Don’t Forget That White People Are Responsible for Trump and the Nazis.

This is something that I originally wrote on Tumblr, in light of recent events in Charlottesville, but also not forgetting that the U.S. , and white people specifically, have been breeding the ideologies that have grown and produced the alt-right long before now:

There is no point white people can reach to be “not racist” in this society as it is. To think you have reached it is to allow yourself to be controlled unconsciously by your racist shadows. As white people, we need to face those shadows. And that starts with learning the history of the violence our ancestors have spread and how that violence has led to structures that we benefit from today and that continue to hurt people of color- Asian, Latinex, Indigenous people, Black people– and often conflates and contributes to religious oppression of Muslims and Jewish people…

And if you feel ashamed of the history– if you feel agitated and uncomfortable and guilty– SIT WITH IT. It does not mean you have to adopt some new belief that you are inherently bad. (In fact, that’s not useful and immobilizes you from moving forward to fight against racism.) It means you need to work on coping with shame and moving forward from it productively. And, believe me, I know that is hard fucking work, but it is necessary. And it is NOTHING compared to the internal work required of people of color daily for merely EXISTING in this racist society. So don’t get stuck in self-pity or shame and just DO THE FUCKING WORK, FEEL YOUR FEELINGS, DON’T MAKE THEM ABOUT OTHER PEOPLE, AND KEEP MOVING FORWARD UNTIL YOU ARE CAPABLE OF PRODUCTIVE ACTION.

Just because there are blatant and obvious Nazis parading around in Charlottesville does not absolve white people from working on ourselves. Black Lives Matter has been trying to wake people up for years– following a long and brave as fuck tradition of black-led activism that has spanned centuries. Indigenous community leaders have been trying to alert people to the struggles faced by indigenous people living in reservations… and more recently to the protection of sacred sites and access to CLEAN WATER itself.

This is the work we have to do to bring ourselves up to speed– out of privileged ignorance and into basic human decency. This is the cultural adulthood and loss of innocence that we have forced people of color to be strong enough to cope with, and it is long since time for us to grow the fuck up and help shoulder the burden that our ancestors and we, ourselves, have placed on people of color.

Dealing with our own internal work and sorting out all the bullshit is the first step to becoming able to LISTEN to people of color and respond in cooperation and empathy– to right the wrongs of the past, or at least ensure they stop happening today.

And though I am writing this, and these are my words, I take no credit for the ideas presented within– because like every other white person, I owe everything I know about racism to people of color– especially black and indigenous women, who have long since been asking us all to take our heads out of our asses.

— Robin

of The Heart Road

Depression and Doubt

[TW: depression, suicidal ideation, BPD stigma]

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[Image: Tarot cards Interference, Peace, and Prince of Wands reversed, from the Rosetta Tarot by M.M. Meleen. The cartouche card above them spells Set’s name in hieroglyphs: S-T-H, followed by the sha animal.]

I’ve been having horrible depression ever since the second week of the month. It’s worn me down– further than I’ve been since going on medication.  I’ve not been keeping up with my daily chores. I’ve been sleeping later and later again. Also, my suicidal ideation has come back.

Godphone has been less reliable, because my primary sense to verify what I’m “hearing” or “seeing” is my intuitive feeling sense– and that’s been all blocked up and numb because of the depression. My heart isn’t feeling the passion or the love right now that always reassures me that my intuitions are accurate.

It’s lead to some really difficult abandonment anxiety. I had a dream that Set broke up with me because I was “boring,” and I woke up with the fear that it was true….

–Despite asking for confirmation in the same dream and receiving three encouraging poster-sized letters saying he still loved me.

–Despite the realization that if the dream was real, then this whole time, and after everything he’s told me, he would have had to have been, not just an ass (which he is), but some unusual kind of cruel, callous, and lying bastard. Which, in my experience, is not the case.

–Despite him still being around, hugging me, cuddling me, saying he cares about me, and even being sexually intimate with me…

–Despite every piece of evidence that I’ve had that he still cares about me and this worry is just depression.

I STILL have been fretting about this for nearly a month, and thinking that the only reason he’s still hanging around is out of some kind of guilt because I must be “manipulating” him…. (Internalized BPD / C-PTSD stigma dies hard…)

But well…

He’s still here.

This evening, I was watching The Great British Baking Show, and came to the awareness of him sitting beside me on the couch.  He touched my back, and then said,

“Listen. If someone loves you, they love you even if you’re having a bad time…. And if I had dumped you for being boring, you would have deserved someone better anyway.”

I started to cry and laid my head on his lap.

So. I guess the point of this story is…

Sometimes it’s just depression.

 

–Robin

of the Heart Road

 

God Sex And Polyamory: Personal Realizations With Set

[TW: sex, god sex, relationship abuse mention, cheating, not explicit]

I’ve been in a sexual relationship with Set for a while now.  It started after a year and a half of healing from a toxic (human) relationship which heavily affected my feelings, ideas, and internal beliefs about sex…

When Set showed up (again, after a long break) with the most attractive energy I’d ever felt like DAMN, and said I should date him, I was like HELL YES, OKAY.

