Pictures From My Hiking Excursion!

As promised, here are some of my favorite pictures I took while my friend was racing! Hope you enjoy.

Sunshinin' Charioteer with a tendency towards the EXTREME

Beautiful weekend. I have a lot to talk about it from it, so I’ll do so in bits and pieces throughout the week.



From the Universal Waite Tarot

 First and foremost, I visited--in person--my first Pagan store! I went to New Paltz with a friend, who was running a trail race near there on Sunday morning, for the weekend. It was my second trip to New Paltz (we also stayed there for Labor Day a few weekends back), and I got to experience more of the city itself this time. We stayed at a little hostel within walking distance of downtown. It’s not particularly big, but it’s eclectic and delightfully hippie-ish and, for once, it was lovely to be surrounded by my own kind! Lots of skirts and peasant blouses flowing off the shoulders of both young and old, so for once in my life I felt like a part of a majority. Anyway, back to the store: I hit up the Awareness Shop, which is right off the main street and was only a block or so from our hostel. I’d found them online through Witchvox, and had always wanted to visit since it’s one of the few places within a reasonable driving distance from my university. Like any good online stalker, I creeped their website and the bios of the workers before I went there in person. I just like to cover all my bases. However, when I walked in, I was instantly struck by the tranquility and good vibes I got from the place. They had a nice selection of candles, incense, statues, crystals, mini-cauldrons, and all sorts of other eclectic items, and I enjoyed being able to get my hands on things before I bought them. They were also having a psychic fair that day, which amounted to 10 minutes for $10 with one of the various shop affiliates and patrons.

My friend and I decided to buy 20 minutes worth, partly because we were curious but also partly because everyone seemed so nice and friendly (and totally made fun of me for being a little overwhelmed at being surrounded by things that made me feel like a proper Pagan). I had my cards read by Anton, one of the shop owners, and he made some very surprising insights, all of which I felt afterwards were things I had needed to hear. Since much of it was personal, I won’t discuss it here; however, I will share the parts that shocked me the most and that struck me as the most true.

According to his interpretation of my cards as well as his reading of me, I am capable of extremes. I kinda always knew this, and have long considered myself a walking contradiction. I feel like it goes without saying that you don’t find all that many Military-hippie-feminist-frisbee players who front bands, paint, and run marathons in their free time, and yet still find time to shave their legs and be *girls*. Really, just the Military Hippie should be enough of an oxymoron. However, that’s who I am. Thus, when he said that he could see in me the capacity to be both “terribly ferocious” and “exceedingly gentle,” and sometimes both simultaneously, I thoroughly understood. Watch me when I’m in uniform, then contrast that with me interacting with my youngest brother, who has autism. It’s night and day. I suppose that makes me a person of the twilight, of the margins, of thresholds. Maybe that’s why so many of the deities I’m drawn to are liminal in nature: Diana, the Morrighan, Hekate. He also added, “I doubt anyone has ever told you that you’re mediocre.” Another truth.

He also told me that I have the profound ability to heal. This is the part that surprised me. Now, I’ve never even remotely thought of myself as a healer. For starters, I feel like healers are more of the water element, whereas I am all earth with a streak of fire. Just look at the correspondences usually associated with healing: blue candles, blue crystals, blue blue blue. East. Water. Duh. In contrast, I’m all earth tones and autumn and the dichotomy between North and South. Secondly, I’ve always assumed healing is supposed to come from a more creative/repairing power, and to be quite honest I feel like the creative forces in me are overwhelmed by an innate ability to destroy. I look at something, and I can see instantly how to undo it. I’m an expert at breaking up with a significant other and making people crack. I can talk to a person for five minutes and see, like a sixth sense, what he is most insecure about. I’ve also never encountered a knot I couldn’t untangle. I generally prefer not to employ this talent at seeing others’ weaknesses and insecurities--I’ve found it’s not a very good way to make or keep friends--but it’s still always within me, just bubbling beneath the surface. It’s true that as an artist, I am creative, but I can also be very destructive when necessary. I suppose that part of building up is, after all, breaking down. Regardless, when he first said, “You’re a healer,” I’m pretty sure my eyes about bulged out of my head.

