Law #1: Every man wants to know that He's a good boy...
I'll elaborate. When you're in your bedroom at night, you're dressing for bed and he, your husband, fiancee, or live in significant other, is watching television and he happens to notice that you're a little colder than usual, he'll ask: "Babe, what's wrong?" You sigh and continue to lotion your body and begin to pour out your heart. "Well..."
I promise you, front that point forward, he won't understand a word you say. Dogs understand very little English. Throughout your moment of truth, regardless of how polite, respectful, calm and patient, it will translate to your canine bestfriend as "Wah, wah, wah, wah, pussy. Wah, wah, wah, wah car. Wah, wah, wah, money. Wah, wah, wah, wah, wallet. Wah, wah, wah, wah, gas money."
After juggling the television program, a sports game or what have you, which is aired in English by the way, and adding up his five keywords he heard when listening to the Master, he comes to the conclusion that your mad about gas money and then replies, "But I always give you gas money?" The following look of shock and horror as you begin to cry and shout at him for no reason, on one of your little crazy rants, is because he missed that fact that you always give him pussy, even when we're in the car, yet he's spending his money elsewhere so you dont have any and you know why and you can't rely on your husband anymore, not even for gas money.
Experiment #1: Once he gives the "I dont know where that shit just came from" face, when you respond by losing your shit, smile the best you can, give him a kiss, be it the forehead, cheek or lips, and say "I love you Baby" and see that the horror doesn't immediately leave his face, you are no longer crazy and he can happily watch the game because Mommy said he was a good boy.
PS: Wah, wah, wah, wah, separate spending account. Wah, wah, wah, wah, prepaid cell phone. Wah, wah, wah, wah, don't skip a beat. Wah, wah, wah, wah, save. Wah, wah, wah, wah, his and his. Wah, wah, wah, wah, "Sorry, I ain't sorry."
A steady drum pounded in my head as I laid across my bed. I figured if I looked as if I were sleeping, The Tyrant wouldn't be inclined to initiate an argument. The kitchen is clean. We're supposed to do leftovers. I cleaned up behind myself after my shower. I'm good. But as the tunes for inducing a Native American shamanic journey climaxed, I hated myself for having ADHD.
"I should be in a trance right now and I'm worried about whether or not the house is clean", I grumbled in melodrama.
"You need to be worried about me telling the elders about you inducing a trance in my house", I heard over the ethnic drumming.
"Or about your fits of anger, it's very un-Christlike of you mother", I turned up the volume on my phone. I couldn't entertain her calling my father's house hers for a second time. When I became aware of my audacious arrogance, I peeked out of my left eye to see if she were about to swing. To my surprise, I was left to my shamanic journeying. After the drumming repeated for a second time and I was no closer to traveling the astral plane, I removed my headphones and started a Google search for shamans. How do I report a site as fraudulent?
As I jumped site to site filtering through the charlatans, I thought of my father. Marcus Taylor never attained appointment in our global Christian brotherhood. Neither was he the emotional Christian moved to tears at the thought of all the hope that God provides in exchange for exclusive devotion and observance of his high moral principles. While he ensured that I knew the scriptures, he would never brow beat me with the "Word of God", as his wife would.
One day in the car, on our way home from our Christian ministry, he spoke to me on our religious doctrine pertaining to divination and spirit mediumship. I always noticed that when my father confided in me, especially on weightier matters, his voice would deepen in a very distinctive authoritative tone. After the voice of spiritual integrity faded, he paused as I gazed out the window, still disengaged from the preceding topic.
"You know, Dia, there is life after death. Here, on Earth, as we know it now", he said softly, solemnly. I looked over at my father who had not removed his eyes from the road. I was unaccustomed to my father ever speaking against our doctrine and doing so nonchalantly and plainly as if his statement hadn't questioned my entire upbringing.
"Since I was a child", he continued, "I've seen things, spirits, you know? I hear things, them, sometimes too". He paused. "Your grandmother is in the living room by her pictures and candles. There is a reason why I told your mother to put the candles by the family pictures." He paused again and sighed as he searched for his words. "But she'd never admit that to you. So don't bring it up to her. I'd never hear the end of it."
Looking at my dad, I couldn't formulate an appropriate response. So I turned my attention back to our urban scenery.
"Neither would I", I finally added.
So with my natural desire to pursue true spirituality coupled with my father's confidential confession, I had no inhibitions about seeking spiritual guidance of the nontraditional sort. With Yoruba priesthood ruled out for being better performing artists than proxies to the powers, covens being next to nonexistent in my area and shamans not having as large of an online presence, I threw the phone down to the bed and stared at the ceiling. I began to rear myself.
