I’m sorry Saga
RIP Mr. Charles
I’m sorry Saga
RIP Mr. Charles.
Hope you’ll feel better soon, Saga.
I’m sorry, Saga. If there’s anything I can do, please let me know. You’ve got my number. Feel free to use it.
Fun fact: Saga is 10000% weak to emotional, live performances. This is my #1 cry song.
Less formally: This shit hits me deep despite being a Christian hymn.
Friday, I felt like I’d lost some part of myself. I was under the impression that my shock and grief was so immense I’d “lost it,” but that no longer seems the case. I woke up this morning after three days of sleeping off and on. I can’t describe it. Something feels different. There is the apparent level of grief that I recognize in myself, but something lurks beneath the surface of those waters.
It is like the grief is oil on the water’s surface, and shortly beneath is a change–because I like my metaphors.
I allowed myself to break my silence of grief and venture here while speaking with K yesterday, and through such a conversation we spoke about some recent events that Mysterious states led to this weekend.
As always, take everything from Saga’s camp with a slightly salted brine–as this could just be madness. And, as with most things, this is my experience and can be biased.
I have a good understanding of what the grieving brain looks like. This isn’t my first rodeo–as I’m sure some of you will remember when Snuggles passed, and even more can see above that within the past year with the loss of my husband’s father.
While this may have hit different, I felt (much to the alarm of some of my friends) eerily calm about this event. I kept contributing it to the shock of losing such a young dog, my favorite dog, and the like, but even four days later, I have cried only a handful of times. They were ugly cries, but brief episodes.
The wildest thing to me, which K commented on, was that Saga today is taking this considerably well compared to Saga of yesteryear. She commented that something like this a year ago would’ve led to considerably different outcomes. I’m sure many of you can understand her viewpoint, seeing the side of Saga that was angsty, depressed, and disappointed.
She questioned if I was considering hurting myself, and I told her the truth: I wasn’t.
I felt bad that I wasn’t grieving harder for this loss. I likened the state to emotionally constipated but that wasn’t entirely true as I’d gone through the motions these last three days. I felt things, but there were two good feelings that I had as I moved through this grief: gratefulness and hope.
A Page Out of Mysterious's Book
My husband and I have been fighting a LOT lately over various things. As the sole breadwinner in the house, the pressure has been on me to work more and take care of things around the home while he “figures his life out.” I allowed this, then absurdly felt jaded by the fact that he wasn’t producing income and–when dealing with similar things–I had to continue to push through and still manage my responsibilities (which was the very reason I let him take the break in the first place–the brain is such a weird thing).
My husband and I argued about how I didn’t feel supported by him, which he ended the statement with: “Go tell [Mysterious] the perfect husband how you feel then. Maybe one day I’ll read from [Mysterious’s] book.”
I had one of those “blinking guy” reactions to the statement, completely surprised by the boldness of it. I left our room and moved into my altar room. Feeling more alone now than moments before, a dialog took place:
“I’m worried about Charles.” I sighed.
I felt that familiar energy in the room. “Things will work out.”
“I know, but I just feel like this time it’s going to end terribly.”
“Things always work out, you know this. I got you.”
I believe him every time. It is a simple gesture, but for some reason I feel like he has nothing to gain from these small interactions, so the sincerity feels real to me. It helps, considerably, that since the merger of the two Mysteriouses, he hasn’t lied to me (he says he never lied but old-Mysterious was clever with wordplay).
I went to bed that night, but knew that likely–with Charles’ declining health–tomorrow would be the last day I see him alive.
I won’t go into all the details. I recognize some of the details of this would be extremely triggering to others, so I will reserve it for myself unless it is relevant to the story. Charles was extremely clingy (though he’s normally very much so to me). He was in a lot of pain, and when he was incontinent that morning it finalized what I already knew.
I texted Norse, letting him know I wouldn’t make it to the destination. It was surreal, given how so many terrible things happened leading up to this event–even though Mysterious himself told me I should go. It felt like everything was pushing back (more on this later).
I’m sure you may read this, which I just want to say thanks for being so understanding again.
We were referred to a vet in my metro, the same one that put down Snuggles.
In the car, Mysterious visited while my husband drove us. We had a private conversation in the back seat, where Charles occupied the space between us.
MYSTERIOUS: “This isn’t going too well, is it?”
We spoke about some logistics of the situation.
MYSTERIOUS: “So, we’re thinking this is going to lead to no more Mr. Charles in the world?”
SAGA: “What will his life look like post-surgery, [Mysterious]?”
MYSTERIOUS: “Fuck. You do what you think is right. I say try it.”
SAGA: “We’ll see what the doctors say.”
There is silence between us.
SAGA: “Just promise me that you won’t let me do something stupid and hurt him worse.”
MYSTERIOUS: “I promise.”
Deed is completed (hidden in case it's triggering).
The deed was done. Charles didn’t give up easily–his heartbeat continued despite the medication. The doctor had to give additional to actually stop his heart. She remarked, though trying to be comforting, “He is a strong boy. It’s ok, Charles.”
It was apparent toward the end that she was agitated, not in a “I’m angry this isn’t over yet” but in a “oh man why isn’t this over yet?” sort of way by dose three. Honestly, probably the hardest part. Charles stuck around to the end, not wanting to leave in my human brain.
I wanted to be alone for this endeavor, a lesson I learned from having the family present when we euthanized Snuggles. I sensed Mysterious next to me on the black leather couch, and as they took Charles away I sensed his residual energy as well. We had to wait in the room for his paw prints, nose prints, and hair, so I used the alone time to reconnect with Mysterious–who’d been extremely helpful through the process of decisioning.
SAGA: “I feel like there is more to this than you’re telling me.”
MYSTERIOUS: “Let’s get out of here before we speak of it.”
SAGA: “You didn’t say he’d be ok.”
MYSTERIOUS: “I didn’t. Don’t worry, Al. I got your boy. He’ll be living his best life.”
SAGA: “You knew though.”
MYSTERIOUS: “Yes, but I was hoping there was still a chance, as I know how much he means to you.”
SAGA: “Why did you know?”
MYSTERIOUS: “I am taking care of the situation. Trust in me to ensure his crossing and that no one will leave this one unscathed.”
MYSTERIOUS: “[Saga]. We got this. I’ll be back and let you know how it goes, okay? You know I will not let this go without repercussions.”
I sensed the energy move in the room as he left the couch. He left with a slight joke in an effort to lift the mood, “I’m going to have to start a fucking zoo by the time this is over.”
I was given those sacred momentos by a vet tech and ushered out the back door. The rush of emotion and endorphins caused me to get a terrible migraine. The initial shock came over me and I was sick the entire way home.
I immediately went home and went to bed, trying not to analyze what Mysterious said. The grieving mind doesn’t think rationally, and I wanted to come back to the statements with a clear head.
Still ill. I was in and out of bed. Mysterious stopped in regularly, mentioning at one point: “I have to share these updates with you because I am worried about you tremendously, and if you know he’s okay then you won’t go off the deep end.”
Mysterious promised I’d see Charles, “astrally or otherwise,” to assure me. Mysterious kept his promise.
Midnight, technically Monday morning. I slept all day again. The only break I had was to speak with my brother, who also lives with us until he gets his finances in order. He took this death equally as hard as I did, though I startled even myself with my stability in the conversation with him. It’s when I became okay with whatever change was happening to me as a result of the experience.
Things are about to get worse, aren't they?
SAGA: “Things are about to get worse, aren’t they?”
In the month of July, my “card of the month” was the world–completion. Originally, I anticipated this would be the completion of the timeline.