When he explained his reasoning, however, it made a lot more sense to me. He said that I do not heal in the traditional sense, but that rather I bring others to a conflictual state within themselves and then, almost like a Greek tragedy, they experience a healing catharsis. He asked if I ever noticed having a calming effect on animals, which I actually had noticed before. I’ve never met a dog that didn’t like me, even the ones whose owners warned me to watch out, they bite. Never been bitten. Even my aunt’s gazillion animals, who tend to only like her and members of her nuclear unit, have always liked me. I’ve also always had a calming effect on my youngest brother. When I’m around, he doesn’t throw nearly as many tantrums or fixate on his various obsessions as he does when it’s just him and my parents. Anton also asked if I’d ever noticed damaged, broken, or otherwise emotionally unstable individuals being drawn to me, or me to them, which is something else that I had to agree was true. Perhaps his suggestion that I confuse the unconditional love of healing the broken (even though apparently my methods--subconscious as they are--are rather unorthodox, they still apparently come from a place of unconditional love) with romantic love is more true than I’d care to admit.

Nevertheless, the Sun, Ace of Pentacles, and the Chariot seem to bode well for ultimate future. I’m in the driver’s seat of establishing my identity and heading towards success! Next time I’ll post pictures from the hiking I did while my friend ran her race.

Happy Mabon! With a poem and a prayer.

"Autumn Lord" by Selena H, found here

While I do not consider myself Wicce, there are aspects of the mythology behind Wicca that I admire and utilize in my own practice. Particularly the metaphor offered in modern Witchcraft for the passing of the seasons strikes me as beautiful and poignant. The story of the Earth, pregnant in winter, giving birth to a bright baby boy in spring, who grows up to be her lover in the summer, and then begins to die in the autumn. I think it's absolutely gorgeous. Thus, in honor of the autumn equinox and the start of my favorite season, I dedicate this poem I wrote in my International Law class today to the Dying God:

The Forest Lord is getting old.
His beard is starting to fade;
the whisps of gold, now pale wheat,
were once bright as flame.
He walks among the withered stalks
of a harvest full and past,
while amber leaves scatter behind
the prints his boots have cast.
He wraps a scarf around his neck
and shakes his antlers fair
when he sees his lover, maid and mother,
silently standing there.
She spreads her arms, and to him she cries,
"Come home to my warm hearth,
for you've traveled long and with you I'll share
the bounty of the Earth."
He nods with pride, and with glittering eyes,
he takes her hand in his.
Together they walk through the wood
with the chill of the wind's kiss.

I'd also like to share a prayer I wrote last Mabon, which I observed quietly in my room in Russia before heading out to a pub with some of my friends to celebrate in a more traditionally youthful fashion. In keeping true to my obssession with scented votives, I lit a candle, made an offering of a pastry from a street vendor (I didn't have access to a stove to cook anything), and meditated on the cycles of life. I'd like to do something similar this year, although I think I'll incorporate the poem I wrote today as well. As I've mentioned before, I consider my artwork and my poetry--depending on the subject, of course--a form of worship: both the execution and the dedication of a final product. In fact, I think I'll try to rent that key to the Chaplain's Conference Room to ensure I'm not disturbed *for once* and to spare my roommates having to leave our room. Thus, without further ado, here's my Mabon prayer:

As the leaves turn the golden red of the dying sun,
And the wheel of the year turns to autumn,
I turn my own thoughts toward change.
Wise Ones, Wild Ones, Gods and Goddesses of Old,
I ask that you walk with me as the air grows cooler,
And the nights grow longer,
And the green things prepare for their winter dreamings.
Tonight I celebrate the summer's harvest,
I drink to the season past and the season to come,
And I pray to learn the mysteries of the fall.

Music as Magic - Part 2

Scattered wasteland surrounding me,
Tattered memories of what used to be,
Apocalyptic mind debris,
Until we meet again.

Traveling through both space and time,
Out of body, out of mind,
Out of control,
My wheels in constant motion.

~ From “Constant Motion” by Dream Theater

I was listening to my favorite DT album earlier today while studying, and the above lyrics from one of their songs particularly resonated with me. I’m obsessive about my music, and when I first discovered this band, I was so struck by the sheer musicality of it all that I listened to that first CD I had for three straight months on repeat in my car. Needless to say my brother, who had the joy of me as his chauffeur before I went off to college, grew pretty sick of it. I have since collected every album they’ve ever released, except for the very first. One of my friends tells me it wasn’t that good, or at least nothing like the rest of their music once they accepted their progressive calling. It’s not a big deal. If they come out with any more, however, I’ll be sure to snatch up the latest.

