Showing posts with label goddess. Show all posts
Showing posts with label goddess. Show all posts

Thursday, October 6, 2016

The Ghost and Miss Cat, Part 2

It has been a couple of weeks since we booted the spectral squatter from Erin’s basement.
In the meantime, the house has returned to a state of quiet serenity (at least as far as spiritual entities are concerned) and I can walk into the mudroom and stand on the stairs to the basement without wanting to retch.

I’ve been attempting to recollect the exact chain of events that occurred when we fire-and-pitchforked into the Murder Room, and it is still kind of hazy. If Erin and Nate hadn’t been there, I might not be able to remember enough to type this post. Whatever was down there must have had an effect on me. While I was exorcising it, I was perfectly calm and collected. For a couple of weeks before cleansing the basement, I had been having awful dizzy spells, thanks to a combination of prescription medication that did weird things to my blood pressure. But in the Murder Room, faced with the entity, I was chill. No vertigo (I have a theory about that, which I mention near the end of this post).

A lot went down in the Murder Room, enough that it daunts me a bit to string together the episodes into story form. So here are the main bullet points, as accurate as we can piece together:

- Enter basement.

- Immediately, the area feels heavy, hot, wet, dark, gross.

- Nate finds a central spot where the energy feels really rough, I sage the shit out of it.

- Erin sees troughs of dirt along the upper foundation, and I sage the shit out of that, too.

- The back corner is the worst, where the only original part of the house remains – a brick chimney base.

- SAGE THE SHIT OUT OF IT.

- I set up my cauldron full of Morrigan incense (mixture courtesy of Silver Ravenwolf) and my statue of Santisima Muerte.

- Nate confined the entity to the corner by the chimney.

- We noticed that there were some odd markings in paint on the base stair, Nate and I realized they looked like the alchemical/shamanic signs for “earth” and what looked to be a cross between “sun” and “salt.” We decide to salt it, then throw salt in every corner.

- Nate drew the shamanic symbol for “fire” on the concrete floor and outlined it with matches, setting a candle in the middle of the symbol, and communicated with the ghost. Apparently it was really, REALLY pissed, especially at me.

- I had given Erin a bell, and she waved it enthusiastically in the direction of the spirit. Every time I invoked a deity or commanded the spirit to leave, Erin would dangle the bell, saying, “And I have a BELL!” She did a great job, for being an agnostic atheist.

- I thought that confronting the spirit with its own mortality would scare it into leaving. I set my statue of La Santa Muerte in front of it and tried talking to it. At one point I saw, in my mind’s eye, the face of a man, shorter than me, about 5’6”, who was glaring at me with a particular sense of loathing. I glared right back and it scoffed, turning and sitting down by the chimney. Apparently this guy was all bluster, ego, and mansplaining while alive. I toss salt in its face. Dean Winchester would be proud of me.


La Santa Muerte Blanca
Durga Maa
The Morrigan by ByTheOak via deviantART

- Nothing seemed to be working. I invoked Morrigan, La Santa, Durga, pick your badass feminine death deity; it just made the spirit angry.

And then I tried something different, on a whim. Not even thinking about it, I calmly began chanting the mantra to the bodhisattva Arya Tara, who has been my go-to girl since I met her at the local Kadampa Buddhist Center in 2011. It goes:

“Öm tare tuttare ture söha.” (“I prostrate to the Liberator, Mother of all the Victorious Ones.”)

((I have included links to a couple of websites that has a great explanation of the mantra, and how it serves to liberate beings from samsara.))

Here’s a description from the Kadampa tradition:

“‘Tara’ means ‘Rescuer’. She is so called because she rescues us from the eight outer fears (the fears of lions, elephants, fire, snakes, thieves, water, bondage, and evil spirits), and from the eight corresponding inner fears (the fears of pride, ignorance, anger, jealousy, wrong views, attachment, miserliness, and deluded doubts).

Temporarily Tara saves us from the dangers of rebirth in the three lower realms, and ultimately she saves us from the dangers of samsara and solitary peace.”

Dayum.

