The Names

Cassiel C. MacAvity


      (President's day Weekend, 1997, I worked Pantheacon, a local pagan oriented convention. On the way out, someone I knew from the year before and had talked to that weekend asked how my weekend had been and hadn't it been just a fantastic weekend??!!!, and was rather shocked when I announced "It was a weekend . . . ok, it was a long weekend." When she asked what was going on, I told her it was a long story, and her response was; "Email me!"

010701, aka January 7, 2001

      And, later, now that all the answers are in place, the judgement handed down, and Such, there are also some bits of history which relate to what was going on, didn't really seem central at the time I was writing, or whatever the reason I didn't include them at the time, but aren't enough for a whole new entry. These I have sprinkled through this paper, in sections marked with matching markers of; 010701-------------------------------------------, and

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The added bits are in with the descriptions they discuss in further detail, and the rest of this is the email which I sent to her about a week later.)

     

      You wanted some email . . . .

      Let's seeeeeeeee . . . . .

      I worked ConFrancisco, the San Francisco World Science Fiction Convention, in '93. There I remet and went party hopping with the dead guest of honor, Mark Twain, AKA DonJon DeCles. As we wound up on the 30th floor---no really, the Floor, and 30th of 32, counting down---until I staggered out at about three, there was a point where he was discussing men's mysteries, initiations, sometimes even getting to perfectly ordinary ritual, and the guy he was trying to explain this to just wasn't getting the point. So, the third or so time around, I tried leaning in and announcing "OK . . . . . ."

      When I finished, the kid still had no idea what was being discussed, and DonJon wa what eh How Did You waitamminnit Who told You who the Stop! Pick up jaw out of spit puddle on floor, reinsert hinges in joints, close mouth, stare bugeyed at me. "You gotta come hang out with my people, we do all sorts of weird shit in the woods!"

      That was my introduction to the Hellenic pagans, and in fact, my first gig with them was a few weeks later with the 8 miles out and back to the Point Reyes Beach, men only, initiation weekend, that is the most strenuous of the year. At the end of it all, out on the beach, as we sat around a fire, DonJon asked; "Are there any who would tell of the myths?" After a bit of silence, I commented that the Greek myths were Not my strong point, and, in fact, what was coning to mind was a story told of Gautama. DonJon commented that that wasn't exactly usual, but I should go ahead. The story was of one of the Buddha's disciples telling of his great level of practice in that he had just walked across the surface of the local river. Gautama observed that, yes, that showed great practice, and that for only a few coins, he'd have had a much easier time if he'd taken the ferry. Everyone went rolling across the sand roaring with laughter . . . .

      Attendance at Hellene events ultimately became interesting, since I have no car, don't drive anyway, and the main cluster--- and events---are up in Sacramento. On the other hand, one of the local members at the time was Jeff Anton, a member on the priest track who lived In Oakland.

      In December, Dyonisia was done at his house, in his basement, and as people were jumping around in the dark to Loud drumming, I was sitting off to the side on a pillow, crosslegged, with my eyes closed, and the thought was "When I open my eyes, I will be sitting zazen in a Buddhist temple." In January of '94, the thought kicked in that I really ought to start making it to regular sittings at the Berkeley Zen Center.

      President's day weekend, '93, I worked Costume Con in San Jose. Just a few days before, I had had to make a sudden move to my cousin's house in El Sobrante, but one of my decrees was that I Was Going to work the con, totally fucking stupid circumstances---on someone else's part, not mine---be damned. Once at the con, Flare, the volunteer convention security team, was working that gig as well, and one of its members at the time was Christina Barnes, henceforth known as the Rapist.

      She and I slept together the final night, and as she lived in Rodeo, just over a couple of hills from me, we started dating, or, as my cousin put it, as an observation, not a complaint, that when I called for help, she hadn't expected to have two people move in.

      In casual conversations, the Rapist made comments about being quite psychically capable. Juneish or so, Jeff's fiance, Janis, came out from Nashville, and a house warming was announced. As the Rapist was being my much of my transportation from the back of beyond, the rapist and her sister went with me to the party. The next morning, as everyone was picking themselves off the floors, the Rapist was telling this to Janis, who basically seemed nice, and they hit it off.

      As the Rapist was still unemployed after managing to get fired, and Janis had called her up to "ask her about things in the bay area", according to the Rapist, they started hanging out, and rather contemptuous comments were made of getting a tour of the local pagan circles, particularly ones which turned out to be associated with the Fellowship of the Spiral Path, of which the Hellenes were a member and Jeff was both the treasurer and Hellene representative to the Spiral governing board. Somewhere at this point, aside from Jeff having told Janis all of what he was doing in his work with the Hellenes, she would have met Diana Paxton and been told of all she was doing, if she didn't know already, and would have at least heard of, if not visited, Greyhaven, Diana's house in Berkeley.

      I moved back into Berkeley at the beginning of August, went and got the Rapist a job working about twelve feet right behind me, and, going into the fall, Janis announced that she and Jeff were henceforth calling their house "Greekhaven", and that they were going to be hosting *The* Hellene monthly study group, called "Monday Night Myths". For the few I attended, the Rapist was able to get Emily past the Cadigans and to the meetings, and very blatantly kept her tethered at all times. The last one I attended was also attended by an old and close friend of Jeff's. At different times that evening, both the friend and I had a thought that related to the Greek stuff, albeit from a Buddhist point of view. Janis' immediate comment was "No, one pantheon at a time." The next newsletter they put out, for the following month, quoted extensively from the Baghavad Gita.

      For one of the rides I got back home from the '94 Novato Faire, the Rapist was driving, in the passenger seat was a, by now, occasional bedmate of hers named Karissa McGrath, or, as she was calling herself, "Pengrath" given that her husband's name was Pennington . . er . . Pengrath . . . and the sister and I were in the backseat. A very casual---as opposed to "let's feed misinformation to those in the back---converstaion was held between the Rapist and Karissa, discussing Janis's inabilities at a recent gettogether. Evidently she had not been able to keep up with the energies of the others, and so, why don't the Rapist and Karissa get together with her and do some exercises of throwing energy around?

