Pagan’s Progress: Episode 02 – Astrology, Frigga, and Skadi — all manner of hearthly concerns

Listen to the episode here. Episode two is up! It took a lot longer than I planned to edit, so my apologies for the delay. Hopefully these will get shorter as I learn how to use Audacity. Links to things mentioned in this episode are as follows: Flax and Gold Astrology Course Stephen Forrest’s The […]

via Pagan’s Progress: Episode 02 – Astrology, Frigga, and Skadi — all manner of hearthly concerns

This episode took us forever, but I’m very proud of it. :3

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Pagan’s Progress: Episode 01 – Witches’ Sabbat Recap — all manner of hearthly concerns

Hey, I should’ve posted this a while ago! My sister Sionnan and I have been working on a sorta-biweekly podcast about Paganism, and y’all should check it out if you haven’t done so already.

Listen to the episode here. Episode the first has gone live! Please enjoy my recap of our trip to the Witches’ Sabbat, and check out the following blog posts for more information: Flying to the Sabbat Adventures in Ontario Shady pine trees and rivers of light: The Witches’ Sabbat at Raven’s Knoll 2016 Witches’ Sabbat […]

via Pagan’s Progress: Episode 01 – Witches’ Sabbat Recap — all manner of hearthly concerns

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UPG: Salmakis and Artemis

Salmakis is a quiet goddess—that’s something I’ve always felt deeply; that, by and large, She prefers to keep to Herself. It’s one of the things I most enjoy about venerating Her—as a relatively (and happily, I think) obscure theoi, Her presence in my life never leads me into quarrels with some of the pushier folks in the Hellenic polytheist community. (This is one of many reasons why I continue to resist Hermes’ wedging Himself into my life; I don’t really want my blog or writings to be subject to the attention—and unfair criticisms—of His following. Especially since I just don’t like Him all that much.)

This penchant for quiet, pensive solitude—for independence, and breaking off from groups—that I ascribe to Salmakis comes from this section of the Metamorphoses:

A Nympha dwelt there, not one to bend the bow or join the hunt or run to win the race; she was the only of the Naides unknown to swift Diana [Artemis]. Many a time her sisters chide her: ‘Come, Salmacis, get out your spear or painted quiver; vary your hours of ease with hardships of the chase.’ Yet never spear she took nor painted quiver, nor would vary her hours of ease with hardships of the chase; but in her pool would bathe her lovely limbs, and with a comb of boxwood dress her hair, and, gazing long, take counsel of the waters what style were best.

(Emphasis added)

Ever since I first started seriously working with Salmakis, this passage made me wonder what I should do about Artemis—like, outside of Ovid and the Salmakis Inscription, there’s not a whole lot of content from history that really shines light on Her, so I’ve basically had to read deeply into what exists—and the other theoi she’s connected to, and their relationship with Them, is meaningful and should be contemplated.

Before I figured out associations for Salmakis, I considered looking to Artemis’ associations for inspiration, but that immediately seemed wrong to me, because the whole point of namedropping Artemis in Book IV is to underscore that Artemis, who was a prominent figure and knew basically all the nymphs, had no clue who Salmakis was, because Salmakis was decidedly Not Interested in Her, no matter how often the other Naiades Kariai invited Her along to come hang. (Ovid heavily implies this is because She was lazy and vain, which… well, I have too much to say on that to write here.)

So based on this, since Salmakis is my patron deity, I always thought I should leave Artemis alone—not work with Her, not introduce myself to Her, not engage Her at all—but I realize this was a pretty flimsy justification. Like, certainly because I admire Salmakis so much, there’s little attraction in working with Artemis, but there’s not a whole lot of indication that I’m not supposed to. But then I realized that there’s more to it than that.

As I’ve mentioned many times before, I regard Salmakis as being, among other things, the patroness of intersex and transgender women. And Artemis’ Roman face, Diana, is the eponymous goddess of Dianic Wicca, whose adherents are notorious for despising intersex and transgender women. Basically, Dianic Wiccans are some of the TERFiest TERFs that ever TERFed a TERF.

Now, obviously, I venerate Skaði, and know it’s not any more fair to associate Diana with transmisogyny than it is to associate the Norse pantheon with white supremacists. Shitty adherents gonna be shitty; no need to pin that on the divine. But it’s just one more reason for me to feel uncomfortable about the idea of working with Artemis.