MYSTERIOUS: “Not in the ways that you’re thinking. You will see a shift now that you’re standing on this side fully. I hope you don’t live to regret it.”
SAGA: “So, someone caused this?”
MYSTERIOUS: “Do you remember the table?”
K called me the week before Charles’ passing, very upset.
K: “You’re not going to believe this.”
K begins to tell me about an interaction that she had with a “strange man” who crept around the back of her townhouse. She mentioned how the man seemed more odd than usual, and seemed to try and approach her and her cousin on the back patio, sitting in a dilapidated set of chairs that were very abused by the elements. K mentioned that the man wanted to approach them, but seemed to be “blocked by a wall” that he almost needed to “peer around” despite no physical presence of one.
I found the interaction weird, and given how K had been the target of many unsavory types lately post her involvement in the arts, I found this especially troubling. I kept this to myself, urging her to move on from it.
K: “Well, this guy came back and STOLE MY TABLE!”
SAGA: “Well, you were getting rid of it anyway! They did you a favor!”
I didn’t think much of it. I moved on.
Days would pass and she’d still be talking about it. She’d talk about it ceaselessly. When she didn’t get the reaction she wanted from me, she became a little more brazen.
K: “Okay, so are we not going to talk about this?”
SAGA: “What do you mean?”
K: “THE TABLE.”
I am silent.
K: “That man must’ve came back and took the table.”
It was at this point she described to me what actually happened that day, in great detail.
K: “This was an omen. It was a ‘you don’t deserve a seat at the table’ symbol.”
We spoke at great length about it. A lot of things tied to the timeline, so I’ll reserve that for now. But, the gist of it was that she felt it was related to someone telling us, through the symbolism of the missing table, that we were being rejected from having a seat at some metaphorical table.
If you are new to my content, you likely have never heard of Mal. Mal was my best friend in high school and several years after who died (in a very short period of time) of cancer. She was my partner in the strange until she died in 2012 on Valentine’s day.
Mal spent a lot of time talking about symbols. I’ve found some people aren’t as cautious as I am when talking about symbols or hidden meaning. I tried not to find the hidden meaning in the table because it could easily be explained. In my later years, I have released my tight grip on this rule, but I still squeeze it tightly from time to time.
I asked Mysterious that night about the table. He was tight lipped, essentially telling me not to worry about it and that K may have been overreacting.
Mysterious ALSO disappeared for the remainder of the week, even seeming preoccupied when I called on him.
I sighed heavily.
MYSTERIOUS: “Think of it like someone hitting their fist against a wall in an effort to find a stud.”
SAGA: “So then…”
MYSTERIOUS & SAGA: “Lantith.”
I became very uncomfortable, sitting on the floor still and silent. Things had accelerated lately in general, despite my hesitancy to indulge in the possibilities that this isn’t my imagination. I took a long moment to cry over one of Charles’ blankets.
Once I regained my composure, I returned to the task at hand. “So, what’s next?”
MYSTERIOUS: “We stay the course, then see how the cards fall. You have to reach your full potential–somehow. I don’t know how we get there, but if anyone will, it will be you, Al.”
SAGA: “I hope your faith in me is going to pay off and I complete whatever task it is you’re waiting on me to complete.”
MYSTERIOUS: “I always invest wisely.”
SAGA: “You’re not lying to me, are you?”
MYSTERIOUS: “I find it unbelievable that you would think I’d lie about this.”
SAGA: “It’s nothing personal, drama queen, I just can’t believe good things can happen sometimes.”
MYSTERIOUS: “Awareness is the first step to recovery. Grumpy pants.”
K called on Monday, checking to see how I was doing. She seemed alarmed by my stoicness and made sure to mention it to me. She made a few points:
- Saga 2 years ago would’ve taken a nosedive as a result of this
- My stoicness and realism about the situation is a display of my growth through this process
- She found it equally surprising that I was taking Mysterious’s word for the situation working out and him fulfilling his end of the deal.
“I remember a time when you wouldn’t take a WORD of what he said, and I had to argue with you that it was fact. Now, you seem OK with what he said and trust it’s the truth. That is monumental.” - K
Skepticism is always a good thing to have. This time, though, his sincerity and previous actions over the past few months have really solidified this thing we have going.
Today, the entire experience has me reflective. I find it infinitely hilarious that I started out on a forum called “Become a Living God.” I cannot speak to everyone’s experience, as some have achieved their wildest dreams according to their own accounts, but I have found the process to be much more subtle.
Godhood, to me, isn’t this fun and exciting thing. It’s not vast wealth or abundance. There are elements of it, but the entire process has been extremely lonely and has been more inwardly focused. The truths I’ve come to find on my journey have made me resentful of the world we’ve built for ourselves. Not because of death or any increase in natural process, but because of how disconnected we’ve become to our true selves. Of course, this is just my experience and viewpoint. We are given an illusion of our true selves, and use things to fill the gaps that we don’t want to look at.
I still slip from time to time in overindulgence, with my unhealthy relationship with food–specifically sugar–being something I have to deal with as my biggest, toxic connection to the external world. Despite being human and of the physical world I occupy at the moment, I feel as if I’m slowly integrating the parts of myself that I have spent many years trying to avoid, and through that I may attain this “godhood” that everyone speaks about.
Of course. Sounds like you got this. Feel free to reach out anytime.
I felt a bit guilty going to that cemetery yesterday without you, tbh
NO! DON’T! I’m glad you had a good time!
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
I wanted to keep the momentum that I felt when I spoke with @norse900. The curious spark was alive and well, but something else settled in. I spoke about it before–this change of the self that I didn’t fully understand. No longer in the depths of grief, I find myself sitting with the stock of what remains.
There was this version of myself that I left to the wayside, back when I started my most recent job (which is why I really went MIA on all you people). It wasn’t the me that pursued the esoteric or tried to understand occult principles, but it was a version of myself that put myself and my passions first. I started to do that before Charles’ passing, working on the timeline, but I still didn’t perform such work consistently.
I have decided, based on all my evidence, to put that self forward. The self that will return to the pursuit of what I want to pursue, taking control of my life again instead of life controlling me. Will I stumble along the way? Yes, but any amount of effort in the right direction is a good start.
With that, I have taken back up some old workings that I forgot about (or really, claimed I didn’t have time for). I have started the process of “trimming the fat” that I have let fester too long.
Look forward to the future.
I’m actually fine. I just think this is me on some days.
I used to view my life as being at a crossroads (and why I even came up with the spread): with one spoke where I could invest more into this weird thing with my enlightenment and another spoke where I continue down the mundane path. Both are pulling on me in equal measure, and a lot lately has been mundane dragging me away from what I feel is my calling.
If you’d asked me a week ago, I’d have said I was cursed, hexxed, or equivalent. To such a point I had to go on an entire Tedtalk with Mysterious about how I caused this when I did the working for K it backfired and caused all of this shit to happen.
I cannot recall a time when as many things went so bad so quickly. It started with a “kidney infection,” which we have since uncovered isn’t a kidney infection and likely a symptom of a long-suspected nerve or autoimmune disorder. Followed by the death of Charles. Followed by, now:
So, I’m getting a divorce.
I’ve spent a lot of time alone these past (almost two) weeks. There is something extremely comforting in pure silence. No noise. No chaos. It has made me a terrible friend, which many of you can likely attest to, but something about sitting in a room and just being in the moment really calms the mind even.
I have been working with Baba Yaga on the body shifting working that ReyCuervo is running, which has been the most consistent I’ve ever been with a working, and I only bring that up because I’m absolutely segwaying into Goetia and fight me.
