Journeying: Black Warrior

 Last night I had an incredible journey I want to share. To begin, I need to introduce Shota Sape (Black Smoke) and explain a bit about her and I. She came to me during a mediation on the Full Wolf Moon. She is fairly young, black and dark grey wolf with a spot of white between her eyes, and white feet. We have been spending time together, getting to know one another, several times a week. With her I have learned to transform into a larger dark grey and white wolf, and we have started hunting together, or sometimes just running through the trees and snow together. It's been pretty awesome, all around.

Last night, Shota joined me in my sacred space. Its a space I created decades ago, and retreated to when dealing with insomnia or anxiety that might be keeping me awake at night. We descend down a flight of narrow rock steps into the rock encased cave of a mountain. Once inside the cave, it opens up into a low roofed (ten feet high ish) cavern, with an area against one wall where the floor becomes sand warmed from below, which is piled with buffalo robes and pillows and cushions for sleeping. There is a nice firepit with a rock oven for baking, and a small stream of clear, pure water that flows into a rock basin. Near to that is a wooden table for cooking and eating. On the far side of the cavern is a larger wooden table with lanterns hung over it, piled with books and papers, where I can study and write if needed. Shota has spent time with me there, and we often fall asleep together on the warm sand after hunting.

At the far end of the cavern is a opening to a winding tunnel that leads outside to a small valley. It is slightly downhill from the cavern, and there is a heavy robe hung over the opening to help keep the wind from finding its way inside when its cold. Shota and I trotted down that tunnel toward the valley. I was dressed in a breachclout and moccasins, with leather wraps on my lower legs and a couple of bands around my upper arms. My hair was much longer and bound back in braids, with a leather thong wrapped around my forehead to keep it out of my eyes. I had a sleeveless leather tunic of sorts covering my upper body, leaving my arms uncovered. We exited the cave at dusk, our favorite time of the day.

Shota wanted to hunt, but I said no, gently, and asked her to take me to the one who was waiting to meet me. She shot out across the valley at a easy lope and I ran after her on two feet, feeling it was important to meet in whoever I was meeting in my current form. As we neared the edge of the trees, a figure stepped out of the gloom to greet me. He was a black stallion, with a slightly dished, very refined head, a sleek, strong body and deep, challenging eyes. I stepped quietly up to him, one hand gently stroking his neck, as he lowered his head and pressed his nuzzle against my chest in greeting. We stood for a moment like that, until he stepped out of the trees completely and turned his body sideways to me. It was an invitation to mount. As I moved next to him, he unfurled his wings to make room for me on his back and my breath caught in my throat.

I caught a fistful of mane and swung up in one easy motion, legs wrapping around him just behind the wing joints where they connected to his shoulders. Once I was settled, Shota jumped up as well, settling behind me, her chin on my shoulder, body pressed to my back, and the wonderful creature we were sitting on lifted us into the air. It felt a lot like a hand gallop, both the motion and the feeling beneath me, but instead of racing across the ground we flew through the air. It reminded me of racing horses at the race track, where you ride more by balance than anything else, and I leaned forward and tucked myself between his wings. We soared and it was apparent we could fly any where.

The flight did not last very long and I could feel his amusement that we were already done with the flying part of our journey. As we dipped toward the ground, I realized that he had a dark silver horn spiraling out of his forehead, wicked sharp and deathly long. I stroked his neck as we landed and asked his name. He told me it was Washoshe Sape (Black Daring Warrior) and as I slipped to his side, Shota jumping down next to me, he told me he would be my teacher and guide and friend going forward. He would teach me to be a spiritual warrior and the three of us would go into battle together against the forces that are all too obviously gaining ground in the battle for the Earth. We moved so that we were facing each other as he conveyed to me our goals, than held my breath as he lowered his horn to touch my chest, just over my heart, with the tip of his horn. It was a promise and a commitment.

He faded back into the trees as Shota and I headed toward the cave, our journey done

Yemaya

 A couple of months ago, my gf and I went to see the Orpheus Pagan Chamber Choir. The concert was held in a church (not going to lie - its a little strange to listen to what is supposed to be pagan music in a church setting), and the choir was amazing. They have a soprano who has an incredible voice and I am looking forward to their next concert. It was a wonderful experience.

