Tag Archives: Loki

Aridity

I had been strongly considering participating in the PBP, but the first relevant word that came to mind for me was ‘Adoption’ and that peeled open a festering mess I wasn’t quite expecting.

I don’t have contact with any human family. It has been a painful mess since I was twelve and understood the depth of my father’s disinterest in my existence (I didn’t even know him, really — I saw him a couple of times when I was very, very young and never again after I was about five — but I knew where he lived, and I spent some time sitting on my bike across the road from his house, thinking about what would happen if I knocked on the door) and there were levels of increasing understanding of my mother’s hatred for me, starting with being told that I should have been aborted when I was four or five, to worse things and repeats of that and similar statements, until I was seventeen. I had already left home by then — going halfway across the country and working full time from the moment I was sixteen and living with awful people actually seemed better than living with her, and I’d already dropped out of school due to a nervous breakdown when I was fourteen — but during a phone call in either late 1998 or early 1999, she reminded me that not having had an abortion had “fucked up her life.”

I never stopped being depressed about it, or wounded. The best I could manage was ignoring it.

When Brand’s family found out about me, they were completely horrified by how neglected and hated I had been, and immediately decided that they would adopt me. He’s said before that there is nothing more important to the jotnar than family, but I didn’t realize that extended to adopting unwanted children to ensure they had family, too. That was probably a bit stupid of me, but I’ve internalized the idea that I am loathsome and unwantable by anyone very well (which I have to admit doesn’t do my romantic relationships any good, either).

I feel like a feral cat, haunting the edges of this civilization and scattering whenever someone looks at me or comes to close, and only creeping in when no one’s paying attention, or is busy elsewhere. I’m prone to raiding the trash for scraps because I can’t handle coming in to my place at the table. I don’t know how to come in. I can only tolerate it for a few minutes at most before I have a desperate urge to run away and be extremely alone. Alone is familiar; alone is what I know.

At our wedding, so many of his friends and family — and part of my brain was trying to consider the idea that they would think of me as part of their family also, while the rest of it was skittering away from that thought and relegating all of these people to his, his, his. No our anywhere involved. His house, his bed, his everything. What am I, exactly, inside my own mind? A doll that he felt sorry for. And decided to take home, try to clean it up, sit it around tea parties with other dolls and stuffed animals. But I don’t have a mouth. I do not know how to make sounds.

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The Demigodspouse Edition

Brand’s parents, both being gods, seems to, according to the sort of genetics we learned in middle school, mean he is also one, but he is profoundly uncomfortable about the idea, and I sometimes refer to him as a demigod to aggravate him. It worked too well, here, for a title to go for the sort of politeness one would expect when discussion my best friend/lover/husband/twin.

I helped with the ceremony for Brand and V., and had my first (in my opinion, extremely awkward, but no one shares my opinion) foray into being a priest for other people.

They were there, very much.

It’s very silence-inducing, at least in the afterward, feeling them so strongly here, in such a way that I am confused by people who do not believe in any form of divine, or other, or at least more than we can know.

A month for Freyr?

Brand intends to spend the month writing about his father. On my own end, I will be out of town briefly, dealing with very stressful things, and then I have a retreat to attend, and I need to plan my wedding, write vows, figure something or other out about it all.

In an ideal situation, someone would be able to let Freyr borrow their body, but the two people I could ask are very bad at it. One is willing to try ahead of time to see if it’s possible. If not, I’m far from the first person who will be marrying a disembodied god.

I would like to plan a special meal. As it happens, where I will be upstate, there is a place that sells local raw honey very inexpensively, and we plan to get quite a bit of it. There’s a recipe for a honey liquor that will be ready in enough time, which I’m planning on doing. We need to buy a bread pan, and we can make a fresh loaf of gluten-free bread to eat warm with butter and raw honey.

What else? Since it’s summer, he loves feeding me extravagant salads. I could make a honey dressing or honey vinaigrette, and put together something using lots of different ingredients. I will be forever hunched over the cutting board, and my hands may be useless afterward, but it’s probably what I would be eating at home, along with roasted vegetables. Maybe roasted with rosemary and thyme? Trying to think of something to do with fruit. There is a vote for honey jasmine ice cream.

