OW! My Aura!

I'm coming to the end of an almost 2 month long "Vacation" in my great home State of Maine, Now that I'm out of the military I can finally be my bad self. No more looming paranoia about Duty-Roster Call-Ins at 0400, no more standing at Parade-Rest for shit-heads who otherwise aren't fit to shovel shit from one pile into another, I'm completely free to enjoy my life for it's good times and challenges now. I've been staying with family here in Raymond for the majority of the time I've been in Maine, but earlier this week I had a chance to hang out with the only friend I have left from my days at Maine College of Art. Her name is Rosie and she's an entire package of fire-crackers tossed into a can of gasoline, she's the kind of person who'll tell you what she's thinking regardless of whether or not you want to hear it.

Fun Fact: Medicinal Marijuana is legal in Maine, just, eh... puttin' that out there for you *cough*

So, just like the good-ol-days, we spent a day chillaxing in Freeport (yes, home of the L.L. Bean Store, the second most visited tourist attraction in the State) walking up and down the streets just talking shit about yuppies and wandering into random shops looking for interesting items. Should you ever find yourself in Freeport, I highly recommend the British Imports shop right across the road from L.L. Bean but I should warn you that for some fucked up reason they don't have any FLAKE Bars (Really, WTF guys?)

However, just like the good-ol-days, Rosie wanted to pop into her all-time-favorite shop for a minute. Telling her I didn't believe in faeries anymore wasn't hard, most Wiccans don't get upset with Atheists over that stuff because they know what it's like to have some shit slung in their direction: I just kept it simple, that after everything that went down in Iraq I am DONE with religion. Period.

Anyway, back to my friend's favorite shop... 

With the exception of some of my previous experiences, if you've seen ONE New-Age boutique you've pretty much seen them all: Ironically overpriced Buddha statues, nag champa incense (which I rather like, actually) a glass case full of various polished stones and unusual jewelry, maybe some of those Tibetan Prayer Flags that people out here seem to like so much, just a compendium of items that anyone with any loosely formed idea of meditation or auras might find "Ooh! Shiny!"

Back in the day I could have easily destroyed half a paycheck in a place like this, so much temptation! Rosie is still an avid Wiccan, she was actually one of the first people to introduce me to the idea over 11 years ago before "Z" hijacked my spiritual practices. I didn't see the harm, really, I just fell out of it after that long because after surviving a War Zone it seemed stupid to keep living a lie. I don't get terribly many chances to hang out with Rosie, I figured why not? Now I can look at things like this objectively and it's not like I'm not allowed inside the shop itself.

New-Agers LOVE Angels! And who could blame then? Stories of Angelic figures predate Christianity by thousands of years, and who wouldn't want an invisible super-being protecting them from harm 24/7 that they can talk to and interact with?

There's an entire corner of this place with piles upon piles of anything Angelic on every shelf, and they all look fucking identical: White robed with shiny wings, and almost all of them have blonde hair. If Angels DO exist, I wonder what they think of things like War? THAT is humanity at it's absolute worst and it's not even anything new, we've been looking for ways to kill each-other En Masse since the dawn of time and all the while they've supposedly been watching us go at it. I don't know about you, but the thought of it actually creeps me out a little. I was brought up as a child to believe in my Guardian Angel, that everybody on Earth had one that protected them wherever they went: I guess my Angel either didn't like me all that much after a while, or there's no such thing as Angels.

Which brings me to another item regarding prevalent (though not necessarily uniform) New-Age belief: Spirit guides. Animal totems, Ancestor worship, dead relatives telling you what to do, etc... Really? First of all, even if the dead COULD speak to the living I'm not too keen on the idea of taking advice from deceased family members, mostly because in the case of some of MY family many of them are dead due to NOT heeding the advice of the living (mainly by doctors, but hey...) Invisible animals aren't anything new, either: I suppose that anyone who's an animal lover wouldn't mind having a few spiritual friends that take on the guises of their favorite animals: Wolves, deer, cats, eagles, even rabbits and mice.

When was the last time you talked to anyone who bragged about having a Velociraptor as a Spirit Guide? Or a Trilobite, or an Archaeopteryx, or a Woolly Mammoth? They WERE real animals that are now VERY DEAD, why don't they get to have a say in our lives just the same?

I have a favorite animal: The Octopus. Those things are not only wicked cool animals, they're extremely intelligent and DEADLY AS FUCK! If I were to pick ONE ANIMAL that I'd live to have follow me goddamn everywhere, it'd be a Giant Pacific Octopus (and yes, they have been known to survive on land for several hours) but just because I really REALLY want one, that I'm capable of imagining one at my side offering me practical financial advice, doesn't mean it's real. And for the record, I'm not AT ALL into tentacle porn, Cephalopods in general really are just awesome creatures that deserve our appreciation and respect.