"Your SPE 101 paper isnt't going to write itself young lady. What did you learn from this semester's student teaching with Autistic middle schoolers?", melodrama continued.
I rolled my oh so overwhelmed and burdened mind over to look at the conjoining back driveways through my backroom window.
"That the mildly and severely Autistic need to be educated separately. It isn't fair to the more capable of the two. But their all inclusive, disorder designated classrooms, with students aging from nine to fourteen is most likely a contingency of having to raise your special needs child in a low income neighborhood", I sighed, "public schools".
Pulling my head over to once again to view the ceiling, "Now write in down". Instead I disobeyed myself, picked up the phone and called Victor.
"He broke up with you Dia..." I said sarcastically, bitterly. But I couldn't fight that nagging inclination that the relationship wasn't over. The phone rang.
"Welp, at least he hasn't blocked my number y..."
"Hello?"
Holy shit, he answered.
"Victor?"
"Hey, D, can I come get you?"
I sat up as the pressure from anticipation tightened my chest. I looked over at my closet, planning an outfit before responding. "Let me throw some clothes on."
Thirty minutes later, we were in the back seat of his Honda CR-V. It had only been a few days since his "I'm a married man" speech and his body felt heavier than it did the day before he delivered it. When he finished and peeled his sweaty body from atop mine, he sat, caught his breath and caressed my thigh.
"Missed you...", he said very casually.
"Victor, after your big speech, I sent you twenty text messages."
"And they aren't in my phone anymore Sister Taylor."
"What?"
He reclined his seat, closed his eyes and muffled as he began to nap.
"We're both dedicated and baptized Christians, Diaspora. And there's a pretty little thing running around with my last name. I can't keep any of your messages or phone calls and haven't for a minute."
He adjusted his weight in the chair. I sat up and began to dress myself. "I'm not in a rush", he quickly added with one eye now open.
"Lucky me", I hissed. He pats my butt.
"Hey, you were sixteen when this shit started. Your dad left and I thought you and your mom would eventually stop coming to the meetings and all of this would have gone away."
"Well, now I'm nineteen, Vick."
Now, with both eyes intently on me, "And we still haven't gone away."
"Gone away? Like I've ever been a problem. It's only a problem, Vick, if you make it a problem."
He stared. "What do you want me to do Dia? I can't leave my wife for a nineteen year old."
I finished dressing, sat back next to him and passed him his clothing.
"There's a store in Lancaster."
"That's like an hour away", he complained.
"And you aren't in a rush Brother Jones."
He nods, "Okay."
"And, I'm hungry."
On the road, we ate Wendy's and pretended as if nothing were wrong. We listened to popular music: hip hop, funk and a little jazz. We cracked jokes and watched the GPS.
"So where exactly are we going?"
"You'll see. I'd rather just go and let you be surprised than to tell you now and be told no."
"You're funny", he chuckled.
I shoved French fries in my mouth and looked out the window. After several sips, I decided that I'd rather have his lemonade than my coke. We exited the highway and a few minutes later I could see the store's sign posted on the road. It stood out plainly between two other storefronts and abundant farmland. Madam Vessant's Occult Shop. We pulled into the empty parking lot. If it weren't for the flashing neon TAROT READING sign and the crone rocking in chair out front, I would have presumed the shop closed.
"You wanted to go to an occult shop?", he asked confusedly.
"Mhmm, you coming in?"
"And give you my card again?"
"You didn't give me a budget last time, not my fault. Come on."
I jumped out of the car and addressed the crone. "Are you Madame Vessant?"
"Only when I'm here sweetie. What can I do for you?", she croaked. Victor watched as we conversed, surprised at what he thought my newest venture.
"Umm, I wanted a tarot reading, a deck of my own and maybe a dream catcher, if you have any. Do you have any books on shamanic journeying?"
"The reading is fifty dollars", gave her aged voice. From her sun tan and heavily wrinkled skin, I couldn't place her ethnicity but her accent was American.
"Dia..", Victor exaggerated, complaining of the price. I ignore the Christian elder who couldn't leave his wife for a nineteen year old. Madame Vessant glared sternly at Victor, even squinting an eye.
"Alright, the girl gets her first reading free, but your young mistress wants a deck of cards, a book and quality dream catcher." He bypassed the woman's comment and the fact that he wears his wedding band so seldomly that he doesn't carry an imprint.
"Dia, you want me to go with you?"
"She should do this alone", Vessant added firmly. Victor cut his eyes over at the woman and then back at me. "D...?"
"I'm okay, I'll do it alone."