I had a lot of mental and emotional blocks at first, but I feel like I’m warming up to the idea that sex doesn’t always have to be difficult. Especially with him, I feel safer, more relaxed, more free to try things, learn and explore… To have fun. To love.

There’s still moments that I feel like there’s no way I could deserve a healthy and functional love or sexual life… In those moments I retreat back to my self-protections… But I do feel like I’m getting somewhere overall.

He’s a very sexual deity.  It helps me feel like sex is okay. Not shameful. Not always something that hurts or hurts others. Something that can be really fun, exciting, spontaneous–! Something you can share with others as an expression of who you are, interacting with them and learning who they are!

He’s even introduced me to other deities and people up there, in a sexual context. It’s… not what would have expected or asked for on my own, but… It’s been a step out of my comfort zone, and it’s been kind of nice!

Jealousy has cropped up occasionally, triggered by things that remind me of past abuse… (In the toxic human relationship I mentioned, my ex cheated on me within a polyamorous context.)  So, sometimes, knowing he’s the polyamorous, sexual person he is and I love him for… I wince sometimes when I feel that old heart injury acting up.  C-PTSD stirs and abandonment anxiety kicks in… “Is he going to leave me explicitly for someone else just like she did?” “Is he having better sex with someone else?” “Is the sex we have disappointing?” “Am I disappointing?” “Are my trauma triggers annoying?” “Is my insecurity annoying?” “Do I x, y, z enough to satisfy him…” Etc.

In all fairness, he has always responded in love and understanding. He’s listened and we’ve talked about it and we’ve worked through solutions…  I’ve even come to realize that reassurance isn’t always what I want, when I start to have those thoughts (and I certainly don’t want to change or restrict him…)– what I want is GREAT SEX, and a SATISFYING SEXUAL LIFE.  Jealousy then tells me that something is out of balance– and sometimes that thing is my own fear that I “can’t” or “won’t” ever have good sex without him.

One of the perspectives he’s brought me to/reminded me of– is that great sex doesn’t have to be attached or associated with just one person. I don’t have to look to him every time I want sex– even if we’re in some kind of relationship… He isn’t sex to me, he’s himself. And sex with him is sex with him. And that in itself makes it special– regardless of whoever else we have sex with, or how often.

So, again, when he’s brought other people, and when I’ve had sex with incorporeal beings without him around, sex with other individuals has been a really enlightening thing for me… As a clairsentient, feeling other deities’ and incorporeal people’s energies, and feeling the differences in dynamics between me with one person and me with another…

It gives me courage that maybe things like sex, connection, intimacy, and love can be found everywhere. That there’s as many different ways to love and have sex as there are people– and probably more!

It makes me think that sex and love are a lot easier than we sometimes make them out to be, if we open our hearts and step out of our own way.

 

–Robin

of The Heart Road

 


[P.S :  a conversation]

Me: “I hope you have all the sex you want! Great sex! Only the best sex! …Well, I mean if you want shitty sex, you can have that, too, I suppose. I mean, you and I both eat Cheetos, so you know I know the feel of just wanting something terrible (*he laughs at me*), so have bad sex if you want to, but also have great sex! Stupendous sex! ALL THE SEX!”

Set: “Hell yes.” *bumps fists with me, while smiling*

Me: “And I will try— !” *braces myself* “I– WILL TRY– TO HAVE THE GREAT SEX AS WELL.”

Set: *laughing, kisses my cheek* “I love you.”

Incorporeal Beings and Branches of Trees

This post by Camilla of “Foxglove and Fermitas” is absolutely beautiful and inspiring…

And it helps me find bravery to say that I am not sure that the being I love is really Set… Or maybe more accurate would be to say I am not sure if he is entirely Set… He definitely introduced himself as such at first, and answered to that name, and has used the myths of Set to explain things about him to me– and things about me and our relationship…

And as I read posts by Devo, of The Twisted Rope (years ago), and G.B. Marian, of “In the Desert of Seth” (months ago), I responded joyously and excitedly with recognition and inspiration — that I then shared with the being I have so far known as “Set.” These inspirations offered points of connection and sharing and bonding…

Honestly, I DO think I am connecting with Set… I just suspect there is something a lot more layered than that going on here… There are even different versions of “Set” that I have recognized, even just in my own head and deity shenanigans!  I honestly think devotees connect to multiple layers and “aspects” and “AU versions,” (as Varian put it in the blog “Between Stars Unknown”) of gods– not just different from other devotees, but also different from previous versions of the gods than we’ve interacted with before!  Or at least I seem to have… (It’s led me to wonder if the time differences between the astral and the physical are such that our encounters with deities are  non-linear… But that’s beyond the scope of this post.)

If I look at the clues from the maybe-astral adventures I’ve had while “meditating” (I suspect bi-locating– being in both my body and somewhere up there), the astral adventures primarily take place in either 1. my own cosmic, star-filled “ground zero” construction that Djehuti showed me to, where I am completely safe and can create anything I can think of (Thanks, Dj), and 2. some kind of personal living place where Set often is, and I can go to on my own sometimes, and 3. places that Set has specifically taken me to, often in the desert somewhere private… And I don’t wander. (Heck, I barely have the focus to stay up there for very long…) There’s rarely more than him, me, and one or two other familiar deities.