I recently spoke with Aim, a Goetia spirit. We spoke shortly before Charles died, and this MF said to me: “You will have to face the things that you’re uncomfortable with in your life before too long.” He said it would hurt initially, but it will help me in the long term.
Then all of this terrible shit happened, because that’s the Goetia way. I actually thought this happened after Charles passed away, but went back to my journals to find the opposite is true. All of this to say, I am absolutely certain there is a lesson in all of this, but I am too dumb to see it right now.
At some point. You’d think that I’m making this up. I am not. I am 100% serious.
Quick update cause: life.
My brother got in a major motorcycle accident this weekend. It went way better than they thought it would’ve gone. Doctor tells him that he’s lucky to be alive.
That night, laying in bed, I heard Charles barking downstairs. Loudly. My other dogs are in the bed with me.
My brother told me that the night before (Thursday) he saw a creature “slav squatting like the meme” on the bathroom sink. It was tan in complexion, with tendrils for fingers and tendrils coming off of its head. It was likened to abstract art.
EDIT: This is him fully looking at it, not even out the corner of his eye. He said he backed out of the bathroom and went back to his room without even using the bathroom–it terrified him.
He made the joke that I needed to “stop doing that weeby-jeeby stuff in the house” because “my friends are starting to creep him out.” I made a joke that he was saying Mysterious was a problem and bringing things home with him, and TJ states: “OH NO MYSTERIOUS IS NOT A PROBLEM. I DID NOT SAY THAT.” (Added this because I thought it was weird.)
My husband and I are talking about the logistics of our upcoming divorce. Something (quite forcefully) pulls on the back of his head in my office, nearly pulling him out of the chair right in front of me.
Life has been weird lately.
I have to take a moment to indulge in the internet:
I try to stay away, because the internet tends to make everything cringe, but I found my foot tapping on this one. And the symbolism.
Of course, it’s highly probable these things will not lead to a mainstream movement of minimalism that isn’t a trend of basic, white houses with expensive gimmicks and hours-long TikTok series, but maybe it will hit the right people at the right time so they can go on journeys of their own.
On the topic of materialism, I watched an interesting YouTube commentary on a movie called “The House” that would be an interesting watch to anyone who likes listening to commentaries on film with contemporary messages.
It brings me to my lesson.
I spoke in earlier posts about the true point behind self-deification in my personal belief, which seemed to naturally follow what the Gnostics spoke about in their hate of the material world (though they take it as far as to hate Yaldabaoth, though I have a new appreciation for what Yaldabaoth was trying to accomplish).
Something I have struggled with, even throughout my early years, is the desire to provide to others to the detriment of myself. There are a lot of early influences, beyond trauma, that led to this condition, including some popular TV shows in my youth and the like. It can be summarized in a message I received from Paul back in 2008 through a dream, which was a series of scriptures:
If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing. Love is patient, love is kind.
I laugh thinking back on this, as even after I woke up from the vision I asked him to repeat the numbers to me so I could ensure I had the right ones, and he did that afternoon during a nap. I teeter the line between both sides of the path, because neither party offers the comprehensive package.
Anyway, I believed that through self sacrifice I gained love, whether from myself or others, and through self-sacrifice I could avoid the pitfalls of being absorbed with myself. I learned, through several experiences over the past few months, that sacrifice to the detriment of myself is a terrible thing and should cease immediately. I have lost perspective of things in reflection, from things or people that were important to the entire purpose behind why I started on this journey.
Perhaps, this is what the Goetia were trying to show me. Perhaps this is why Mysterious and I don’t speak much beyond surface level things anymore–in our survival we’ve lost something that brought us together. We almost had it before I went back to the psychiatric hospital, which helped to bring me closer to this thing for it to be squashed by the trials and tribulations of life.
I see now that the thing is self-love, and beyond the surface of what we claim self-love to be on social media or blog articles.
True stability. Equilibrium. “Balance” as Mysterious would say.
Unification of the dualities of the self back into singularity.
On the day when you were one, you became two. But when you have become two, what will you do?
– Gospel of Thomas
The two parts to me, sometimes feeling in a quite literal sense, are imbalanced. I need to bring em’ back together again.
I spoke to K today. Her daughter mentioned today, “Isn’t it weird that all of these bad things started happening after the table?”
In that conversation, I have decided to re-cleanse the house, old hex style. I mean all the windows, all the doors, all the vents. ALL THE BLESSINGS.
I haven’t truly kicked the habit of beating my teeter-totter approach to the occult, despite my best efforts to do so. I have grown more comfortable in my skin, and various other complicated parts of my identity.
There are moments, even recently, when I look back at the amount of death and destruction that has led to this moment in time and think to myself: “You should focus on what matters and stop chasing fairy tales.”
Then I hear barking downstairs. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one, either.
“Can I just say something and not seem weird?” My brother sat on the couch. His eyes were still focused on the television, where a man gave some commentary on TikTok Munchausen’s.
I looked at him, knowing too well what he really meant was ‘make it about me,’ which has been an interesting commonality between us despite our polar opposites.
Ironic, when you think about it.
“I took a shower last night and heard Charles barking downstairs.”
I didn’t mention my own experiences to him prior to this, worried I’d come off as the fanatically grieving pet-owner. Our pets held high regard in this house, but there was something about “hearing the barking” that made me uneasy about admitting it out loud.
“I know what the other dogs sound like. This wasn’t the other dogs.” He looked to me then, sincerity in his eye. “It’s happened a lot, actually.”
I then spoke about my own experience, commenting on not only the barking but the glimpses of him I’ve seen. In my desperate mind, I think about what happened and how Charles held on despite the circumstances. It gave me some strange sense of comfort knowing that there was possibility he hung around from time to time, because there isn’t a length conceivable to give measure to my grief.
It’s funny sometimes to hear my brother speak of these things. I’ve mentioned him sparingly in my previous posts, as he’s more a cynic than a skeptic. It gives me a chuckle every time he speaks of the beyond given his beliefs on the subject.
I find myself even surprised in his acceptance of Mysterious, though I supposed if you lived here this long and haven’t gathered there’s some strange things afoot you must live under a rock.
This Month's Theme is the Tower
This month is the month of drastic change. We’re on the 13th and I’m unsure what that change is. I was worried that it would be something terrible, and spent many, MANY tarot spreads and hours toiling over it.
We’re only on the 13th, but I won’t lie and say I wasn’t expecting to either be dead or have some sort of catharsis for a whole month. I intend to keep an eye out for developments.
I deep-cleaned the house, in our traditional ways and occult ways. Instantaneously the house felt lighter, and K reported that “something changed” in her own place after doing the same.
The Mysterious He's Tryin' To Be
I suspected there was more to it, though, and someone had been busy.
“Thanks for helping [K].” I laid in bed a few nights later.
“Was it to your liking?” Mysterious teased.
“I refuse to answer. I don’t want our relationship to be transactional.”
I didn’t need to see him to know he made that face. “HOW IS ‘YOU’RE DOING A GOOD JOB, [MYSTERIOUS]’ making our relationship transactional?”
“I’m not saying it makes sense, but it does to me.”
“You perplex me.”
Just a funny tidbit:
My soon-to-be-ex-husband, Mysterious, and myself are sitting in the altar room. Mysterious essentially gives my soon-ex the business about getting his life together in a way not too dissimilar to a bald doctor (I only make this connection for the laughs).
Post conversation, because I can’t talk about this with my normal friends:
SAGA: “Wow, listen to you be all helpful and shit.”
MYSTERIOUS: “I’m just trying to be the [Mysterious] you want me to be.”
