Headless Dreaming

A fortnight or so back I did the Headless Rite, as laid out in Gordon White’s The Chaos Protocols. I already work with spirits so it was mostly out of curiosity with a nice dollop of ‘I need to stir shit up in my practice’.

The result?

My dreams are insane. Long, incredibly detailed and weird as fuck. A lot of the time their also kind of pointless, but the vividness of them and my ability to recall them is stronger than it’s been for years.

There was also that incident where I swam into some semblance of consciousness to find a spirit kind of… looming over the bed? There was another running back and forth across the window above the bed throwing shadows on the wall. Of course I’m not great when I first get woken up, so my increeeeeedibly appropriate response was to tell them both to fuck off because I was trying to sleep.

*Sigh* I am my own worst enemy.

The Brittle King

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The blade feels awkward in my hands as I throw myself at my lover. He smiles slightly as he pushes me back and over, again. I’m frustrated and he’s gently amused by it. It takes time, I know. Mastery always takes time. In the meantime, I’m the cutest frustrated little fox-kit ever according to this overgrown bastard.

The wind comes through the archway, ice cold, and that’s the cue to take my leave.

Continue reading “The Brittle King”

Future Dreaming

I pretty much lived with my Wolf for two weeks straight. We’re currently living in two different houses due to rental agreements, housemates, children and general shenanigans. It was a nice change. We’re horrifically domestic when we’re together and there’s certainly something to be said for waking up next to them every morning.

My dreams, for the last couple of weeks, have been quiet and pleasant. Generally of hopes for the future and big kitchens. Really big kitchens. We both love food so…

I dream.

Of home in different ways. Of painted skulls and hanging pots and herb, of orchards and greenhouses, of dinner parties and storms lashing trees. Of a fox beneath the gum, and paintings over a mantel piece.

Of my Wolf, The Wild One, as fierce and beautiful silver as he is now and more lined with laughter. We dance for no reason at all. Sometimes wild. Sometimes slow. Happy. There’s a key tattoo, sometimes on his ribs, sometimes on his forearm.

I am there. No taller, somewhat stronger sometimes, thinner others, as I am now but older mostly, but always with long hair. The tattoos are more prolific. My fingers ink dipped and lined, the right arm done, the ribs, the geometric designs on the left arm… up onto my neck and face. I don’t know that it’ll ever happen but I dream it with such clear clarity.

Sometimes I dream I paint him, and he paints me. Fingers tracing patterns without hesitation. It feels like we’ve done it before a few thousand times.

                                   Feral – Emma SanCartier                                        (Please click through for her wonderful etsy store)

I always wake content from these dreams, but they do make me wonder. What happens to my altar when we’re under one roof. As it is now I have no one to answer to and no children with curious hands so it is large and always up. Is it odd that of all the things this is the one I worry about as we move towards arranging a home for us together?

I dream…

Fairytale Hero – Hrefngast

I dream.

I dream I kneel at his feet, head bowed, presenting the drum and wolf bone beater. My hands are stained red as the drum skin from hours with the dye.

I dream I gouge my face. Tear out one eye. She that is me yet not nods her approval. I see clearer one eyed and bloodied.

I dream the little red fox and the great black wolf dance round the fire. There is no joy yet they dance on.

I dream of a man with hair impossibly dark and skin impossibly pale. He wear clothes thoroughly modern yet carries a blade so obviously ancient.

I dream of the Ancestors land. Of the old warrior with the white hair and swirling blue tattoos. He still sits beneath the dead white tree on deep red dust.

I blink… In his place now stands a young man with hair as copper as mine though he wears the elders tattoos. He leans on his spear, standing beneath the white tree now green with foliage.

I blink… He is gone. The great black wolf stands wrapped in his furs, eyes hollow and hard. The tree is shattered and charred as if hit by lightning.

I dream of the City shrouded in twilight and of it’s inhabitants. They are waiting.

I dream of this place. Of the future. Of orchards and laughter.

I dream of the little red fox dancing with the great black wolf. A dance bloody and violent.

I dream.

These are snippets. I barely have a night without vivid dreams at the moment.