Friday, July 29, 2005

"Any secret worth keeping is worth killing for."

Or so said the billboard that has been confronting me at the BART station the past couple of times I took the train out to Castro Valley.

It was a billboard for the new Jeffery Deaver mystery, "The Twelfth Card."

Guess what card graced the cover of the book?

The Hanged Man. Of course, as a tarot reader, I look at this advertisement and think, "Shame on you, Jeffery Deaver!"

Last night, I had gone to another Pathworking meeting. This time, the path was Netzach to Tiphareth.

This path can be easily understood by its corresponding card, Death. It must be understood that death is a part of life. It does not serve one well to go frolicking in the Forest of Dingley Dell (spot the old Prog Rock reference, buddies!) and just forget that death happens.

Much like the Tower card, my thinking is, "If you're gonna make an omlette, ya gotta break some eggs." But Death takes this idea even further than the Tower, it doesn't just break the eggs, it obliterates them. There is a chance that they will completely relinquish their inherent "eggness." We do not yet know what we will be "when the roll is called up yonder."

Having said that though, another aspect of it is rebirth. Scorpio, in its capacity of being the stinging insect as well as the eagle, reminds me of the process from larva to pupa to adult butterfly. Once the old is cleared away, there is room for the new life.

In related news, some of you will have a new sister by the end of the year.

So I live with these concepts of death and new life, until next pathworking, when I will be guided by the twelfth card, the Hanged Man.

To paraphrase (and correct) the Jeffery Deaver ad, "Any secret worth keeping is worth dying for."

Monday, July 18, 2005

"There is nothing in me that is not of the Gods!"

Well, I finally went to my first Gnostic Mass!

It was just an amazing experience. Words fail me to describe it, and most of you know I am rarely at a loss for words (exept when it comes to actually posting my own entries--gotta get on that.) Beautiful would be a good word, there's a word for you.

Of course there was an embarrassing/humorous moment when I went up to eat the cookie/drink the wine (this is me we're talking about here!) After watching everybody take the elements and "communicate", my mind was spinning so fast that when I took the wafer I blanked out, and had to whisper, "What do I do?" The lovely priestess leaned forward and said, "You eat the cookie!"

This I did, and then for some reason I drank the wine like I was in a beer-chugging contest. I had been thinking of that scene in the Joan of Arc movie where she drinks from the cup till it runs down her face, so thirsty is she for God.

I remember wanting God like that. And now I am God and Godly and Godlike and I give all good things to my children and them that love me. God is in all, through all, I am God, God of God-Hall, God of the mountains, God of the seas, just beatifically Godlike.

When I left I don't think I stopped smiling til I got to the BART station.

Monday, July 04, 2005

There is no god but man.

Here is my personal Declaration of Independence.

It was penned by Aleister Crowley, a very bizarre, extraordinary, Victorian Englishman. If anyone has any questions about this, I'd be glad to answer them.

Here's wishing all my buddies a very safe, and happy 4th of July.

Friday, July 01, 2005

And it's ok to like the BeeGees...

So yesterday, I'm watching Pulp Fiction, one of my current favorite flicks, and I start thinking: You know what? A lot of the things I like really are mainstream and predictable (someone said this of me recently, it matters not in what context.)

And you know what? I don't care. I don't give myself extra cool points for being obscura or uber-anything.

Maybe I was inspired into this line of thinking by the way Uma Thurman was acting (before she snorted the heroin.) Her demeanor seemed to say, "Lighten up, enjoy yourself. You like the Beatles? You like Elvis? You like five dollar milkshakes? Who cares?"

If you think about it, she and Travolta were both having vanilla drinks. Him: Vanilla Coke. Her: Martin and Lewis. Both in congruity with each other.

Vanilla: a word that can be used to mean plain, boring. Vanilla sex.

And yet, they were both enjoying a delicious beverage.

I'll just leave it at that, buddies.