      In December, the thought occurred to me that as Gautama had gone South into India to find a yogi behind every third bush, that was 2500 years ago and on the other side of the planet. But, perhaps if I hung out with the local Pagans . . . It was a laborious bit of explaining to people what it was I was looking for, but at the '94/'95 New Year's party at Greyhaven, Diana sent me to find Spiral and a class that was called Magic 1A.

      Also in December, although I didn't hear of it until later, Janis and Jeff attended a Hellene ritual in Sac. Janelle, one of the Hellene Priestesses, was going to enter the Spiral Collegium, to become a State of California recognized clergy member, and wanted to call down All the Greek pantheon in a preparatory ritual of truth. According to Donjon, part way through the ritual, Janis attempted a screaming takeover of the Hellenes, screaming that the ritual was all wrong, that Janelle was doing things wrong, that DonJon was a bad leader, that . . evidently she and Jeff were quickly tossed out. According to Laurel Olsen, one of the local Norse who teaches for Collegium and who does a Lot of work with Diana Paxton, Janis had declared that one of the participants who had been interested in Jeff before he met Janis was not telling the entire truth about herself, and that doing this in a truth ritual before all the Gods was going to be damaging, that . . . evidently she and Jeff were quickly tossed out.

      With this, and Janis pulling Jeff's strings, Jeff stopped being the Hellene rep to Spiral, while at the same time trying to present Janis's Monday nights---which had, by this point, evidently, no more than five or so people---as the representational equals of the 40 something or more person member Thiasos Olimpicos Kalifornios, the tail that, in size at least, was both large and active enough to wag the Spiral path dog, and which wasn't trying to be a blatant personality cult.

      In January and February, I started attending some Spiral events, particularly the magic class. Overall, as a note, I have found the general pagan theology to be quite plausible. I have found the theory of the practice of magic to be equally plausible and practical. Now, this is given, in both cases, that one doesn't stumble into a self centered font of bullshit that is more concerned with being The Great Source of Truth than actually facing and dealing with the universe as it is. Have you heard the one about the difference between new agers and pagans? It's about fifty pounds and five hundred dollars. The hard core pagans, who believe and genuinely practice, tend to wind up with the fifty pounds, and the spaced out new agers, who want to be told that all is blessed and beautiful, can afford to pay the five hundred dollars for a course of ritualized avoidance. But I digress.

      President's day weekend, 1995, I attended and worked the first Pantheacon, and, during it, won a set of Charlene Palmtag's Ladystones, a runestone variation, from the Spiral Path raffle. Charlene also is a teacher with Spiral and the Collegeum, has evidently been around since whenever, and has been described as what you see in the encyclopedia when you look up "Witch".

      Late February, 1995, I attended a regularly scheduled Victorian ball in Oakland with a friend from Iain Abrach who was Pagan and had been training for a while. She was new to this, but I had been attending for about eight years, and was quite familiar with the whole situation and people. And a third of the way through the evening, I had mush for brains. I commented on this to my friend, and her response was that, yes, there was a lot of really weird stuff floating around the hall, but none of it was intentional, and none of it was aimed at us. The thought occurred to use a handy resource, and what did she see of me? She saw no shielding, a blank spot where I was supposed to be, yes that was bad and I should go see someone about it, and I should go see Peggy, a mutual friend in Iain Abrach.

      Sometime around this point I tried playing with the Ladystones. At one point, I used Doranna, the woman to whom I sent the email, as a baseline, did a general read of past, present, and future, and basically hit things dead on. I tried the same with my friend from the ball, and she looked at the notes I jotted down and announced Right, Right, Right . . . . . It being a concern, I then tried to get a reading on Emily, and on the Rapist. I got results of everything being absolutely fantastic, wonderful, fabulous, Past, Present, And Future!!!!!--- except that the present may be iffy, who really can say of the future, and I *Know* the past in both cases should have come up absolute hell . . . . So, what was fucking with my readings? That has never been adequately answered.

      Late March, the Saturday before the Monday I was to take a half day to give me plenty of time to get to a Oscar night party- --yes, work Is flexible, and I Am known as a film student---I went over to Peggy's. She announced that shielding was basically visualization, that . . ok, yes, that'll work. I also needed to know about grounding, that it too was a matter of visual . . . ok, that'll work too. Exercises were done to test this new stuff out, anecdotes were told to give examples and things to try, and as part of it, while reporting anything new that was turning up in this, I commented that I was getting a series of really weird split second, stabbing headaches in my front left brain. "Oh, good! That's someone 'Knocking on the door' as it were." It was taken as a sign of progress.

      Sunday, as I was running errands, oh, right, there's this visual thing I'm supposed to pay attention to . . . "Uh, Peggy, why am I seeing a foggy white beam reaching out to the shield wall?" "Oh that means that someone's just figuring out that you're got something new!"

      Monday morning, work started at 8:00, and as I was working, I started seeing very malevolent appearing blobs floating outside the shield wall of a spacecraft, blobs that gave a very distinct impression of demanding that I accede to their unquestionable right to have full access to me. 9:45ish or so, morning beak started and off I went to the break room, assorted distractions, and some peace.

      At 10:15, and the end of break, on through 11:30ish and the beginning of lunch, and my departure, I watched imagery of extremely violent hand to hand combat in spacecraft corridors, with the primary opponent being Janis, dressed in black clothing. One particularly memorable image was of slamming her down to be impaled on a surface of hypodermic needles, but she pried herself loose and came right back after me.

      This went on, accelerating, for a good several weeks, Peggy announced that I was under Major psychic attack and, with a friend of hers, tried to bring in some heavy artillery of their own, but with limited success. I went to Kaiser to see about the headaches, just in case, and the doctor could find nothing wrong with me . . .

      Finally, things seemed to stabilize, at least until Baycon, when the Rapist turned up with the masturbation toy in tow, people I was working with at the convention had really weird dreams, and, during the convention, I had one dream of someone backstage at a concert---being a large cultural event at a special location, much like other weekend long things that people do---actively trying to murder me.

      Soon after this, I started talking to Laurel and another of the local Norse. Soon after this, . . . Augustish or so, along with the imagery that was shifting around some more, I started physically getting really weird heartburn that wasn't or asthma that wasn't . . . something involving my sternum area. Also, with nothing to cause sufficient levels of stress, I was starting to have my shoulders knot up, or at least feel as if something was pushing down on them. At this point I had received several suggestions that I read Dion Fortune's "Psychic Self Defense", and so I did that.

