Yesterday was the Day of the Dead and I had a very eventful one. I was able to stand outside in the first real, hard rain that SoCal has had in so long. I let it wash the old year off of me and put my face to the wet soil and sang thanks.
My mother and my daughter went to my aunts house for the day and I really got to be alone and still. It was heaven. I took a hot, purifying bath with salt, jojoba, lavender, rosemary and rose petals and I was able to meditate and talk, quite frankly and casually, with my spirit guide who's name is Gabriel. I asked her if I could see her, but not in a scary way. Like no disembodied head or mist. I asked if she would just appear like a person and she said that I wouldn't really be able to see her like that because my brain isn't wired for it right now. I said, "but I saw you when I was six and you were just there like a person." She said that someday I would be able to be open like that again. She told me to stare into the flame of the candle I had lit next to my bed and that she would reside there so that I could see her. I did and almost immediatly the flame took an angel form, with huge, irredecent rainbow wings that spread up and around the candle. Even when I blinked or looked away, when I looked back she would still be there. I laughed and thanked her for showing me some magick. Then I began to ask away.
I asked her many things, some of which I can't remember. I know that I asked her if I'm doing the right thing or if I'm failing miserably. She reminded me of the card the oracle pulled for me on Hallows, the wheel of fortune. The oracle said that every moment leads to the next. Gabriel said that I'm exactly where I need to be. She reminded me that I asked to harmonize my wheel with that of the divine and now I need to surrender and let Goddess steer.
I asked about the world and why it was so sucky right now. She said to remember Henry the VIII. I had just watched a documentary about Henry the VIII and of course am familiar with Ann Boleyn. "Okay," I thought, "Henry VIII was a maniacal sex addict who thought with his penis with no regard for the women that he ruined and killed. A bad time for women, who had no say in their lives or bodies, yet always bore the responsibility. A great example of the ultimate patriarch out of control, beheading his wives for adultery when he himself screwed everything that moved. So, are you saying that that is what is going to happen now?"
"Well, what happened after that?" She laughed again and the flame nodded and danced.
"um, Elizabeth the I, Ann Boleyn's daughter became the Queen of England. England experienced a Golden Age and the Renaisance during her 45 year reign"
"She was an Avatar."
"You know, Goddess incarnate? The Divine taking human form to help humans."
"Like Aradia and Jesus?"
"Well who was She?"
"Think about it."
At that point I had to google Elizabeth the I and brush up on my Tudor history. I found that she had a cult that celebrated her as the virgin queen.
"Artemis!" I exclaimed.
"See how each moment lead to the next? Henry the VIII and Ann Boleyn and many others made the world ripe for Goddess to be born again. The Goddess always returns..."
I fell asleep after that for awhile. I don't remember my dreams.
However, last night, my dream was vivid. I was standing outside on a wooden platform. Someone began to pour a cool liquid over me. I understood that this was a cleansing liquid. Suddenly, my skin became very tight and lumpy and purpilish. Millions of tiny worms began squeezing out of my skin through my pores, as if trying to escape from my body. I was disgusted and began to squeeze my arms, making more worms pop out like zits. That's all I remember.
Now I'm living in Portland, Oregon, from Roslyn, WA, after leaving Los Angeles, CA in 2010. Searching inside and out for a new paradigm is my major goal in life right now. The patriarchal, racist and classist world that we live in gives me complete and utter indigestion (literally); so I continue on my spiral journey, keeping my eyes open for other worlds and drawing inspiration from those who are also searching.
("Sloth Womyn," is a reference from, "The Womyn's Holy Book of Mysteries," by Z.E. Budapest.)