Messages For The Dark Messenger?

Signs, Signs, Everywhere Fucking Signs

I 'see' signs everywhere. Though more than a little psychic, I cannot read cards for myself so I depend on messages from the world both seen and not. Nature speaks the loudest but I seem to be into making things rather difficult on myself and hardly leave the house, therefore limiting communication with the Divine.

This does not stop them from finding a way. I mean they are fucking deity and shit after all. Their newest way of spanking me with truth is via the internet. Pinky Swear! I have seen “trending” messages before, but this one is so strong and clear, even as I flinch at the mere idea, I accept the message with reverence and everything. The fact that I am even sharing this speaks to my openness. I seem open booked but it is I that decides the stories to tell, and how to tell them. Keep that in mind when I seem to be in overshare mode.

This can mean only one thing; I have had enough with the self-flagellation! Its redundant tiresome bullshit whispered to my psyche by dark unattended spaces where the lie hatched. I believed that the "L" word was not for me but for others and perhaps is even a myth. Simple in its maliciousness, it has afflicted my capacities.

But let us circle back to an unequivocal fact that the Divine is swaying fate to sweep raggedy notions out of those dark spaces, and clearly does not care one fucking bit that I am terrified.

I’m pretty sure I was not in stealth mode and gave up the reveal already, but in case you missed it.

Today’s message is LOVE.

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The oracle card set the tone, the rest played out seeming like voices set to a choir of one word. 

Your Card

Love

~

My child, my wondrous one, it is time to celebrate because Love is calling to you to open your heart and receive my blessings. Choosing this symbol is a powerful sign that love in all forms is in your life now. There is a responsibility to this also. You must give love freely without conditions, and love because your heart is open.  There is something else here to consider. Love can be a confusing force too and can sometimes ask a sacrifice of you.  If your heart is aching and feels like it’s broken, know that Love has a greater Love for you later. No matter where you are in your life right now, Love has come to guide you into an important experience. Trust in Love.

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Rob Brenzy of Free Will Astrology seems often irks me with his unflinching capacity for love and his willingness to get everyone on the carousel.

Rob Brezsny's Free Will Astrology

"I tell you the more I think, the more I feel that there is nothing more truly artistic than to love people." - Vincent van Gogh

"The most vital right is the right to love and be loved." - Emma Goldman

"Love imperfectly. Be a love idiot. Let yourself forget any love ideal." - Sark

"Everything I understand, I understand only because I love. Everything exists, only because I love." - Leo Tolstoy

"To love is to tilt with the lightning, two bodies routed by a single honey's sweet."

- Pablo Neruda

"Love is a great beautifier." - Louisa May Alcott

"Love is everything it's cracked up to be. It really is worth fighting for, being brave for, risking everything for. And the trouble is, if you don't risk everything, you risk even more." - Erica Jong

"Fall in love over and over again every day. Love your family, your neighbors, your enemies, and yourself. And don't stop with humans. Love animals, plants, stones, even galaxies." - Frederic and Mary Ann Brussat

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{peace.love.free} seemed part of the conspiracy with this quote on FB. I can only hope to know Love minutely in the shadow of how much Love, knows this woman. Take a moment to take a look see at Jeanette LeBlanc's website.

If your beloved

has the life of a fire

step in now and burn along.

Rumi

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So then there came the sexy saunter that is Rebelle Society. Please click and read as its not too long and you are worthy of the wisdom. 

"LOVE, love is the answer.

When we are loved, truly loved, we become our authentic selves. Love sets us free from our one big fear that keeps us from being ourselves: the fear of not being loved.

Being real is the capacity to accept and love ourselves, every bit of ourselves so we may be loved by others. This becoming real may take time." 

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Facebook mirrors and though this doesn't fit the "message", it dose fit my thoughts of late. I feel the push and shoves towards it while I feebly dig my thick worn heels deep into the core. But my reality is that I am already free to take any fucking Leap I wish.

Why not take the most dangerous of Leaps?