      As things went into the fall and through what was hoped would be the '95 Novato faire, the other of the local Norse suggested that I talk to her shrink, a pagan, to get reactions. His reaction was that I was excruciatingly sane, Clearly under attack, and that I needed training in psychic combat. However, he knew nothing of such training, good luck. At this point, this, too, was Peggy's reaction, as she herself had never been in such a situation, and didn't know what to make of it.

      By this point, people at the Novato fairesite had introduced me to another at Novato, Therese Porter, AKA Thallasa, this and last year's Pantheacon vendor coordinator. Therese's reaction after awhile . . . and as we started dating . . . was that my story checked out, and as a matter of fact, one weekday 3 AM, she Knew I was in her bedroom with her, and that, no, wait, the image is changing to . . a Devil mask!!!!!! Obviously, Cassiel is the Devil Incarnate, and must be Avoided!!!!!!!!! She reported that her immediate response as this popped up was "You absolute Amateurs!!!!!", and, roaring with laughter, she rolled over and went back to sleep.

      In early October, the suggestion was made that a formal ritual should be done to put a spike in things, particularly the Rapist, and I called around to the local heavies that I knew through Spiral. Charlene's comment was that as I was getting major Greek oriented imagery, had I tried calling in the Furies? Laurel, Therese, and others, gulped, and there was a distinct suggestion of gee, uh, perhaps maybe just Athena? So, in mid October, I called in Athena And all the Furies. Soon, I started seeing imagery of a grey eyed brunette and multiple figures, all black. The distinct impression that came through was "Oh, no, dear, we Don't have a problem with you . . we have a Very distinct problem with Someone Else . . . . "

      In November, I was feeling like hell, since it was the anniversary of what definitely seemed to be Emily's death. Late November, I then did the memorial as a ritual, to at least have a something said.

      Very soon after Emily's memorial, I started getting imagery of a path. No, really, a Path . . . and, by the way, We think it's a good idea to Study Computer Programming. And within three or four weeks I was given about $1500 worth of new toys, new gig hard drive, language programs and compilers, etc., and then in late January, another $1500 worth . . .

010701-------------------------------------------

      I remember that at times that I would be at work, and no doubt other times, I would "Have a look" to see what seemed to be up with whatever I was dealing with. When the path visions started to occur, I don't remember what the first image was, but my reaction was a distinct ""You have Got to be Kidding . . ." So fine, these were visions in My head, so I messed with the details. . . . .

      There was something I don't quite remember that was being a clear pathway, so I added water and muck and bushes and generated an image of a swamp that was Totally devoid of any particular details. And the water level in the swamp didn't stay where I put it, but kept rising, far enough up to be a lake with occasional bushes sticking up out of the water. In the sky before me was a Large circular moon, and on the surface of the water, there was a very clear trail of moonlight leading forward from the point of view in the vision.

      Another time, the thought was to have something totally ridiculous, like a large crowd of businessmen with briefcases. And the businessmen in the front center of the crowd stepped aside apart from each other, turned to face each other, and as this rippled back into the crowd, each side of the split in the crowd bowed towards each other.

      Another time I tried generating a solid forest of trees, and trunks shifted so that there was a pathway through the trees . . . .

      After awhile of this, my reaction was basically, Ok, Fine, I am now declared to be on some sort of path.

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      By this time, I was getting definite feelings of absolute rage . . . but there was nothing going on to actively piss me off, and the sessions of this were pouring in randomly. The imagery with this was of the path, but with the landscape around it getting disturbed, getting shifted, getting all out fold, spindle, and mutilate even as the path itself remained solid and stable . . .

010701---------------------------------------------------

      Sometime during this time of all the attacks that would last through the day, there was one day that was evidently just worse that all the others had been so far. So I got through the end of the work day and more or less staggered home to try and figure out What The Hell is Going On??!!! When I got in I think I lit a candle, or maybe the oil lamp that was the centerpiece of a couple of altars I've done, turned out the light, and sat on my couch, legs somewhat crosslegged, and just stared, to see what would turn up.

      The vision I started to see was of lots of marble, and columns, and there were lots of people around, all wearing toga like outfits, and considering my experience with the Hellenes, I went with the apparent deduction of Ok, I'm seeing Mt. Olympus . . . At that point a woman walked up into my field of view and looked down at me. She was about five foot something, with honey colored hair piled up on her head, and there was the Distinct Understanding without any label or introduction was that This Is Aphrodite. She announced, matter of factly, "You are in pain.", to which I replied, "No Shit!" She then leaned over, kissed me on the forehead, and going past my left shoulder, went off out of sight.

      I had No idea what that had been about, and when I told Therese, her immediate reaction was to splutter over the phone that Aphrodite was Her personal goddess, and how Dare Aphrodite appear to me instead of her, and . . . etc. . . . and all I could tell her was I have No idea, I don't make up this stuff, I just see what happens . . . .

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      In the middle of one of the all out attacks, Therese announced that all this would soon get better, and I went ballistic. How could she know that something was going to get better when she didn't even know what the source of this was or how it works? I got blamed for catching her bad logic, and that was after she refused to consider that she might have any bad logic. By this point, she was making it quite clear that she was the superior psychic master, and knew Oh So Much, and that nothing would Dare attack her, because, well, her reaction would be Damaging.

      I pointed out that whatever was fucking with me needed to be dealt with, it needed to be tracked down and obliterated. Therese began to claim that this was obviously a manifestation of my past, and that it was this and this alone that I needed to deal with to solve this. Obviously, she claimed, I did indeed have parents, and what I experienced was Just One Of Those Things, that Emily wasn't dead, that . . . . What about all the indicators from many people, including herself, that I was under External attack?

      Well, she disclaimed, she had never discounted that something external was going on, but the internal had to be done first, that no, she wasn't claiming Pollyanna and Neville Chamberlain as her personal gods, and then she would roll right on back to "It was all me . . . " . . . . Excuse me, but I can't work on me with all this Shit pouring in---and she would begin on her new dodge, that at those times, it was like hearing a foreign overlay of rage that was coming over me---I pointed out that when she was blatantly contradicting herself, and expecting me to quietly accept being left in pain, there was no overlay, that was ME pointing out from this sea of inexplicable rage that something Was wrong and that it Did need to be fixed . . .