In the back of the whimsical store, behind closed purple curtains, Madame Vessant and I sat in a small room with ethnic statues, masks and clothing on the wall and other knick knacks of various religious backgrounds. There was a tall vertical metal file cabinet that I assumed was full of witchcraft supplies. Candles and incense were lit and the Rootworker began her shuffle. Six cards were laid in the pattern of the solar plexus. She remained silent as she reviewed the cards.
"Is it separation or divorce", she looks up at me above her thin spectacles, "with your parents?"
"Separation", I admitted shamefully, "or abandonment, which ever works."
"Your mother will not handle this well overtime. Her future is very dark, now that she is without your father. I'd be more concerned with her emotional well being over my own for at least awhile."
"You don't know a damn thing about us, lady. I can't focus on my moth..." Without disrupting her further review of the cards, she interrupted my sass.
"Your journey will be successful. The Universe will provide what you have been seeking but Mister out front playing with my wind chimes is an evitable hurdle along the way. But only if you are willing to remove him. Now get your deck of cards, wild little girl, your dream catcher and get out of my store." And without a bat of an eye, I was dismissed from my reading.
I don't think I've ever been more confused in my life. I picked up my bag and went out into the main store. Through the storefront windows, I saw Victor outside playing with the wind chimes that barely made a sound. How the hell? I turned around in astonishment of Madam Vessant as she went behind the cash register. She ignored my shock and pointing to the manifestation of her revelation and continued to bark orders. "Shop!", she demanded, "Tell you boyfriend to pay me my money."
There was no book, but I found an Afro-Brazilian tarot deck and a royal purple dream catcher and then, Victor. The bells on the store's door rang as I tagged him into my consumer experience. "Hey, I'm ready."
On our way out, I looked back over my shoulder at Madame Vessant. Her frank shortness unassuaged me. She lacked the friendliness of any merchant and the conventional professionalism of the average businessman. In the car, Victor immediately asked the details of the reading. I genuinely considered heeding her advice of leaving Victor, so I refused to inform him.
"A bunch of little things, nothing heavy. It was free anyhow, you know? Wanna see my cards?"
"Yeah..."
Back in the shop, Madame Vessant watched Diaspora and Victor drive off.
"Wild one, isn't she?", she asked softly. "You'll get your journey alright diaspora, oh, Dia-spora, I mean, humph." She pulled the shop keys from her house dress pockets. She shuffled her fuzzy slippered feet over to the front door, locked it and turned off her neon sign. She turned out the store's lights and continued her shuffle to her back room. She opened the metal cabinet and kneeled. At its floor were five pillar candles, offering bowls of food and a goblet of wine. The articles of worship surrounded the base of the statue of her God. She lit the used pillar candles and looked up to her horned Lord.
"My Lord of the Wilderness, our last client is bound to cross your path. She seeks a journey of enlightenment and growth. If it be your will, allow her to journey to you and gain wisdom in your hidden knowledge. That is, before she foolishly finds herself pregnant by her mischievous pervert Mister. Lord..."
Madam Vessant rose and went to bed. The cabinet remained open and the candles burned all night.
to be continued...
Deity pounded on her chamber door as she heard her coven sisters crying , murmuring, running and brooming through the corridors. She knew Terra had overstepped a boundary with her revelation but couldn't fathom her frightened sisters' claim to execution. She could hear Governess Maria, The Air Witch, calming the young witches of Earth.
"Children, ladies, children! Please, silence. Be still, listen."
Deity pressed her ear to the chamber door.
"We have all studied Karma", Maria continued, "we all know well that It compensates in full. So if the word being spread has any validity then..."
"But she's our Governess. There isn't a more competent Earth Witch in Vulcan or Diana!" Deity heard. From the rasp in her sister's voice, she could tell the cry originated from Laura. But Laura was currently in Fire Mastery but she is known to frequent the Earth wing. The young witches of Vulcan tend to wander to the wing of their elemental moon, their original mastery. The same stands for the young wizards of Diana and their elemental sun. Both House Vulcan and House Diana have identical architecture. Each House forms a pentagram castle of the five wings, with The Coven Parents in the center. Each wing is heavily decorated and enchanted with the elements of assignment. Where the man power for décor and engineering falls short, magick supplements.
