I love my River Mist cord, and the cord for Freyr’s and my wedding is so wonderful — as is all of the other yarn we’ve purchased. I cannot recommend Beth’s work highly enough.
(Written on 11/10/13, while we had no internet access)
One of the times I went to the stream that I like in the forest [in Alfheimr] and sat down on the rocks along the bank, one of the tree spirits came to talk to me. He was thin and rather old, with moss and lichen patterning his bark. He sat down beside me and stretched out his legs, which took root and burrowed down under the edge of the stream.
He asked me who I thought I was.
“No one,” I said, startled.
Coming into their forest all of the time, disturbing the birds, sitting on things.
I continued to look at the water and thought about Freyr bringing me there more than once, and our wedding, where woven willow branches were put on my head and I was given an assortment of jewellery which seems to have only been worn by rather important people. It occurred to me that ‘no one’ was a stupid answer, because I was not no one.
“Freyr put a crown on my head,” I said slowly.
“Yes. A lot of people came.”
What do you think that means.
“I’m not entirely sure yet.”
Do you think it means that you can come in here and do whatever you want.
I thought about the various implications of said crown and what people who wear such things usually do, and what I do and have done, and said, rather cautiously, “I can come here whenever I want. He told me that I could and he is the incontrovertible lord of the realm. I have always been very respectful of all of you.”
So you don’t intend to be another pompous little shit.
“No. Whether or not he married me, or whatever rights he has bestowed upon me, I don’t have the right to behave badly. No one does.”
He leaned back on his elbows, which similarly rooted into the ground, and over the next several minutes, faded into an oddly-shaped tree that seemed no more animated than the very wide and solid tree to my left.
I felt strange.
The wind, feminine, curled around my ear and brushed through my hair, humming, glid over the back of my neck and spiraled up into the large tree, twining through its branches and sending them shivering. I had the image of a sensuous, well-curved woman, with full, deep red lips. The sky was very blue and there were wispy clouds, being unraveled by the wind in the high atmosphere. It was a cool day, but not too cold.
My clothes have turned into wool, with a lot of dark green shades, and boots showed up one day.
I am far from understanding what I am, and what I am meant to do. But being awkward, or ashamed/embarrassed that he placed me in a powerful position, simply because I have a low opinion of myself, is counterproductive and not a little insulting toward him.
I find myself playing with the antler pendant I purchased from Dver. Wondering if, in some years, I will wear it down smooth or wear it away with my worried rubbing.
For reasons known only to Time Warner, we had to wait two weeks for someone to come attach a coaxial cable to our modem and then to the wall. That was finally done.
In the interim, we read, V. did a large amount of knitting, I did quite a lot of praying.
I intend to keep that up, ideally forming a strong devotional and meditative habit that will form the backbone of my work for the rest of my life.
I’ve had a lot of unrelenting horrors related to my ptsd happening lately. I’ve never had nightmares like this before — not so many, and not so many days in a row. I’ve been dreaming about being raped since we came up here to look for apartments, in the middle of October. I’ve been having those dreams for a month, many more times a week than not. And lately it’s been every single night, and sometimes more than once. I had to crawl (literally) out of bed and to the door to the living room yesterday, deep enough in the flashbacks that I couldn’t walk or communicate much, but it seems like I looked so bad that V. was up and coming to hold me before I think I’d managed to say anything about what was wrong.
I hope to upload some of the things I wrote (though there is not as much of it as I would have liked, likely due to all of that) tomorrow, and then possibly start picking at the 30 days devotional meme going around. I won’t put any pressure on myself to do the posts every day. I’m not in any psychological state to take on a responsibility. But I would like to do the writing, because I think it would be good for me and good for our relationship. It will also be helpful if I take any of this nudging about working on a book seriously, because they’re nearly all appropriate topics to include and expand upon.
I would like to curl up on R for a few days. He’s had a lot going on lately and we’ve only seen each other a little, though I don’t begrudge him it: he’s primarily busy in a good and happy way. I do miss him, though, particularly due to his having been one of the few things in my life I could depend on, and all of the ptsd being so much like drowning.
I’ve had the “Do I need to go to the hospital?” conversation, but I don’t know what they could do for me. I’m not a danger to myself. My memory is a danger to me.