"When we walk to the edge of all the light we have and take the step into the darkness of the unknown, we must believe that one of two things will happen. There will be something solid for us to stand on or we will be taught to fly"

32 Years Ago I Was Taken To Fucking Kiddie Jail...For Being A Kid

Yesterday marked an anniversary I had not given thought to in many years. Not to say I’ve not thought about it, I am after all writing a memoir. But I’ve not marked it in my mind on the actual date, that on 11/05/1981 at the age of fifteen, I was taken to juvenile detention for a probation violation that would span enough time to include my “sweet sixteen”.

My violation? I skipped two days of school and was failing, which is no surprise considering I failed through Jr. High. My mother had pulled a scene straight out of Forrest Gump by having an affair with the superintendent of my school district; it was my mother’s infidelity that stamped me passable each year even though I was failing each class, well except choir.  Admittedly that did not go well after slamming our choirs superstar Jill’s (Think Rachel from Glee) head in a locker, breaking her nose. After that I wasn’t allowed to go to any classes and was put on “in school suspension”. I really did prefer the at home kind, it afforded me all sorts of freedom.

Why was on probation? Assault of course! But not for breaking the nose of Barbara Streisand’s mini-me, no this one was for breaking the nose of the girl dumb enough to fuck my boyfriend.  Her name was Shelly, and to this day I rarely meet a Shelly that I don’t want to punch in the cunt. 

*thinks real quick…do I have any Shelly’s on my friends list?*

On the evening of 11/4/1981 my probation officer called to inform me to be out front of my high school in the morning with my toothbrush, I had violated my probation, I was going to jail, and that he was driving me to my arraignment and sentencing. That night is a blur of confrontations and tears but there was nothing for it. The next morning I stood frigid and angry in front of the school alone with my toothbrush and crying at the unfairness of it all. Really, this was a minor infraction of my probation, with my lovely mother at the helm having called attention the violations to my PO. See, she had read that unfortunate (for me) book called “Tough Love”, deciding it meant she was given permission to be a rabid bitch to her child. She took her license to legally abuse seriously, doing to me what she otherwise would have just fantasized about.

My probation officer was a young good looking blond spiteful little man who enjoyed every minute of the long drive to kiddie jail. He lectured me on all points of my being an awful teen who was headed for hell. I shot off a few times that my violations were based upon what my mother had him write into my probation document. He had allowed this in admiration of my mother’s willing to exploit the control that that document bequeathed her, you know, all in the name of "Tough Love". I was so fucking grateful to get away from him and go into court, so much so that it did not enter my mind that I ought to be worried. I was so lost in hostility, fantasying about telling my PO what I really thought of him, that when the judge slammed a full 30 day sentence on me, I started to silently sob. It was like being punished for having shitty parents. And it didn’t stop there.

The day after I was processed and put into my green horizontal stripped tee and itchy green polyester shorts, I was visited by my PO. My stomach churned as I had thought myself free from his torment, but evidently he was just getting started. In hindsight that only an adult can be afforded, there was only one reason why he was there lecturing me further on what an awful piece of shit I was and that I needed to clean up my act before I got into even deeper trouble. But I know now he was there to provoke me, to punish me, or worst of all, to dominate me, where I was imprisoned, had nowhere to go, or the right to leave that small room with its glaring lights, two chairs, a table, a defiant kid, and a sadist adult.

I have no memory of how long it took him to manipulate me through a gambit of emotions ranging from crying to laughing as he prodded me along. Oh how he latched onto this like a hungry dog, deciding this was a sign of an unstable mind. What was to happen to me next seemed like torture at the beginning, but in the end, totally worth it.

It was ordered that I would go through full psychological testing to see just exactly how fucked up I was. At first I fought this pretty hard, but then I started to realize that there was something interesting about the testing, I started to wonder if I could figure out what they were looking for. I really wanted to understand how drawing a house was supposed to give them any insight to my inner workings. I found myself asking the nurses who administered the tests what this and that meant. More than a few times I was answered. There was a sense that this was all for nothing, that I clearly was not insane as my PO flat out said I was, and so I learned a few things about psychology during those few weeks of mind numbing tests.

