Just so we’re clear

I have lately been getting harassed by a mentally ill individual so I am going to state this here so there is no misunderstanding. 

The material I post here and on any other website that I maintain (including but not limited to boneladyblog.wordpress.com), unless otherwise stated is mine. You do not have permission to use it in any other capacity. You may not use my images or my articles. If I find that you have stolen my work, I will take legal action. 

Is that clear enough for  you? 

Get therapy and stop spewing your pollution on me. Stop trying to make me part of your insane, delusional world. You are sick. Get help. 

 

 

commedia dell’arte

Love is a strange thing.
I throw myself into them,
these spirits so fierce,
their presence so strong,
and they catch me
and lift me up with their song.

I fall in love with voices I cannot hear.
I ache for these men
who served that Muse far better than I.
Through that longing,
I see their world.
When I cannot touch them
pieces of my heart flutter away
like snow.

*************

Be sure to check out my other sites:

Wyrd Curiosities at Etsy

My academia.edu page

My amazon author page.

Walking the Worlds Journal

My art blog at Krasskova Creations

My blog about all things strange, weird and medieval.

And if you like what you see, consider becoming a sponsor at Patreon.

Polytheist Problems Ancestor Edition LOL

I was meeting with one of my apprentices last week (as we do monthly) and we were discussing shrine work and she mentioned that due to space concerns she had her ancestor shrine in her bedroom. I used to live in a small New York City apartment so I know what it’s like trying to find space for shrines (especially when they keep growing!). I just nodded and made the offhand comment, ‘Be sure to cover the shrine when you’re ah….getting frisky.” The look of utter horror on my poor apprentice’s face was the funniest thing I’ve seen in a long time and we had quite a good laugh over it as the impact of what I’d said really hit home. This is a bit of protocol that most people aren’t generally taught and wouldn’t necessarily think of on their own so I promised that I would write a little something about it here. (Thank you, to the apprentice in question, for allowing me to use this as a teaching moment here on my blog!).

Now first of all I just want to say that I have amazing apprentices. They are all very devout, very talented, and very hard workers. That one of them did not know this is in no way a knock on her practice. It’s actually more on me because I should have thought to say something when she first set up her shrine but when you’re deeply steeped in practices for decades, it’s easy to forget the obvious.

So here’s the question: is it ok to put one’s ancestor shrine (or other shrines) in one’s bedroom.

The easy answer is yes, absolutely. Especially when living in a tiny space, we have to make do. There’s nothing inherently wrong about putting shrines in one’s bedroom. I have several in mine because I like to work at them (pray, meditate, make small offerings) before going to bed. It’s a good, practical space. Now here’s the caveat: because the bedroom is also the most intimate space in one’s home, special care has to be taken around the shrines. Allow me to explain.

Sex is awesome and there’s nothing wrong with it. LOL. It does however carry a measure of miasma (again, this is a neutral term. It does not mean it’s bad.) that should be cleansed away before approaching one’s shrines. More to the point, if it’s one’s ancestors, they probably don’t want to watch, no matter how skilled one might be a-bed. LOL. And I’m guessing that no matter how much one might love one’s ancestors, one does not want them watching either! A shrine is the home of spirits or Gods. It’s an invitation to those spirits or Gods to be present, a doorway or window into our world. Out of respect, I was taught that it is best to cover one’s shrines with a clean white cloth, if they are in one’s bedroom, before engaging in any sexual activity. It’s a simple matter of respect.

Now I have a huge folding screen that separates my shrines from the rest of my bedroom, which effectively negates this problem. The only shrines I might not cover are those to Deities that are specifically concerned with sex (my Freya shrine is also in my bedroom and I tend to leave it uncovered) though I might suggest doing divination to make sure the Gods in question are ok with that.

And, that is all I have to say on this topic.

*************

Be sure to check out my other sites:

Wyrd Curiosities at Etsy

My academia.edu page

My amazon author page.

Walking the Worlds Journal

My art blog at Krasskova Creations

My blog about all things strange, weird and medieval.

And if you like what you see, consider becoming a sponsor at Patreon.

