy marshes. I stop trying to fight against the rhythms I am playing and surrender to the ecstatic drumming. I do not know when I stop. Or when the drums are removed from me.

I know I am suddenly on my knees, head bowed slightly as the woman’s voice intones for the last time, “Your initiation, it has already begun.”. My left hand is over my heart. My right hand is raised, palm forward, beside my head as if in blessing (or invocation). And I am smiling such a strange, petite smile.

The woman’s voice fades, and I open my eyes to see the priest standing in front of me. I realize my knowledge of the pantheon he represents is sorely lacking. As I see him in a stereotypical, and most likely offensive, portrayal of his office. It pains me to see it. “So, girl, do you see me?” The paint on his face moves with his skin, giving the appearance he is tattooed.

“Yes, Priest. I see you.”

“Are you still fearful of me?” He tilts his head teasingly.

“No, I’m not afraid of you. But I respect you, and Those on you.” He laughs and bows. I smile at the gesture. He steps close to me, and suddenly blows a bitter and acrid powder in my face. My senses are overwhelmed and I feel myself spiraling upward with great speed.

~~~

I wake up in my bed, feeling like I’ve just stepped off a roller-coaster. I feel the marks as if they were newly imprinted on my flesh even though nothing new shows in my reflection. For some time after I woke up, my left eye felt clouded and twitched annoyingly. My right eye was clear. My left hand tingled and itched. My right hand was strong.

Make of that, what you may.

For the past twenty odd years, since I left the security of high school and ventured out into the maddening world, I have dreamed the same dream at least once a month. But I never recognized the dream. Because each time I dreamt it, the setting and roles I played would change, making it appear as something new with every iteration.

Even once I started keeping a dream diary, first in paper form, and now in digital, I still did not see I was dreaming the same thing over and over again. I was caught up in the settings and the drama of the roles. The soap operas were so cheesy, they should have been government rationed in large blocks.

There was the dream where I was part of the first true Homo Sapiens tribe, and we were having to defend ourselves from our non-evolved cousins as they sought to destroy the “Cursed Tribe”. Then there were the Conquistadors making their way inland, and the gods had tapped me to find a way to preserve the knowledge from the devouring missionaries. The fantasy medieval version had me either the long-lost daughter of the king, living out her life as a mere peasant, or as the offering a rash and quick-spoken king had to make to a dragon in exchange for the dragon’s assistance in war. Not even the empty space between stars were safe from my meanderings, as an alien species somehow managed to have to deal with a pernicious human in their midst.

And still, they were all the same dream, as they all had the same key events happen.

• Because of events before my “birth” in the dream, I am considered an outsider, even by blood-kin. The king’s concubine gave birth before the queen did. I was conceived as a result of rape.
• I am given a “low-born” life. The king’s daughter is forced into hiding. The tribute to the alien conquerors is made a slave.
• I rise through the social ranks of the adoptive peoples, and are soon considered “one of them”. The Emperor adopts me as his daughter. The warrior (and/or priest) caste takes me in as Little Sister.
• Among the adoptive people’s general population, I am just another of their kind, despite any racial or species differences. Where I lag behind, measures are taken to place me on equal footing. The aliens construct an exoskeleton to increase my strength. The gargoyles give me a talisman that enables me to fly.
• Among the adoptive people’s elite, I am taken in and given special education in some esoteric knowledge. This is not revealed to the adoptive people’s general population until some point of no return is passed. The priest caste teaches me the mysteries. The aliens teach me psionic abilities.
• Something attacks the adoptive people, usually internal betrayal. But they didn’t count on the rotten human kid always underfoot. The one that learned the hidden knowledge far better than was expected. The one that stands in the gap, ready to defend her adoptive people, even to the death. “I’m sorry, today is the day I get to kick your ass. I take that back, I’m not sorry. I will enjoy watching you fail.”
