After the latest breakup, with someone we’ll refer to as Psatanish, I did my usual reassessment of my path, and analysis of what went wrong. I realized that, as usual, this heartbreak was almost entirely self inflicted. The details are not really that important to spell out again here, as most of my outbursts of drama happened on Facebook, for the sake of not having to repeat the same story dozens of times for too many friends one by one.
The basics are that some poser claimed to be a fan of mine for 8 years, but knew fuck all about me. He claimed to want a relationship, but in time, it became clear that he had no clue what that means. So after wringing my guts for three months, some suggestive photos, and a video of me dancing topless, he dumped me shortly after the video. If you see me on a porn site, let me know, or fuck it, enjoy. I didn’t do anything many African women haven’t done on National Geographic before. The music is just different.
Anyway, as usual, I got to thinking about how I got into this situation. At the tail end of processing out my emotions for the wannabe, I understood that part of my seeming an “easy target” is that after I had my daughter, I became a bit less warrior and more intellectual. Prior to that, knowledge was somewhat formerly validated with trials, quests, markings, tests and the like. Since I became a mom, though, I allowed myself to learn things just from the ears and eyes. So of course I was going to get the wisdom from pain some other way than before, and of course I lacked that “fresh from the fire” look of someone who was clearly dangerous.
The big question though, is now that I understand that being a bitch is not going to protect me from anything, and masculinization leads guys to think I don’t need them to be men, what to do? How do I get the message across that I am not someone to play with, and yet keep my femininity? How can I be a compassionate, loving woman, and incite protectiveness rather than predatoriness?
The answer? It doesn’t matter.
If someone mistakes me for an easy mark, they are deluded. Eventually, I’m going to figure them out because I’m not going to adjust to fit any kind of punk-ass. I’ve also got my own teeth and claws and fight, so predators who really are that, are not an issue. They will lose interest or simply not mess with me. The stupid? They get what’s coming to them. So what sort of presentation do I need to have? Just genuine. Just me.
So…I made the decision, for the sake of my spiritual growth, to approach whatever future projects of acquisitions of knowledge like a warrior because that’s who I am. Doing it the mostly cerebral way just bought me way too much psychological drama that I am simply not built for, and don’t have time for. I have to make money and help folks. I can’t be floored by bullshit that voluntarily won’t matter in 10 years, much less 100.
Then, while talking to Diva about some things, she inspired me to relearn the runes. I’d studied them by reading about 20 years ago, but didn’t really stick with it because I normally use the bones. Since I’ve been doing better lately at doing right by all of my Ancestors though, it seems a good idea to take them up again. This time though, I’m not doing it the cute way. I’m doing it my way.
Since inscription is one of the valid old ways of learning and taking in as much of the full meaning and power of the runes as one can, I chose it because it is the way warriors who become dedicated wizards do things. We commit to them fully, and prove that in pain. So as I learn a new rune, I mark it into my flesh with metal, fire, and ashes.
So far, I’ve done Fehu, Uruz, Thurisaz, and Ansuz, “and I’m feeling good.”
Incidentally, this will probably make me less attractive to posers. Like my chest brands, they might fade, and if they do, like the same, I’ll have them tattooed on. In the meantime though, doing things this way has made this round of rune study much more relevant to me.
After I posted the photos of the first two, some of my friends became a bit concerned because they’re not used to people doing things the seriously old way. One was a bit hypocritical, but I think she understands now. If not then she doesn’t have to be around me. I’ll miss her smile, but if it’s just hiding a Babylon “if it’s hard or it hurts it must be wrong” attitude then I can’t walk that path with her.
At any rate, it’s doing good things for me already. I’m going to mark them in rows of “aett” as I relearn them. I’ll probably go at a rate of maybe 2 per week, but I’m operating on whatever schedule is natural for me. I’m using Diana L. Paxson’s Taking up the Runes as a kind of textbook, and getting feedback from Diva and others and browsing various sites for different perspectives.
I’ll post more pics as I go.
Nicole, I have tried to compliment you a few times on CH but I think only one time did it get through the spam filter. I have to say that your comments on male-woman dynamics on CH are always spot on, and I enjoy them. Seriously. I don’t care about and skip over all the race/politics stuff that you are fighting with what’s his name about. But your observations on the nature of women, the thing about not being able to read a message written in English without going out of their way to spin it to what they want (or really don’t want, but are looking for an excuse to get mad) to hear, the thing about eggs and limited fertility timeframe explaining a woman’s ability to move on very quickly after a breakup, etc. I have tried to chime in and say I agree with you many times but CH never puts my comments through. Have a nice day.
Thank you for the props. 🙂 When a post gets “eaten”, it’s a WordPress issue. Their software analyzes posts, timing, etc. and if it looks like it may be spam, it seems to disappear, but usually ends up in the posts to moderate. Sometimes you get a notification, and sometimes not. Either way, at that point the blogger has to approve it manually.
One of the reasons my views are a bit unusual for a fairly modern woman, especially a Pagan, is that the first few years of my life, my Dad was my primary caregiver. He studied history in university, and was a jazz musician, so he worked mostly at night and on weekends. He was the one home with me during the day.
My parents, at the time, were also “black” militants, and though the somewhat nazi style child prodigy building bits were creepy in hindsight, early childhood was the best years of my life. I got a strong foundation in the fact that men are not the enemy early on, that continued in the form of great friendships and relationships later on. This is not to say that all my interactions with men have been great, just that when they haven’t been, I could never dismiss things as, “Well, that’s just how men are,” implying that men are inherently bad/worse than women unless I was dealing with malevolence, which is just as frequent, if not more, in women. So my thoughts would run along the lines of, “Well, that’s just how people are sometimes.”
So the Chateau has been helpful for me in working out some of the bugs that crept in through miseducation and society, and I always hope that I’m giving something back. I’m repping for the sassy broads who may not yet be able to articulate their problems with feminism, but are very sure that “equality” is not what it’s getting us. It’s just trying to make socioeconomic class and money a replacement for beauty, loyalty, and home skills.