Anyway, it’s possible that I see a different “version” of Set, because the places and the ways I interact with him are more intimate in nature… Rather than his deity “job” life, ya know? What I’m trying to do with him isn’t accomplish some groundbreaking worldly or planar thing– what I’m trying to do is love him, let him love me, love myself, and share this with him.

If I look at clues from clairsentience (feeling energies), I suspect there may be two connected versions, or polarizations of the entity I know as “Set,” which I am loving… There’s the one pole of this entity that seems to be closer to Set, from myth– determined, sometimes harsh, decisive, and crude (in a way that makes me laugh), and… “harder,” or “denser” in an almost physical way… Idk how to explain it. Made of blood and muscle and sweat and iron and the heat of the sun…  Made strong by hard living and grit and fire in the heart…

Then, there’s this other pole whose energy honestly reminds me more of angels than anything– incredibly loving. Joyous. Free and Light… Smiles like nothing can ever compare. Somehow informed but not immersed in the complexities and frustrations and dis-ease of “denser” life… And at this other pole, there seems to be this other being who I have known by another name before I even met Set, but recently changed the name I know him by– which I’ll abbreviate to “Allen.”

Set usually calls me nicknames, like, “Kid,” “Kiddo,” “Little Bug,” or “Button.” Allen calls me by some kind of soul-name, which I’m going to shorten to “Alex.”  Set often directs me to care for myself, like a parent, and speaks directly to my inner child. But then, he also seems to meld with Allen in various percentages… especially while sharing really intimate moments. In these moments, he treats me as a divine being, like him. Or like he’s trying to help me remember that I am one.

Allen has also approached me on his own at times. I remember an astral something-or-other, wherein he took me to a place that looked like a fairy fountain, from The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time, and let me whine that I was exhausted and confused…

Me, laying half-submerged in the water, pitifully, “[Name that I knew him by at the time], what’s going on? What are you trying to do? As Set…?”

Allen, smiling, leaning in softly, just above my head, “I’m trying to love you, you dolt…”

I honest-to-gods, think I am interacting with multiple astral layers of the same being… Like some specific soul branch of a larger soul formation… Wherein each branch has an identity, but are all part of the same tree…

Sometimes– especially intra-community, it’s frustrating, because I don’t know how to talk about this spectrum of the seemingly connected entity that I love… When only half or less than half is recognizable as the same god that other community members know and love as well…

I also wonder if I should even worry about it at all…

Maybe I’ll figure more out as I go along.

 

-Robin

of the Heart Road

“Healed”

Healing Header 2

I live in Texas. The days in summer are well over 100 degrees Fahrenheit.

Two weeks ago, on my way home from applying to adopt a cat, I suddenly had to stop to eat… NOW….  I intuitively knew I wouldn’t make it home in time.

At the closest food truck, I downed two tacos as fast as I could, and still I was shaking. And exhausted… I just wanted to go home and sleep. It was too hot…  I could feel Set’s presence had appeared beside me, signalling something might actually be wrong… He seemed concerned, but was calming to be near.

A police officer found me resting my head on my arms under the roofed table area and asked if I was okay.  I started crying, “No.”  He called an ambulance.

[In hindsight, this was white privilege in action– a white “woman”/feminine person cries, and it mobilizes ten white men in uniform to help, rather than harass or arrest me, or worse… They never once asked if I had taken any illegal substances…]

I spent an hour and a half with– first the police, then the firemen, then the EMS guys… I drank four glasses of water. I nearly fainted again.  They hooked me up to an EKG to check if it was my heart. It wasn’t. (At the time, half delirious, I laughed to myself, “Ha! It better not be my heart! I’m under a contract with Anubis to donate that organ to someone…” Gallows humor. Hope he appreciated it.) They nearly took me to the hospital in the ambulance– but I panicked and said, even with my relatively secure job and insurance, I couldn’t risk hospital and ambulance bills under the Trump administration… So I called my friend.

I ended up at the emergency room for severe dehydration, with an IV attached to my arm, feeding me fluids. My friend B sat beside me to the right. Set was to my left. (Later, once I was fine again, he would ask for a bag of Cheetos, and then share them with me. Whether he needed the energy for appearing so suddenly, or it was to restore a sense of normalcy, or to feed me, I don’t know. But I discovered I like Cheetos, too.)

The doctor– a middle-aged man with a trim beard, dad paunch, kind but tired smile, and wearing a blue-and-white striped hoodie– took my statements, asked me to close my eyes and raise my arms to see if I’d had a seizure, checked my eyes for something… I was highly dissociated, so I don’t remember much…  I just remember him, at one point, asking me if everything was okay… Anything bothering me lately…?

“Just trauma stuff”, I said.

“Anything I should know about?”

“Nothing new. Just the usual…”

“And what’s that?”

I paused…. feeling small and lost…. “I’m… so angry…”

After I had gone through two bags of fluid, peed in a cup, done some tests, and drank a Gatorade, I was free to go.  The doctor said, in parting, “I’m going to tell you what my friend, the neurosurgeon, tells his patients when he’s done seeing them.”  He pressed his palm against my forehead, then withdrew it with a flourish, “YOU ARE HEALED!”  B and I laughed…

Damn though….. I really wish that was true.