• I die. The attack is successfully repelled, but I pay a very high price. Sometimes, I’m joined by other defenders as the charge begins. But usually, I’m alone. I have the choice of fleeing, trying to warn others, but leaving the newly discovered weak point undefended. Or standing firm, knowing I’m about to die, but giving my benefactor time to escape or to call more arms to his side. In every iteration of this dream, I choose death. After all, when I lived among “my people”, I was always thrown to the side or underfoot. I have lived a good life with my adoptive people, and the best way I can show this, is to fight for them, even to the death. The death could be as simple as a gunshot to the head, or as traumatic as burning to death in a rain of napalm, or as gory as being ripped to pieces while alive by the war wolves.
• I’m revived. By sorcery, technology, or plain ole CPR, I’m revived. Usually by the first defenders to reach me. The betrayers, aren’t always so lucky. Sometimes they survive, sometimes not. But somehow, I am brought back from death. I gasp (or gurgle) for air, I make some furtive movement, then pass out again. But, hey, I’m alive! Which leads to the next problem.
• I’m hideously wounded. In every iteration, no matter what the setting, nor the technology (or magic) used. I suffer the same minimum wounds. I lose at least the fingers of my right hand, including thumb. And what remains of the metacarpals is fractured and useless. Usually, the entire right hand is lost. And I lose my right eyeball in its entirety. Those two parts of my body, my right eye and my right hand no longer exist. Depending on the Great Battle, I may have other wounds and scars from fire, plasma discharge, various magical beasts nibbling on my flesh, and plain bacterial infection. But no amount of sorcery, technology, or fairy dust is able to restore my right hand or my right eye.
• Except for the right eye and right hand, I make a full recovery. Usually, because I’m beyond pissed at the loss, and I decide to will (Will?) my way to full health. This often surprises my adoptive people. Except for a choice few that knew “she would recover, she’s too stubborn to remain bed-ridden. That, or the physician will kill her because she’s that annoying.”.
• I’m physically marked by the experience. Usually, it is a series of full body tattoos that, when combined with the scars, give me an other-worldly look. I’m marked as different, as set apart, as chosen by fate (Fate?). Instead of hiding the marks, I let them be viewable by all. At the very least, it is a set of tattoos from right wrist, up arm, over shoulder, up neck, and encompassing the right side of my head. One shoulder tops are back in fashion again!
• I receive a new eye and a new hand. The adoptive people are so impressed with my will to live, they decide to restore the function of the missing pieces with prostheses. A new eye and a new hand is created with sorcery, technology, or a combination of the two. Often, I don’t get a choice in accepting them. Or if I do have a choice, they are presented as a “mere replacement in function” of what I lost. But, of course, it’s never that simple, because…
• The new eye and the new hand bestows on me abilities a normal human should not have. Infrared vision. Crushing hand strength. Soul-sight. Fire-manipulation. Often times, the new abilities are also beyond the ken of the adoptive peoples as well. By this point in the dream, I’m no longer “just one of the guys”, I’m considered an agent of the gods, of Fate, of Chaos, or just a human BAMF. Somehow I manage to get my reputation back down to a manageable level. But then…
• I have to return to my “native people” and live among them for a while. So, when I left, it was under “leave or die” circumstances, and they probably held a party for chasing the “cursed one” away. And now, I’m back. With an eye that appears to be solid white, but can see in pitch black, and a hand that can crush a person’s face like a paper bag. For some reason, no one wants to believe me when I say I have no grudge against anyone “back home”, but it’s not enough because I’m soon forced to make a choice.
• Either I handicap myself to fit in and remain with my “home world”, or I accept that I no longer belong with my native peoples and leave never to return. If I handicap myself, (removing the eye, or allowing the hand to be crippled), at first I am an equal, but the old patterns emerge and again I am the cursed one. The misbegotten one. The borne of evil one. Except I can’t defend myself because I’m crippled. My new body parts are mocked and traded by my abusers as a trophy. Eventually, I die, often in trying to defend my old world, and even that is not marked. If I leave, my old world makes it clear I am never to return. I mourn a bit, then continue on with my adoptive peoples. Over time, it is forgotten that I’m not of the same species as them, and am considered equal to them forever.

This pattern has continued for about twenty years. And I never noticed, until a friend asked me about my dreams, and I said “Nothing new. Only that I lost an eye, again.” As he teased the dream out of me, I realized the dream truly was “nothing new”. I had ignored it because the settings and drama kept changing. But the same plot remained.