Plus, the fact, by itself, that Artemis is a goddess of childbirth and virginity, makes me feel that She has relatively little to offer intersex and/or transgender women—most of us can’t give birth, and even in patriarchal circles where “virginity” as a concept exists and is valued, the virginity of trans women decidedly isn’t—when it’s acknowledged at all, it’s something to be scorned and mocked.

I’m not saying that Artemis is a “second-wave feminist” goddess and Salmakis is an “intersectional” goddess, or something similarly asinine, but for me, this dichotomy mirrors what Ovid wrote about, in a strange sort of fashion—about Salmakis being “unknown” to Artemis. Much like how I, as an intersex woman, am “unknown” to TERFs.

That, to me, is the final nail in the coffin: I shouldn’t ever approach Artemis.

(Mind you, I already have, years ago, when I was exploring Wicca—when I was in boot camp, I prayed to Diana that I’d take the Expert Marksmanship ribbon. Long story short, I didn’t get it, and I’m willing to throw aside the whole incident because I was trying to work with her under a false persona and pseudonym. I didn’t approach Her in good faith, so I’m pretty sure She didn’t hear me to begin with.)

Also, Artemis’ brother is Apollo, and I feel strongly that fuck the sun.

Now, based on all the reasoning above, I’m inclined to wonder if Salmakis, being the patroness of women scorned by radical dycis feminists, is also the patroness of sex workers, but I’m not sure where I’m going with that. Certainly there are a lot of trans women in sex work, and I regard Salmakis as a goddess of lust… I’d have to think about it, but if one does regard Salmakis more generally as a goddess of women scorned by women, it would follow, right? Food for future thought.

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Dipping into Divination

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I’d like to thank my two longtime friends, Common Cold Virus and Beer Yeast, for holding up these books.

So, it’s taking a while for all the books to come in—I still need four of them—and then I’m going to have to reread them all to reattain my familiarity with the material, but at some point in the relatively near future I’m going to be able to try out some bibliomancy! (Or… picturamancy? Bibliopicturamancy? I’m not sure what it should be called when you’re using manga as your reading material.)

I was an avid reader growing up, but in spite of that there aren’t many things I read back then that I’d still stand by as an adult with enough conviction to hold onto. I read a lot of books, but I didn’t reread many—this is also the case with movies, which is why I’m always hard-pressed to come up with my favorite works in either medium. Video games affected my tastes and development way more than anything else—and I was a child of the 16-bit and 32-bit eras, where the cyberpunk genre was at its most prolific. Most of what I still enjoy as an adult is still cyberpunk. So yeah, Battle Angel Alita, or Gunnm, was one of my favorite works as when I was young and had a huge effect on me. Moreover, it’s still amazing and I still stand by it.

All the manga I read in middle and high school came second-hand from my biobrother, who was (and probably still is, for all I even know anymore) obsessed with all things Japanese. A lot of that old stuff is tainted, now—I loathe him, and I loathe a lot of the memories that I associate with him—but Gunnm always felt more like it was mine. My biobrother liked grimdark, nigh-emotionless crap like Berserk, but Gunnm wasn’t like that—it was violent, yeah, and bleak, but the protagonist (Alita) was relatable and never became alienated from the reader like Guts did. In fact, all of the characters had reasonable personalities and motivations, and there’s a lot of character development—and emphasis on ideas that matter to me, like transhumanism, transition, evolution and the nature of having a soul—that really resonate with me. So I’m pretty sure it’ll be good for divination.

(My other favorite book, Dinotopia, is basically an art book with a narrative, and it’s nigh-impossible to divine with my favorite novel, House of Leaves, soooo.)

In Trigun-based readings she did for me and Sionnan, Chase proved to me that this idea of manga bibliomancy has legs, so I’m eager to try it for myself. I’ll probably be sketchy at it for a while, but this is one of the only kinds of divination I feel comfortable with, so I’m excited to give it a shot.

Categories: Update | Tags: | 4 Comments

Distillation

One more thing I’ve realized about Salmakis, writing the last post:

Salmakis has a strong association with quelling rage and taming savagery. She’s also strongly associated with pure, shining water, both in her connections to reflections in general, and in the many times Her literal waters are described as particularly anodyne, sweet, soothing, softening, or, most curiously, civilizing.