One More For the Road

Coda

“Nobody sings as purely as those in deepest hell.
What we take for the song of angels is their song.”

Kafka wrote that a century or so ago. He was right;
but what he missed, or perhaps knew but did not say,
is that only holds true for those who willingly
sacrifice their souls to the Work.
We are fighting Uncreation.
There is no room for sentiment.

*************

Be sure to check out my other sites:

Wyrd Curiosities at Etsy

My academia.edu page

My amazon author page.

Walking the Worlds Journal

My art blog at Krasskova Creations

My blog about all things strange, weird and medieval.

And if you like what you see, consider becoming a sponsor at Patreon.

More for the Beast

ἀβίωτος

He never returns us whole,
that daimon,
when one has fostered in service to him,
when one has broken in service to him.
We’ve seen too much.
We’ve walked in too many worlds.
He never spits us back out into this world whole.
Half a soul
Half a heart
A broken body
And too little humanity to count
or too much.
Just like too much was burned up
or not enough.
And all the rest of one’s life is spent longing
For that searing fire
that purifies beyond purification
that renders beyond rendering
that makes us perfect conduits
for perfect fire
and bones too hollow
for even a hint of humanity
to remain.
.
It is our humanity that does us in, every time.
Mediocrity consubstantiated.

This world seems so much shit and ash.
It is so hard to find transcendence here.
But there is this
and it is sometimes no small thing:
that desolation of being spat out
the revelation of one’s own lack
might just fix the soul for other spirits.
They all seem so very kind after all,
post one’s artistic manumission.
What’s a God or Two running through one’s head
when one has served a daimon who does not play at pain?
What unaccustomed freedom.
What fine, dark joy.
What revelation.
It is still not enough.
But it will do.

A Dancer’s Manifesto, 1986

If you don’t bleed
You’re not working hard enough.

If your body does not scream in pain
You have done nothing.

Smile too while you’re at it.

If you yield,
You are weak.

Up again.
There’s life left in you yet.

One, two, three
Let’s see the bloody tracks marking those steps.
Let’s see that floor dyed red.

Labanotation, bitches.

Get up and move.

Seek pain and it will guide you.
It will tell you what is true.
There’s no bull shit there.
Bleed.

You will never be enough.
That daimon is always hungry for more.
Marsyas got off easy.

Foot2

*************

Be sure to check out my other sites:

Wyrd Curiosities at Etsy

My academia.edu page

My amazon author page.

Walking the Worlds Journal

My art blog at Krasskova Creations

My blog about all things strange, weird and medieval.

And if you like what you see, consider becoming a sponsor at Patreon.

Lady Stardust sang his songs of darkness and dismay

Another amazing piece by Sannion.

The House of Vines

The cave is dark,
and empty,
and lonely,
and the world without
so swiftly forgot.
But there are some who linger,
together,
and burn with negative light
for on earth they were the most brilliant
and divine
of mankind.
And they gave everything
and more
for their art,
so in death
they are glorious, perfected,
and want for nothing
except they hunger for beauty
and thirst for raw sensation,
and draw near all
who are in the grip of mad inspiration
so that the Artists may feast once more.
They are generous with their gifts,
and demanding.
But it is always worth it to collaborate with them,
whatever the price.
These are our ancestors,
our predecessors,
those who crafted our interior landscapes,
those who showed us what is possible,
and what is beyond,
those who perfected their craft,
and touched excellence
even if for but a single moment,
and they…

View original post 26 more words

Turn and face the strange

A new poem from Sannion, partly about the castrati. 🙂

The House of Vines

The official religion of Italy is,
and has been since Rome fell,
Catholicism – but unofficially
every Italian worships Beauty,
the fortunate child of Bacchus and Venus,
and understands that Beauty is a jealous God
demanding everything of its acolytes.

“What are some testicles,”
juggling Arlecchino quips,
“compared to the chance of becoming
transcendent Beauty’s earthen vessel?
Men have sacrificed much more
for far less.”

Then the Bergamine removes
his rough fig-wood mask,
reveals the tender face of Orpheus beneath,
and begins singing a lamentation
for a Carthaginian queen.