I have been inspecting myself, my dreams, and my esoterica. And I find, that yes, I have changed. Since sitting down and inspecting this recurring dream, I have not dreamt it anymore. Instead, I find my dream-self is exhibiting the marked eye and marked hand. It is now as much my “magical self” as is the coat, cane, and bow.

Yes, there is more. No, I’m not telling.

Make of that, what you may.

So. Boo. I’m still here, much to the chagrin of my enemies. Excuse me while I haughtily laugh at them. Ha. Ha.

I had been trying to keep a posting schedule of once a week, dream or not. Obviously that went by the way side. A client project took priority and the week was spent hiding away from the sun, overseeing data transfer. The project is not complete, but enough has been done in the initial drive that we now have more time to look over the details. Because you know, there is always something broken in the details.

But I must give credit (and link juice, however scant I can give) to Hostasaurus. Miva Merchant clients, take note. Them is good peoples. And now part of Miva Merchant, so that’s like home made vanilla ice cream with Grandma’s apple pie. Yum.

Very few dreams. Snatches here and there. None of them make sense, even the pieces that I feel are important.

My formal magic practice has also come to a screeching halt. I’ve found myself at a crucial point. I could barrel forward with the little stuff I have now, determined to make it work by hell or high water. Or I could stop and take a damn good look at what I’m doing, and why I’m doing it that way. There are a lot of little rabbit holes I could get lost in, trying to do this or that. I haven’t the monetary or physical resources to master all of them. Time to figure out what I’m good at, and specialize in it.

Over the past three weeks, I’ve realized that what I thought was a nice little tale, was actually prognostic. I didn’t see it as such then, because I was hung up on the ethnic makeup of the key characters. It is amusing to see who in my life is reflected in the dream of Beer and Bikers. But it is also telling to see who in my life is not.

A nice little tale to pass on. Eight years ago, I was in a bad way. I thought my life was of no worth and it would be better for the world at large (and for my daughter especially) if I jumped off the nearest freeway overpass. People intervened, some well, some not so well, and I lost almost everything. Including the few friends I had then. Two days ago, one of them found me again. And was able to tell me what I couldn’t hear then. That I was a person of worth, not for anything I had done or could do, but because I was his friend. We have eight years to catch up on. I hope he finds the person I have become to also be a person of worth. I might still be crying about this. Happy tears, though. Happy tears.

Why the weekly update? Because I’ve noted if I don’t post at least every seven days, spammers think the blog is abandoned and begin the automated attacks in earnest. A post a week, keeps them at bay.

I’m noticing folks signing up their blogs for this Networked Blogs thingie. I don’t get it. But then again, I don’t get most social internet activities. So, somebody sell me on it. What does it do for you, and is it worth the assimilation? (Someone said it provides a central point for you to read blogs without having to go to each blog to see if it updated. Are RSS clients that damn old already, that people don’t know what they do anymore?)

So, in summary, blah blah blah, bullshit, blah blah, fuck that, blah.

Make of that, what you may.

Well, I named the blog “Three Different Ways”, so I suppose it should be no surprise that it takes a lesson to appear in three different forms to get my attention.  I only wish I knew for sure what I was being initiated into.

The Tarot Spread:

“Horseshoe” Spread, as I learned from the Hanson and Roberts tarot deck. Used the Legacy of the Divine deck, no reversals. As this was Midsummer’s Eve, why not see what I am to learn this Summer Solstice?

[1] – [2] – [3] – [4] – [5] – [6] – [7]

[1] Recent Past (The Setup) : Page of Cups
Tumultuous, emotional, yet educational and the waters that feed the growing tree. I will always have a deep emotional well from which to drink the waters of life, but I must leave the immaturity of youth behind. I can no longer indulge in careless rapture.

[2] Present (The Here and Now) : The Moon (XVIII)
Am I descending into more madness, or ascending into the vividness of the fullness of life? I am surrounded by illusions, false shadows, and false light. The time of preparation is over, this is the time to walk through the Valley of Shadows. If I give in to fear, I am lost.

[3] Internal influence(s) (From Within) : 8 of Wands
I have more internal strength, power, and will than I think. If only I get out of my own way, and allow that power to rise. The bow I thought surrendered, never left me after all.