My inquisitive mind and other intelligence testing led to an unexpected result, one that made even my jaw drop as my probation officer had to inform me, “turns out your gifted”.  Now it’s not like I was told I was dumb, really the opposite, there was always some school principle telling me I am way too smart to act like such a shit. This was clearly not an era that you can say “have you met my mother?” Finding out I was gifted was like being gifted a secret that I had no idea about myself. One that I’ve never taken for granted or allowed my ego to inflate with it. This was something none of them could beat or berate out of me.

So the rest of days were less eventful and led to extreme boredom till my birthday came along. As that date neared I became more depressed and easy to cry. Little did I know a kind man who worked at the jail, who always believed in me would go out of his way to make sure I was treated like a princess, well a princess in jail wearing what we called an “alligator suit”.  He brought in with great fanfare and to the screams and hollers of my fellow inmates, a huge sheet cake for them, and for me, a Barbie cake. You know the kind where the skirt is the cake? I let go of my cutesy tough girl veneer and began to cry quietly as I opened my lame ass tax paid gifts given to me by my jailers.

I’ll never forget the generosity of a man that would during future incarcerations, fight for me in ways NO one else ever did. 

But that's another story....

Operation Michelle Gets Probed In All Her Private Bits Is A Go!

Soon I will be on very intimate terms with a few doctors and technicians as they take close examination of my breasts, vagina, and colon.

TMI-R-US right?  But I say, get over it. One of the reasons I'm blabbing about my volunteered probing is that it has come to my attention that many men and women speak not of these things and may even avoid important screenings because of a clear stigma and lets face it, not a fun time of it.

Personally, I care to know if my organs are acting up like bored children seeking attention. I demand to be on the need to know so that I may make  informative decisions whether to go the traditional route, or the alternative if something were to be found. We are active participants in our health, not passive passengers.

As a practice I choose to not take meds ALL the fucking time if I know I got this. I have healed me with the help of wonderful healers who taught me to take control of my wellness rather than continue viewing myself as sick and nothing more. I at one time refereed to myself as "a broken girl" or a "professional patient". Shit, talk about negative self talk and the in turn negative energy that was certainly called to me because of I clearly had a distorted self image.

The point of this blab fest is to suggest to men and women alike, that if you are due for screening tests, to partake so you have the knowledge needed to decide what, if anything must be done. Remember it's your body. Also, I think the telling of your experiences spreads a kind of comfort on such subject matter leaving the stigmas to die on the vine.

I have had two pre-cancerous polyps in my colon in the last ten plus years. This is why I go through the less than pleasant prep for the screening, but I do it because if I hadn't, who knows how sick I would be now or in my near future. I go through this discomfort feeling grateful for knowing I am saying Fuck You to colon cancer!

So yea, get all your bits probed, then have a drink to celebrate having a clean screen!

Are You Fucking Kidding Me? Yes, It IS In The Stars That Life Sucks Of Late!

Miss me??

Well I have been a bit busy with ending friendships, letting go of ills my mothers beget upon me, and a general magical letting goes...all around!

I am linking some astrological website to those that wish to understand what the FUCK is happening these days! There is indeed a reason and I'm a firm believer in being armed and prepared. This time the weapon of choice, astro info galore!

Be sure I have shit to say, I just am still reeling from the Blood Moon to Samhain, and now we have a big day with the New Moon and a very interesting eclipse of the Sun!

Happy, Happy...Joy, Joy!

This is the big event tomorrow...
http://www.mysticmamma.com/solar-eclipse-new-moon-in-scorpio-november-3rd-2013/

More on tomorrow...
http://mooncircles.com/scorpio-new-moon-honoring-darkness/

This is an ongoing punch in the gut...
http://www.moonkissd.com/2013/10/18/checking-in-with-the-uranus-pluto-square/

More on the punch....
http://www.mysticmamma.com/the-theme-for-november-2013-is-discipline/

And just in case you didn't get the point...
http://www.mysticmamma.com/pluto-uranus-square-november-1st-2013-mindful-breaking-through/

So I believe I have overwhelmed and given far too much info for anyone person, but hopefully one or more will talk each of you that read this for again, a far better understanding of exactly how fuck we actually are.