After reciting the mantra, I had calmed down enough to actually talk to the spirit instead of commanding it. I told it, resignedly, that it needed to leave because it would not find any happiness by staying in the house and harassing the occupants. Speaking gently but firmly, I advised it to try and pass on. I was exhausted, and I could feel the entity in the corner, no longer posturing or puffing itself up in defense, but pouting, as if it had been given an earful to digest and was deciding what to do.

“I don’t think I can do any more here,” I sighed, gathering my tools and walking upstairs with Erin. 

“I’ve exhausted my arsenal and there is only so much I can do as an officiant. It’s up to the spirit to make a decision. And dammit, I’m tired.”

Tea followed. Lots of tea. Followed by a booze or two. I went home and saged myself and my tools, took a spiritual bath, and conked out in my bed, Trixy attendant. I went back to the usual dizziness, which caused me to think that perhaps my deities or spirit guides were grounding me during the exorcism so I could focus and stay safe. I probably couldn’t have remained calm during the procedure if I was feeling all sorts of negative juju, and fear probably would have made it stronger.

I spoke to my therapist about the encounter the next day, and she mentioned that it made sense that the spirit responded to loving kindness and not threats or aggression. Tara is the Buddha that people go to for help. Her aspect of Green Tara is known as the Rescuer, or Liberator, and it shows in her posture: She sits upon a lotus, with one knee bent in contemplation and the other leg outstretched so that she can jump off of her throne at any time and hurry to our rescue (she is also a wind element, hence the speed!). In her puja, which is kind of like a Catholic liturgy, she is described as being the one whom “evil spirits, demons, smell-eaters, and givers of harm all offer praise.” Basically, girl is the OG and even nasty entities respect her, because she cares about every sentient being and wants to help them break free from the bondage of suffering.

According to the housemates, the spirit has not done anything since the exorcism. In fact, it has buggered off. Murder Room has gone back to being a basement. I recall, only now, that Nate had been communicating with the entity some time before the cleansing, and he said that it was the father of a family that had lived there in the past. There was also a mother and a child, but the only one causing problems was the dad. It made sense that he was harassing Erin, who is basically the house mother; perhaps she reminded him of his wife. He seemed some sort of misogynist jerk, so it’s interesting that a woman kicked his spectral ass.

Tara, you fucking rock, girl.

Arya Tara courtesy of Tharpa Publications

“Actually, we are also asking to be liberated from the misery of the mental delusions and negative emotions that blind us to true freedom, and to achieve the same enlightened body, speech and mind that Tara represents, not only for our own benefit, but for the benefit of all sentient beings.”

Blessed be, cats and kits.

Helpful links:

http://kadampa.org/buddhism/tara-puja

https://www.yowangdu.com/tibetan-buddhism/green-tara-mantra.html

Friday, August 19, 2016

Hekate, Hecate, Hekitty

Sleep has been eluding me this past week, and I think I am beginning to understand why.

The damn full moon.

I am usually pretty stoked with the energy of the waxing moon, but it has never been this intense. Only a few seconds ago I had an illumination as to why it's driving me up the walls.

Perhaps I'm being forced to stay awake all night for a reason. And I think it has to do with Hekate.

When I was doing research for my last blog post about the Dark Night of the Soul, I came upon a hoard of cool, interrelated concepts; John of the Cross' poem and commentary, Jung's idea of "ego death," and the Thelemic concept of the Night of Pan. But the concept that drew me in through a series of links and Google searches was katabasis.

Katabasis is a Greek word that means "descent," or "retreat." It is most commonly used in literary analysis to describe a descent into the Underworld, an archetype that Joseph Campbell extrapolated upon in his analysis of the Hero's Journey. The Journey to the Underworld appears in myths the world over. I'll bullet point a few:

- Ishtar descending to Irkalla to retrieve her husband, Tammuz
- Odysseus' journey to find Tiresias
- Aeneas and the golden branch
- Dante's voyage through the circles of Hell with Virgil
- Orpheus's search for Eurydice
- Persephone's yearly descent to Hades
- Gilgamesh going to Irkalla to find Utnipishtam
- Merlin in the crystal cave
- Gandalf falling with the Balrog in the mines of Moria (hey, it counts!)
- Romeo and Juliet in the Capulet crypt

The instance of katabasis that I am most familiar with is that of Persephone. When I was rereading her story, I was struck by a figure whom I had often pushed to the side or otherwise benignly ignored.