Something happened at the beginning of the concert. Their first song was a summoning chant to Yemaya. Yemaya is a major water spirit from the Yoruba religion and is the mother of all Orishas. She is known as the Goddess of Creation, Water, Moon, Motherhood and Protection. She is the patron Goddess of the Ogun River in Nigeria. In Brazil and Cuba, She is worshipped primarily as a Goddess of the Sea/Ocean.

Pretty bad ass, right? When the chant started and the power began to build, she stepped into the church, towering over everything - at least 20' tall - bent over and started directly into my eyes. I could feel Her sorting through my thoughts and memories, sifting through me, and beyond me to my ancestors. It almost felt like she was shuffling through my lineage, until she came upon my ancestor who lived and died on a plantation in SC. My ancestor was a slave woman named Dorisha.

When She found Dorisha, a deep hum came from Her throat and She pulled away to look into my eyes. 

"That is the connection I can feel . . ." Her deep voice said. Behind Her voice was an offer, like a hand extended in greeting. She was offering a connection to Herself, a relationship with Her.

I responded quietly, in my mind, "Thank you for the offer, but I have more on my plate than I can currently handle. I must decline for the moment."

She smiled, nodded in understanding, and stepped back out of the church.

When I was researching Goddess' that are involved in healing, She was one of the Goddesses I was interested in. However, I read the books I found on Brigid first and kind of fell for Her. I'm thinking that at some point in the future it might be beneficial to do some research on Yemaya.

The Blond Man

 I met the Blond Man for the first time when I was sixteen. My mom had divorced my father and we moved into a mobile home in Pocatello. I turned the den (complete with wood burning stove) into a bedroom by using bookcases to make a wall and using those silly hanging glass beads from the 60's as my door. I had my bed in the front right corner pressed up against the wall, and a dresser with my clothes on the other side of the room. One wall was comprised of a sliding glass door. The wood burning stove was dead center on the left with the dresser to the left near the hallway, and some empty space to the right between the stove and the sliding glass door. Not much privacy, but at least it was my own space.

One night I was awakened by a presence/sound in the room, over by the sliding glass door. I opened my eyes to see a man standing in the corner of my room, straddling my saddle which I had dumped in that corner earlier that evening. He was dressed in black, with bright, white-blond hair and a wide, manic smile filled with brilliant white teeth. Seeing him there shot a bolt of terror through me and I screamed and spun away, slamming into the wall. I know I was awake, because he was blurry. I could see his shape, size and color, but no details. I wear corrective lens, and as anyone with severe vision loss will tell you, we dream as if we wear glasses and can see.

Pressed against the wall with my back to him, I suddenly felt offended that he was in the room, so I rolled away from the wall and with a shaky voice (not feeling very brave) I asked him why he was there.

He laughed a laugh I couldn't hear, but could only feel, like razors on my skin, his teeth flashing in the dim light from outside the sliding glass door. Then he grinned a huge Pennywise-the-Clown grin and said "Don't worry little girl, I've been here before."

I screamed again, loud enough to strain my voice, and spun into the wall, clawing at the paneling, trying to flee. 

At that moment my mom stepped into the room, having heard my first scream and had come to see what was happening. She comforted me and told me everything was okay, right up until I told her what had happened. At that point she grabbed the phone and then searched the house. Everything was locked up tight, including the sliding glass door, which had a wooden pole to hold the door closed during the night. She chalked it up to an over active imagination combined with a bad dream. 

About a year later, I had moved to a bedroom with a locked door, having switched rooms with my younger brother. When I first moved into the room I was awakened at night by the Blond Man standing in my doorway, his evil grin on his face, silently laughing at me, but he never stepped inside the room. I would wake with sleep paralysis and lie there unable to move, staring at my hand just inches away from my face, telling myself to move and touch myself. It never worked. I would lay frozen for minutes, sometimes hours, and then fall back asleep once he was gone. I finally put a bolt lock on the inside of my door and that limited the visitations.

