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I have never made any bones about the fact that I am not a fan of the current pope. Today I read this:
“If you have a problem with what Pope Francis is saying, your real problem is with the Hebrew prophets, Jesus of Nazareth, and a century of Catholic social teaching about the common good.”
When I went to Vanderbilt, students were often told, “Oh, you’re going to the Harvard of the south.” In response to that, Vandy made a t-shirt that said, “Harvard: The Vanderbilt of the north.” I still have mine. Appropriately enough, Harvard was on the northeast corner of the plaza and Vanderbilt on the southwest.
Whatever work I had at Vanderbilt was finished, so I wandered the plaza between great universities taking in the night and the bustle—people rushing here and there, their errands seemingly unaffected by the late hour. Just outside the heavy bronze door that led to the Harvard campus, a small set of bleachers, lit under a gold light, had been erected. upon which many hopeful and nervous individuals sat. Admissions interviews were being conducted inside.
In the upper right corner of the bleachers sat a golden blond man wearing a pale blue button-up shirt and khaki trousers. He hailed me. “Hey! Hey! Is that you?” I looked up at him and couldn’t place him. “It’s me—Shawn Divinity. Remember? From when we were kids?” I seemed to recall a Shawn from my childhood, though the recollection was fuzzy at best. Still, I walked over to greet him.
I climbed the bleachers and sat backward, one row below him. He was excited, smiling broadly. “I’m sorry,” I said, “I’m having a little trouble remembering.”
“You remember. I know you do. I was the one who…” he leaned in and, although I don’t remember the words he used, he painted in my mind an image of he and I as young children, maybe around five-years-old, standing with bellies nearly touching, and him proudly showing me his penis.
“Oh yes,” I said, and smiled a naughty smile. “I remember you now.”
“All of me?” he asked.
“All of you,” I said, and widened my eyes.
He clapped his hands together and sat back laughing. “I would never forget you,” he said. “I had such a crush on you.”
“Well, I would hope you wouldn’t go around sharing your business with just anybody.”
“No,” he said, eyes soft. “Just you.”
We chatted for a while, catching up. It felt good and oddly comforting even though, to the best of my still-fuzzy recollection, I hadn’t seen him since the incident in question.
“Are you from here?” I asked him, gesturing to the bronze door.
“No, no,” he said, “My sister is interviewing. What about you? Where are you from?”
“I’m from Vanderbilt,” I said, and nodded to the southwest. “What about you?”
“I come from over there,” he said, pointing to the unnamed university in the northwest corner of the plaza. The border of the university was shrouded in dark trees, but above them, a monumental gold-lit building loomed with innumerable doors and windows. It looked something like the Bellagio in Las Vegas, but had an almost overwhelming gravitas apparent even in remote viewing.
“Ah,” I said. “Classy.”
“Not in the least,” he answered.
(In writing this dream, I find it odd that we spoke of the universities as where we were from, not where we went, as if they were our countries of origin rather than our alma maters.)
We continued our chat, which led to talk, which led to whispers, which led to hugging, which led to light kissing and all manner of other snuggles. There was something about him so familiar, as if I were reconnecting with a part of myself. As cheesy as it may sound, when I had my arms around him, it felt like coming home.
My understanding of who he was began to dawn.
He said, “Wear this,” and handed me a thick, heavy gold watch. The strange thing about it was, there was no actual watch, just the band. “I want you to keep this on,” he said, and slipped it on my left wrist. It conformed to my body immediately, as if it had been engineered for my wrist from the beginning—and “engineered” it truly was. There was something of otherworldly genius about the way the gold meshed together. It brought Hephaistos immediately to mind. I knew there was far more to this gift than I could comprehend at that moment.
I held it up to the light and admired how it shined. “I’m sure this means something,” I said, leaning against his knees.
“It does,” he said softly, leaning down to kiss the top of my head.
The dream ended.
This leaves me, of course, spinning on what a watch with no face means in an esoteric sense. It seems to be big, loaded, though I don’t know with what exactly.
I am sure I was dealing with Hermes in the dream, but the name he gave, “Shawn Divinity” seems to be important. “Shawn” from the Irish, means “gift from god”, and I ended the dream with just that—something I will wear in the other worlds from now on.
It also begs the question: Why would Hermes appear in disguise, (although in this case a very thin one), when we work together closely and I would have been fully prepared to see him for who he was, (or so I think). Why the intrigue, if only to reveal himself by tells and deeds and touches?
Ancient Hearth Mother,
Goddess of the Spiritual Flame,
Come and dwell here—
make of our home your home,
make of our hearth your hearth,
make of our temple your temple,
make of our hearts one heart,
I wrote this prayer around 2010, though it seems like I have been using it much longer. It is no longer something I have to think about, having become something of a beloved spiritual appendage. It always gives me comfort and is, I think, a gentle bonding between this great, often misunderstood and minimized, goddess and I. Over the years, she has brought many heartrending challenges into my life. I hope I have met them well. But then, that’s a post all on its own.
1. Share your first paranormal experience that comes to mind.
- When we were older teens, my sister and I sat in the living room watching movies. All of a sudden the kitchen light switch flipped on, hard, as if someone had smacked their hand over it and the wall around it. Previously, we had suspected there was a ghost in the house, but this was the first major disturbance he made. We named him George.