SAGA: “I want to stab you.”
We sat on the couch in that strange place once more. The windows were dark, and the only light of the room was the fireplace on the distant wall, separated by a large rug and coffee table. The walls were no longer “old lady floral” and now were a neutral grey, with a dark almost-ebony wood along the bottom half in what my grandmother used to call “beadboard” (I’m unsure if that’s the technical term).
The last time I was here, we sat in the space just before the fireplace, talking about life. This was at least a year ago.
After speaking with Norse, I have been trying to get back in the swing of things. One of the few things I wanted to do that I haven’t done in a GOOD LONG WHILE is connect with Mysterious in the way we used to, and let me tell you–it was difficult to pick back up again. Many nights spent and subsequently giving up, frustrated on the connection.
Frustrated with myself, that is, because I shouldn’t have let it go so long.
He sat in the curve of the couch, arm extended on the back, patiently waiting while I tried to get it together. Prior to this, we spoke outside of the experience, where he asked me if we could talk this evening.
It took some tries, but eventually I found myself sitting there, and in this space I realized something subtle that I may have been trying to avoid.
Behind us, covering the once off-white ceiling, was a thick black fog that rumbled like a storm cloud. Instead of thunder, though, it was a few memories that had collected into a mess of avoidance.
Mysterious looked up at the cloud, then back down to me. “You’re going to have to deal with that eventually.”
I pretended to not notice it. “There’s no fun in that.”
“There is also no fun in letting it control you, either. It’s going to be a problem that blocks you from doing this if you let it.”
“I thought we were talking about YOU and YOUR life.” I teased. “This is a lot of 'things [Saga] needs to fix.”
I came into this one with a mission, as I always do, because I wouldn’t be Saga if I didn’t have an alternative agenda. “Before we dive down that rabbit hole, what is the illusion?”
He stared at me for a moment. I found my attention then shifted to the fireplace, where a fuzzier-than-normal Charles now stood. Mysterious looked at the dog, then to me. “We should go.”
“Why?” I started to ask, not realizing that the thing that represented Charles was growing larger. Without warning, I was tugged from the couch and out the door by Mysterious, who narrowly escaped being crushed by the now large dog.
I kept this part in there, despite being possibly silly and my loss of the vision, because for the first time I got a few views of the layout.
I looked back at the door, where brown hair has now pressed against the doorframe, sticking out in a chaotic tuft. Mysterious stood there, seemingly annoyed as he looked over the almost bulging frame.
“Well, that’s just great.” Mysterious sighed. “There isn’t another place I know that we can have any privacy in this place.”
I turned my attention to the courtyard. Through those large windows I saw a nearly dead garden, and in the center was the large tree that I knew all too well. The tree, from what I’ve gathered now that I’ve seen all sides of it, is petrified. My mind wants to believe it was once similar to a cherry blossom tree in its blooms, but I haven’t see this with my own eyes yet.
A few things worth noting. This tree now has large branches, whereas it was a stump before. The portal hole that came from the tree was now gone, and a small hole remained.
“You mean to tell me in this huge ass place there isn’t anywhere to go to get away from prying ears?” I frowned.
“Let me think.” Mysterious shushed me. He glanced over the space, contemplating.
He approached the window, looking up. “Ah, I got it. You’re going to love this.”
In a blur of motion, I feel us move from the space in the hall to the clock tower–which apparently is a thing now. We move through the second floor and to the tower entrance, which is a long, open chamber to the inner workings of the clock. Then we take these steel stairs up to a room behind the clock face. It’s a sitting/library-type room. It consists of beautiful architecture and a lot of wood details.
To get into the room, we had to go through this “shield” that he placed over the room to keep others out. I remember when walking through it, it felt like water but I remained dry.
The room was very dark, as if it hadn’t seen life in a long time. We sat next to the fireplace, which never seemed to be a scarce resource in this house.
You want fireplaces? We got fireplaces. You want a ritual room where we can offer people to Baphomet? We got that too. But the best is the linen closet. Got to have a linen closet! sigh
Mysterious lit the fireplace and sat in front of it, arms wrapped around his knees. I joined him, trying to ignore the loud sounds of the machinery.
“So, illusion.” He spoke. “It’s really simple–you have to accept the truth.”
“I accept the truth.” I scoffed.
“You literally were about to confront me with the illusion representing me not being real.” He rolled his eyes. “You have DEFINITELY accepted the truth.”
I groaned, leaning back against the nearby chair.
A lot of our conversations are campy and boring, so I refrain from talking about them too much. My purpose for this scene being brought up is 1) I was finally able to make it happen and 2) I wanted to give the context behind how I know this part exists. I did a quick little draw-up of what we know so far:
You may have to save it and blow it up. I tried to save it as a vector so it can be expanded.
I’m really excited about the house. I have a few more rooms that I don’t understand their placement yet, and this is only the first floor, anyway.
- The (very large) greenhouse
- The basement ramp (on the side with the clocktower, I’m just not sure where) that leads to the location where the Leviathan tried to kill me in a dream once.
- The dining hall where a team of people burst in and attack
- The large ballroom-type space that isn’t a ballroom.
- The foyer that has a grand staircase
- Another ballroom type area with three levels to it (like -----_____-----)
– This also connects to the basement, which I’ve gathered is quite large.
I’ll continue to add things as they show up and the pieces fit together.
We have determined that the house that I visit when I work on the Goetia and other spirit work is no longer standing. We confirmed that Mysterious actually flattened this house at some undetermined time and for an unclear reason.
I’ve figured out that I’ve gotten a little disconnected from the things that happen in the house, mostly because the things that my soon-ex and brother comment on really don’t surprise me anymore. I never thought I’d reach this point, but last night was a great example of when I had to stop, look at myself, and say: “Lady, you used to get worked up about this stuff too, so sit your basic-ass down somewhere.”
My brother was up late last night, and as a consequence of that, my senior dog, Mr. Weener, was running around in the hall last night (he’s too good to stay in my bedroom anymore). This triggered all of my dogs to get up and just lose their minds. I took my sleep-greedy self back to bed.
My soon-ex got up, turned his flashlight on, and by this point I put my sleep mask on. (Ya girl is serious about sleep.)
I texted my brother later that evening after waking up again from another nightmare, where he stated to me that the behavior was unusual. I took it as them being restless. Whatevs.
This morning, soon-ex came downstairs and told me about what happened last night, because our discourse on the matter was me saying: “It ain’t that deep.”
He claimed to me this morning that Misha, our puppy, was barking at something in the bathroom, not Mr. Weener in the hallway, and that the scratching on the tile floor was what we heard and not the dog in the hall. It then led to the bathroom door opening on its own.
I found myself unmoved, and I had to give myself the side-eye for being so annoyed about it, which I had a serious thought about this afternoon, as that may be what I’ve been tackling lately. Annoyance. I don’t know where that comes from with my craft. It’s something I have to dive into.
I shrugged it off as “you guys act we don’t have a whole ass spirit in here that seems to treat this house like a storage unit.” If he’d heard me say that, I don’t think Mysterious would appreciate, but facts–Trogg and our “slav-squatting” friend being good examples of things that just find there way in my house.
Ticking the Boxes
I’ve had a lot of weird dreams lately. There is a bit of symbolism around the rainbow, which I haven’t been able to put pieces together yet on what it means. As I write this, I think of the seven colors of the rainbow, and have to give a good eye roll.
This dream plays out as a sequence of events in current life. Each time I look down at the “app” it transitions to a new stage.