[4] External influence(s) (From Without) : 2 of Swords
My life has been one of forced compromises from the very beginning. And the pain of split duality continues down even to my appearances. I must be one way in private, and another way in public. Every step is measured to maintain this bleeding edge balance. It is tempting to think I will be continuing this balancing act for the rest of my life. Such stasis, is an illusion, and a death. Be prepared for the compromise to end.

[5] The Challenge and/or Lesson (The Gate) : The Hermit (IX)
The lessons I need to learn will not be found in a book, or on a website. The people I confide in may help point the way, but ultimately, I must walk this alone. I have to work out who (what) Keri is for myself. What I find out may not be able to come back with me when (if) I return to “the city”, but it will change me. Not everyone will be pleased with the Keri that emerges, but then I must do this for myself or it is only another illusion, another madness.

[6] Near Future (First Repercussion) : The Devil (XV)
Sorely tempting to say the equivalent of “The devil made me do it!”. So easy to be ecstatically drunk with the everything of living that I am distracted from the long term goals. How can I get anything done, when the devil has all the tools I need? (See card image.) I must stand up for myself, and take back those tools. Leave not one behind. Every step I take into the wilderness, I will be hounded by my fears trying to steal my work away. The hounds of despair will come. I must not give in.

[7] Far Future (Second Repercussion) : 7 of Wands
I know this card refers to being assaulted in mass, by people or by circumstances. But in this particular deck, with this particular imagery, I see another meaning. I see the Initiate taking the first steps through the Gate. Facing the new challenges that await him in the guardians that would beat him back through that same gate he just entered through. The Hermit has finished one stage of his journey. He now begins the next.

So, in answer to the question I posed, “what I am to learn this Solstice?”, the answer is simple. “It’s time to step forward. Begin.”

The Dream:

I’m helping Elbrand with his computers. He’s in the middle of moving his pet website from one hoster to another. It was my job to assist in backing up the data and make sure nothing of value was lost. The large backup file was already in the process of downloading to his local system. As I kept an eye on the screen, he poured me a cup of coffee and handed it to me as he sipped his own.

There was nothing to indicate I was dreaming. All around me was behaving as it should. The chair squeaked as I sat down. The echo of his voice off the walls was as expected. We were discussing what to do with the options the new hosters had opened for him. I was dressed in normal “tech” clothes. A nice enough shirt, but with jeans in case I had to chase cables again. He was dressed in the uniform for his store, as the store was open at the time.

Idle chit chat filled the air. We were discussing different forum platforms when one of his employees opened the office door and interrupted us.

“Hey, Elbrand. Sorry to interrupt, but there’s a weird character out front and I don’t know what she’s asking for.”

Elbrand looked up from his coffee. In the distance I heard a heavily accented female voice talking with another employee. “What is she asking for?”

“She’s asking if a particular woman works here, but it’s a name I’ve never heard before. I’ve told her no one works here with that name, but she is adamant about it.” I felt a slight chill of fear. I said nothing, though, and continued sipping my coffee.

Elbrand took another swig of coffee. “Well, what’s the name?” The employee told him. Elbrand and I almost drop our coffee. The name is a moniker, a pseudonym, that I use on the internet and only on the internet. Elbrand knows the name, but none of the employees do, as I prefer to keep them out of my online life. He and I look at each other in alarm. “Daniel, are you sure that’s the name she’s looking for and that she’s sure that woman is here?”

Daniel nodded vigorously, his ponytail bouncing along in agreement. “She’s sure this woman either works here or hangs out here, but she can’t describe how she looks. But, you’ve got to see this woman, Elbrand. Not only does she have an interpreter, she has a crown!”

Elbrand and I both get up, but he places a hand on my shoulder. “Keri, I don’t know what this is about. I’d rather you stay back here until I get to the bottom of this.” He pushes me slightly. I drop back into my chair. As he leaves he tells Daniel to sit with me and make sure I stay out of harm’s way. For once, Daniel has no wisecrack answer.