      At the '96 Pantheacon, I attended a practical magic workshop, and one of the exercises was to interact with another person and see what data turned up. When the data my partner rattled off was translated into English later that night, the gist of it was that I was a full bore Dragon, whatever that is, that I was beginning to awake, and that other Dragons were seeing this as a threat.

      In March of '96, I finally tried one last scream for help to Therese by writing out in email all that I had said, listing what she herself had said in this, pointing out the impossibility that Emily was alive, that there was No Way that the slimebags I'd had to deal with myself could be claimed as my parents, that Something Needed to be Done . . . .

      Her response was to call me up one evening and scream at me hysterically for a half an hour, how I was wrong wrong wrong--- even though I had used her own words, in context even---and she finally slammed down the phone.

      Sometime about his point, Charlene observed that I knew the situation inside and out, but there was no telling whether it was indeed internal, if it was external, or, since this had been going on for Months, was a test of the Gods . . . And since no human was detached enough, I should take up shamanism and hand it off to the Gods. Well, the path said study the computer first, but, gee, weren't the Norse doing oracles? While I hadn't thought to ask at the seidr at Pantheacon, there should be local and other opportunities . . .

      Laurel agreed that something could be done, and that I should go to a local seidr session and lob a blind question, to one who knew Nothing of what was going on. His reply was that Emily was toast and that while there were Very many battles available, I should study, and learn to best destroy this later, rather than get destroyed by jumping early. Oh, by the way, someone has a major interest in me, but the one doing the oracle can't make out who . . . My response was Good, the Study part tells me I can continue with the computers, and with the combat part, I will still need help with the shit that was blasting through me.

010701------------------------------------

      I had seen the seidr at Pantheacon, done as a public bring your questions ritual, but not yet as anything on its own, so I wasn't entirely certain as to what I should do for any sort of question preparation or what. To cover my bases, and Oh Boy was I winging it, I tried coming up with a short version and a longer version, where if whoever was in the chair was really going to be coming into this with no up front briefing, the short version should be ok. Through the joys of lots of computer storage and not throwing things out, I've found what I typed up, enclosed here;

Who am I?
What am I?
Who and what am I becoming?


I have become involved in a conflict, in a major imbalance, but I do not know whether it is external, internal, or both. Signs have indicated that a friend is dead, or that she might possibly have merely been made to violently and extremely withdraw . Circumstances and occurrences have indicated that I am under attack, or that things could be a matter of really bad timing . . . . What is going on, what can I know, what can I do

      As the seidr kicked into gear, I still had no idea of which question set I should go with, so when my turn came up, I quickly turned to the guy next to me, commenting as quickly and as quietly as I could that I was a bit uncertain if I should do the short set or the longer, and could he take a look, and which should I do?

      He took the page, looked it over, and proceeded to read, in a loud, clear voice, the Entire page, both sets of questions, Ok, Fine . . .

      I don't remember how much of a pause there was, but the answers started off Very clear. Whether the one in the chair stated She or Your Friend, his description was a very assured statement that Emily " . . . is toast, she is surrounded by those who would so her harm." So much for any of the bullshit about her being the least bit alive or the least bit cared for by the rapist or any of the rapist's sociopathic associates . . .

      From there, he commented that he was seeing lots of fights or struggles or battles, whatever the word, and that if I jumped in at that point I would be destroyed. The thing to do, considering such, was to continue studying for now, and in time learn to destroy those problems later.

      There was more following that, but at that point, he started to get hesitant. He stated that he could very clearly see that there was someone who was taking a very distinct interest in me, but . . . but . . . and he stated that he just couldn't understand how or why he could not see who it was, but that there was Very definitely someone there . . . . and things wrapped up after that . . .

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      As for the whomever, a week later a couple of other Norse stared intently at each other and announced . . "Loki??? . . . as an Alchemist??!!!!" . . . . I told them of a newly configured Nexgen 586 based computer with about 2.5 gig of storage, 32 meg of memory, scanner, laser printer . . . "Cassiel, we think you have an altar, and we know where it is. . . . "

010701--------------------------------------------------

      I had been talking to another of the local Norse, and she and an associate were going to have a gettogether with me, where they were going to take the data from the seidr, plug it in and see what they could figure out. That there was an all out attack was being fairly clear, that Emily had been murdered was fairly clear, and so when I called her up after the seidr, her reaction was effectively "Ok, so there were no surprises, except for this whoever is being interested, lets see if we can figure out who it is . . . .

      So the three of us turned up at the apartment of one of them, their versions of getting things going was done, and as I recall, there was a good deal of me talking, as they scanned. After awhile, they were giving each other rather weirded reactions about Loki incarnating as an alchemist . . . . As it was, when a local priest of Loki was consulted on this, his reaction was a matter of fact "And your point is?" In my case, something about alchemy, or getting things done, or being inspired to do things apparently rang a bell, so I started chattering about the computer stuff that I was getting waded into, and for the two of them things seemed to finally fall into place.

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      Laurel reported feedback from Victor Anderson, who suggested that a piece of me had separated off due to trauma . . . In short, a sort of split personality . . .

      When Laurel went up to the chair, to take questions as one who did know the situation, I asked if I was split, I had an external attack, if I had an internal attack . . . Laurel replied that Loki himself said "Yes." . . . it's all three.

010701------------------------------------------------------

      This next time was at Laurel's with Diana on the drum, Laurel in the chair, and the priest of Loki invited in since Loki was being claimed as the one with the great interest in me. The seidr wound up being in three parts, first very apparently finding Emily, next an interview with Loki and other notables, and finally apparently finding a fragmented off piece of me.

      Laurel described walking in a land of marshes, and finding there a barge. On the barge was a girl who was asleep and being guarded by three goddesses. Laurel said of the girl, "she was given a choice of dying or leaving her body, and she chose to leave. When she feels it is safe, she will return."

      Next, Laurel announced that there was someone there with her, "he is in a jester's outfit and he wears a mask." The priest looked up and announced "Hi Dad.", and Laurel then announced, "He says he is thirsty . . ." The priest got up, poured a glass of wine, and put it by the candles on the altar that things had started off with. Laurel's comment then was "You are a very good son."