Now that we have established a little background on the extent to which I adore this band, it should come as no surprise that I listen to one of their many songs at least once a day. Today, I chose to listen to Systematic Chaos from beginning to end, but just got stuck on “Constant Motion,” and I think I may have finally figured out why. Bear with me. I’ll circle around to this point again later.

Earlier this month, I expressed the desire to explore an idea that had occurred to me about a link between music and magic. Today, I’d like to look at another way in which the two are related.

I get a lot of songs stuck in my head. Having not lived in a box, I’d say having a song in your head is a pretty normal phenomenon. What may not be normal, however, is the extent that it happens to me. I walk around with practically a personal soundtrack playing in my mental background. I could be in a room of dead silence, but I’ll be thinking music. When I’m running or hiking, my mind might as well be an iPod (when I have the choice, I do prefer to run with a real iPod playing; however, we can’t run on post or in uniform with music, so my running + iPod time is limited to when I’m elsewhere and get to make use of actually comfortable workout garb). Nevertheless, while I can control the songs I’m playing in my head when I really focus on it, sometimes a random tune will pop in there and I have no idea where it came from, let alone all the words, so it’s like the chorus is stuck on repeat until I can finally shake it. Maybe someone was humming it down the hallway and I just caught enough of the melody to replay the rest, but wasn’t consciously aware of the process. Maybe it was playing in the background of a phone conversation. The origins of the stuck-song are not important; what’s important is the song’s impact.

The song in my head can influence my entire day. It subtly alters the cadence of my steps, so that I’m walking in beat to the tempo. I imagine everyone else listening to my same soundtrack, walking in cadence with my song. Sometimes I even feel like my heart itself takes up the rhythm. The tone of the song colors my mood: an angry song pumps me up and makes me want to run, a sad song mellows me out, a love song makes me lonely. The lyrics enter my vocabulary, so that while my words are my own, their inspiration is rooted in the song’s theme. I hum the melody under my breath, and passersby likely pick up just enough to get it stuck in their heads, too. If at any time I enter a hallway and I’m alone, I’ve even been known to dance to the tune. Don’t laugh. You’ve done it. I become a radio; the wind, just static in my speakers.

“Constant Motion” spoke to me today in a way that yesterday, Placebo’s “Every Me Every You” spoke to me. The day before that, it was Kyo’s “Dernière Danse.” It was the song for today, because today, that song was reflective of--and reflected in--my life. It swayed my steps and influenced my thinking. It breathed through me, and every thought was set with that song in the backdrop, and it happened for a reason. All things happen for a reason. I needed the energy, the anger, the confusion of that song to be my strength amid my own anger and confusion. There is simply so much going on that I know I’m out of control. My life is in constant motion, and it won’t stop. Cue Newton’s First Law.

Magic isn’t just about casting spells or chanting; it’s the way you live. Music is magic, and life is a symphony. So SING it.

PS: GLEE returns today :) I’m more than just a little excited.

I am not Aphrodite.

Broken Heart picture from here. Enjoy.

Despite having slept for only an hour and a half last night (it’s a long story), I strangely am full of energy today. I think it’s being all hyped up on caffeine and adrenaline. I had a paper due at 0730 this morning, and because I have far too much drama going on in my life right now, I was distracted yesterday evening when I was trying to work on it. Plus I left my car parked in a lot that we are allowed to use on the weekends, but that by 0630 Monday mornings must be moved back to another lot, which happens to be a 20 minute walk away. So. In an effort to motivate myself for a morning run, I left my car parked in the weekend-lot. Thus, around midnight when I’m finally looking at the essay prompt, I was none too thrilled. An hour and a half later, I had finished reading the article I was supposed to critique and had written an introductory sentence. A SENTENCE.
It gets better.