Who is Hekate?

Hekate, who has so many epithets that I don't want to list them, is predominantly referred to as the goddess of the crossroads and the Queen of the Witches. It is she who was the witness to Persephone's abduction by Hades (Helios was there, but he was a dick and didn't do anything about it, he even thought the match was a good idea), she who bears the news to Demeter, and it is she who guides the goddess of springtime to and from the realm of the dead each year. She is often depicted in modern renditions as a crone, but to the Ancient Greeks up until the 20th century she was considered a maiden goddess. Apparently the Church liked to demonize pretty goddesses by making them old (they were idiots to think that was an insult anyway).

Anyway, sleep. Full moon. Hekate.

I have felt for some time that I am at a crossroads in my life. Within the past few months, the word "crossroads" itself has impressed itself in my consciousness like a glaring neon light. I have been using it in conversation to describe what is happening to me. Right now, basically this past year, everything is in flux. My dad was diagnosed with terminal cancer two months ago. My parents are looking to sell my childhood home. I had to drop out of graduate school when I realized that the discipline I chose really didn't suit me and my ambitions. My love life is just depressing, I won't even go there. I have hit so many dead ends trying to find a second job. Bills are piling up and I barely make enough money to buy food and medicine, and I more often than not have to pick between the two. I don't know if I want to be a performer anymore, and I can't stick to a writing project even if I'm being paid.

There are so many paths laid out before me, but I have no idea which one I should tread. And a few paths which I thought were necessary now have been blocked with "DO NOT ENTER" signs. What I need is a light, a torch, a guide through the darkness in which I find myself.

I think I need Hekate.

I have been thinking of her this past week. My therapist even mentioned knowing a guided meditation to Hekate that she thought would be helpful for me, if she can find it (our Google search came up empty).

And weirdest of all, Hekate first came to me three days before her feast day last Saturday, August 13th, which I randomly read about when fiddling around online. I had the opportunity to make her a cake and placed it beneath the old gate that joins my house with my parents' big old Victorian. It was around midnight. I laid the sweet, spicy, rich cake in the dirt as Asteria's stars gazed down upon my odd little ceremony, and I felt the darkness envelop me. It was pretty chill. No big revelation, no voices in the wind, just swatting away moths on a cool-ish summer night as my bare feet got all messy on the dusty brick pathway.

Hekate keeps inviting me to chat with her, but I keep putting it off. I suck at meditating and spiritual communication, so I make up all sorts of excuses not to do it. "My ADD won't let me concentrate!" is the main one. And it is kind of true. It can be scary to shut out external noise and focus inward. Maybe I'm afraid of becoming bored, which would be insulting to whatever facet of Spirit I am communing with.

Tonight, on the full moon (which I learned is called the "Sturgeon Moon"), I have plans with my empath bestie to do some witchy things. I will shove aside my nervousness and just go for it. I'll call up Hekate and see if she wants to have a heart-to-heart. With my recent experiences navigating the dark, I won't expect too much, but hey, maybe it's the breakthrough I need.

Then perhaps I will be able to sleep.

Blessed be, cats and kits.

*****

Sources:
κατάβασις

noun, plural katabases  [kuh-tab-uh-seez] (Show IPA)
1.
a march from the interior of a country to the coast, as that of the 10,000 Greeks after their defeat and the death of Cyrus the Younger at Cunaxa.
2.

a retreat, especially a military retreat.
1830-40; Greek katábasis a going down, descent, equivalent to kataba-(stem of katabaínein to go down) + -sis -sisSee kata-basis

Lappin, Linda. "Your Journey to Hell and Back."Pokkoli.  http://www.pokkoli.org/files/Katabasis_The_Writer.pdf

d'Este, Sorita. "Is She the Crone? Hekate's Profanation?" Patheos, 11 Aug. 2016,
http://www.patheos.com/blogs/adamantinemuse/2016/08/is-she-the-crone-hekates-profanation/