This morning is not a morning for lounging; there are things to be done! I simply do not know what things….

The Oasis is quiet today, and everyone seems busy taking care of life. I wander the paths, and feel slightly out of place and at loose ends.

“I have plenty of things to do,” I say to Ishmael.

“In the outside world, you have plenty of things to do,” Ishmael says.

“I don’t usually come here when that’s the case,” I reply.

“Hmmm,” Ishmael says, and gives me a wink. It’s strange to think that I have to find a place for myself in my own place, which is, essentially, in my own head.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,” Harley says with her usual impatient twinge to her voice. She’s appeared out of nowhere, but then, that is not unusual in the Oasis.

“I thought you said I’d have to explore,” I say. Well, that’s *something*, isn’t it?

“A quest!” Ishmael says with the lunacy of a sidekick.

“You want to come along,” I suddenly realize. “Does curiousity kill angels?”

“Often,” Ishmael says, and he is not smiling.

“Harley,” I say, “why is everything working out now, and last week it wasn’t?”

Harley shrugs. “What’s different?”

What’s different? I feel better. I feel like there was something I couldn’t get enough of, and then I did. And that having whatever that was slaked now left enough time and attention to parcel out among other parts of my life. And at the same time that one need was fulfilled, something else that was overwhelming feels to have left. All I can think of was a huge monster sniffing near the place I was hiding, but then overlooking me and leaving instead (Shire! Baggins!).

“There’s a metaphor in my metaphor,” I complain. “Can’t I just think in straight lines?”

“Then you’d have been crazy a long time ago,” Bagheera says affectionately. I pet his great big head and he butts me playfully.

“Where have *you* been?” I accuse. “I could have used your help.”

“Then ask,” Bagheera says, without a trace of bite, figuratively or literally.

“Which would be the other problem,” Harley muttered.

“Fine,” I reply. “Then where do we start?”

“The Jungle,” Harley says. “You’ve left it woefully untended. You shouldn’t ignore gifts. Especially when given to you by a god.”

Balthazar watches me put a canister on the ground. “What’s that?” He asks.

“Napalm.”

“Oooh dear. I’ll get Darzee.”

“I wasn’t planning on using it on you, you know.”

The sun is directly overhead, and the Oasis bakes. The blanket of heat is mildly comforting, but not enough to distract me. The Bonfire before me burns without heat. The symbol of fire is all I need, and it won’t throw off warmth until the sun sets. The river slinks by behind the Bonfire, quiet and smooth, looking to keep out of my attention.

(more…)

“I am Shethged,” the warrior replies. “This is Vantoo. Now get out of the way. We are destined to fight this battle to a bloody end.”

“Really.” I turn to Ishmael, who has walked over to a safe distance. “They can lie to me?”

“You lie to yourself all the time. Incoming.” I hear the swish of the blade and I know I can’t do anything to stop it. This is going to hurt.

Except that I am surrounded by glowing pink energy, shimmery and translucent. I turn to see the warrior’s blade stuck in the pink energy. She is tugging at it, but the sword is stuck fast. I hear chuckling coming from the many-tentacled thing.

(more…)

Finally I have time to come back to this image.

On Monday I met with Lori and she did a process with me. Her processes generally involve her asking me questions about a subject that is making me uneasy that I asked for help dealing with. The point of the asking is to listen inwardly for an answer.

My answer to one of the questions was this:

Two figures on a plain. One is a woman warrior in full plate mail. She doesn’t have a helmet, and she has long blonde hair. The other is some sort of monster. Most of the monster is outside the image, and all that I see of it is three or four tentacles. They are fighting each other. They are dirty and exhausted and both spattered with blood.

My unconscious is, if nothing else, creative.

(more…)

“And how are destinies not like jam tomorrow?” I feel insolent and ignorant, because this day has been long indeed to sit through and very, very short on belief. Soothe the thought, sweetheart. Soothe the thought.

“Jam tomorrow?” Ishmael asks. We sit as if nothing has happened, as if nothing has changed, as if I am as deeply rooted in my belief as I was two days ago. And I am not; I cling to the plant and hope the roots are buried deep enough to keep me from a fall.

I am so angry that here nothing has changed! It should change! It is me!

Ishmael crooks me a little smile. “Shall I answer the question you have inside or the one you posed me?”

(more…)

“I am finally beginning to understand about money, I think. Or, I am beginning to understand how telling your own story works, and that what I want already exists for me and that I just need to ‘find it’ emotionally.” I pause and wait for confirmation.

Ishmael grimaces at me. “A disturbingly simple summation that could be open to vast misinterpretation. You *are* making excellent progress. Think of this whole process of manifestation less like something delicate that must be reached in perfect equilibrium, and more like a destiny.”

“A destiny? That’s supposed to make it easier?”

“Yes. Something comfortably unavoidable. You can try to run from it and make yourself miserable trying. You read Oedipus, girl. Would it be so terrible a thing to assume you have a destiny filled with happiness and plenty?”

I stare down at my phone and mutter, “There are some things that make me doubt, yes.”

I go in search of Ishmael.

Ishmael is, for lack of a more appropriate term, my guardian angel. At least, he looks like an angel to my mental eye, and he hangs around a lot. He alternates between being helpful and being the sort of know-it-all who loves to say “I told you so.”

He also gets into fantastic arguments with my spirit-teacher, Bagheera. They don’t see eye-to-eye on the best way to shepherd my spiritual growth. So when I call on one I often get the other, because they do both like to hover.

(more…)