I am Gasoline- Life is the match


I like fire.

I am the revolting decay of it all.  I see things as they decompose- as they nourish new life to flourish.  The rotting flesh feeds the newborn babe- the youth suck upon the teat of decomposition.  

Dua Yinepu- Dua Neb-Het- Father and Mother of darkness.  Gods of Death I sing constant praises to you both.  The destruction you bring is needed for the new growth to come.  Yours is the purple and silver sting  of reality- of mortality.  You linger here on the edges, harboring the bittersweet knowledge of that which was and that which will be.  The lamentations of all that cannot let go of love- the wails of a thousand lovers.

Even those are cut short here in our space.  They begin and abruptly end, like cartoons suddenly muted.  We have heard all these things a million time before.  The sorrow is not lost upon us- that is what we thrive upon- the blood of passion and love.

Silently we circle.  

Our patience is endless.

Your flesh will be our feast.

C. C is for Corpse.

From the time we break free from our mothers wombs we begin to decay.  We begin the long and lengthy journey to becoming corpses.

Everything we absorb and retain as meaningful is but the fodder of worms and maggots.  All that you accomplish in this life is just fodder for the next.  When your soul leaves your body all that is left is the impressions you have imposed upon the world around you.  Even these things decay eventually- all food for the worms and vultures.

I can not think of a more noble creature than the vulture.

They feast upon the lost desires, the failed hopes and forgotten dreams of the fallen.  They consume all our wanton and fanciful dreams- They eat our nightmares and ugly truths.  

Here now you may see them if you are lucky.  Circling effortlessly and silently above you as the last veins of life leave you.  Black upon blue, to remind us that we are but walking corpses.

A- Akhu

What is more frightening: to reach out to your ancestors only to realize that they do not exist- that there is no life beyond death; or to reach out to your ancestors only to find that they completely and utterly disapprove of you and your life lead thus far?

My ancestors are a foreign lot to me, meaning I know little to nothing about them. One might think that my obsession with Death would make me an expert in the realms of ancestors, but that is quite opposite the reality.  Despite my preoccupation with death I know nearly squat about those that died so that I may live.  Much like Rev. Tamara mentioned in her blog- http://www.squidoo.com/what-you-should-know-about-ancestors - our modern Western “culture” has little or nothing to show in regards to honoring our ancestors.  We have a few holidays commemorating the lives and actions of a select few iconic individuals, one day set aside for visiting graves and tombs, and Halloween which has lost 99.9% of its true meaning.

So perhaps my disconnect from my ancestors is the result of my cultural upbringing.  Never in my family history did we make offerings or attempt to communicate with the dead, no wonder it is a foreign concept to me.  The world in which I was raised tries very hard to avoid the subject of death, even tho we are instinctively fascinated by it.

Zombies, anyone?   

Honoring ones ancestors is a matter of accepting ones own mortality- being consciously aware of the footprint you leave on this earth, and knowing that your footprint is just a passing thing- only as strong as the force you implant it with.  

The other thing about a blog is that it's a conversation. It shouldn't be just a message in a bottle, thrown into the sea. Instead, we can comment and link. When you see other people mention an idea or impression you''ve had, it's truly squee-worthy!

very true- I had neglected to think of the interactive aspect of the Blog. Thank you for that.  :)

Pagan Blog project- B is for Blog.

The reasoning behind blogging has long been a mystery to me.  I am a long time writer of journals, I find a certain solitude and comfort knowing that the thoughts I write down are mine alone- to be read only by me or the curious few that investigate me upon my death.  There is something powerful in holding a secret, even if that secret is a chronological log of my daily mental madness.

So again I ask, why is it that we blog?  What is it that makes us want to broadcast our thoughts and opinions into the digital unknown?  Is it our innate desire to be heard, or is it our innate desire for affirmation?  In a world populated by millions of persons we still feel the pains of solitude- we eminate the sorrows of a soul misunderstood.  Our hearts- our very souls ache for some sort of fellowship, some other persons out there that feel and understand as we do.  Thus the blog is born, a digital diary open to any that happen to cross it.  An open book, yearning for someone to read those first few words and think “I get it!  I understand what this person is saying, I can feel what they are feeling!”

And is that not truly what we are seeking?  Acceptance within a larger group that understands and agrees with our opinions and thoughts?  Or are we just impulsively ranting into the digital unknown because we can, because there is no filter here on our keyboards that keeps us from making fools of ourselves.  Ask yourself this- would you blog if you knew with certainty that no living soul would read it?

The answer is no.  No you would not blog if you knew that no living soul would read your words.  You blog in the desperate hopes that someone out there will read and understand.  That there is at least one cognizant living soul that understands what it is to feel as you do.  Someone to reimburse your sense of existence, to validate your life in some way.  To tell you that you are in fact a living and thinking being, not just some momentary illusion of light and sound.  Someone to validate your purpose here on this earth.

Irregardless here we are, recklessly throwing our thoughts and ideas into the digital wind.  Sending them of like little paper boats with lights in them, hoping that someday our message reaches someone distant and far away…  And even if our words are not immediately understood, the sense of mystery and intrigue they bring upon the receiver will be well worth the effort.