The Water wing has running water substituting glass windows. The baseboards of the rooms and corridors are the same to foster practice and peace with the element. The spell on the Air wing leaves it subject to tornadoes in the hall, a byproduct of frequent spell casting gone awry. But, we've learned their patterns and now use them for practice and therefore mastery tasks, and fun, when conceit sets into a young magician. The Fire wing, the darkest and seediest wing of the castles, is void of electricity and is prone to visits from The Underworld by means of the candle and torch flames that illuminate it. The Ether wing is more simple than one might think. It is possessed to the point that each chamber as twice the occupancy of any other wing. We practice embracing our true selves when we cycle to Ether for interaction with those possessing the wing. But Laura's lunar home has bedroom floors of green grass and living, breathing, speaking plant life. Every witch that cycles to the Earth wing is magickally responsible for the upkeep of their plant life.
There are nine chambers in each of the five wings. Seven are dormitory with elemental features and every student magicians of Vulcan and Diana has a pagan roommate. One chamber for the solitude of the Governor or Governess who monitors the students' progression and behavior throughout their five year mastery of the element. And each wing has one chamber of isolation. This particular dungeon of penance is void of the comforting homeliness and magick provided by elemental features. That would be the chamber of Deity and the like. It is only subject to magick when its repenting occupant suffers further sentencing.
As deity chaffed and paced in her chamber of isolation, she hated herself for her curiosity and wandering that resulted in her occupying the ninth chamber. Two ago, only one year into her Earth Mastery and bonding with Terra, she was sentenced to "no recreation for a twenty one days" for practicing Water Magick against Governess Hestia. The Fire Witch Governess and Professor of Manipulation of Stones and Metals (MNP103) was saturated in her only weakness after a showy display of authority against Deity when Deity became testy regarding the mandate that she only learn but not practice the ways of Fire.
"The binding placed on me in Fire classes and in your wing is for your safety and coddling as mortals. I wont just sit and listen and test on paper", Deity proclaimed that day. Hestia would not "tolerate her lip" and struck Deity with flames. To the Fire Witch's dismay, Deity gave a proud rebuttal that mandated Hestia dry out for a week before reigniting. Out of fear of further sentencing, Deity fled the perimeter of the two Houses and retreated deep into the surrounding woods, the same woods of her discovery as a newborn.
Cold and ill-equipped for survival in the wild, Deity slept under a large pile of leaves. In the middle of the night, she was awakened in terror by a snake slithering across her leg. When she screamed and threw the serpent from her, it regrouped and spoke.
"I know you child. Calm yourself. You are The Abandoned One", announced the legless entity.
"Abandoned by whom?" Deity asked, no less shaken than she was before he spoke.
Excited with anticipation, he slithered closer to her and raised his limbless body erect, now eye level with the kneeling rebel.
"Instead inquire of whom awaits you child." The serpent hissed softly and swayed from side to side, reading the spirit in Deity's eyes. "Have you learned of The Fallen Angels of Heaven in that coven of yours, Witch?"
"We study them but working and battling them is prohibited outside of the Ether Mastery cycle."
The serpent put distance between them.
"And I suppose", he began, "it would be the same for The Rising Angels of The Underworld."
Before Deity could confirm his suspicion, he leaped and buried himself into the ground. The Earth trembled and the very spot of his burial began to lift and form a whirlwind funnel. After several crackles and sparks inside the earthy twister, it combusted into flames. A large masculine angelic entity appeared in the swirling heat. With a strong flap of his wings, the fire was extinguished and the earth settled. He hovered over the young witch, raised his left arm and pointed to her.
"Deity our Abandoned One, you were left alone to demonstrate your purpose, a trial not so uncommon. Remember, Hell hath no fury without She born of it." He then outstretched his palm and struck Deity with a heat that knocked her back into the leafy heap and into a deep sleep. He blanketed her as she was before and watched her rest. He confessed.
"My daughter, your mother and I will not be there for you're return. We must expire for the sake of your reign. But you will never learn mastery until you leave that cage we've reluctantly given you as a home. When you do leave, Deity, you will be alone. He will come for you. And you two will return to The Underworld together. Stay fervent, my beloved demon daughter. Remain furious, oh rebellious one, Hell's future Queen. We love you." Her father then left her.
At dawn, she was awakened by the roaring of her coven brothers of House Diana on foot, brooms and horseback. They collected their rogue sister who had awakened in excruciating pain. Twenty four hours from the point that The Rising Angel of The Underworld rendered her unconscious, she was laying on her belly in the infirmary of House Vulcan. In one hand she held a letter explaining that the remainder of her experience as a student at House Vulcan would be spent magickless isolation. In the other, a mirror that revealed a fate she considered to be far worse. She had two large humps on her shoulder blades, from which she was sprouting wings.
