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’.
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.
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.
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…
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.
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?