View original post

Two More for My Spirits

A small note

For those of you
whose voices shattered in the making,
who failed to enchant
the world’s stage,
who struggled away
in church choirs …
or worse:

I remember you.

It is a small thing, but I remember you.

You served that Muse
that exquisitely demanding daimon.
Though it drank your marrow
warm and new and young
you served it still –
bloody mortar
securing its awesome edifice
for another generation.

It is worthy work,
a worthy sacrifice,
and I remember you,
always.

 

The God of Sacred Monsters

A face used to masks
I see You twice over:
lounging and languid,
slender, sculpted,
all smooth alabaster
and smoldering hunger,
ash and lust.

I can never look for long,
though desperately I want to,
want You.
I am too aware
of those perfect lips
and that sly smile
remote, exquisite
perhaps a little cruel—
pain is necessary after all
for such perfection—
and all it promises.

I see You, Enorches,
a wicked knot of movement
dancing a harlequinade
whispering in dulcet tones
“Everything I am
take to yourself
and my mouth,
full of honeycomb,
will pour nectar for you”*

Divine and noble
You have feasted upon Your own heart.

No one sees the strings,
unforgiving as ivy,
when You take them.
Like a paper thin stiletto between the ribs,
You slide in,
pouring Your sweet voice
through that flesh.
like honey
like nectar
stained with blood.

final_cover

(line adapted from “La Calisto” by N. Cavalli. Image by Δ from the cover of “Toys of Dionysos” by H. Jeremiah Lewis)

*************

Be sure to check out my other sites:

Wyrd Curiosities at Etsy

My academia.edu page

My amazon author page.

Walking the Worlds Journal

My art blog at Krasskova Creations

My blog about all things strange, weird and medieval.

And if you like what you see, consider becoming a sponsor at Patreon.

Final Card in the Mothers Series

The Mother’s Series is finally finished. Here is the final card in the group: Penelopeia by Grace Palmer.

penelopeia painting2x4

 

*************

Be sure to check out my other sites:

Wyrd Curiosities at Etsy

My academia.edu page

My amazon author page.

Walking the Worlds Journal

My art blog at Krasskova Creations

My blog about all things strange, weird and medieval.

And if you like what you see, consider becoming a sponsor at Patreon.

Trio

I.
I don’t know which one spoke.
I have my suspicions.
I was lighting candles,
offering prayers,
thinking of angelic voices
born in blood and pain
when clear as a bell I heard:
‘You have progeny;
we have immortality.’
And part of my heart broke
exploding in the sweetness of music
that wrenched its stony casing open.
I thought of Achilles
gifting Hektor with immortality
and of Patrokles
and how those heroes have nothing
on the bitchy, sarcastic angels
who now haunt my every breath.
I have no voice to sing
but I praise them still
and always.

II.
I long for that sound
as they swarm around me.
I long for their voices
cold and clear
and oh so very pure.
Exquisite agony.
I sit shivering,
having exhausted hands and breath
in the new art they have me following:
baroque music and alto recorders
and flutes and things
that make my hands ache
and my chest pant as I gasp for breath
after practicing.
I’ll learn just a whispering shadow
of what they did: to control the breath
for music, for sound, for the promise of more.
I’ll learn and they will hold me to it–
hold me in that seat until my hands cramp
and I beg for release from the sessions of practice…
All for the music and for them,
that one day it won’t just be whispers anymore that I hear
but their song.

III.
Only in the sound of those who inherited your music
men who sing with the faintest echo of your sweetness,
do the jagged pieces of my mind and soul
resolve into a single brilliant note.
Only then am I whole.
Then I hear my Gods without impediment.
Lineage, longing, and sacrifice,
maybe that is why I ache for you.
It is from these things you were formed.

farinelli_con_amici

*************

Be sure to check out my other sites:

Wyrd Curiosities at Etsy

My academia.edu page

My amazon author page.

Walking the Worlds Journal

My art blog at Krasskova Creations

My blog about all things strange, weird and medieval.

And if you like what you see, consider becoming a sponsor at Patreon.