      After that I think there was a comment that I had questions, and what were they? I believe I said something about there being confused information, and I needed to know if I was dealing with me being split, dealing with an internal attack, due to fragmentation, or if I was dealing with an external attack. Laurel's reply was; "You have asked three questions. He says that the answer is Yes." She then continued by commenting to me of Loki "He is the father that you never had. (and then added something to the effect of) As a father, he would have been continually testing you, but (unlike what I had to deal with from the creatures that had bred me instead of being my parents) he would care for you very much" . . . or something like that, it's been a few years.

      Laurel next announced that she could see a woman who was carrying a baby, but in a way where the woman was continually dropping the child. Laurel stated "You know who this is." I retorted that I really Didn't know who she was describing, and Laurel then stated that the woman was the creature that gave birth to me, and that I was the baby that was continually being dropped.

      Laurel then continued by with something like "There is another woman here who has been watching you very closely for all of your life, she is very proud of your successes, and has been very sad at the times when you have been being hurt. She is the mother you have never had." After the siedr, given that that was a Very vague description, I asked Laurel who that woman was supposed to be, and Laurel's answer was "Oh, that was Freya."

      Following that was more wandering about, I think in another marsh, where another barge was found with another sleeping person being guarded by another set of . . . I think they were gods, but I'm not certain. Laurel stated that this person was waking up and screaming in pain and fear, who was then declared to be a missing bit of me, which was then retrieved off the barge and supposedly placed back as a part of me . . . What I was picking up myself at that point I really don't remember except that I Think I could feel something else coming in . . . I think . . . .

      As it was, I noted my newly stated ancestry as interesting, but not necessarily that relevant . . "mom" and "dad" may be who they are, and I have gotten some rather interesting feedback at times, but I am still myself and making my own way. As it is, as I was advised at some point that doing things for Loki was a Good Idea, on two or three occasions, I did do something, buying a bottle of everclear and a bag of ice and going from there . . . no, I didn't drink the everclear, I don't like the taste of alcohol. What I did was to put the ice into a big bowl, and put a large, shallow hiking cup into the ice, pour the everclear into the cup, and then ignite the everclear, repeating until necessary as I read and worked on other stuff until the bottle was empty. Finally after about the second or third bottle over something like a few months, the Very Clear feedback was that I am indeed a Very Good son and Very good to my Father Who Art In Asgard, but that was Quite enough alcohol, no more is needed, Thank You!

      The other followup thought that did finally come to mind, sometime long after the seidr, was a thought about the basic delineation of which deity does what and how humans allegedly fit into things one way or another. Sooo, I have the local Norse declaring that I am the undoubted offspring of the Norse gods Loki and Freya, where there are other sets of gods throughout history, and when juggling sets of gods, the basic descriptions for the ethereal connections that I have are of "Trickster and acknowledged master of all the rules" and "Goddess of Love" . . . . Oh, right. . . . Remember that vision back whenever, with Olympus and Aphrodite? . . . How about theorizing that that was no vision of, say, the Goddess of Playboy and other shrines, but, instead, for me to see that vision, that was Mom and she was checking in on Her son . . . . .

------------------------------------------------------010701

      A separate piece was found and was brought back, but there was no improvement . . . I suggested that as an alternative, let's go back into seidr and find out more about that external attack that Loki had confirmed. Laurel dodged. Well, then, since I had this shit that kept cycling around in my consciousness, what about a hypnotherapist to shut things off so that I could have some peace?? Laurel said she knew an excellent one, Jenny, and that it was worth a try.

      Jenny and I started meeting, and after my initial story, and a few more meetings, her declaration was that there is definitely an internal disturbance---which is being used as a resonance point by an External source of trouble . . .

      I reported this to Laurel, and pointed out Again, that what it is that is disturbing me isn't me, and needs to be identified and destroyed. Laurel replied that this is wrong, that it is I that would be destroyed. I pointed out that I *am* Being destroyed, that there is less and less after each attack, and that Jenny has cited *external* . . . yes, the internal needs work, it's getting it, but what about the *External*??!!!!!!!!!!

      Sometime in all of this, Laurel finally told me that she was one of Jeff's ex lovers. She also told me other local gossip, adding that if I repeated any of it, she would immediately announce that I was a liar, and that, well, gosh, schedules are difficult, and, well, her divination just doesn't show anything external, and, oh, she is Deeply Concerned and Feels my Pain . . .

      Around Mid Julyish, as I was trying to figure things out with Jenny, the thought occurred that Not reinventing the wheel is a good thing, that people ought to write up essays on how to do definitive renfaires, and that this could give me a platform to see how web pages work! Given that the best example of how not to create staff is now formally "Emily Cadigan's Law", yes, this is a personal minefield for me, but others agreed that there was clearly a way through it and the essays were quite doable.

      By this point, purely coincidentally, at the immediately previous Baycon, I met Peter Shipley, a local hacker, who just happened to have his own network with 'net access, and yes, he's flexible about visitors, and, as the essays come to mind, yes, I can have a free account on his system, and can set up a website, which utimately became;

      themacavity.com

      Just coincidentally, of course . . . Has nothing to do with any path imagery, I'm sure.

      In late summer, Jenny and I hit an impasse. I was going in circles, and finally got a thought that even with all the potential people keep telling me of, being a Dragon and all that, I can't do this alone, that I have to have a separate person hand me the key, whatever it is and means.

      Very soon after this, I went to a Spiral event and had Leslie Zemenek pop up with an observation of "We haven't seen you in a while." I knew her from Spiral board meetings, where I had been the Hellene rep for the year after Jeff had dropped it, but stopped being the rep myself in March. I commented that I'd been buried in computer stuff, currently web pages and their study, and Leslie just Happens to be a professional webmaster.

      She started tossing in comments, and we started dating, and out came the stories of all of the above, including the headaches. Also, specifically, my turning out completely numb from about April '95 on, and the time I figured out Emily's death. I'd fallen in love with the Rapist, and with Doranna, and then met and dated a series of women from right after the bomb came down, and found myself having no problems with any of them-- -whether or not they declared any sort of love, as several did--- but I wasn't feeling a thing, and was the same with Leslie.