At the end of the work week, I roamed in my car after 1:00am. I didn’t know what I was looking for.  Set directed me to a local 24-hour diner and cafe I’d never been to before. As soon as I went in, I had a panic attack.

It’s been happening again lately: panic attacks.  I had thought this stage of my healing was over… But apparently not.

The waitress noticed something was wrong.

“Hey, sweetie, are you okay?  Do you want to sit down? I have a quiet room in the back–”

She brought me a glass of water and a menu, saying, “If you need anything– a sandwich, or anything– let me know.”

After a sandwich, fries, and two glasses of water, I realized I hadn’t eaten all day.

“I could see it in your face,” the waitress, G, said when I told her about my panic attack, “I have a bunch of anxiety issues too, so I get it.”  She went on to tell me that she wished mental health wasn’t so stigmatized and that she’s benefited a lot from therapy. She spoke really fast, but it was comforting in a way.

“Sometimes we carry consequences around with us– whether they’re the consequences of things we’ve done, or that other people did– we still carry them.”

I thought of my father. I thought of my mother. I thought of the government. I thought of my ex. I thought of every school councilor, health professional, food stamps official, and social security worker I had asked for help during my most trauma-fucked years…  I thought of every teacher who saw that I had depression in fourth grade, and didn’t ask me how things were at home…  I thought of the hotline councilors who said, “I don’t see how this is relevant,” and “We can only help you if it’s an emergency…” I remember the illegally operating sales company I worked for that gave us unbearable working conditions, stole my commission wages, and threatened to leave me stranded two hours outside of town if I protested against abusive treatment in front of the other employees…  I remember my boss at the next job who told me to “fight for my hours” while it was all I could do to get out of bed and fight for my life against my own suicidal ideation each day.

As she finished cleaning the tables, she gave me a sympathetic glance.

“Yeah…” I agreed.

“It hurts.”

Set. And Lucifer. Both.

Have talked to me about choices… and the consequences thereof.  The only things you can control sometimes are the choices you make– how you react to the situations you find yourself in, and if you can live with the consequences of the choices you make… Who that makes you

In abusive situations, in terror and in hopelessness, I have not always made decisions I am proud of. I focused on those. I clutched tightly to the choices I made in really fucked up situations.  Some of them had been in childhood, some much later.  I held them out in front of me and said, “You see…?  I’m bad…”  I have had to accept that I have made decisions that did not honor my soul or my values…. I have had to forgive and release these hurts and disappointments and shame.

But in clutching tightly to my reigns of control, I forgot that some of what I carried had not been born of my decisions.

This anger–

This rage–

Of having been wronged.

It seethes.

It tears its way through my body.

It hurts.

It hurts.

One night, I filled a page of my journal with “It hurts. It hurts…” until Set spoke to me and I wrote it down.

“This is the work.”

It hurts.

“I love you.”

It hurts.

“I need you to be in the world. If you can’t do it for you, do it for me.”

Why would you need me?

“I love you. I would hurt deeply if you were gone.”

I’m afraid of anger, Set.

“That is why you hold it inside of you.”

I thought I had passed this stage of healing already.

A new friend on a Kemetic Amino tells me, “Sometimes we regress.”

It’s true. I don’t know who first said it, but it’s become common and repeated knowledge that “healing isn’t linear.”  My therapist– probably multiple therapists– have said it to me.

Every time we come around to the same old thing, maybe we get a little better at dealing with it. Let a little more of it go. Put a little more of it down…

I hope so.

Until then, I journal. I attend therapy. I talk to my friends. I talk to my gods. I pet cats.  I remember to eat and drink and sleep.

I remember to love as much as I can and find joy in small moments.

I honor myself in all my facets and stages.

I keep going.

“This is the work.”

 

–Robin

of the Heart Road

 

 

 

Heart Road Blog’s Companion Tumblr!

As you may, or may not, know The Heart Road blog has a companion tumblr!  Here’s a summary of some recent posts and community responses:

  1. I wrote a poem for Nebet-Het (Nephthys)!
  2. I liked Devo (The Twisted Rope)’s Set and Osiris bullet point summaries so much, I contributed my own.  (Set , Osiris)
  3. I wrote summaries of my experiences with the Netjeru! (Part One , Part Two)
  4. When crushing nihilism has you down, I wrote a reminder to keep faith and take care!
  5. I wrote some tips to connecting with spirits or gods you are dating! (NSFW halfway down, marked as such.)
  6. I wrote how I envision and experience the Netjer loving us unconditionally.
  7. ForceYourWay on tumblr said some nice things about my “Loving A God Who Loves Me” post! Thank you so much!

If you like what you see, feel free to follow me on Tumblr, and on WordPress, drop me a message, or share the love!

Thank you for reading!

-Robin

of The Heart Road

Set, Choices, and Going to France (Or Not)

Spiritual Journal Entry From 4/18/2017:

[ Set has been around since driving home from work, when the radio played “Every Little Thing Is Gonna Be All Right,” and “Cake By the Ocean,” which seemed fitting for the energy between him and me that night.

He told me to make rice and beans for dinner, which I stalled on, writing blog posts, and then forgot about– until he appeared behind me, kissed me on the head, and pointed back toward the kitchen.