She’s also, obviously, associated with transition (not unlike Her father, but in a totally different, more specific context) and transformation, and all of this comes together to make something extremely clear:

Salmakis distills. Her waters are clear and pure because she insists upon it. She expels those cloudy impurities that muddy what ought to be an immaculate reflection. And just as water becomes distilled, Salmakis distills spirits. She filters away the nebulous turmoil in one’s heart until there’s nothing left but sparkling clarity—until their truth can reflect out as radiantly as possible.

Salmakis demands/represents aggressive, relentless shadow work. She filters out the grime, so we that we can actually see ourselves in Her waters.

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Epithets for Salmakis

Because I realized there weren’t any, and I’m feeling inspired.

  • Salmakis, the Maiden of the Fountain
  • Salmakis, Who Stands in Thresholds
  • Salmakis, Guardian of the Sweet Stream
  • Salmakis, the Lady of the Shining Pool
  • Salmakis Mirror-Queen
  • Salmakis, Who Extinguishes the Flames
  • Salmakis the Silencer
  • Salmakis, Who Preens in Shadows
  • Salmakis the Lustful
  • Salmakis of the Soothing Waters
  • Salmakis Purifier
  • Salmakis Transmuter
  • Salmakis Springborn
  • Quiet Salmakis, the Clarifier
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The Tyranny of the Seasons

The way my body handles temperature is utterly borked. Most of the time I feel like a polar bear at the San Diego Zoo—my core body temperature always feels like it’s on the cusp of a fever, and I mean always. If there’s not some kind of breeze passing by my face to allow heat to convect away from my skin, I literally start to have fever-like symptoms and wither like an old grape. I dry heave constantly, I nod off, I sway back and forth, it’s… pretty bad. I think my body temperature’s usually somewhere between 99 and 99.5°F, so it doesn’t take much to nudge me into having an honest-to-god low fever.

To make matters worse, no less than two of my medications have a diuretic effect, dehydrating me and worsening these issues, and I also have crippling anxiety, which routinely exacerbates all of the above. Last summer I couldn’t even put on a bra without throwing up (granted, all my bras were way too small for me, but whatever).

I’m pretty sure the problem stems partially from my being intersex—from my immunity to androgens, and the fifteen years or so spent growing into an adult with a grossly deficient hormonal payload—but I can’t be sure. My body is really weird and I’m probably never going to fully understand it, but I know that none of these things were a problem when I was a child. The dry-heaving, vomiting, hot flashes, etc didn’t start until I bounced off of puberty (I didn’t “hit” puberty until I started HRT threeish years ago), and they’ve only gotten progressively worse.

Anyway, this puts me in a weird situation. Particularly these days, I’m basically worthless unless I’m practically being refrigerated. If there’s not a cool draft or breeze on me, I’m barely holding my shit together. This results in a lot of social awkwardness, given that my friends, being predominantly dyadic and/or cis women, tend to have colder core body temperatures, so we can’t ever be comfortable in the same climate at the same time. I mean, it’s kind of funny, but kind of isolating and alienating, too.

I hate (hate hateforcing people to accommodate me, but I’m usually left with no other option. People can endure the temperatures I find comfortable, but I can’t endure things the other way—I literally shut the fuck down. It scares people.

Anyway, the point of this is that I hate the warm seasons.

For three years, I was stationed in Hawaii. Do you know how I survived? I spent a ton on air conditioning. I went to sleep every with an air multiplier and an AC unit hitting me in the face on full blast. I avoided the sun whenever possible and tried to stay on the night shifts as much as I possibly could.

I hate the sun. I hate summer. I hate sweating like a pig in public where everybody can see. I hate being barely functional when everyone around me is at their best. I hate spending thirty minutes on my hair only for the humidity to turn it into a stringy, bushy disaster. I hate putting sunscreen on my body and spending the rest of the day feeling like an oozing banana slug. I hate the long spring and summer nights of drunken college students loudly making fools of themselves right outside my window when I’m trying to sleep. I hate being terrorized by bugs and mosquitos. I hate the Fourth of July fireworks smuggled out of Indiana that scare the shit out of me from June to September. And I hate feeling sick all the fucking time.

So, hey, guess what I love.

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Note the plunging neckline. My smile here is not fake.