So, with all of this rushing around for that, I can only assume that he will be on my mind every single day in August. It seems appropriate to make it into a devotional act.

I don’t know if anyone else is interested in dedicating a month to writing about him, especially after so many people will be spending time writing about Loki in July. But I would certainly be very happy if other people decided to join me in doing it. He’s hardly unknown, and he’s completely acceptable to worship, so perhaps it isn’t as important as writing about a marginalized, misunderstood god, whose followers are demonized along with him, both because of him and because of the public perception of Lokeans, these days.

But because he’s completely acceptable, I don’t see as much writing about him. Especially not much that goes beyond “fertility god, penis, penis, penis, incest.”

Maybe the people who are drawn to him or vice versa have similar temperaments as me, and are quiet, and not prone to doing a lot in front of other people, because our relationship is so centered around the idea of home.

Thirty-one days will be difficult, but my energy does not cost money. And he is worth it.

Brokenness.

I have a cough that is getting worse and sounds very unpleasant. My chest hurts, as well.

This morning, after I finished meditating and was in the kitchen making myself something to eat, he said my name.

I turned to look at him; he took my face in his hands and tipped it slightly so that I would look at him. He is a few inches taller than I am, which is not that strange. I’m around 5’9″.

I expected him to say something, but he was quiet, just looking at me.

I felt emotion boil up inside me, turning into a flood, threatening to overwhelm all of my carefully constructed demilitarized zones and walls. I didn’t think I could control it and that frightened me.

I looked down, lowering my head, and feeling my shoulders curl up and in. I grappled with my emotions desperately, breaking them down and shoving them away, trying to get back to something in the range of neutral. Scared out of my mind.

“What would happen, if you let yourself feel?” he asked quietly.

I covered my face with my hands. He had not entirely let me go. I wanted to to retreat, hide, run. Futile; where can you hide from your own mind?

“Lose you, too,” I said into my hands.

A moment passed, while he was poised on the edge of saying something and then reconsidering it, and reconsidering other things. I could feel him thinking.

“You don’t believe in promises anymore.” It was a perfectly neutral observation, with no blame attached. There was a slightly wistful note to it.

I felt awful. I felt like I was wronging him. He was never done anything that made me think he did not mean what he was saying, even though I have doubted various portions of the important parts.

Completely miserable, I agreed with him.

His hands slid down my shoulders and then around my back. “There is nothing to do about that but time.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, wretched and guilty.

“If a man breaks your leg, and you cannot rise to greet me, is it your fault, or the man who broke your leg’s?”

“That’s–”

“The only blame lies with those who broke it. If a man breaks his arm, and it is set properly, he will have use of it again in two months. I have never heard of a heart mending in two months. Or the ability to trust another.”

 

“Some people fall in love and everything magically gets better,” I said later.

“Is that mending, or distraction?”

“It depends the sincerity of it, I suppose.”

“How do they feel about the world outside of their beloved?” he pressed. “Do they love any others, have they compassion, warmth, openness to anyone else?”

I started to answer him and stopped, and started flicking through my rolodex of every thoroughly broken-hearted person I’ve known. “…No, not that quickly, if ever.”

He rested his jaw on his thumb and his elbow on his knee. His index finger ran along the side of his face to his temple and his other fingers were curled by his cheek. We were sitting on the bed. I’d woken up with my cough turned vicious.

I’m going to go to the doctor in the day, if they have any urgent care appointments. If not, then they should on Wednesday. 

He has lovely hands. I wish I could draw.

“And yet you have not stopped caring very deeply for others and have such compassion that it rends your heart in an entirely different way. I know you can’t trust them with yourself,” he said, slicing off my protest before it had finished forming. “But you don’t think they’re innately bad people. That isn’t why you cannot trust them.”

“It–” seems like I’m wronging them. “Seems very rude, to not trust people who haven’t earned distrust.”

“Are you actually told anywhere to trust everyone?”

“I… No, I don’t think… In the way I’m worrying about it. Though it…”

He waited patiently.

“I’m too sick. And I can’t remember everything. Even if I weren’t sick. But then maybe I would feel up to going through everything.”