      In Leslie's case, she's been in the collegium, is currently to be ordained at the beginning of this March, did a second initiation at pantheacon, and had another about a month ago. And some of the comments she let slip were more than, "If I seem to be suffering upheavals, well, my teachers say this is normal for initiations as they approach."

      It seems that when I was mentioned as a date, "a close friend in Spiral" reacted with great horror, saying something . . it got vague at this point . . about "emotionally unavailable", general You'll Really Get Cooties, and a very specific "Your dating him will have a bad effect on Spiral---but I can't tell you why." Leslie reported that her responses was "If you're not going to tell me, what's the point?" and kept right on going.

      As an underlining point of why I told Leslie what I did, i.e. was truthful, which Leslie agreed was a good thing, even if what I was truthful about was Not loving Leslie, I started seeing Sarah, a woman I met at the Christmas Victorian ball who was in the Bay area for Christmas. When Leslie demanded to know how I could do this, I, good or bad, pointed out that no, as I had stated, I did not love her, did not know why, and I had no capacity to predict any sort of future with her or with Sarah, except that I really did not see much for Sarah, since she just happens to live in Rohnert Park. I've tried dating across three or more counties; the reason Doranna and I did not last as a couple is that she is a student at Humboldt State.

      In the meantime, in the area of "right on going" was Leslie's observation that she did divination type stuff with her own crystal ball, and perhaps if a full bore, cast circle, etc. ritual was done, something could be learned of Just what it was I was getting all those headaches about.

      I went over to her house one night, we had dinner, her odds and ends were set up, and amidst general comments about what I should do to "see" myself, I commented that since dinner I had been seeing a large cast cement room with a floor of tub like indentations full of hot water. There had been a blond in a towel for a moment, way off to the center left, but immediately to my front right was some man a couple of tubs over who seemed very familiar, but I knew I'd never seen him before, and he seemed to be waiting . . . I think.

      Leslie blurted out that I didn't need a crystal ball to "see" and started the ritual off. As she got going, the hot tub room faded to a fake mountain top image, she stared intently at the ball as I stared around the room, at the mountaintop scene, and reminded myself that falling asleep probably wasn't a good idea. Finally she stuck a hand out for me to grab---at which point a small black sphere appeared, floating over the mountaintop with me---gobbled some salt, and reported that there was someone previously undetected in the room with us.

      The someone turned up over her shoulder, was "very cagey", would not give his name, and said that not only had he come in with me, he was a part of me that had split off. He knew all about the headaches, he was not the cause of them, and I would learn about them too as soon as he and I were reunited. He had been wanting that for some time, but there was a blocking surface just in front of my chest. Leslie reported that he also was in some sort of vortex which was trying to suck her in, and after awhile, she decided she needed to get the hell out, and there was some comment, either from her or him, about getting more information later.

      About a couple of weeks later we put together a list of questions and "went back in". I was seeing the hot tubs again, with himself looking very bored as Leslie talked about this and that. As she started the ritual, the hot tubs shifted to the circle in the desert scene from "The Last Temptation of Christ", only with a small flame rising out of the center and me on one side of just inside the huge circle, sitting in a conveniently placed camp seat. That desert was *cold*. Off to the right was an overlapping impression of spires of a city, as if seen from a distance, as if the towers had people in them, on the inside of all the tiny windows.

      As the ritual got going, a huge figure, a good three times standard human size, rose out of the dust and rocks on the other side of the flame, and sat himself down, crosslegged. As Leslie "went in", I saw her enter from my left rear and move past the flame to his right front. At that point, I saw myself in a great hall, on a cement floor with a circle inscribed in it, the flame was the same, and the figure opposite had a Vulcanoid head, simple shirt and pants, and hooves. Off to the right of the circle from me, where I had seen the spires overlapping image, there were rows of seats, something like four or so rows of fifteen or so, and all the seats were filled with people in colorful garb, and I have no idea who they are.

      Leslie was going to see if she could channel my split self through her so that I could talk to him directly, and I saw her look back towards me, but it wasn't working, and she herself stuck her hand out for the questions. I handed them to her, and sat and watched in both cases as she stood there with a handful of papers in one view, and in the other alternated between staring at the ball intently and scribbling answers by the questions.

      Yes, my split part reported, it was him in the hot tub. He is the repository of all my rage and hatred and pain, and began and grew as I was abused over and over by the creatures that have claimed to be my parents. The blond is the collection of all the nice stuff, but before she can come back, He must come back. He wants to come back, but there must be certain circumstances first. In answer to Leslie asking what is causing my attacks, he put his hands to her head and started to squeeze. Her response was Let Go . . . or I leave. He did. Soon she left, but there was a promise to return for more data.

      As a note, she later reported trying this while working with her own full bore therapist, not "just" a hypnotherapist. She, too, found a double, but found that Her double wanted to have Nothing whatsoever to do with her, and turned her back on Leslie. I noted this as Quite a difference from the eagerness my chunk was showing . . . but have been unable to decide if it's a matter of someone else having to serve as an intermediary, i.e., another providing a key, or if my part really is a Spy Coming in From The Cold, and wants in before something external tracks him down and destroys him . . . or if it's something else.

      More information was needed, and was clearly available for the accessing, and of course I was delighted to finally be making progress, but Leslie wanted some extra backup. I was certainly in favor of playing this safely, as long as it was played and not just stalled some more, and so at New Years at Greyhaven, we had quick conversations with Laurel, Adric, of Pantheacon registration, who'd been consulting earlier, and Diana, and the upshot was that people were talking to people about this and word would get back to me as to what would be done next.

      Soon after that, Leslie's job started going berserk and, where she does not get colds, she got one that lasted ten days. I, in turn was getting full extreme attacks lasting at least all workday, and sometimes into the evenings, and getting them Every day. Finally I summed up the last several months of lack of success with the observation that I had explained everything as much as was needed, what I require is that what is plaguing me be identified and destroyed.

      In turn, Sarah's reaction to all this was that she IS an atheist, thank you, she has No understanding of this psychic stuff, and she can absolutely Hear the hatred when I would mention the breeders that effectively destroyed any childhood I might have had. In her opinion, if Kaiser was available for consultation, I should at least make use of it, and I should get me to a shrink. Whatthehell, I might even get some good drugs out of it.