So I made the food– and put a side of ranch dressing at his request (He threw it out of the fridge at me…). And, Lord help me, it wasn’t that bad… I’m glad I got some protein an more than one meal, come to think of it. So I guess he was looking out for me.

It also gave me time to sit and have a conversation with him. He was more serious this time… As he ate the food I offered him, he told me to go to France.

I balked.

He said it was a “test of trust”– or something.

I said he couldn’t be serious.

“I mean… if an offer to go to France just magically shows up out of the blue, I’ll go to Fran– I mean I’ll consider it. I’ll seriously consider it. Coming from you, I’d consider it.”

When he looked at me, and said nothing, I got nervous I’d done the wrong thing. So I fluttered anxiously in my head and then asked,

“Wait.  Seriously?! Are you serious? Drop everything and go to France? I don’t have the money! It’s not in the budget! P (my friend) would hate me!”

When all he gave me was more silence, my gut sank and I had to consider maybe he really was serious.

But this was ridiculous! How could I go to France?! The flight alone would cost all of my savings buffer. I’d have to go to the airport, and in France, and just turn around and fly back!

“Well…” Here, I gave up inside. “Maybe there would… be something worth it… Some synchronistic sign or something….”

My heart sank, because no, I didn’t think it would be worth it… And this was starting to feel like previous wanderings I’d done, alone through the city, looking for signs that turned out self-shaming and disappointing…

Then, to myself, for just a moment and not fully-formed in words, I thought:

“Well… Even if it’s a waste of time and money and makes me feel bad, it’s not like I could hate myself any worse… It’s no more than I deserve… And maybe he’ll approve of me if I do it.”

Here, he stopped me.

Set: ” I want you to repeat back to me your entire thought process when I told you to go to France.”

Me: “…What?”

He pointed to the drawing above my altar that said, “Crystal Clear Thought, Focused Intentions.”

When I was silent and still feeling down and confused for a moment, he indicated what I had just thought– all the shame and self-loathing that had gone into my almost-decision to go to France and be miserable about it.

Me (feeling hurt): “But… I thought you wanted me to trust you. I wanted to trust you…”

Set: “Then do things because you trust me. Not out of self-loathing. I’ve seen this pattern in your head too many times– doubting and second-guessing yourself. Trust and self-destruction are not the same thing, kid.”

He placed a finger under my chin, and only then did I realize that I had my head down in shame.  He lifted my eyes to look at him, in whatever god-space he inhabits…

Set: “Do things because you want to and because it aligns with your goals. Go to France because (IF) you want to. Not because some loser tells you to.”

After sitting there and feeling really, really TOLD, I sighed and said, “Thanks, Set.”

“I love you, kid,” he said. ]


 

Spiritual Journal Entry From 4/19/2017:

[Me: “I still feel hurt about yesterday.”

Set is there, listening. I feel his presence laying behind me, in bed.

Me: (sorting through the emotions) “I feel… sort of betrayed, I guess? And less trusting. Because I have wounds in that area of trust , and … having been gaslit before… I know what you did was not the same thing. But I feel raw and bruised about it. I just thought you would be sincere with me.”

Set: (not unkindly) “I have a responsibility to help you more than I have a responsibility to be your friend, kid.”

His voice was not angry at all– but patient, compassionate, and even somber…

I thought about it some more, sifting through my feelings.

I understood why he did it and what he was trying to teach me, but I still felt hurt about the way he did it… Devo, of The Twisted Rope, had said in a post about Set that we may not always like his methods of helping…

Then my mind went back to what medium Pamela Aaralyn channeled about Lucifer, playing a role for souls of… “punisher,” or something, to help a soul work through the cathartic release of grief and shame, and find self-forgiveness… but that he doesn’t like seeing people suffer… And I wondered if Set had a similar job…

Me: “Set… Would you be sad if we weren’t friends anymore?”

His reply was quiet and sincere.

Set: “Yes. … But I would respect your choices. Forgiveness is always your choice.”

From this, without words, I sense that if that was what I decided, he would remain in the background, helping me, even if we weren’t talking or being friends. So… This was something that was completely up to me. Like my own stuff to sift through, and it didn’t mean he didn’t care about me.

I knew that, ultimately, I wouldn’t be harmed by this instance. I would be okay.  But I feared being toyed with in the future– being told to do something, and then laughed at and abandoned when it went colossally badly and I failed…

If I trusted him in the future, would I be giving up my ability to choose for myself?

But then, he said, “Then trust me– but don’t choose to do what I say out of self-loathing!”

So I reviewed the conversation we had had the previous night: What exactly had hurt so much?  It was feeling tested, feeling tricked– like it was a no-win situation… Why was it a no-win situation?

And then it hit me: The only thing that was ever at stake was his approval of me.

I would never have gone to France, or if I had somehow forced myself to do so (highly unlikely, given that I was not enthused), he would have said something, or I would have realized how foolish I was being and had a mental breakdown that confronted me with all my motivations for poor decision-making…

In the end, the stakes were not actually that high, and mostly fabricated by my insecurity and desire for his approval.

And that’s what he was trying to show me.