The first scene I am myself, in an apartment I do not recognize. My soon-ex is talking about his son getting bit by one of our dogs. I don’t believe him, because it’s out of character of the dog and a few other details are missing to support the claim.
I start clicking these boxes on an app that looks like a coloring app. Interestingly, there are basic shapes on the first row (apple, heart, bell, shield, etc.) then below that are more advanced shapes (only one I remember, and that is a cow skull.)
Something I’ve seen in other dreams is the recurring “locating the symbols” trope that comes from Nautela competing against another female at the academy. The only thing I have from this dream is an “anchor” which has a passcode on the bottom of it.
I don’t look up from the app, but overhear a woman. She is standing in front of me in a new scene. She is telling me about her house being possessed.
I tap two of the boxes.
I look up from the app, finding myself outside of the apartment now. It is a white brick building with black, iron railing in the breezeway.
I look down. I complete two more boxes. Each box that is completed is “filled in” with a rainbow pattern.
I look up from the app. sitting in front of a body mirror in an apartment. I moved into this place and am sitting with my grandparents amid a chaotic living room filled with boxes.
I accidently catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, slightly tilted. It shows that my lips are a stained-red color and the center is black. It was like an ombre, but the center was black. I felt really uncomfortable, and the thought was “gross, I look dead.”
I slam my hand against the side of the mirror, grabbing it forcefully. I am not in control of this dream. I force the mirror up to see my whole face. Something looks wrong, maybe even malicious, about me.
I look down at the app, completing two more boxes. I notices as I complete the boxes on the first row, boxes on the second row also complete, though slower (they are the advanced shapes).
This time, I skip the cow skull. The app turns red. The dream attempts to force me to complete it. I refuse verbally. A bell in the first row turns grey. A voice comes on as a narrator of the dream: “You HAVE to do this.”
I pull my finger away from the app. It snaps me back to the first vision. I am back to arguing with my soon-ex about the teenager. I shrug off the argument as something made up, but he doesn’t give it up.
“I’ve been seeing things around here. I saw [Mysterious] in the picture of the apartment.” He shows me the photo. There is a red, plastic object at the bottom of the photo. You can clearly see Mysterious in the reflection, standing on the second floor of the breezeway. I curse myself for not noticing this earlier.
“Also, what about the MIRROR?” He snaps. “There is something wrong with you.”
I look back at the app. I know I have to finish the boxes. It is the only way to capture the spirit and see the truth that we’ve been chasing this whole time.
Something I wanted to revisit with this is another dream I’ve had. I looked back through the entries and don’t believe I’ve posted it before.
I stand in an attic. I am dressed as a normal person, but wearing a large witches’ hat. This wasn’t the typical attic, as it is a long hallway that leads to an attic-like room. The hallway was blue and almost child like.
This, I somehow knew, was the “end game” of the timeline and my journey with Mysterious. once I completed all these boxes/tasks on the wall, I would have my confrontation with [Mysterious].
I just completed a puzzle to unlock this room. This puzzle took me into a cave-like underworld, where myself and my soon-ex were looking over some clues.
I witness this scene in third person.
[Mysterious] is standing at the end of the cave, where a drawbridge leads to a hole in the cave. He stands next to a white horse, both staring, almost comedically, as I completely don’t notice him.
It then “skims” through previous scenes, where it’s shown that [Mysterious] has been put in predicaments by my solving these puzzles, some of them quite hilarious.
He never engages directly, only observing. He appears to be waiting for something, but the dream seems to suggest that these predicaments are to STOP me from solving the puzzles OR stop someone else from stopping me. I remember, whatever it was, Mysterious was MAD AF about it.
Mysterious appears as a pink-skinned demon with these large, red horns. He is dressed in a dark metal armor.
The scenes cut back to him standing with the horse. When it seems that I make eye contact with him, he runs into the hole/doorway and closes the drawbridge. As the bridge closes, I am told that my connection to [someone who opposes Mysterious] is important to this, but I don’t have the full context.
Eventually I turn around and go to an elevator. It takes me back to the attic, now alone. There is this vampire-like woman surrounded by smoke there now. She is blonde, and appears to be wiping blood off her lips. She doesn’t notice me as I come into this room, as she then sits in deep contemplation.
The scene transitions, as if I’m seeing some historical context.
I am being abducted by this woman, but before I can see what happens next, I shake off the vision. The vision was induced by the smoke.
I pick up an old book in the room nearby with a three etched into the old locket. This is the last book. It is locked, and I am missing the part to unlock it. I go back to my task board and see that I am missing only two tasks before I’m ready to show-down with Mysterious.
It is revealed at the end of the dream that this book was sent off with the blonde woman to be unlocked. There is a secret hidden in the back of the book that will show a “secret task” not tracked in the tracker. Nothing we did would open this book.
The room transitions, and I am in a classroom. There is a woman, blonde, in front of the class. Somehow I put together that this woman and the vampire woman are related, if not the same person. They both had a hand in whatever happened to me.
I walk up to her after this class, in a library. “I couldn’t think of what witch would kidnap a witch and try to kill her.” I drop the statement nonchalantly.
“Yeah, I did that.” The woman sighs. “I guess I need to finish the job.”
I, somehow, knew that Mysterious was pursuing me in this dream. If I could lead them into each other, it would lead to some fight where he’d put the pieces together. I bait her with the statement, which she puts together that it’s me she was supposed to finish off.
I take off running towards the exit of the library. The woman shoots me in the back, causing me to fall forward. As I fall, I am caught in the arms of Mysterious. He looks down at the gunshot wound, then back to the woman. He picks me up off the ground, then approaches her.
Then I wake up.
Interesting thing about the cow skull–there is a creature, “Nibanae,” that has two forms: a dragon-like form and a shadow form, both wearing a cow skull. I wonder if the cow skull in 230816 is related somehow, which would confirm what I believed to be true about another dream:
Gogolithic Mass from Sword and Sworcery is literally the closest thing I’ve seen to this thing. Except it has horns of a large bullock/steer instead of buck.
Nautela and Sam are at the academy. They are here looking for a baby.
We start in the body of Nautela, but as the scene continues we switch to third-person. We see people being abducted by what we believe is Nibanae. In its shadow form it would appear and abduct individuals from the academy, taking them through to another version of reality that is grey.
Nautela is taken by this thing, and we see that her “spirit” is taken to a grey world, but her body remains. The creature that took her is the leader of a variety of other spirits or shapeshifters, and is using these “abducted people” to advance its agenda (whatever that is).
Nautela spends a good chunk of the dream trying to escape the grey world, but this happens “off camera” as we follow the fake Nautela through the academy.
Nautela is performing terrible acts, from killing people to causing chaos.
The scene breaks, and we see Saga, also third person. I’m unclear of the relevance. They could either be happening in parallel or alternate reality, I do know from the look of the world they exist in that they are not in the same realm of existence.
Saga is in a large city, hunting the shadow creature, which appears as a large, black dragon. There is a lot of construction happening, so she is traversing a lot of scenes like that.
The dragon swoops down and grabs Saga, taking her to the ground.
As the dragon does this, we’re brought back to the academy with fake Nautela. She is being held down and nearly attacked by other spirits. The elders of the academy fight off the beasts.
Nautela begins convulsing on the floor.
We’re thrown into the body of fake Nautela. We are passive observers.
Nautela attacks the elders. Her voice is not her own, replaced by that of the dragon. He taunts the elders, alluding to a daughter of the elder that was murdered. “How is Amy?”
The elder scoffs, then hits Nautela with a fist. We catch a glimpse of Nautela, and she appears corpse like. Her eyes are deep, glowing red and her face has a dark drey hue.