      While the cold and such were going on, Leslie and I talked on occasion, but the cough, subject was cough, limiSneezeted by the circumstances. But willingness to continue doing things, getting information, was stated, especially as the others were suddenly announcing scheduling difficulties. Leslie was finally able to crawl out of bed, to work etc., and as she was feeling better, she announced one evening that yes, she would pack all her widgets and come on over.

      When she arrived, she announced that she needed to talk about some things. I asked her what. She started to announce that what I was going through as far as integrating the pieces was going to be a lot of work and could take a long time and that I shouldn't get angry and I should just sit there quietly and listen to her. I pointed out that I had already been told that, as she knew, and that the difficulty of the process had nothing to do with getting it started, so could we do something to get to the point of starting the stated difficult integration? She tried starting off on another tangent of equal avoidance, I cut her off again, as she knew better, and as I wasn't going to play the game, she finally grabbed her bag and stomped out the door.

      I still haven't figured out what the point was supposed to be; if she knew me as well as she claimed she did, she should have known better after I had written that further talk after a year and a half of it was bullshit, the next step was action--- especially as she herself had already acted twice . . . .

      A week or so later, the thought occurred that as the one time I had some measured success with Jenny was when she had hypnotized me to go digging, then perhaps she should do so again. She hadn't been doing that in the succeeding sessions as the measured success seemed to be linked to my being aware, and as I hadn't been that initial time, the success didn't last long.

      At the same time, as the all out and constant attacks were continuing, following Sarah's suggestion, I called up Kaiser to set up an appointment with a shrink, possibly to see if I could get nicely drugged. Even Kaiser, at this point, hiccuped as the family counseling specialist I was first set up with called with an announcement of having to reschedule due to a family problem of her own, but I was able to set up a definite appointment with someone else.

      In the case of the drugs, Let me tell you about a somewhat average day these days. An attack consists of one of the following; scenarios, rage, pressure.

      Scenarios are little plays in my head, except that I'm in them, and everything is thoroughly pissed off, and the people are often people I know, and whether I know the people or not, and even if the plays are clearly fictional and often totally implausible, the point, which actively infuriates me, is to crush me or break me down, since I am obviously so very wrong, and the plays Won't Go Away, except to be replaced with rage or pressure. In the past couple of months, to name only Two particulars, I've found it interesting that after the entities I've had wanting to own me, while peacefully at work I would suddenly get lots of imagery of Borg. This morning, I was seeing lots of very distinct imagery of Aliens, straight out of the three movies . . .

      Rage is what I feel at one step removed . . . It really is as if I was listening to several people's worth of all out psychotic tantrums, all poured into my head, no matter how calm I am myself or how mundane and perfectly calm and ordinary the events around me in timing, location, and physical condition.

      Pressure is the same as rage, except that it feels as if the inside of my head is encountering increasing atmospheric pressure, or parts of me are as well. Lately, recent manifestations have also included something clawing at or trying to crush my sternum, shoulders turning into absolute knots, again, with nothing stressful to cause such, and, one time when I was doing something at my computer that was to be Very Useful To Me in accessing another computer---as opposed to any time before or after, any time when I have been simply gaming for hours, websurfing for hours, whatever for hours---my left arm started to ache and my left shoulder felt like something was biting down on it---what had I done to the arm and shoulder? . . . Nothing . . . barring that, I have never experienced pain like that . . . And the headaches still continue, only now they sometimes also stay for a few minutes, and sometimes they're elsewhere than the front left brain . . .

      As for the drugs, let me tell you about Paul Erdos ("erdish"). He was a Hungarian mathematician who, unfortunately, died of a heart attack last September, age 83 or so, but who is the most prolific mathematician in history. His existence was spent wandering, having neither home or job, and doing nothing but wandering from university to math center to whatnot, talking about math. If there was a Nobel Prize in Math, he'd have at least three, at least six, if you counted those shared with another.

      In her later years, his mother, also a mathematician, traveled with him, until she died, some tenish, twentyish years ago. For awhile after her death, Erdos seemed to be slowing down, seemed to be loosing his edge, and finally, one of his keepers dragged him off to a doctor. The doctor diagnosed depression, prescribed amphetamines, and sent him off to be a legal speed freak for the rest of his life. Erdos said it was better than coffee, referring to the old joke that a mathematician is a machine for turning coffee into theorems. Once a colleague challenged him that he couldn't stop taking them for a week. Erdos accepted the bet, waited a week, collected the bet, and popped two pills. As he did the last, he commented, sadly, "you cannot imagine what damage you have done to mathematics this week."

      As for the non drug approach, when I went back to see Jenny, we went in, and Did something, and got some progress. When I went to Kaiser, I got an hour of bewilderment, and "Let's schedule another appointment and try and explore your belief structure." I saw Jenny again the Friday before Pantheacon, and we got some more progress. Seeing the shrink at Kaiser the Thursday night before the con, I ultimately got total bewilderment, "Go talk to the Buddhist and Pagan teachers.", and yes, an arrangement of an appointment with Kaiser's dispenser of drugs. I'm currently waiting to hear from the drug people, I go see Jenny again this next Friday, and over time, interspersed with and as part of the computer stuff, I'm going to do some detailed digging around at the local Buddhist stuff, probably mostly online, given my schedules, and I shall see.

     

      The summation of this all is that I am dealing with something that should have been wrapped up, buried, and a footnote, inside of six months. Instead, this shit has been going on now for Over two years, and there is no end in sight. Hopefully, I can at least pry myself out, but it seems that I am the focus of all this shit, and that the only end to it is the end of whatever the source is.

      The problem is that the source seems entirely too close to too many people who would rather barbecue babies and smile than rock the boat, who would rather that something continue to happen to others rather than take the oh so forbidden direction of actually caring, actually standing up for what is preached, actually Changing the events around them.

      I have been hearing pagans--ok, "there ARE only nice things" new agers who don't have that much money---cycling through A) there Really *is* something going on out there. B) We are masters of the occult and will help you! C) This number has been disconnected and is no longer in service.

      Except for Jenny, who has no associations with the central clump around Spiral, or is all empty ego, like Therese, or both Peggy and the pagan psychologist, who stated point blank; "There IS an attack, but I don't know anything about psychic combat.", all I have heard is "No, there must not be anything done, because what is needed is unethical."