Elbrand closes the office door behind him, but not completely. Daniel and I are able to hear the conversation with ease. “Hello and welcome, ladies!” His voice is smooth and jovial, as if he had expected them to come. “My employee tells me you’re looking for someone. Perhaps I can be of assistance.”

I hear a woman’s voice, but she is speaking something like Spanish. No, it’s something like French. The speaker stops and the deeply accented second voice speaks, in English. A translator. I hear the foreign language again, and realize it’s Italian. The women are explaining they have tracked a person known only by her internet pseudonym to Elbrand’s store. If the woman they seek don’t work here, then she is spending much time there. As Elbrand explains the level of privacy the woman are attempting to breach, my mind is working on the few clues I have been given.

The two women speak Italian. One of them, wears a crown. I hear them mention online acquaintances of mine that share a connection with them, no matter how thin. My face blanches at the sole conclusion the clues are racing towards. Daniel looks at me and asks if I know who the women are. “I think so, and if I’m right, Elbrand better not piss them off.” I stand up and swiftly head for the door.

Of course, right then, I hear him say in severe tones, “I think you better tell me who you are before I say anything else about my friend.” There is a tense silence. The Italian speaks a short burst of syllables. The translator echoes in English. “All she needs to know, is I am Lady Diana…”

Before she can finish, I burst through the door and finish the words for her. “… of the Strega. Madam, I am the one you seek, but my name is Kerian Nox.” I bow slightly as I introduce myself.

Elbrand looks at me crossly. I return the glare. He mutters, “This woman can’t possibly be her. Where’s her entourage? Her last appearance was a media event, not two women with a silly tin cap.” He starts to continue, but my icy glare encourages him to finish. “You don’t leave this store with them. I will have Daniel tie your ass up if you try.”

“Your concern for your friend is overwhelming, Sir. The Lady only wishes to speak with Ms. Nox, not carry her away.” The translator is audibly cross with Elbrand, but Lady Diana is patient and waiting. As if she expected Elbrand to get in the way.

“My friend, may I borrow a side room for a moment?” My words were pleading, my tone was commanding. Elbrand stiffened for a moment, eyed Lady Diana warily, then began to call for Daniel. As soon as he took the breath to speak, Daniel came out of the side room, “Keri, the table and chairs are set up for you.” Daniel took my arm and squeezed gently. “I’m right outside if you need help.”

Daniel held the door open for Lady Diana and me. There were three folding chairs set up inside. Two on one side of the cloth covered table, one on the other. Lady Diana smoothed out the stars, moon, and sun printed fabric as I sat across from her. She looked up at me in askance.

“The store offers tarot readings. They’re done at this table.” I realized there was supposed to be a third person, but I was suddenly hard pressed to remember who else was to join us. I stared at the empty chair beside her, trying to remember.

She just nods in comprehension, and follows my gaze. In a smooth, almost syrupy voice, she says clearly, “We won’t be needing this.” She touches the folding chair and it dissolves into nothing. I feel a shift in the perception of reality around me. I know that I’m not in a normal world, but I don’t realize I’m dreaming.

“You tried very hard to hide one world from another, Kerian. But I’ve been watching. Not only myself, but others. It was very trivial to track you down.” Her mastery of English is complete, the Italian accent smoothing over the hard consonants into a caramel tone. Strangely, I was not surprised to hear her speak thus.

“I understand you have been searching for something. You have come very close in your solitary travels. But you have reached a limit to your excursions. While you could continue forward, your pace would be very limited. I would like to offer you something, something special and rare. A treasure.” As she spoke, the shelves on the walls in the small room shimmered. At first only the items on the shelves dissolved into a neutral gray, but soon the shelves and even the walls themselves dissolved into an expanse of gray. So that there was only Lady Diana (or what I perceived to be Lady Diana), the chairs we sat on, and the cloth covered table we sat at. It was at this point, that I realized I was dreaming. But I did not attempt to change the course of the dream.

As “Lady Diana” finished explaining what she was offering to me, my manner of dress changed from the normal everyday wear, to the black coat et al., of my “magic robes”. My opal felt snug against my chest as I tried to see around the glamour of the “person” before me. But she remained as Lady Diana of the Strega, and she was offering me, an outsider to her world if there ever was one, initiation into her world.