“That demon,” The dragon spoke through Nautela. “What does he call himself now? Mr. Mysterious? He tried to stop me once, but he was no match for me.” Nautela approaches them in the yard. “I will destroy this world.”
Suddenly, Nautela is slammed across the yard and against a vehicle. The dragon taunts the invisible force, knowing it is Mysterious. It knows he won’t kill Nautela.
“Mysterious.” It hisses. “You can’t win this, Mysterious. You can’t stop me!”
Nautela is thrown against the vehicle again. Somehow he breaks Mysterious’s grasp and climbs up the vehicle. The elders had concluded they have to kill and burn Nautela, but the creature keeps evading them, even taunting them again and punching one of the elders.
Eventually the dragon meets up with others that have been “snatched up” by him and his people. There is a man standing with them, young and blonde. He has a bad in his hand.
The dragon looks at the boy, angry. I can hear its thought in that moment, disbelieving that the young man, known as Asmodai, would betray him. If the group that pursued them knew the portal was nearby, they could reverse everything that the dragon did.
The dragon cursed the man and stole the bag from him. Mysterious somehow got the bag, and it is referenced that two “pieces” of Mysterious open the portal. This returns everyone to their rightful places.
The elder takes the bag. it’s unclear where he takes it.
Nautela has her body back in the next scene. Waking up in an infirmary on the second floor. Everyone in the academy acts like nothing happened, almost like this was a bad dream.
She surfaces down to a dock near the academy and speaks to the elder about what happens next. I don’t have any details of what happens here aside from their decision to do some sort of ritual to remove the dragon’s connection to Nautela.
Mysterious appears, though in secret. It’s talked that the elders and academy staff believe that Mysterious is the cause of all of this, but it’s not clear why.
I don’t believe that “Asmodai” is reference to the Goetic Spirit here. Instead, I believe that it’s someone named after him.
God my posts are so long.
"That's enough lessons" will be the joke I wear out. I apologize in advance.
I’ve been playing Baldur’s Gate 3, because I’d much rather indulge in my escapism than work on my timeline. I only mention this because fiction has this interesting way of making me reflective, especially when I don’t want to.
I mentioned it on my last blog that I get in these moods when I find parallels in media that I consume. I play videogames to not deal, universe. THAT’S ENOUGH LESSONS.
I encountered a character that reminds me of others in my life, and then I literally couldn’t play it anymore. I have become too soft. It opened up the world a little bit and forced me out of my permanent residence in my altar room. Yard work, dishes, and clean floors later, I found myself in the passenger seat of my car with my brother at the wheel as we drove down a backroad on the way to dinner.
“I dunno man,” I sighed, staring out the window. “I just feel like something is missing.”
Thoughts crawled through the brain like ants swarming food at a picnic. Just jumbled chaos. It has been a whole lot of noise, but nothing of value, as if those thoughts are in a different language and I’m learning it for the first time.
“I started to understand it better after I got out of the hospital, but I still don’t understand enough to know what that missing thing is. I guess it’s OK, because at least I’m not sad about it anymore.”
I am staring down at a puzzle with only a large, vague hole left, yet around me are a million puzzle pieces that only partly represent the shape I’m trying to fill. I sit, sometimes impatiently, picking up piece after piece trying to fit it into the hole.
I used to say on my posts that Mysterious was that hole, because I allowed myself to become to enamored with someone I am not even sure exists, and I’m sure in some capacity the ideal he represents is a part of what I’m missing, but it’s not the larger piece. Not anymore.
Our conversation continues, moving onto other topics.
“I bet you’d play D&D again if you found a better group.” My brother speaks, optimistically.
“Nah,” I sigh, sinking further into the seat as we pass a pasture that is the future site of a ridiculously large subdivision. “I am team ‘no new friends.’ It’s not worth it.”
“So, you’re just going to have no friends?”
It brought me to a place where I thought about my former self on that twilight drive. I remember a time when I cared too much about the opinions of others, how I deeply needed to be loved and liked.
I am not that anymore, for the most part, and I am pleased with the progress. Though, in my numbness to the old wounds, I worry that my “resiliency” has created a self that just wants to coast through life and settles for mediocre.
When I set out on my journey with the Goetia, I foolishly expected to be in a place where I could achieve a lot of my previously material pursuits. Those goals seem lofty and meaningless after being shown the things I have.
I haven’t had many good experiences with old men in my dreams. They often are trying to scheme or attack. Annoying.
An Audience with a Builder
I stand at this large festival in a valley surrounded by mountains. There is a large man on the stage at the front of the festival. This man is a god in this world, and this festival is his followers worshiping him.
We are too far away to get a good look at the man, but he wields magic at the stage. I am accompanied by Mysterious, and we are making our way to the stage through the throngs of people.
I see a flurry of visions as we are “sucked away” from the dream. I can’t remember most of them, with only vague recollections of the ones I DO remember.
I swim in an ocean, then I am taking pictures of baby turkeys in a wildlife sanctuary, then I am witnessing a wedding between two alien-like individuals.
Mysterious and I are suddenly in a wizard’s tower with a woman I don’t recognize. The “wizard” is some sort of scientist-type. He starts a blood ritual in the center of this room, and I have to stop it with the other woman.
“This doesn’t feel like the madness.” The woman speaks. The woman with us enters a “circle” where the ritual takes place and interrupts it.
Mysterious, now free, exits the circle. He and I are going to the end of a hallway to escape. We walk through a portal that drops us right at the stage of the festival.
The stairs of the stage reach through the portal, and we’re able to take the three steps up the stage. As I approach the steps, I get a better look at the man.
He has curly, black hair and a large nose. His beard is also black and long with equally curly hair. The man wears a set of robes and has in his hand a purple staff that appears to be made entirely of crystal.
Behind us, the wizard is furious. He has been trying to “get audience with the god” but was never granted it. He is angry that we’re given such an audience.
My noticing of the wizard vanishes though, as I am entranced by the man. He reaches his hand out, calloused, strong. I take it as he assists me up the steps. We stand beneath a young olive or cypress tree. Beyond the tree is a large waterfall.
Mysterious stands close behind, more aware. I didn’t see the crowd anymore, and it is just the three of us in a foreign place, just beyond the portal that led back to the tower, still open like a cut wall.
I don’t know who this man is, but he has a face similar to Mysterious, as if they are related. I gathered that there was some connection, as this man also wore some purple accents on his robe, and the purple staff was a dead giveaway.
This person is helping me on this journey, and has an investment in Mysterious and I making it to wherever we’re supposed to go. He speaks without using his voice. I looked at his staff and felt a sense of pride and accomplishment. We were of the same group: builders. He was far my senior, but I felt motivated to see this through.
He tells me how happy he is that we are where we are. We are given a goat that is supposed to be sacrificed. It is spared.
We leave the portal and enter the tower. The wizard has given up his pursuit, too angry to continue. He disappears into the tower as the three of us go home. The woman who interrupted the ritual took the goat first, but keeps it outside.
The goat is angered by this, and we watch in third person as the goat traverses town to find Mal. The goat kicks the door to the front of her house, and she lets it inside to lay on a mat on the floor. I hear my own laughter, as if I’m remembering this, and I say: “Bratty ass goat.”
Sometimes, I hate the internet, then sometimes… … … …
By complete curiosity that has been a few days in the making, I stumbled upon some responses to my Bael post. I haven’t been getting notifications like I used to, which can lead to me missing things. Or, as I like to believe sometimes in my head canon, forces beyond me try to hinder my progress when certain paths might lead to some enlightenment.