Oh, I'm just kidding, we are not fucked, we are challenged and if taken in and used properly, we can rise just like a bad ass phoenix...just to do it all over again. Oh and if you are looking to get a reading, I am still doling out the 25.00 for 30 mins deal!

"Doubt begets all sorts of ill begotten self-destructive doings..."

 The fog that has settled here in the PNW is eking into my mind. Not helped by long delays in getting money settled and a knee injury from earnestly practicing yoga and belly dancing. The cycles of these nonmoving events boggle. I feel a slipping that I know so well and have to let go into, but the hypo-mania was far too short and it did nothing for my disordered eating. I can usually count on mania being a wonderful equalizer when it comes to all my binges. This time I’m left wanting.

When I find myself here, I wonder each time, how am I going to make it? But in the last three years I’ve been feeling the deep sting of aloneness. There is simply no one for me to tether to and ache for it so. It isn’t like I lack awareness of being alone when balanced for a second or the longer standing mania, but obviously depression blatantly reminds.

Mystifyingly, I find me falling for domestication. I left behind the consumer in me, the one that must have fucking Cost Plus snowflakes because seemed styled just for me. I want to gobble them all up and put it in the holiday bins for future usage. I want to cook turkey dinner, pumpkin bread, and lots of soup. But again this is not the new Michelle; this is just the filler that I’m filling me with because I’m empty.

Came to me like a shock that this is THE issue. Yes, there’s a new Michelle but her identity is in flux, in the embryonic empty stage leaving me vulnerable to the influence of doubt. Doubt begets all sorts of ill begotten self-destructive doings, which I already hold expert level like prowess. I don’t need outside pressures to catapult me down this well-known path. The “fuck it” moment becomes so doable on this path, which unfortunately “fuck it” begets “why bother?”  I’ve spoken already of the redundancy of suicidal ideology, but as I feared, the stealthy storm of depression simply follows its path of ‘being’, and I simply am the passenger waiting out the storm.

I wrote this yesterday and paused in its publication because I knew I might regret this pouring out, of what amounts to…self-pity. Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t, but I know that today I am tired of being mired. So I start doing what I can do, what I do have control of despite the arrival of limitations.  Like for instance, I can walk. Oh how it’s going to be a freezing affair, but I had to my chance to walk in the sun, and chose self-pity instead. So this is what I get for not finding a way before this, a bloated gut and a frozen atmosphere.

Eat My Way Back To Death...Yoga My Way To Knee Injury

 This eating disorder thing is prevalent so soon after having lost so much, that to have gained so much back again, is a pain I cannot bear any longer. I do not want to eat in quantity, and yet in a state repulsive awareness, I compulsively continue as though possessed. Food is a necessity; and so this is where drug and or alcohol addiction part ways.  But after recently speaking with a 20 year sober AA participant, came to realize that addiction is indeed fucking addiction. Only again, you do not require heroin to sustain life.

I recently start yoga after a long absence. Body and mind has loved me for it, my knee however is not pleased at all. But this was certainly not going to stop me so I got my flexible band/brace out to support the knee and was icing when necessary.

Then yesterday happened. We have very steep stairs to the finished basement and where my room dwells. Going down the steep and narrow stairs my large booted feet stepped down awkwardly but my nifty cat-like reflexes moved into action grapping the railing. I would have fallen a long and hard into the litter box, still I stumbled hard in the knees and now my right knee declares it officially injured. This makes me very fucking irked, reminding me of a pattern that plagues my attempts at psychical exercise beyond walking, which then leads to the rapid cycling of intense moods of all sorts.