I turned over her words end over end and side over side, trying to see where the double meaning was evident. But try as I could, I was only able to parse them at face value. If I needed confirmation that I was dreaming, the impossibility of what was being offered to me would be it. She sat there, patiently, waiting for an answer.

“Lady Diana.” I measured my words carefully. Despite knowing I’m dreaming, I was still at the dream’s mercy. And there was a quality to this dream, a vividness far beyond mere lucidity, that made me very cautious. “Lady Diana, I will not lie, your offer intrigues and pulls at me. But I am a rebellious and untameable creature. The mere presence of leash will cause me to buck. I do not think I would be able to adapt to the type of solidarity a coven requires.”

She smiles. “Dear Kerian, it is precisely that same rebelliousness that is what I am looking for. You would bring to us, a sharp infusion of fresh blood, so to speak. And in return, we will teach you the discipline and inclusion you have been looking for.” I licked my lips in unspoken want. I took a deep breath, and said my peace.

“Lady Diana, I am spoken for. I am in service to a godform already.” She interjected that she knew of my service to Loki already, and had taken that into account. Undaunted, I continued. “I can not serve two masters, I tried that for several years and I still suffer the repercussions from it. Either I break my sworn oath to Loki and devote myself to the Strega, or I betray the Strega at the command of Loki. Either way, there will be blood, tears, and anguish, and not all of it will be mine.”

“Yes, Lady Diana, I do want to be a part of something larger than myself, but this is not the time for that. Respectfully, and lamentably, Lady Diana, I must decline and refuse your offer of initiation.”

Lady Diana had her right hand resting on the table cloth the entire time I was speaking. When I finished, she raised her hand off the table and brought it up to her side almost in a gesture of blessing. (Or invocation.) As her hand lifted, the stars, moons, and suns that were printed onto the table cloth also raised into the air. Multiplying and brightening, the celestial objects filled the space between us and surrounded us so that the air was filled with their brilliance.

Her voice smoothed into what I thought the voice of the Empress (card) would be. “Too late, Kerian Nox. Too late to turn back now. You see, your initiation has already begun.” The celestial objects flared in unbelievable brightness and overwhelmed my senses.

The transfer from dreaming to waking was smooth. I woke gently in my bed, flashes of light swirling in my eyes. I looked over to see the first glimmers of sunlight sneaking into my window. Dawn of the Solstice was upon me.

The Conversation:

The cell phone buzzed twice before dancing in energetic tones. I recognized the number as one of my closest friends. “Hello, my dear, I know you hate leaving messages so I don’t want to leave you destitute, but I only have a few minutes to talk.” We greet and tease and cajole and comfort each other.

Then he chills the warming day with icy shock. “I have a book for you, Kerian. It’s a book that I know you need right now. You can say, it’s an “esoteric initiation” of sorts.” Oh. Hell. There’s that word again.

He goes on to tell me teasing bits about the book, but every time he comes back to the same drumbeat. The book, no matter how much he delights in it himself, is meant for me, and is meant to be an initiatory event for me. He’s calling for an address to mail it to, as he has made it his Will to send it to me at once. He assures me, when I receive the book, I’ll understand why he’s being coy about it, and why he feels so strongly about it. Today is Tuesday, the book is scheduled to arrive on Friday.

~~~

At first I dismissed the dream as an echo of the tarot reading that I had not finished interpreting last night. (Random house is random.) But after having the word “initiation” all but slapped upside my head in the morning, I decided to give both dream and tarot reading a closer look.

I’m always hesitant to post tarot readings online. Show the same Celtic Cross throw to fifty tarot readers, you’ll get a hundred different interpretations. I’m really nervous when my friends post readings I’ve done for them. I might have a fear of rejection. But this is one I haven’t been able to shake, and with the dream and call that followed, it had to be presented.

Who knows, maybe you’ll see something I missed.

I have a lot of thinking (and doing) to do. I thought at first the tarot spread was laying out what was in store. But as “Lady Diana” said, I’ve already started. I’ve already set out on the path. And I’ve already started to be confronted by distractions. But I want to step through that gate. I want to see what I become. I will not be daunted.

Make of that, what you may.