Anecdote from Two Days Ago
It has been the hottest it’s ever been in my area. I nearly gave myself a heat stroke when I was out cutting the grass because my desire to have short grass for my dogs outweighs my natural “self-preservation.” After the deed was done, I sat in the red, plastic chair in the yard overlooking the grass as the remainder of my dachshund flock chased each other around the yard. A armchair sheppard aided by wire fencing and garden stakes.
Not thinking of anything particular, I took in the rays of the sun and tried to be in the moment, which is something I haven’t done in a long time (at least, long for me). Naturally, my thoughts trickled to work, then cleaning, then work again.
A woman at work recently has stirred some hard feelings in me. She is not nasty or cruel, but she disregards truth. I took the initial interactions as something like: “Maybe I’m incapable to being around people who have a different opinion than me.” or “Maybe I’m incapable of taking feedback.”
I sat in that feeling now, wondering if that was true.
This thought was interrupted by a weird, distant thought, thinking back to the On Magick and Effort post from my early time in this forum. A person crossed my mind, and I was going to come back and read up on other posts by the author, but I am one hell of a procrastinator.
The thought only lasted a moment, then–suddenly–back to work. I considered my career prospects, and my desire to leave the technology field and follow my original passions to become an educator, but this woman stuck in my head. If I’m incapable of dealing with people, how can I be an educator with students that–on many occasions–don’t want to be there and learn.
How will I be when I look back, hoping to make them hate a subject less, and they hate it and me all the same? What happened to my alleged “resiliency”?
Then, I realized, it wasn’t her or her feedback. It was the fact she was wrong, and was so confident in her wrongness that I didn’t push the issue. I was angry at myself for not “defending myself” better.
I try to stand for truths as I can, but I recognize that truth for me may not be truth for someone else, because my perception can change what the “facts” are in interpretation. Thus, I am not often someone to argue the small things. I have no time or patience to do so, and most often I find that those that do argue over these things are often unable (or unwilling) to see any other side of it outside of their own (I may or may not speak from experience–but this isn’t about me, it’s about others being terrible! haha).
This triggered some understanding in me, or at least the desire to understand, as I found myself on the top of the slide back into the pit of despair, despite all the substantial progress I’d made.
I wondered, in my core, if I would ever be content (or at least not in turmoil) for any substantial amount of time. I felt it so strongly that I nearly gave up on the idea of changing my life at all because it lacked point.
We wandered back inside and I resigned to cleaning, as I normally do when my head is a mess.
It was that night that my brother and I had the driving conversation, all completely stirred on by this woman and the feelings about that situation that led to a larger analysis of “The Feeling” that you may have read about in my other, non-mirror postings.
I bring the story up because the world, universe, architect, sovereign, force, higher self–whatever–works in mysterious ways. So, the Bael post, which led to another post, which led to many more.
It was there that I read something truly profound,
I can’t say what, within this moment, truly moved me about the statement, but maybe this combined with the realization brought to me through the dialogues by DarkGodofQlippa and his examples of “teaching moments” brought me to a “damn, it was right in front of me this whole time.”
Is this the entirety of my dilemma? No, but damn if it’s not 90% of it. Sometimes, I am so thankful for these not-so-random stumblings.
“It’s only a riddle if you don’t know the answer.” – Witch, Resident Evil 8
I find myself on the road again, travelling to a place I haven’t been before. I face the same problems I did once before, with the same people and the same solutions. Yet, I feel motivated. I don’t feel as tired or sick as last time, and I wonder if that is symbolic. Last trip was one of the worst ones of my life, second literally only to one–and that was the trip where I tried to unalive myself in a hotel bathroom, to put things in perspective.
I realized that, after that visit, not everything is a me issue, despite by gut-reaction to explore my own feelings in a way that suggests there is something wrong with being mad about being wronged. Of course, the truth is that I also have a few unexpected surprises that helped.
First Person POV: Saga?
"Let me see those ears."
I stood in the academy, though this time I felt very Saga-like. I was among good company, with a Charles at my feet. I stood in what seemed like a basement turned into a den. In the distant corner of the room, Mal flipped through a book.
She mentioned to me that she is concerned, since he was here. Implying it was unusual. “That devil is here.” She regarded me without looking up. “I know he is.”
I leave the place to enter a dock-like area, where gravel barges meet a bay that seems to connect to the ocean. Before reaching the building at the end of the dock, which appears to be our destination, we have to pass through three “dark wizards”/“dark priests” for lack of a better word on my part. These three create tests that we have to go through and complete in order to speak to the demon.
Our options are to complete their tests, kill them, or turn back. We complete their tests.
I unfortunately didn’t write down their tests, because the dream was leaving my memory and I wanted to get other parts down.
We enter the building on the first floor. Mal stops to sleep on a couch nearby. Whoever was with us outside is now gone, and we are the only two remaining. While Mal sleeps, I wander around downstairs. I hear throughout the house the voice of the demon, though I am the only one who hears this, as Mal does not wake.
I feel this nervous, yet terrified, feeling overwhelm me as I ascend a stairway where he pulls me. I pause at the first landing of the stairs, where the stairs seem to break in half before turning 90 degrees.
Mysterious and I have an understanding now that we struggled with for a long time. In recent memory, my fears of seeing a demon in my dreams–in a more natural form–comes from lack of awareness. Given the spirits that are trying to get to Mysterious have found ways to creep into my nightmares, I just assume that every demon is a bad demon and wake myself up.
I breathe deeply at the landing, preparing myself. “I’m scared.”
He laughs, “It will be fine, you can see me now.”
I climb the second set of steps, now standing in a room that looks like an office. There are lots of creative tools around, from paintbrushes to colorful papers. Amid all of this color is a black–creature.
Bipedal, is stands next to a counter, leaning back into the furniture for support. Muscular arms are folded across its chest. The lower half of the creature is almost satyr like, but the top half is still hairy like a beast, not as similar to a man as a typical satyr. Eyes like smoldering fire stare down at me as I stand just beyond the top step. It’s considerably taller than me.
My breath catches in my throat. Instantly at seeing my expression, it shrinks, turning into a small black goat standing on the counter. Red eyes turn brown. “See? It’s ok!”
“Is it really–you?” The dream stills, previously tearing at the seams in my panic.
“Yes,” it responds.
I sit down in a chair nearby, regaining my bearings. The goat jumps down from the counter, scurrying across the floor to jump in my lap. I rub its ears. I find myself caught up in eyes that remind me of tree bark, with small waves of blue interwoven into those branches of dark and neutral brown.
“As much as I enjoy this, we should leave this place for somewhere more appropriate.” He states, though through low-eyes as I continue.
“I’d prefer to take the dogs with us.” I mention.
“Gather them.” He hops off my lap, returning to his original form.
I go back down the steps to find Mal awake, though unaware of my whereabouts. I don’t say anything to her as I grab Charles. I go to the stairs, but don’t see what happens next.
This isn’t the first time that I’ve seen him in this way (or, really, something similar). A satyr-type appearance was shown in another dream back before I went to the hospital.
Though, as I write this, I find some interesting similarities.
First Person POV: Nautela?
"Why do you keep searching?"
We are in the Hycart house, playing a game that reminds me of Clue. You are trapped in a house. Someone plays a monster and the other players have to try and kill the monster.
I pick a fighter that wields a scythe and wears garb similar to the grim reaper. Vega and Oliver (Nautela’s parents) fight over the monster character. I chose this one because it has particular specs that gives it advantage over the monster character.
