Running Hot, Professional Halthaya, Magic

At the moment, my desire and will feels too ejaculatory, suppressed and under pressure, and I feel unsure how to release, channel, express those forces. My mind wants to run hot & rampant and layer everything with words.

I know I overthink and overstress myself in regards to challenges like these—I remember slacking and procrastinating from boredom and depressiveness in late elementary school, and failing social studies. I remember the utter shit I got from the teacher, my parents, and the vice-principal, and I remember the shit I got from [other] admin for getting a D in Spelling—the shit _______ & ___________ gave me for a C in handwriting—the shit from my [big exam]—and my [other big project]—so I find myself worrying. I’ve been conditioned to fret and doubt myself. These things have always been tied to my self-worth and identity and my FUTURE.

I also suspect my diffuse aura makes me more sensitive & “thin skinned” than others.

Contemplating my icon of the Morrigan, and [another image]—which has become a proxy icon of the Morrigan and of a Crow and of myself —have led me to shadowed gaze and almost ejaculatory (in the old sense, future readers) energies and my own immersion into Crow-ness.

Expressive, symbolist self-portraits, even portraits—do they invite identification with the subject. To invest us into that world, to immerse us, yes. We either confront or identify with them (or both, or also with us).

In a very real way, I accomplished some big magic in getting this position. And I think there was a pop moment—a moment of release when I was okay, chill, and then I got the voice mail. I find some halthaya—surely it was your skill and education that got the job—but that was a reversal, resignation on my part that had a comic ending—and it concluded with my laughter. Yes, I did that, but magic damn well helped that along I felt a build-up the days leading up—that ejaculatory energy—but there’s more.

Anything is possible. Most of the time, we feel desperately that it won’t, want desperately that it won’t. But as I sit here now, I can feel two contrary forces, paths—one would have me sink into [professional] hurur and mûl-ôl—[professional] obsession. The other would try to forge a distinct path myself, to [do profession] and act with magic and will, with a shadowed gaze, to use [said profession] as a means to fight halthaya and subjection. The magic of potentiality and actuality, the flood gates of magic and the Otherworlds—because if I can do this, and if I can help cause this, then I want to keep pushing and expanding. I want to dive into the Otherworlds and vulgar magics.

I noted the other day that [local] cemetery is, of course, fenced off, but there are internal borders as well: rectangular spaces demarcating groups of plots. I’m not sure how those affect anything since I’ve never been on the grounds, just the street next to it.

I am surrounded by trees, magic, Chaos and potentiality—Elethis rises and gods dwell and soar in the airts. I can glimpse all these—but I want to come with the Morrigan into the Otherworlds. I want to touch and feel it all. Dragons. Transformation.

—the gods can sense how vulgar actions can spin out of control, all Chaos Theory-like, so they move more subtly when they need attention, need to get individuals to notice. To keep the fortress from blowing open or blowing itself up. At least in [low] MI realms like this one. But I want my measure of wonders, even if I have to keep them down low. I can imagine something like a Pax Arcana.

Seeing things at a distance—can distance from observers put you into Otherworlds—the flying people spotting high above in the South Americas. Weird things spotted in the distance. But what about the weird shit under the surface?

I sensed something while out and tipsy at the [local pub], but—

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