“If–” He was very gentle, rather like the way the Grand Canyon was carved by water. “–you cannot recall everything you are supposed to be doing, then you may be incorrect about what you are doing wrong. And if you are doing something incorrectly, but you know it should be done differently, and you want to do it differently, but your psychological circumstances are overpowering you, did you not just read today that that did not make it a failure, and even if it did, that if you were failing, you are never to feel guilty about it?”

I suddenly understood why Brand finds it so aggravating at times that his father can pick everything he’s seen, read, or thought for eons right out of his head, and then weave the most incontrovertible arguments against anything. Even if that weren’t one of Loki’s innate specialties.

I wasn’t aggravated, but I did feel as helpless and foolish as the rock trying to argue against erosion. Stop eroding me! Stop it! I never said you could be here! Go away! You go away right now! While the water blithely runs along.

 

Without my doing anything that I was aware of, itunes opened and Remember How We Forgot by Shane Koyczan started to play.

Why me?

I’m babysitting my best friend’s body while most of the rest of him is involved in an extremely taxing, very long ordeal. This is convenient, as I’ve been mostly-homeless since the beginning of the year.

A few days before it began on the equinox, Freyr visited him while he was meditating. Neither of us are very surprised when people show up, but he is one of Loki’s sons and is more accustomed to having extended family drop in. Freyr told him to tell me, in essence, to pay attention because I was so lost in my misery that his attempts at getting my attention weren’t working.

Well, yes. That got my attention. I couldn’t imagine what he wanted. I’ve always thought of myself as nothing, a nobody, someone who is at best an assistant and otherwise overlooked. I am the people dressed in solid black during plays that you’re meant to ignore as they rearrange things in the background. I am good at that job. Why else would I be sitting here next to Brand’s sleeping body, particularly in lieu of anyone else you’d assume would take the job, such as a lover?

Also, I’m a Buddhist. This isn’t my religion. I’ve just been tugged into it sideways because Brand’s everything tends to be enveloping, and I’m a very sensitive empath and sensitive to otherworldly things, and Loki is chatty, and… really, I just thought of all of it as interacting with my best friend’s family.

His father talks to me from time to time. Today it was to tell me in part to stop being terrified of Freyr — of intimacy (insert 10,000 words about the ways my heart has been twisted and broken in the last seven months) and of being one of those people who, with no prior experience with a god, suddenly announce that said god is interested in them — and to reassure me at length that he had never left Brand since all of it started, and that Brand would be all right.

He told me that despite the nearly-overpowering radiation of LIKE, Freyr was the gentlest person he knew, no doubt knew all about my PTSD and trauma about relationships and sex and how afraid I am of even entertaining the idea of being near anyone, and all of the rest of it, and would never do anything, or, and this may have been the most important part, would never make sad eyes at you or lay guilt trips on you because of it.

He suggested that rather than spend my trip home from the dentist reading or reciting mantras (my default subway activities), I talk to Freyr. Suggested rather strongly.

So I did, for a little while. I had a headache from the dentist. I asked why me?, and after why not you? clarified, no, a real answer. I need a real answer.

He said that I was gentle and kind, regardless of how many times and ways that I am hurt. He said that I was beautiful. He said that I was very strong despite being very wounded.

(And then I was distracted by getting to the train station and getting on the train.)

When we resumed, I was looking for something to listen to so that I could tune out some of the subway noise and ended up deciding to listen to a talk on maitri instead, with the intention to talking after I’d gotten home, eaten, looked after Brand, etc.

When it started playing, he gave me a look.

Maitri or Metta is a loving-kindness practice/meditation. It’s quite simple but very challenging. You work on earnestly wishing yourself, someone you feel grateful toward, a close friend, a neutral person, and someone you dislike happiness and the cause of happiness, and freedom from suffering and the cause of suffering, and then you wish the same to all sentient beings (this includes things like fruit flies and the yappy dog down the street, gods, otherworldly all sorts of things, the dead, and so on). Work on is the important phrase. Over a long period of time, it opens your heart, enables you to experience great compassion, and helps you reach a place of equanimity, which you’re simultaneously working on with your regular meditation practice.

So — largely homeless, life a mess, deeply hurt, and I’m spending forty-five minutes doing maitri instead of any of the other million ways I could’ve found to use the time.

Apparently that proves his entire point of why me.

Today’s rune was Wunjo.