I then stand in a park. Across the street from the park is a dilapidated building, water floods various nooks and crannies. Three people in robes are wheeling out caskets. Unable to mind my own business, I ask them why they do this. They reveal that they are necromancers, and they are “bringing back their kin.”
I go with them into an underground crypt, accepting the offer to watch their ritual.
The first ritual puts a devil in the corpse of a woman. The devil leaves the coffin and approaches me. I realize that the devil has done this in an effort to speak to me, which was not the intention of the ritual. Apparently, this isn’t the first time, and I ask: “Why have you done this again?”
The devil looks at me, perplexed. “Why do you keep searching?”
I ponder my answer, then take a few steps towards the woman/devil. “I want to find proof that he’s real and he loves me.”
Third person POV
Smoke fills the room, though I am Saga now. I am dressed in a more dated outfit, a dress that has many layers. My hair is back in a ponytail, and my face is aged.
The smoke is thick and it’s difficult to see anything in the room. The woman’s body disappears from view. From the smoke, blue-black hands reach from nothing to pull me forward. I am startled.
Black horns in a shape similar to a gazelle, though much larger, surface from the smoke. I see his whole body first. Satyr-like in appearance. The vision focuses on clawed hands as they stretch down my arm and fingers intertwine with mine.
I then see, amid the smoke, our faces meet. I am emotional.
I see nothing but clouds zooming past my vision. The night is purple-black, and those clouds are a deep, dark purple color. Stars are in the distance and between the gaps of the clouds. I speak, as if narrating: “I can hear his voice.”
Then I hear his voice. His actual voice, for the first time in recent memory. Deep in its tone, confident. Even recounting back on it, I am in awe. It wasn’t any sort of monumental, nothing ethereal or magical, but after being neglected such a pleasure–it takes on a sort of beauty when it’s finally given.
“Yeah, you can, can’t you?” There is a pause. “Steps are to be taken, [Saga]. If anyone is going to complete the timeline, it will be you. So, stop being so hard on yourself. You’ll get there when you get there.”
He suggests something for me to do, but it was lost by the time I woke up to write it down.
For continuity, the below was also part of the dream segment.
First person POV
I am a woman. I write [Mysterious’s] sigils on the windows in a room. In doing so, I protect the house from those entities that are trying to get into it. Myself and another witch are supposed to be doing this, but she dallies. I pick up the slack and finish up the windows and doors.
Outside, vague shapes of beasts and demons wander in the dense black.
Unfortunately, because of the mistakes of my peer, some of those beings got into the house. Because they are in the house, they can invite in their friends.
There is no saving us. I must hide.
I recall what the old woman told me, some sort of elder in our sect. She also leads the horde that attacks the house. She told me to dig a hole in the back room beneath the floorboards. I was to dig 3 feet down, bury myself, and scoot the bed over the hole. If I did this, I would survive.
I rushed to complete my tasks, and was able to complete it just before I was discovered. Beasts attacked the house, killing everyone inside.
The woman appeared, wearing black. She was skeletal in her appearance, with sunken eyes and thinning hair. Her skin hung on her bones in her face.
She had her creatures dig me up. They threw me onto the floor at her feet. “You listened to my words, and because you did I will spare you, but–you are my slave now.”
I, essentially, became a thrall for this woman, forced to do things for her and her middle-managers that were demonic/beastial in appearance.
I asked my dear-old Mysterious what that meant, and of course, he avoided the question. That is–until I told him I would ignore his questions. Some time passed before he nonchalantly said:
“I would definitely focus on my fortitude, my resolve, and my loyalty if I believed I had to be tested.”
I had to google the difference between fortitude and resolved, because sometimes I don’t word gewd.
I also remember a mention of three women that were “working” for Mysterious, though I’ve never met them before.
Nautela is working with a real estate agent to purchase properties surrounding the academy. It is in a rougher part of town, which made the property cheap. These properties linked together like a bit of a compound.
The main “entry” building at the center of this had a problem with three women who frequented the streets in the front. They were either prostitutes or they sold a sort of unnamed street drug.
Mal and Nautela entered the street and attempted to move them on the latest run-in. Their presence there was bringing unwanted attention to the operations in the building.
An loud fight ensues. Sam exits the building at hearing the commotion. Before Nautela or the woman leading the trio can throw punches, Sam interjects. “Why do you do this? What is the benefit?”
“I need the drugs to deal with my problems.” The woman stiffens. “It’s not easy living out here like this. I just want to feel again, man.”
“Give up the drug.” He shrugs. “Easier said than done, but–” He looks her over. “I think I have something that could replace that high. A new high that very few people get to experience.”
They study him for a moment, then look among each other.
It’s later, though the time period isn’t defined. Sam stands with another person, though we can’t see his their face. We look over their shoulders and into a courtyard. The three women are sparring.
“So what have you decided to call this new project of yours?” The second person, voice masculine, asks.
“I’ve thought about it for a while, and I finally settled on ‘Vipers’.” Sam answers.
“I think that a viper is a pretty menacing snake. They’re pretty menacing killers. Cold-blooded. Ruthless.”
“Going all in on the snake thing, huh?”
For record, I have never seen these three women before or after this dream, but I wonder if they are at all connected to the necromancers or the “dark priests.” The trios are never lost on me.
“Anyone who claims the journey is sunshine and rainbows is trying to sell you something.” - Me
I am a strong believer in the law of attraction, and through that belief I have gained some unfavorable traits. Specifically, I have come to terms with the fact that I love sorrow, pain, and all the dressings that come with depression. It’s gross, but I liken it to the “it is what I’m comfortable with” connection. I heard on Dr. Phil a long time ago that sometimes we continue to be in these dark, dismal places because it is comfortable–similarly to how some individuals will stay in abusive relationships because their abusers remind them of some trauma in childhood, which brings familiarity and comfort.
In looking for an article to support this, I recognize that some individuals that are in similar positions to me have “victim complexes” and whatnot, and I want to pre-emptively mention that’s not my flavor of misery. My “flavor” is a deep appreciation for what misery causes in the self, and how powerful it is as a force for change. It’s really undersold, and I take that personally (j/k).
This deep appreciation has caused me to fit in a lonesome camp, though, when hearing about the trials and tribulations of life from others. I feel sorry for them, but my immediate reaction has become less comforting and feeling to one that says: “You take the moment to grieve, to be sad, and to indulge in the bad parts, then you keep pushing.”
I bring this all up because I have spent some time over the past weekend analyzing how I feel about myself and my reactions. K recently found out some unfortunate news about her job, and I am perplexed. She states that the universe has a way of moving her onto the next big thing, and I agree. At the same time, I find myself cycling through the question of: “Could I be next?”
I believe that we have way more control than we realize when it comes to fate, and actions that we’ve done, whether directly or indirectly, contribute to certain outcomes. I like to think I have been juggling the balls in the air well, but I do not know. Not knowing is a burden.
I find myself stuck between the two worlds often. Everytime I indulge in some material pleasure I worry that I will take steps backward, even when they are in the immaterial plane. I still indulge sometimes, and often find that I am rewarded in some fashion.
Today, Mysterious revealed the goal post. I suspected it was the case based on some things that I’d heard in passing through dreams and visions, but I didn’t allow myself to succumb to the idea. He mentioned years ago this was a little bigger than just our relationship, which was a given, considering we didn’t start out this way. Now, though, I find myself thinking about what this goal post could mean for me and am troubled.
I suspect there is more that I don’t understand… and we still have two more hurdles to go.
My boss is trying to bring K over to our company again. I was excited about this because I believe she is a good worker that produces quality results. I have been performing a ritual every day to try and ensure it is successful. I will keep all posted.