My power of choice, my safety, I had feared losing by trusting him is with me– no matter what he does or says, or any “test” or ultimatum he (or anyone) throws at me. In fact, it’s not about him at all.

It is entirely dependent on me, and my ability to make choices that I can live with.

Even if I was sad that he stopped interacting with me, or “being my friend,” (I don’t think he would stop loving me and wanting what’s best for me) I am the only one I have to be with in my life.

I am in control of the choices I make that create my life and who I am– and that is more important than anyone else’s approval of me or presence in my life. ]


 

I transcribe this tonight, months later, sitting in a coffee shop, after work.

I notice that Set’s and my relationship has changed and developed since this entry. I honestly think these moments of doubt, early on– and there were several– and working through them with honesty, helped to build trust and intimacy between us.

I also notice that I do a lot less wandering, looking for clues of what some god or outside entity “wants” me to do…. but that I still have parts of me that fear losing approval.

Sometimes learning is a continued practice.

I remind myself to continue on.

 

-Robin

of The Heart Road.

“Sekh-Set-Saret”

I didn’t know any cats, growing up.  My father hated them with a callous disgust and viciousness that, at times, bordered on frightening.  Cats were “bad,” according to him (as were women, girls, vulnerability, emotions, and children… but I digress.).

My mother said it was so “funny,” meaning ironic, because my father was like a cat, himself– “Pet me, love me, give me attention…. Okay now go away.”  I think, in hindsight, this assessment reflects: my father’s probable Autism (because I am Autistic, and it is an inherited neurotype) and his resultant threshold of over-stimulation, and the socially ingrained expectation in my mother that marriage and partnerships “should” be codependent– as if romantic partners don’t deserve their own space, even within the context of a partnership (which I think the burden of also is primarily placed on women, but I digress again)…

As you can see, I’m still processing some things about my father… or related to him. But this post is about cats.  Or maybe it’s about me.

I’ve always loved cats. I’ve wanted a cat ever since I could imagine being an autonomous adult– honestly, probably before that.  Maybe it was the divergence from my father’s opinion of cats that inspired me to consider a life of my own, away and apart from his all-encompassing reign of authority.

So, in a way, caring for a cat feels like a threshold into adulthood. Some maturation ritual I’ve promised myself for decades and not yet enacted.

My roommate, B, came home one evening, excited to tell me that she had a cat for me– a coworker had found a stray kitten who needed a loving home.  I knew, in that intuitive way, that this was a sign, or a test– something about this kitten was a lesson.  I didn’t know yet what.

Over the next week, I waffled back and forth over wanting to adopt this kitten, and wondering if I “should.”  Set introduced me to Sekhmet during this week, and the two of them even suggested a name for this kitten– “Sekh-Set-Saret,” which, according to what I could find, means something like, “The Wisdom of Sekhmet and Set.” I thought this meant that I definitely “should” adopt this kitten…

But something felt off… Something was’t right.

Around this time, Kelly-Ann Maddox released a video talking about deciding to be childless. Childless living has always been my plan, but I realized, watching this, that I still had a few ingrained seeds of expectation or conditioning as a uterus-haver that I “should” use it… I realized that some part of me, deep in my subconscious, maintained the hope and naive dream that I could still, one day, be the person my parents always wanted me to be instead of myself– a woman, cisgender, heterosexual, a mother, monogamous, conservative, codependent, obedient, dead inside… in exchange for the only love they knew how to give.  It really wasn’t much love at all, but rather fear and violence, an illusion of things being “right,” but not happy… It was their world and the only thing they knew.  Some part of me still wished I could be a part of it… somehow… Some part of me was still holding myself back, waiting to be loved. To gain their approval of my life and my choices.

I watched videos about raising kittens and cat behavior and wellness.  The more I watched, the more I doubted myself and my ability to raise a kitten– and even my desire to!  I had never wanted a child… And even though a kitten is not a human child, I had to ask myself if I really wanted to be responsible for “a baby,” or was this some desperate throe of my ego to grasp at the motherhood I never intended to have?

A week went by.  I heard nothing more about the kitten needing to be adopted– which probably meant that someone had done so.  I wondered what the gods had meant by naming the kitten “Sekh-Set-Saret,” if I wasn’t even going to have the opportunity to adopt them… I also felt embarrassed that I had told my closest friends and roommates, P and B, about the gods’ input, and now I thought I had gotten it all wrong… Maybe my intuition wasn’t as good as I thought it was– yadda, yadda. You know how anxiety, doubt, and self-invalidation goes…

So, I put down the idea of having a kitten and instead started interviewing adult cats at the local no-kill shelter and its associate pet stores– where I found a darling, sweetheart, almost-two-year-old cat: a curious, gentle boy, a Sagittarius, who likes having his chin scratched and whose energy (clair-sentiently) got along with mine. With animals and people, you know how sometimes you just have this inexplicable sense that you really want to get to know this one…? That’s what it felt like. My heart just went, “Whelp– okay, this is the one– this is the cat for me!” And I felt like I could anticipate his traits and resultant needs, and give him a good home.