Deity refused to be excluded from the commotion of Terra's fate any longer. She glared at the chamber door, determined to break the spell of isolation. She hovered above the ground, forsaking the use of the wand, opting instead to conduct her power organically, as she had recently been instructed. She raised her left hand, stretched out her palm, sought destruction and put her Latin to the test.
"Veritatem revelare. Ego sum qui ego sum. Deus tuus ego sum. Arcum mihi!"
Deity waved her hand and the door and its wall opposing her crumbled. When her freedom was granted her by her own power, she saw her coven sisters running toward the exit.
"They've found her!" They hollered. "Diana has found Terra!"
In the distance, she could hear Governess Maria, announcing the event.
"Now, now, we must all convene outside for a dual coven convention for the execution of The Traitor."
Deity's stomach turned. Terra's revelation of Deity's birthright as The Lofty Chosen of Darkness and subsequent fleeing warranted public execution. No doubt, The Earth Witch with fall to her only weakness and burn at the stake. In the heat of the moment, Deity disregarded the insecurities of her very human, yet blessed, siblings and parents and flew over head to the entrance of House Vulcan. As she flew passed her sisters, she ignored their cries and pleas.
"Deity, please, return to your isolation, for your own sake!"
"Deity, please, why won't you use a broom?" Deity had it set in her heart to do neither. She refused her cage and the use of antiquated tools that do not move as quickly as her wings allowed.
Terra had broken a pact of secrecy for Deity's deserved awareness. She would repay her governess with the same rebellion. The glory of this defiance was undeniable to Deity. As she navigated the halls of Vulcan, she looked down at her sisters and dodged those brooming, having the nagging inkling that this would be her final goodbye. As her flight led her to the entrance of her coven, she opted for a less showy display of power, closed her eyes, retracted her wings and exited through the window.
Outside witches and wizards from The Houses poured into the front courtyard. The stake and lumber were prepped as The Executioner tied Terra to her fate. Deity could see sparks and bolts of green energy shooting from Terra's body as she struggled to use Earth magick for her freedom. As the truth took hold of Deity, her heart sank. Her generation of witches and wizards had only heard cautionary tales of executions. They has never witnessed one. Deity was mortified at the amount of magicians excited, proud and advocating Terra's death. Terra had declined from being a beloved and venerated authority figure of Earth in both the sibling Houses to being detested, name cursed and spit upon.
Deity looked over and saw both sets of coven parents next to the stake as Terra's face flooded and shivered in fear. The four coven parents seemed to ignore Deity's presence and broomless flight. The four parents spoke in unison.
"Self-perpetuating, may Vulcan and Diana live forever!"
The Executioner of The Houses, a demonic ward of The Underworld, then spat his unholy flame and lit the lumber. Terra screamed at the top of her lungs. Deity couldn't bring herself to take action. In her inexperience, she was stunned. Terra's terror and horror resounded into the woods that the hidden witches and wizards had made their home three hundred years ago. As the flames grew to Terra's waist, Terra began to choke and cough up blood. For the last time, Terra and Deity made eye contact. Mourning the torture of her governess, Deity broke her composure at the sight of the weakening of the Earth magick leaving Terra's pentagram. Her shrill of agony echoed. Terra gasped twice and screamed out to Deity from what little was left of the magickal soul possessing her body.
"Run, Deity! Run!"
From her third word, the flames instantaneously engulfed Terra. The crowd cheered. The Coven Father of House Vulcan, the only father that Deity knew, raised his hand and immediately silenced the celebration. With the mixed houses' attention on the Coven Father and his hand, they followed its direction to look up or over at Deity. With their energy fixed on their rogue sister, Gustav spoke masterfully.
"Magicians, fire."
With the grace of magick, two hundred witched and wizards pulled their wands from their inner pockets of the cloaks and fired their elemental magick of preference. Deity made evasive maneuvers from their energy and brooms. As several of her brothers of Diana began to enclose, her youth and inexperience with betrayal lead to her demise. She lost her angelic control and began to fall. As she descended towards her grounded siblings, she felt pressure on her brain as the Greek Lord of The Underworld spoke.
"Higher!" He shouted.
Through the frighten tears in her eyes, she looked up and saw the brooms of her brothers vanish into thin air. As they began to crash land, some saved by magick and others crossing over, Deity took to the clouds. At every moment of doubt she heard the Lord speak again.
"Higher!"
"Higher!"
"Higher!"
Once outside of the dual covens' range, Deity heard the voice of Hades once more.
"Leave. Forever."
Out of harm's way and void of further doubt, Deity flew. In to the night, away from the fear of those lesser than she, away from regular persecution and sentencing, away from the demands to be anything other than her Self, she flew.
to be continued...
