So, due to #the encuttening, for the past 6 months I’ve had to have 2 professional carers come in and hoist me in and out of bed twice daily, morning and evening, They’re a lovely bunch mostly.
We live in a ground floor, two bed apartment, and for various reasons we have had to store the hoist in the library/temple space/2nd bedroom which contains cow, sheep, and goat skulls.
Oh, and my altar: a concrete slab raised on bricks, then covered with deer-skin, on which sits a ceramic painted skull with an Ægishjálmr betwixt its brows (because that’s where it goes damnit - fight me) a statue of Odin, one of Mahakala, a Tibetan Phurba, my ritual knife (used to be a steak knife, but I needed teeth, so a day or so’s consecration and I have my hungry little pal to hold in my red right hand) a pair of red pillar candles, my maternal Grandfather’s jewelry box he got from Java when he was out there. Oh, and the jug and whisky glass full of cool water for the Dead
Behind there are shelves of comics, SF/F novels, graphic novels, philosophy texts, anthropology texts, books on systems theory, literary criticism; also a Masai throwing spear my paternal Grandpa was given by tribesfolk when he was in Kenya contributing to the destruction of their traditional ways
(Sorry, sorry, doing missionary work for the Gideons. He was given the spear in exchange for a bible, in ceremonial fashion. I like to hope the ancestors of the Masai are happy it’s now in the hands of someone who doesn’t hold the Bible to be the only Way. But I haven’t asked. I know they’re not pissed about it though. The irony of being one of the Spear-god’s is not lost on me)
Then, amongst others there’s most of Scarlet Imprint’s output, as well as Theion Publishing’s, the Betz Greek Magical Papyri, Baker’s Cunning Man’s Handbook, Crowley stuff, Agrippa, Barrett’s Magus, the Voudon Gnostic Workbook, a sharpened sickle, a bunch of tarot decks Deren’s Divine Horsemen, two copies of Metraux’s Voodoo in Haiti, and my Granny’s personal bible which I used to keep on the altar but the cover started to show signs of water damage even though there was no water spilt near it, so I cleaned it, took it as a sign and removed it to a shelf.
Oh, and in between the red pillar candles is the repeatedly bloodied deer-skull with its proud antlers. I used to keep it covered when folk slept in there. It gave Mum ‘nightmares’ (her words) but never seemed to bother Dad, the priest. If you look at my icon, done by @unknownbinaries, you might be able to suss what that’s for - I’ve mentioned it before, but the specifics of the pact aren’t public. Suffice to say I’ve been plugged into #deerkult for a decade or so, consciously at least. Unconsciously? At least 25 years in some fashion, I reckon.
All of which is to set the scene and point out that I’ve been waiting for months for someone to crack and ask. It finally happened last night:
Them: We’ve been meaning to ask..Do you…do Voodoo?
Me: Oh, no. I’m Heathen…
Them: *blank look*
Me: *sighs inwardly, resists urge to scream “YES I’M A FUCKING WIZARD. YES LIKE HARRY POTTER EXCEPT WITH LESS QUIDDITCH, SCHOOL DINNERS, FLYING CARS, AND EVEN MORE DEAD PEOPLE, BONES, MUD, BLOOD, SCREAMING, AND ECSTATIC FURY”*
Me: A kind of pagan.
Them: *vague look of understanding*
Me: *gives up, because I am knackered* Yeah, it’s like Voodoo. Except, for White People.
Them: Ohhh. Right.
(I know, I know: It is perfectly possible for anybody to be properly initiated into the ADRs, if (and only if) the community and spirits agree and the proper rites are performed - skin colour is not a factor. But explaining that was not on the cards last night.)