I wanted to check with my roommates, who were already fine with having anther cat in the house (P’s cat is filled with the tenderest love for only him, and the purest bitterness for everyone else for the crime of existing in their world. I love her dearly, but, alas, it is one-sided)– to see if they would meet him before I made a decision. B agreed to go with me. But as P listened to me explaining why I wanted him to meet the cat first, I realized that, instead of wanting to make sure they were comfortable with a cat, what I was really doing was asking for permission…

Hey, Dad, will you still love me if I want to love and care for a cat?

Thankfully, P is perceptive and usually knows when I’m full of shit. “Yeah,” he said to my realization, “Does it really matter what I think? What if I don’t like him?  Then it comes down to– you have to decide where the boundaries are, yourself, and deal with any consequences of the risks you take.  And then, if you make a mistake, hopefully you can count on your friends to support you with the present situation based on decisions you’ve already made with the acknowledged risks– instead of tearing you down about stuff that can’t be changed…”

Wow!  

P is the actual best and I love him so much.

That sounded eerily like something Set (and and Lucifer– but let’s not go into that right now…) had told me before:

Who I am is based on the choices I make. And that power of creating myself and my life– is too precious to hand over to someone else… Consequences and all. What I sow, I reap. What is mine is mine. Who I am is mine to decide.

So, making myself a coffee this morning, it hit me– very suddenly– what “The Wisdom of Sekhmet and Set” was actually was about…  Even my WordPress feed echoed my realization, as I opened my computer to write–

“Don’t Agonize. Strategize.”

don't agonize

In other words:

I am an autonomous adult.  I don’t need to ask for permission. I can decide what I want to do and then DO it. Then the consequences– and the joys– that follow are all, irrevocably, MINE… I am the ultimate authority and judge of my life.  And that is beautiful!

And, as P said, the people who love me– will love me.

And the ones who don’t…

Were probably never along for the ride in the first place.

So, if I adopt a cat– I’m going to make sure it is my choice, because that is the source of my power to be– uniquely, unquestionably, irrevocably–

Myself.

….

In parting, I’m going to leave this video– the song “Battlecry,” by Angel Haze, because it is exactly what I needed to hear today.

And in my heart, this is the Wisdom of Sekhmet of Set.

 

Loving A God Who Loves Me

I love Set.

I really, really do.

I love him so much.

It just rises and fills in my energy– my emotional or etheric body, like wow… My heart just feels so full and open and wow–!

I used to distrust devotion and love, like something that trapped or hurt… But I feel so empowered and free and open and whole.

It scares me sometimes.

Like the last vestiges of my egoic fear and restriction and defenses crumbling away in the severe, exhilarating tenderness of opening, trusting to the exchange of presence, affection, and gentleness…

….

 

How do I let myself feel so wholly, beautifully loved?

Is this how deities and spirits and angels feel all the time?

Is this how the world works?

Is this possible?

Is this “5D?”

Is this capital ‘R’– Real?

It’s like, when I said I was ready to love and be loved, he was like, “Okay then, get ready for the tenderest fuckin’ shit, because hey– I can do that. I can do that a LOT, and I can do that really WELL. And you fuckin’ deserve it. So, kid, be prepared for that!” as he smiled.

It’s like he held a mirror to me, showing me that all my flaws are just cracks in the armor around my heart, and all I thought was disgusting or weird or damaged was just more healing I had to go through, but it didn’t define me, and it wasn’t the end.

So it’s like my heart relaxed open– wincing at first, and then breathing a sigh– and I felt the pulsation of a hundred thousand star-lit batteries inside me, sparking with my unique, brilliant hue, pattern, code–

I felt the urge to cry, or to laugh, because, wow…

Just.

Wow.

And he just fucking smiles at me like this is totally fucking normal and it’s just taken me my whole life thus far to realize it…

How can I even have words for that?

 

Lightening A Heart

I was in a hall of gold, the shelves covered in books of unknown origin. I sat at an oblong, golden table, regarding a tablet placed in front of me.

“Why am I here?” I asked Djehuti and Set, hovering behind me with comforting presence and purpose.

“You are going to read the book of your life,” said Djehuti.

I had tried before, in a pathworking vision, to read the “Akashic Records” of my life– to some progress eventually, but not in the way I had intended– I hadn’t understood the words.

With the book in front of me, open in my hands, I had read only my name. I had cried in frustration over this book, which I had thought would hold all the answers I sought for my troubles. I had felt ashamed of myself that I wasn’t as “advanced” as I thought I should be in my spiritual journey.  Why else would the book’s contents elude me?

My spiritual family, sitting at the table around me, had smiled and comforted me. They told me it was all right. I didn’t have to force myself to grow in the ways I expected to…

Now, with that shame of perceived failure fresh in my mind, I glanced at the tablet in front of me.  To my surprise, words appeared in my mind, through pure cognition, rather than reading or hearing…

Robin was a child who grew up very lonely… and to adulthood, ze learned ze could not count on anyone…

I put the tablet down.

“Do you understand what we are trying to say?” Set’s voice was low and gentle.

I was silent for a moment, taking in the emotions that fluctuated through my subtle body, holding them, releasing them, considering each of them in turn as they flowed through me…

The vision ended. I was sitting on my couch, in my physical body at home, slumping a little now in frustration, and resignation…  I stared at the ceiling for several minutes, then stood to make myself some tea or a glass of water.