I've lost interest in the figurines and statues in this place, I move on the the part of the shop where the books are because that's where Rosie is. I consider myself an avid reader, although I don't really get to sit down and read as often as I would really like to, but I gander at the shelves and notice that nearly all of "the Classics" are here: Scott Cunningham, Silver RavenWolf (Yes, that's her name, but she seems happy with it) Doreen Valiente, among a few other popular Pagan authors as well. No matter what your beliefs, many people who write books like these will pretty much tell you do "do what feels right to you, even if it's not by the book."

If THAT'S the case, what's the real problem with people like Aleister Crowley and Anton LaVey? Their own practices surely "felt right" to THEM, even if some of them confused and down-right creeped-out the rest of us, by THAT reasoning who are we to say they were wrong?

I happen across one book with a pink cover, the title alluded to practices for recovering from a bad break-up. Rosie and I both smirk at this thing and set it back down on the shelf: Though far more expensive than this little book, a bottle of Tequila and a good hard cry with a horny stranger will accomplish the same thing. On the shelf immediately next to this are rows of pristine journals that look hand-made: I used to collect these things like Pokemon and fill them with "Spells" that I'd either copied from other books or made-up on my own.

Wicca really is the epitome of making it up as you go along, but to a point they're at least willing to admit this: The general idea is that as long as you're not actively seeking to harm anyone, do whatever floats your boat. It's very rare that you HEAR ABOUT Wiccans and Pagans actively discriminating against the LGBT crowd (although rare, I promise you it DOES HAPPEN) and I think this is the reason why they tend to get along with most Atheists so well. Most Wiccans aren't proselytizers and the very nature of that faith doesn't mesh well with the idea of "winning converts" at all. If a friend decided to take up Wicca, most Wiccans would offer advice from time to time but that's about it. 

Despite my internalized ramblings and criticism, even a few memory-replays while in the shop, I DID buy myself something: An $11 pair of earrings made out of recycled plywood, I'm not joking.

What can I say, I saw them and knew deep down that I really wanted them (must have been A Sign, LOL!) and they were made locally, or so the card said.

I took them to the counter and I paid cash, the clerk looked like Penn Jillette with braided pigtails but was otherwise very friendly and courteous to me. It's not like I put my bright red "SNARKY & BITTER ATHEIST" hat on before going inside, and I doubt these are the kinds of people that really care what I think but genuinely appreciate their customers. And why wouldn't they? I doubt they think they're selling people snake-oil, many of them honestly believe it themselves and I'm fine with that: They have every right to believe whatever they like.

Just as I have every right to reflect on my experiences and criticize their beliefs to no end.

Rosy and I concluded our visit and went out for coffee, I put my recycled plywood earrings on as soon as I walked out of the store.

It was a good day indeed ^_^

The Story of Z (The End)

Maybe it's just me, but when someone tells me they're going to do something then it's perfectly reasonable of me to expect them to do it. I had a decent job that I really enjoyed, occasionally I could find some male company for a night or more (keeping it, however...) and I had every reason to enjoy my frequent visits to Z's shop on Congress Street. Even despite not getting back one dime for all of the books or the gas-money, even despite snap-back answers to seemingly innocuous questions during classes and Circle meetings, through all of the doubt and skepticism tightening inside my brain like vines, I still attended regular rituals and meetings like clockwork. With increasing tension between myself and family at home I began looking for a serious way out, a few of Z's students had managed to find a place between the three of them very recently so I figured that finding a place should be easy if I had a potential roommate.

Z didn't seem all that enthused at first, I think he may have been growing suspicious of me having doubts at this point. This frightened me, toward the end of my time among those people I felt like I was walking across a very thin wire: The wrong answer, the wrong question, hanging out with or talking to the wrong person (including a long-time friend that, despite not abusing substances or owing any serious debts, was somehow a poisonous influence and "draining my energy like a leech" please...) was all it would have taken for that wire to snap right out from under me, but that I needed to continue to function within the Circle's expectations in order to have a meaningful life.

The really great thing about working at a book-store with such a sweet employee discount: Access to a wealth of information about the very cause I thought I had pledged my life to.

Sure, Z sold books at his shop too but getting new ones took him fucking forever: He told me once that he had the same distributors that Borders used, considering how frequently Borders had new products that needed shelving, yet again I became doubtful. If the sources were truly the same, why were Z's access to those resources always so limited? 