2. Have you ever had a premonition?
- Yes. I have premonitions in dreams sometimes. More common than that though is having a post-monition, where I dream vividly of things that have happened that I could not possibly have known about, such as someone getting in a car accident, a friend’s house being robbed, etc. Premonitions are, obviously, much more handy, but at least the post-monition dreams allow me to be there for people even before they have told me of their hardships.
3. When did you get your first Tarot or Oracle deck? What deck was it?
- I got my first tarot deck when I was sixteen or so. My stepmother gave it to me. She and her sister had played with it as a spooky-ooky thing, like you would an Ouija board, when they were kids. If I remember correctly, it was a standard Rider-Waite, but the minors were not detailed—just seven swords, four cups, and what have you.
4. What element do you connect with the most?
- I am air and water. That’s right: I make a hurricane.
5. Do you believe in Faeries?
- I’m on the fence. The left side of my brain says, “No way.” The right side shrugs and says, “Could be.”
6. Do you prefer the Moon or the Sun?
- I love the sun, but the sun does not love me.
7. What is your favorite Crystal or Stone?
- Hematite. I love both the look and magical properties. Whenever I can, I love wearing a hematite ring. That is a power object for me—something that makes me feel more like myself. They are getting harder to find though. Very sad.
8. Can you see spirits/spiritual beings?
- Yes—too much sometimes, if you ask me.
9. Would you rather be able to fly on a broomstick, breathe under water, make things grow fast, or control fire?
- Like TheSpiritGarden said, flying on a broomstick would be great, but only if you also had invisibility. Barring that, I really don’t know. If I could breathe underwater, that would be cool, except there would still be things in the deep water that could eat me. Controlling fire is fine except I really wouldn’t want to access it in any other way than how I access it now by mundane means. Making things grow fast… That’s probably the one. It would be great to have fresh fruits and veggies on demand.
10. What is the animal totem that you feel most connected to?
- Coyote is definitely my totem—undeniable mundane-world confirmation on that. At the same time, coyotes in real life scare the hell out of me. I’m sure that says something unflattering about where I am on my spiritual journey.
11. What was your first animal/spirit totem?
- Coyote is the one and only.
12. Tell us about your first spirit guide?
- I suppose that would have to be The Holy Ghost back when I was a devout LDS-er. While I have moved far, far away from Christianity, I still hold a soft spot for The Holy Ghost. He’s a good fella.
13. Do you feel more connected to the stars or the Earth?
- The stars. I am deathly attracted to mystery.
14. What is your preferred method of blessing/cleansing?
- Intention, prayer, and sage. The sage is really just a tool for focus. The intention and prayer are, by far, the most important things.
15. What color do you feel most spiritually connected to?
- Oddly enough, it used to be purple—all things purple. Last year, however, right around November, it just all of a sudden up and changed to teal, so… figure that one out. :)
Feel free to tag yourself. You can do so by commenting on this post or creating your own post.
Thanks again to TheSpiritGarden for including me.
This is enchanting in every way.
I know the musician in this video meant his performance to evoke scenes of King David, but as a Hellenist, it puts me in mind rather of a young god, golden curls shining, blithely at his tortoise shell—a new toy to bring the sacred joy of music into the world.
And what do the myths tell us he sang that day? “All the glorious tale of his own begetting.”
What else would Hermes sing?
With a crush of dead behind me, I exited the belowdecks to ascend a small set of three or four steep stairs that led to the port deck of a small pleasure craft sailing a cold and angry ocean at night. Ahead of me, a yellow and black stringlike creature that looked something like a shoddy line-drawing of itself, slunk up the stairs, trailing its long, limp legs behind it. The sea was so rough, my legs would not work properly either, so I had to hoist myself up the stairs by the strength of my upper body—holding onto the rails so hard my arms almost bled and using my feet only for balance on each narrow tread. The boat continued to toss. The sea spray alone was almost enough to drown me.
When I reached the top of the stairs, the stringlike, pencil-drawing creature sat clinging to the deck at the landing. It would not move. “You’ve got to move,” I said. “There are probably thousands of dead behind me that must get out. They will trample each other to death down there if you won’t clear these stairs and let them come through.”
(How the dead can die is a mystery to me in my waking life, but in the context of the dream, and of a dreaming self that has a better knowledge of the workings of those worlds, it made perfect sense.)
The creature turned its head to starboard and drummed its stringy fingers on the deck. It rolled its eyes, looked around, and sighed as if it were bored.
I narrowed my eyes, getting irritated now. I could hear the dead panicking below. “Get up on deck you lazy piece of shit. I’m not going to see them all die because of your worthless ass.”
The stringy creature turned its gaze upon me, then stuck one, long-toed foot into my mouth. It was cold and clammy. The creature said, “Shhh. You’re touching me inappropriately.” It pulled its foot out of my mouth.
I said, “You stick your nasty foot in my mouth and I’m guilty of inappropriate touching?”
“Shhhh,” it said again, and again stuck its foot in my mouth.
That tipped my rage. I pulled myself up on deck, hard, and got my feet under me and the stringy creature under my feet. “Get them moving!” I called to the deckhand working the door to the lower deck. “One at a time and let them disperse. We don’t want to capsize.”
I pulled the creature out from under my shoe and roughly tied it into a hangman’s knot. “Who the fuck you are. Who the fuck you think you are. What the fuck you are. What the fuck you think you are. I don’t give a fuck.” It quivered in my hands as I finished the knot. I tossed it into a corner on a pile of ropes and turned my back. I went about my work balancing the dead on the decks, seeing to the sick. pulling a hapless few out of the raging sea.