By 0200, I had some notes, two sentences, and a bunch of quotes I planned on using, and was beyond unproductive. So I set *three* separate alarms for 0400 and began to get ready for bed. My roommates, meanwhile, had long since retired. My plan was to get up, make some coffee, finish my paper, then go move my car and run back. My running buddy had also left her car in the weekend lot, so we had agreed to meet there by 0530 to drive up together and, if I wasn’t too tired, run for a good half an hour, which would leave us enough time to shower before breakfast. And--for once--my morning went entirely according to plan. I finished my essay right at 0520, tied my key to my left shoe, and took off for the weekend lot. We ended up taking a detour on the run back for some extra distance since we were strangely moving really quickly this morning. I think it was just the adrenaline from the run and leftover from the weekend, plus all the caffeine from the half liter of French vanilla soy-milk latte I had chugged an hour earlier, but we maintained about an 8-min pace. Normally my runs are about 9-9:30 min pace, depending on the terrain and distance. Albeit this morning’s run was relatively flat and on easy footing (roads), but 8-min is still a little fast for me, even if it’s just 30 minutes…and it becomes especially fast when we were yacking the entire time (naturally, gossiping about my drama) like the fantabulous future-spinsters we are.

But yeah. It was a good weekend, and a good morning, and I was thrilled to see something actually go according to plan. Normally what happens is I sleep through all three of my alarms, wake up panicked an hour too late, and then am scrambling around to make it to formation two minutes late, get yelled at by our company commander (his being one of my best friends this year makes no difference), and then just being exhausted all day. I managed to not only get my essay turned in on time, my car moved to the proper lot, stay awake in all my classes, finish another sketch of a mural in my company’s day room, play a good game of Frisbee, and *pretty sure* pass my exam, but also to come to a shocking conclusion about what to do with all my drama.

As I do not want my blog to turn into a diary, I will not be discussing my drama per se, but I do feel the need to rant a little and throw my two cents to the wind. I’ll begin by admitting that I’m having some problems with a handful of young men who, despite seeming entirely otherwise, are just like all the other young men who say one thing, do another, and then decide that no matter how awesome someone is, it’s just not worth a relationship. Everything is just fun, right? Nothing serious? In my mother’s words, “Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free elsewhere?” I’m beginning to wonder if the only genuinely good men left in the world are the ones I’m related to, and that thought scares me. For starters, incest is just gross, and secondly…we don’t live in West Virginia anyway (pardon my bad joke).

I know that true love exists. I grew up with it; just seeing my parents interact every day affirmed that people really do have soul mates, and that sometimes, it really does work out and fairy tale endings are possible. Maybe they did me a disservice by being so obviously in love, always, under all circumstances, because they made it look too easy. However, I refuse to settle for less than the best. I want to find my perfect match, just like my parents did. Just like my aunt and uncle did. Just like my cousin and her soon-to-be husband did. I want that, and no matter what anyone tells me, I refuse to settle for less, and I don’t think it’s unrealistic or selfish or even naive. How can it be? I saw it literally every day growing up, and it’s still blatantly evident every time I go home to visit my family. Love. Is. Real.

But love is not what I’m looking for right now.

When men say they don’t want anything serious, they mean that they just want to hook up, party, have fun, and then pretend nothing ever happened when the buzz wears off. However, when I think of something serious, I hear lots of big scary words like “marriage” and “children,” not necessarily just any relationship or commitment at all. And that’s where I think the disconnect lies. I don’t want to even consider marriage until I’m closer to 30 than 20, and kids aren’t going to register on my radar until I’m out of the Army…and since I currently intend to stay career, that may be a big fat never, or maybe when I’m retired at 38 I can adopt. Nevertheless, when I say that I’m not looking for anything serious, that doesn’t mean I just want to kiss and forget. It means that I’m not looking for a relationship, but I won’t pass one up if it comes my way. I’m not looking for the right guy, but if he comes along I won’t tell him to scram. I’m not expecting anything big, and I certainly don’t want a ring and bells and to be brought flowers every day, but I wouldn’t mind having someone to hold consistently. It’s nice to have someone around who knows who you are, what you’re all about, what you like. I don’t understand my generation of men’s aversion to all things that smell of an actual relationship, rather than just a one-night-stand. It doesn’t have to be anything big and scary, but it doesn’t have to be meaningless either. I don’t want to fall in love--that would be terribly inconvenient right now--but I’m not going to dig up the roots of the flower before it has a chance to bloom.

The Amazon is in my soul. It's my life, full of my career, my goals, my hobbies and MY destiny...but I'll admit it's kinda lonely, now and then, being a rock.

And that, dear readers, is my rant. Now I must return to the important things in my life right now, like the four remaining exams this week, the two research papers, the three murals I still have to finish, and at some point I need to visit my little brother. I’ve been a bad sister lately and haven’t seen him in a few weeks…and he lives literally just a 7 minute walk away.