My father was a very angry, very frightened man.  One of my first memories is being afraid of him coming home and finding my mother and me playing pretend. I thought he would judge me for it– say my imagination was ugly or stupid, or otherwise imperfect.

From an early age, all games had to stop when my father was home.  When he came home, everything became about his feelings– whether he’d had a bad day at work  and whether he was irritable– ready to project his stress at us without warning.

To a child, his moods were alarming and unpredictable.  My brother, my mother, and I, were often berated or punished for something we ultimately had not done or had no control over.

He used to joke that there was to be, “No fun in this house!” He said it to make my brother and me laugh– but I think in a way, it was true of a deep fear and shame he carried– a fear of joy and vulnerability, which he passed on to us.

Anubis. Key. Djed Pillar.

I glared at the cards the Egyptian Lenormand had brought forth for me, testing alternate meanings in my mind, knowing already what they meant but not wanting to accept it.

“Grieving after a dream of love, long dead, eats the heart, needlessly, and is not in ma’at. Why do you choose to hold burdens you could release? The situations in life that show you were your trauma is are keys to allow you to release the pain if you face it…  It is a gift of truth and love to honor yourself by laying down your sadness and regret, and carrying on with your life, lighter for it. Lightness of heart is what we achieve through sincerity with ourselves of our stories of pain and fear and what they have brought us– freedom, courage, wisdom, openness, and love…”

Maybe it was Brene Brown, in The Gifts of Imperfection, Susan Forward, in Toxic Parents, or Kelly-Ann Maddox in one of her YouTube videos— but someone introduced me to the idea that forgiveness is not about saying that what someone did was okay… but the decision and energetic shift to move forward from the pain of everything that stands in the way of living a full and joyous life.

This is something I want for myself– to move on from the pain and bitterness.

I sat again, on the couch in the living room while my roommates slept, or had already left for their midnight shifts. The fan overhead stirring the air, the electric hum of the fridge, and the soft scuff of my crossed legs settling in the couch cushion were the only sounds.

I took a few deep breaths, and closed my eyes to sink into another vision.

My father sat before me, wedged in a corner of a dark room.

“Dad…?”

“I’m so afraid I hurt you… I’m so afraid…”

“I know. Dad…. I know…”

“I’m not lovable. I’m bad. I’m BAD. My father hated me…”

I sensed his emotions– fear, shame, but they were a reflection. I was calm.

“We aren’t taught to hold our emotions and honor them inside of ourselves. Patriarchy teaches us not to cry or be vulnerable, and that to do so is weakness… Without being taught the skills of emotional maturity, pain teaches our trauma-centers that pain is the way of the world– and the only way to avoid pain is to close your heart even more, and hurt them before they hurt you… So hurt children become adults who hurt others, and the cycle continues on… It’s bigger than you or me, Dad. But it still plays out in our choices… I know that now.  I understand it wasn’t about me. Your actions were yours, and about you. Not me.”

I sat on the floor of the room, facing him, legs loose, arms open.

“I wanted you to love me,” he said sadly.

“I did love you, Dad…. Or I tried, as much as a kid can… And now that I’ve learned what love really is… I do love you. But it doesn’t hurt anymore… You wanted me to love you, and to prove that you were worthy of love and compassion– that your life and the choices you made that hurt yourself were worthwhile– to heal your heart– but, Dad, that is not something a child can do…  That was not something I could do… I know that now.  That was never something I could have done. We can only do it for ourselves.”

I leaned forward, close, and held his shaking shoulders.

“And yes, I hurt from your actions. I hurt from your behavior…. I’m sorry that, in my pain, I lost sight of myself, too.  I love you. Dad… Thank you for showing me toward the path of self-love through the example of its lack…

“I am moving on now.”

“Goodbye.”

And the story writes itself forward, anew…

Robin was a child who grew up very lonely… and to adulthood, ze learned ze could not count on anyone. Ze feared life– feared the deep betrayal that sank into hir bones and hir heart…

The memories of hir father, who did not love hir, led hir to make choices that filled hir with shame, fear, and regret. Ze thought that ze needed someone to love hir, to be worthy of a free and full life.

One day, ze awakened to the power inside hir.

Ze forgave hirself for hir choices.  Ze forgave hir father for his.  Ze decided hir imperfections helped to create the story that was hirs– a beautiful story of love deserved, and found in hir own heart… One of the struggle of stretching, pushing, breaking through the ground– and then a gentle opening to face the sun.

Setting down hir anger, pain, and fear– vestiges of hir old life– and thanking them for the lessons and growth they provided hir, ze decided to love hirself fully, wholly, and unconditionally.

Ze opened hir heart and found a universe of support, and then… ze leaned into the excitement of the creative unknown…

Ze realized ze is never alone.

In the days after this release, I feel as if my opportunities are opening.  I don’t have to be afraid of other people’s opinions of me…  My whole energy feels lighter and more flexible.

I’m thinking about all the things in life that feel joyous, and feel like moving toward them.  I laugh with my friends, draw, write, paint, make love to my god, create beauty with my hands, foster life with my actions, and dance until my muscles hurt and my heart sings!

 

–Robin,

of The Heart Road