A Magician Stuck In The Desert

I saw the flash fiction challenge on Fractured Faith this morning, and thought it sounded like fun.


The summoning circle in the center of the desert was filled with diet Coke.  It was not, Jason thought, his proudest moment as a magician, but he had to work with what he had.  At least he had a reason to summon a monster from the Otherworlds; they knew how to teleport, and his car had run out of gas.

The sand in the center of the circle began to swirl, becoming a funnel which would call forth monsters to do his bidding.

Magic doesn’t fix everything.  The words filled Jason’s head, reverberating and multiplying as a vision of creatures made of shadows filled his mind.

“I just want a ride home,” Jason said.  “I’ve summoned you for less, great beasts of the netherworld, so why won’t you help me now?”

Buy more gas, was the reply, we’re supposed to teach you how to fix your life, not do the fixing for you.

Before Jason could offer the package of mints he had bought, the funnel collapsed into just a pile of sand, and he was alone again.

Advertisements

What If…?

What if your Beloveds and Darkness vanish due to medicine?

That was a thought that went through my head several times when I was in the hospital.  I eventually came up with an answer to that.

Even if that proves that they weren’t real–or that they’re stepping back to give my privacy and to adjust to medicine–I can still live by the values they’ve taught me.

That might be the direction my practice goes for a while, focusing on the values of Darkness, and bringing those values into my life, rather than focusing on a crystal clear connection with the gods and Otherworld stuff.

A Quiet New Years

Yesterday was New Years in the Otherworlds.  I honestly expected to still be in the hospital, so I had absolutely no plans in advance.

It was a quiet day for me.  I spent some time with some f/Family members that I hadn’t seen in a while, and did a brief tarot reading to check in on how Darkness has been doing since I’ve been gone (my Otherworld Self has been handling my responsibilities.)  All the Summer Rituals went well, and so did the Wild Hunt.

I did a reading to check in with my People, and the final card I drew from them was the 3 of Swords.  The words that came to mind when I pulled that card were “We’re all healing, together.”

The Sound of Madness

It’s funny–not in a humorous way, just bitterly amusing–that all of this began with [Otherworld Me].  The number of times I was told that no, I’m perfectly fine mentally and have nothing wrong [either in conversation or in trying to research my symptoms] is something I’ve lost count of.  The entire time, I had this gut feeling of something is wrong.  Even when being told that no, I’m totally sane and just having a spiritual experience, that something is wrong feeling persisted.

Thank the King of Shattered Conscious I listened to those feelings.

I got out of the hospital yesterday; I was there for several days due to hallucinating and hearing voices, on top of my regular dissociation episodes.  I got put on medicine, one for depression and one for hallucinations, which also calms my intrusive thoughts.

I had no idea how bad it was, until the medicine made it stop.

That’s where my life is at right now, getting more doctor appointments arranged, getting a new therapist, and adjusting to my medication.  I do have medicine that’s helping me, and my pill box found a home on my shrine.

Not Alone On This Road

Trigger warning for mention of self harm related thoughts in this poem.

Near to shattering is how I feel
only I may have split apart long ago.
Trauma so deep that I simply shattered
and here I am nearly twenty years later
levitating outside my body, watching
only unable to stop folding up the
napkin in my hand in a desperate
effort to ground myself.  I feel like this is
obvious, how can no one see that I’m sliding
towards a total breakdown?  How close to
harming myself do I need to go?  How many
inclines in my mind do I need to climb to be
seen as deeply hurting?  Falling asleep brings
razors of fear; what if I don’t wake up in my bed,
or what if I do become violent as the media says I will?
Alone is how I feel, even though I know I’m not the only one
dealing with this, can I have a fucking guidebook on dissociation?

Prayer Beads from the Madman

Do you still have your prayer beads?

“Yeah, they’re here.”  I picked the small set off the shrine I’d set up for Jake and his family.  I ran the beads through my fingers; this was the one set I had that didn’t have any particular Significance.

Will those work, give you something to hold on to?

“Maybe.”  I looked over at the covered shrine.  “I keep thinking about your set, though.”

If you think that will work, he said, then take it.

“That will leave the shrine unbalance, though.”

Varian.  I care more about your sanity than I do about your shrine.  He watched as I pulled the set of prayer beads off the shrine, then covered it back up.  There you are.

I nodded, these beads felt like they belonged in my hands.

Look at the colors.

“They’re all really pale colors, like light.”

Exactly.  He knew what I was thinking of, the new significance that Light had begun to take on in my life.

“Thank you,”  I said, “I mean that.”

I could sense him sitting beside me, his worry and concern strong enough that I could sense those feelings clearly.  He had told me earlier this afternoon that this fallow time had not been meant to make my mental health issues rise; that had simply been a very unfortunate coincidence.

“I’m getting help,” I said to myself as I ran the beads through my fingers.  “We’ll figure this out, and it’s going to be okay.”

Literal Signs, Covered in Glitter

Light is this world, Light is
in finding joy and happiness.
Tomorrow is a new dawn, and
each one is a struggle, those
rare moments of joy.  It is not being
above this world, I find that escaping this
life under the guise of having another Elsewhere
shattered my realizing how much is wrong.
In quiet hours, I wish I could reach for you, yet am
glad you’re not Here; I miss you, but worry that any
nearness to a god would only stagger what is left of my
sanity.  I’m aware of the irony–I call you the King of Shattered
Conscious, the Madman is the nickname you picked–and this
obvious descent into my mind falling apart, it’s been around a
very long time.  This has nothing to do with you at all, and
everything to do with having to force myself to be who I’m not.
Red flags are everywhere and I’m reaching out for help, but
even there is fear; fear that I need to have a breakdown, or be
dangerous to myself or others, in order to get help.  Last night
in my dreams you sent me a literal sign, covered in glitter and
neon, lit up with spotlights, telling me to stay alive.  The
glitter at least made me laugh, so thanks for that.  Those
lights were blinding, but you are the Blind King.  That
isn’t lost on me, that blindness and sight is beginning to
tie back to all of this mental health crisis that’s been
trailing after me for months–or is it years, now?
Escaping this life with my Other one, I have stopped
running from that; now how do I break that cycle?