One night, late spring when I was 18, I was wandering around a local park with the woman I came out with on NYE. We had been swinging on some swings, and I was facing the rock walls rimming the edge of the park, while my friend was facing the other direction. I suddenly felt the Blond Man watching me. I looked into the trees and he was standing next to a tree with his hand resting on the bark of the tree near his head. I could feel him laughing at me. His face was pretty much the only thing I could see, with his broad mouth, red tongue, white teeth, the unheard laughter rippling along my nerves. I felt a hand on my shoulder and heard the words, "he can't get to you", with a strong sensation of protection. We got up and left, although I could feel him laughing at me until we drove away.

The last time a remember seeing him was the last day I was living in an apartment with a friend. I woke about 2 pm (was working nights) when I was in my early twenties, and he was standing next to my bed, his hand reached out toward me, fingers about an inch from my elbow, which was sticking up out of the blankets. I was stuck in paralysis, unable to move at all, terrified out of my mind. I knew if anything were to touch my elbow at that moment I would have lost my mind. It was the last time I spent the night there. I moved out the next day and spent the next couple of years bouncing from one residence to another. I think I moved 11 times in six years, trying to keep myself hidden from him. 

When I was in my early twenties, finding myself  blacklisted in the small Idaho town I had been living in, I decided to move to Southern California to live with my grandparents. They were traveling with the Roy Rogers and Dale Evens Happy Trails RV group and were only home a couple of times a year. I would take care of their house while they were gone and help with whatever they needed when they were home. It was there that I first taught myself to cast a circle, in part to protect myself from the Blond Man, and in part to protect myself from anyone that might want to hurt me. It was a protection that I believe the Great Queen wanted from me, as we continued my shadow work. I think the first time it took almost an hour to focus my attention and concentrate on the imagery needed at that point to form the circle around me, but it certainly got easier after that first time. The funniest thing that happened is that I cast the circle widdershins. I still do. 

That was the last time I had to worry about the Blond Man, until my son was four or five. At that point, my son told me about a "scary man" with a "scary laugh" and white hair that was trying to get him one night. It terrified me and I reached out for assistance. I had been working with a spirit guide: a Lakota warrior who had adopted my son and his umbrella of protection was held over me as well. I asked for help and was able to forced the Blond Man out of the condo, which sent him fleeing to a friend's house, where he was taken by a group of Native ghost warriors and eaten. He hasn't been seen since. 

Beginnings

My spiritual journey started decades ago, at the age of six. I was raised in a Mormon household and was the oldest of what would eventually become four children. It was at that age that my father began sexualizing me, which would have been horrible enough, except that he compounded my confusion and turmoil by telling me what was happening was my fault and that I was going to hell. As a six year old, I believed what he was telling me with the absolute certainty of a young child, the combination of which created anxiety, insecurity, and insomnia that has stayed with me my entire life. It also broke my faith in my father, the Mormon religion and god.

At thirteen, I read "Where the Red Fern Grows" and the end of that book has stayed with me the entirety of my life. The boy goes to his mom after both of his coon hounds have been killed by a mountain lion while they were hunting and his mom tells him that their deaths were god's will so that he would no longer have an excuse to stay behind with his grandfather when the family moved to a new city. The idea that god would kill that boy's dogs in order to keep their family together impressed upon me the fact that I would get no shelter with that god. I stopped believing in the Mormon god that day, which created all sorts of issues for me since I refused to go to church any longer. Thankfully, I received support from my mother in my battle with my father over my refusal to attend services any longer. 

At eighteen, walking to work one day, I became fascinated by the shape and delicacy of a maple leaf hanging from the branch of a tree I walked past. In examining the leaf, I recognized the perfection I held in my hand, and realized having something like that happening by accident was less likely than had it been directed. It didn't rekindle my belief in a god, but it did open the possibility for other options to present themselves.

That winter, just before Solstice, I met a woman that changed everything. Over the course of the two weeks following my introduction to her, I began dealing with the understanding that I was a lesbian and combined with that were the beginning glimmers of understanding that there were more spiritual options than the very narrow concept I was raised with. It was my first introduction to the concept of a Goddess, which I took to like a fish to water. A couple of weeks after I came out, I bent the knee and pledged myself to Her. 

I had no idea what I was doing.

It didn't matter. The Great Queen answered my pledge. It would take 42 years before I knew Her name.