     

      FROM THE BEGINNING, THIS ENTIRE FUCKING SITUATION HAS BEEN UNETHICAL.

     

      To sum up what many seem to state is so, a 16 year old girl was raped and murdered.

      THAT is unethical.

      Soon after, according to many, I became a target of ongoing attack.

      THAT is unethical.

      This shit has been accelerating, and I can't even get a straightforward attempt to find out what the fuck is going on.

      THAT is unethical.

      It is demanded of me that I do nothing in this, that it's all my problem, when the exact same people saying this have said that there's definitely something fucking with me and that this can be looked at.

      THAT is unethical.

     

      I give up.

     

      When I went to the doctors, they couldn't find anything they knew of. When I went to the shrinks, they couldn't find anything they knew of, but guessed that I should find psychics to help me. When I went to the psychics, they said that I definitely had something they knew about, and that they couldn't be bothered, and how dare I point out that their view of the world had no basis in reality?

      To sum up the many, varied, and agreeing, sources of what's going on, I, like Emily, didn't have any parents. I had a pair of breeders, for whom I was the quaint little two legged animal running around the house, and when I turned out to be human, when I turned out to be intelligent, every effort was made to destroy me. Several years later, soon after encountering a psychotic even more twisted than my breeders, I encountered something external which uses my past as a weapon against me, uses my rage, and my pain as a resonance point, but, the point is, *is Using* me.

      A working analogy is that water is bad and that one has roofs and walls for such. Things being what they are, it rains, but when one's roof is in good shape, one stays dry. In turn, there are people who learn to use firehoses, and while that is a deliberate attack, and, on it's own, pointless, some do it anyway. I, in turn, have no house, and no roof, and have had all the bricks scattered about. Rebuilding the house will take a lot of work, but First I must be brought to the bricks so that I may pick them up. Furthermore, while it can indeed just be raining, I, in particular, I'm told, actually do have one or more with firehoses trying to drown me.

      I don't know about "building", I don't know about "water", but I do have a grasp of battle tactics. When a task is desired and there is opposition, the task must indeed be completed, but when the opposition interferes, the opposition Must be negated. There IS NO alternative. When the task is the ending of torture and unnecessary pain, there IS NO Ethical alternative. And many of those to whom I have gone to for help have promised such---but then made excuses to turn their backs---and then objected when I dared call that Wrong . . . .

      The general diagnosis is that the internal damage must be dealt with to patch up the holes in my defenses. It is stated that there is definitely something external, and there have been starts at identifying it, but there has been Nothing beyond those starts. It *is* theorized that the external will be identified with accuracy once the internal noise I'm pouring out in response gets silenced and quits jamming the external background noise, but, it seems, what if the source of that external pain is just a little too close to home for some people . . . . What if aiding me, doing the *actual* ethical thing, rocks the boat . . .

     

      Many of those people I have gotten nowhere with were at Pantheacon. Even if not of the main operations crew, being of programming, I still only showed up to work for Sabre, the executive officer who picked the operation staff and ran everything. I have done my weekend as promised, Not in hell, but I have, simply, done my weekend as promised, and now I will disappear.

     

      I am going to work with Jenny. I find her trustworthy and intelligent, and seem to be getting somewhere in working with her, but that work is open ended, and the pain continues and increases.

      I am Hoping I can get drugs from Kaiser to numb me out. Short term or long, if Erdos was Erdos and lived his life as a speed freak, I can too. I have work to do, in my varied areas of interest, and I'm already a good two decades behind schedule.

      I am going back to the Buddhists, since the pagans, or at least the loud majority that are mere new agers, are blind, and will not see. If nothing else, I can at least trust a 2500 year old belief that starts with the elimination of empty ego, as opposed to a 20th century hodgepodge of bullshit, posturing, and lies.

      Proclamations that I Must do certain things a certain way or the pain will continue have become blatantly obvious as bullshit, for I have done things, and the pain Still continues, and if I don't kowtow Just the right way? Well, gosh, it doesn't really matter what empty threats are offered, for the pain Still Continues---only in its obliteration can anyone claim truth.

     

     

      As I said; Pantheacon was merely a long weekend, and why it was is a long story.



      Follow-up . . . . Several months later . . .

      At Kaiser, I saw my regular MD and a drug dispensing shrink in back to back appointments. The MD prescribed a CAT scan, and the shrink was delighted to hear that he'd be able to discover, oh, The Tumor, which was, oh, obviously behind all this, and sure enough, the scan report read; "Normal?????!!!!!!!!"

      Oh.

      Ok.

      Given that, the shrink then made an educated guess and prescribed low dosages of an antipsychotic called Risperdal. The initial dose of Risperdal gave me absolute peace and quiet---and a clogged nose---for about a week, and then on the afternoon of the sixth day, an attack burned right through the Risperdal as if it wasn't there . . . .

      In time, increasing doses, finally combined with decongestants, to make the nose bearable, left me feeling drugged and generally uncomfortable, as the attacks continued unhindered. Finally, I decided that this was not going to work and dropped the drugs entirely. At our final meeting, the shrink commented that I was at least *Much* calmer than the first time he had seen me, even if his array of weapons was of no use. I then went on back to the MD for the Official scan report, which was that my brain structure is not only normal, but is Textbook normal . . there aren't even any wee statistical oddities which get ignored because they keep turning out to be irrelevant . . .

      Around the same time, working with Jenny was, again, getting nowhere, and the shit continued, and has been continuing. We were coming up with possibilities, but as with everything else, it was as if Something would learn the pattern in time and then work around and ignore it. Jenny's final recommendation, was a friend of hers named Richard, who I'd not been able to get to, since he doesn't return phone calls, and is never in to get calls, But, he finally got an assistant to help with his appointments, so something was set up with him.

     

     

      His diagnosis was that there was indeed Massive fragmentation and Massive capabilities, and the fragmentations was leaving me Wide open for any external attacks which I was aware of because of the capability, and that the fragmentation needed to be dealt with first. While that basically amounted to the Same Old Story, and some days the intensity of the Same Old Attacks is immense, some of the exercises he has done have shifted the attacks a bit over the days after we've meet, so obviously he has Some idea of what he's doing . . . .


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© 1997 Cassiel C. MacAvity