Eating disorder 101: knee injury begets binge eating.  The cycle of stress inducing food frenzy is clear, what is not, is a way the fuck out of the pattern. I am not a 12 stepper, I fundamentally disagree with nearly all the steps as I do not believe in giving up power to any one thing. Yes yes yes…I let go and allowed my bipolar to be what it is rather than trying to make it be like everyone else thought it ought to be…something to be controlled. But this is not something I want a part of me, I do not wish it a home within and therefore must be expunged.  This is how my mind functions; get the fuck out since you serve NO purpose!

My eating disorder is learned behavior and therefore I know can be rewired. I have successfully managed this with many other nasty aspects/demons deeply settled in my subconscious; I can kill this off as well. Really this rearing of ugly heads is timely, the shit and muck we wish not to face bubbles up when we are ready, even if we feel otherwise.

This is where I’m at, the in your face ‘deal with it and stop being a pussy’ stage of transforming eating disorder into health consciousness. Take into myself eating mindfully of the global impact of food distribution, not just my impulses towards corn chips. I am what I eat, so I must stay aware of the cells taking up temporary residency in my liver and other organs. I must alter my relationship with food. Right now I am wounding myself to new self-destructive glorious heights because…fuck I don’t know, a plethora of reasons I’m sure.

What I can assert…Namaste Fucking Eating Disorder…you are SO fucking out of here!!

Blood Moon Magic Makes For A Bloody Burning

 Blood Moon Altar

Blood spilled, dragons blood burned, cords affixed, songs sung, dances danced. All alone with me, myself and I…we merried our way to wholeness. 

Last night was a magical bursting long in the making. Looking long into my past has always been a peeling back of scabs long to heal but never quite getting the care required. I have healed a bit here and there, but with a pinpoint in my map of life that’s been denied attention.

Mother.

The wounding of my mother is a sticky tricky thing that is so pervasive that it easy to get lost in the history of it. So with the help of a friend I found the answer in the reduced to the simplest of magics by the cutting of cords. I am cutting the cord of attachment to my mother. When I say this, I do not mean I’m cutting her away because I find that a dangerous and uncomfortable thing. She is my adopted mother to be sure, there is someone out there (maybe) who gave me birth, but she is not the one who so poorly raised me. So I see no way out of this simple fact, she is my mother.

Cord magic is very powerful, but one must be careful not to cause harm. You have to be clear that you are cutting away the past, not the now. The now is still forming so it an unwise act to sever what is unformed. At least this is true of parents, children, and the like. Boyfriends/girlfriends of destructive forces must be cut away in a complete and utter fashion. You have no need to keep threads of energy  between you.

So be careful how you cut the cords, threads, and even whisper like connections. The lite ones are easy and may not require actual cords worn to be cut at the moment determined. But threads to ones that do not serve our greater good may require this commitment. Wearing the cords, or in my case twine, is a commitment that creates a reminder of the work you have commenced. You must know when you literally cut the cord at the predetermined time , that this connection will be no more.

More on cords; they can be used for you to cut away a habit long learned or a recorded message running over and over again in your mind, most likely given by parents trying their best, but ending up causing a corded connection of malcontent that follows long into adulthood.

The whole point of this type of spell/magic is to set yourself free from what feels like a itch on the brain, that one you cannot scratch. But you can exorcise it. You have the tool to do so. So use it at will.

Also, be honest when pouring your intent into the cord; make sure you are clear about your part in the creation of the situation that is being let go. You want to know it’s there for you to pay attention to. I wear mine on my wrist where it is an often reminder of the work I’m conjuring. When I get to them  to cut it off, I will feel the literal release. It will become a burden to bear, one that must become an annoyance to the level where you cannot wait to be free of it. 

I believe that covers cord magic. 101 level at the very least. I hope someone reads this, works the spell, and releases themselves from some misaligned connection.  That would make me very happy and surge power into my works as well.

Sharing is caring, especially if it’s a bloody ritual born from pain endured, but liberated in love for you.  So pass it on….

Rainbow around last nights Blood Moon