Eventually it dawned on me that not only was something not quite right about how Z ran his Circle and dictated instruction to the other students, but the super-exclusive nature of the entire shop itself: Crafted items that no other Circle/Coven had known of or what to do with, extremely specific products (oils, incenses and other things pre-made within such parameters that were unique to the Circle's own rituals, other things I'd never seen or read of other Covens adopting into regular practice...) The fact that the items for sale in the shop only had known use for members of the Circle, occasionally people would wander inside and pick up a few things because they were curious about them but beyond that WE were almost always the only people buying anything, THAT should have been a huge indicator that maybe the direction these people were headed wasn't somewhere I wanted to be.

Not only had Z been laying a very rigid frame-work of how he thought we should practice our rituals and spells, but he made damn sure that HE was the only resource for "real magick" that we could utilize.

"Everyone else is doing it wrong, if you want to do it right you do it through me" to paraphrase the later lessons that I can recall. Between September of 2001 to Spring of 2003 the Circle had expanded from about 5 or 6 of us to a pretty steady 10, sometimes more. Sometimes we'd see new students, they didn't usually last very long and when they left we'd never see them again: Z's explanation was usually that some people can't handle this kind of thing, and for people who are new to Wicca or anything New Age this might have been true. However I still can't figure out why an "experienced Witch" in her late 30s who'd been doing this almost all of her adult life would only stick around for maybe two meetings and then run away like her ass was on fire.

Our social circles were eventually limited to only each-other, if I managed to meet a guy I usually felt guilty about having contact with someone outside the Circle and eventually I was encouraged (by Z himself, often during member meetings) to end whatever was going on. 

Z ordered me to break all ties with my own best friend because he was gay: Hanging out with gay men was a sure-fire way to drain my "Magickal Energy" dry. Oh, cruel irony...

Not the money, not the books, not the belittling in front of other members or my suspicions about where Z wanted to take us as a group, he managed to serve up my own pain against me: Singling people out because of who they love, choice or not, was the very reason I ditched Christianity for whatever he was selling to me and my wounded mind. I am NOT going to play this game again, I am not a bigot and I will not associate with them if I can help it. Damn near every book I had read up until that point said absolutely nothing about Wiccan ideals (or even the Rede itself) conflicting with adult consensual sex WHATSOEVER, so either some of Z's own prejudices were managing to slip through into his teachings or he was fighting some kind of insecurity that he didn't want to face.

I met a new boyfriend (who turned out to be a psychopath, but THAT's another blog series) left the group for good and never looked back.

For years I continued with rituals and spells on my own terms, but I never really trusted ANY spiritual guide all that much after having run with Z's Circle for so long and seen such blind obedience. I guess I wanted so badly to believe in such things that I almost sacrificed my sense of self just to be a part of it. Kool-Aid is Kool-Aid no matter what flavor on the package: You can either pour out the cup or taste the hint of almonds far too late.

I flipped ALL RELIGION the Bird while deployed to Iraq, I've seen quite enough of what horrors vindicated people are capable of committing. 

Z's operation might still be in business SOMEWHERE in Southern Maine, it looks like his last location in Westbrook didn't pan out: I drove past the old building last week, it's empty and looking for someone to lease it out. I have no idea what he's doing now and I don't want to talk to him, but our very last conversation was a very angry exchange via MySpace (long before that site went full-retard.)

Not long before moving out of Maine, I put together a small bag of all the stuff he ever gave me. Oils, potions, "Holy Water" and a little white rock that was supposed to protect me from evil. I left everything on the lawn and walked away: I was simply returning defective merchandise.

Fuck right off, dude.

The Story of Z (Part 3)

Atheists often use a term called "Cognitive Dissonance" to describe a specific concept: Essentially, it's an accurate description of KNOWING that something is, or has a distinct and clear possibility of being, complete and total bullshit but going along with it anyway for whatever reason the believer sees fit. This is often applied to lay-believers who "have to believe in SOMETHING" but may be wrestling with some doubt in the back of their minds, sometimes feelings of cognitive dissonance can escalate into full-blown emotional turmoil: This is especially true for people coming from more "devout" situations, countries and families because they may honestly believe that having a shred of doubt at all will damn them forever or even get them killed. 

Cognitive Dissonance is also the title of a frikkin' sweet podcast: Glory Hole!

About a year into joining Z's Circle and trying to find my place in the Universe (as well as with the others in the Circle, who never seemed all that talkative) It was easy to develop an obsession with all aspects of the Occult, and working at a bookstore full time it was even easier yet to accumulate a massive collection of books on the subject and build my own library. Z had his own curriculum that he taught from, there were two books in particular that he insisted were the absolute best way to do magick by: "Earth Power" by Scott Cunningham and "Psychic Self Defense" by Dion Fortune, and you'll notice many modern occultists and neo-pagans insist on adding the letter K to the word "magic" because they want to distinguish their rituals from slight-of-hand and stage tricks. 

I was convinced, by an incident I couldn't explain (at the time) in the old Holbrook Dormitory, that I was constantly surrounded by malevolent spirits and ghosts: Although I should point out that long after I had quit M.E.C.A. and returned home to Raymond, I found legit historical records (via the Maine Historical Society's archive building on Congress Street) strongly suggesting that a settlement of the Abenaki Tribe was violently wiped out not far from where I currently live over 200 years ago. Some people still believe in ghosts, especially in the New England area, and if they WERE REAL I can't imagine any lot of un-rested souls with any better reason to hang around and show the living how pissed off they are than murdered Native Americans.  

I am no longer among those people, but at the time this was all the convincing Z and I needed: I'd be pissed if this were MY ancestral home that white people were building a Banana Republic on, therefore ghosts exist.

He trained a small group of us, three including myself, how to investigate and vanquish spiritual "baddies" who were bothering humans: I began to doubt the legitimacy of Exorcism as a concept pretty early on, but I guess I justified it in my mind because I not only thought this shit was REAL but that it was possible for ghosts and entities to actually hurt people (and not just in the commonly said "feeding on your aura/energy stuff" that many New-Agers often discuss) Let's say for a moment that ghosts WERE real, that the dead could actually communicate with the living and could play charades with human beings, what if one ghost had a legitimate concern or urgent issue that they needed resolved? Like if that dead person was a murder victim and wanted their killer found, but started pestering the current occupants of their house for help because, well, a murderer could still be at large! Lighting up a big bowl of Myrrh in every room of the house and telling them to Go Fuck Yourself hardly seems helpful or beneficial to ANYONE, not the spirit in need nor the current home-owner.

After a trip to some middle-aged lady's house between the three of us, doing pretty much what I loosely described above, that was when some cosmic shit started to hit a really big fan that so happened to be pointed directly at me: Some weeks later we found out this lady had been to SEVERAL "Psychics" in the area requesting the exact same services, we got the impression that she just wanted to be told what she wanted to hear about some incurable problem and that some cosmic force had it out for her and no one could help, boo-hoo. Maybe if you'd vacuum your floor every so often, lady, and clean all those boxes of worthless shit out of your house you'd probably feel a little better about yourself and your life might come together.

This was going down in very early 2003, the drive to and from this woman's house was icy and dangerous: At one point on I-95 my entire wind-shield iced up and I had to pull over to scrape that shit off just so I could see the road. The other two in my crew took that as a sign from the spirit world that they were trying to stop us from doing this, I figured that this was a NORMAL FEBRUARY NIGHT IN MAINE! Z gave me $5 for gas, I don't think the other two offered me one red cent. Thanks, assholes. I think it was at THAT MOMENT that I began to quietly acknowledge that maybe I was wasting my time and resources with these people. I had already ordered several "reimbursable" books that I never got a dime for, now this. 

It's quite one thing to believe in invisible forces and that you can interact with them, not only that but that if you're a member of a spiritual community that actively wants to do this then that you should form some kind of agreement with each-other about about inter-member conduct: That night I honestly felt like I was just being used.

And it STILL wasn't enough for me to leave! I just couldn't accept that a Circle that I had devoted time and resources to would only see me as a means to an end, even almost ten years later this is difficult, at times even painful for me, to wrap my head around: Okay, fuck it, these people really pissed me off! But maybe I was just having a bad night, or maybe malevolent spirits were dicking around with my mind as revenge for the "eviction notice" I participated in serving upon them, or any other excuse I could imagine to explain away my doubts.

I simply COULD NOT BELIEVE, and that's honestly the most accurate term I can think to to express the sentiment, that some weird stranger playing a flute on 9-11 in the middle of downtown Portland Maine, the very same dude that I had managed to befriend and even offered me shelter from the proverbial shit storm that my hipster-classmates sent my way, only thought of me as little more than a resource for the security of his operations. Why the fuck would someone do something like that? Why would a friendship fostered over for over two years be a sham?

Or maybe I'm just taking a small slight (and approximately $1000 worth of donations and books) a little too personally...

Part 4 will be the final installation of this tale.