Winter is my peace—my safe space. It’s the only time of year I function like a normal human being unconditionally. I love everything about winter—the cold, placid silence, the snowfall that makes the ordinary seem new and different, the crispness of the air, the way people huddle together and enjoy the night through each other—and I love the horrified stares I get from people when I wander past them wearing the kind of clothes they associate with springtime.

My body needs winter. I’m just built for it—it’s the habitat I was meant to live in. The warm seasons, the so-called seasons of life—spring and summer—they just break me down. But in the winter? I’m truly impressive. I don’t think anyone who’s seen me in that kind of weather could tell you otherwise.

So, perhaps unsurprisingly, I deeply admire Skaði.

It was my sister who told me about Her, and while I hadn’t been looking at the Norse pantheon (because of the lack of any real cultural connection to Scandinavia), I felt like She was a perfect fit almost immediately. I suddenly had a powerful need to develop a relationship with Her. I wanted to live my entire life walking through Her chill winds.

Last month, on the date the above selfie was taken, I wandered onto campus in a blizzard, wearing little more than a sweater and jeans, and just relished in cool air, the pale white clouds blotting out the sky, and the feeling of the snowflakes against my bare skin. I felt Her presence all around me and I never wanted it to end. I walked past other students, all wrapped up as though they came in the mail, looking at me as though I was insane, and I knew I had something special.

Basically—I don’t know why I have this debilitating issue with body temperature. But I wholly believe that, in some way, Skaði tempered it somewhat—that she gave my woes a silver lining. She blessed me with the strength to endure Her winters with an uncommon vigor, and I’ll be forever grateful.

I’ve wanted to strengthen my connection to Skaði, and perform devotional activities to Her, but I haven’t had the chance to really do so, thanks to the madness of the last few weeks. And, unfortunately, we are now entering the time of year where Her presence is less strongly felt.

But. Here’s what happened on Saturday.

I was in Maryland to see my sister, and I was invited to join her and my friends of The Fellowship Beyond the Star in a spring equinox ritual to welcome Persephone back from the Underworld. Now, I didn’t give this a lot of thought—it was a nice ritual with new friends, the meaning wasn’t nearly so important to me as the companionship and general sense of being pagan as fuck—but, well.

I’d been really sick all that week—mostly, I think, from overstimulation and anxiety, but there was other stuff there as well—and I wasn’t feeling so hot that day. To make matters worse, the temperature in the room, while probably generally comfortable, was my bane, so it took all my concentration just to keep my shit together. I didn’t feel up to drinking anything other than water—much less the wormwood extract—and I just wasn’t so much fun to be around in general. I couldn’t even eat anything, despite all the delicious food in front of me. It was all pretty depressing.

When the time actually came to perform the ritual, I was feeling veeeeery shaky, and I think that interfered with my ability just to enjoy the beauty of what was happening before me—I was distracted, more focused on trying not to make a spectacle than anything. I was lost in my own thoughts, mad at myself for not being able to relish in the experience.

And then, just before Persephone’s statue was unveiled… I felt a presence. It was decidedly not Persephone.

Skaði’s message to me was wry, snarky, amused—sort of like being lovingly teased by an older sister.You, of all people, are celebrating Persephone’s return from the Underworld? You? You hate it when She does that.”

A sense of clarity dawned upon me, and I immediately felt silly—I hate Spring. The warm months are my misery. For me, celebrating their return is like going to the baby shower of a bitterly divorced ex—awkward and somewhat counterproductive.

I don’t regret participating—but there wasn’t anything in particular I could have gotten out of celebrating Persephone’s return, other than a good story. The beginning of springtime symbolizes the return of my misfortunes in earnest, and all I can do is hope to survive it until it goes away again.

Ultimately, the ritual passed without my addressing Persephone in any sense—I considered asking Her for mercy, but that seemed starkly incongruous with the general timbre of the ritual, and I think in general She regarded me with all the warmth of a party host who had no clue who one of their guests was. As soon as the ritual was over, I went straight outside to sit on the steps and recover, and despite wearing nothing but a thin, short-sleeved blouse and a skirt, Skaði’s cool, chill air wasn’t freezing—it was just deeply clarifying and soothing. I felt deeply cared for in that moment.

So, in the end, I still got something out of the experience—just not the thing I there for. But I’m glad things happened the way they did—I’m thankful for the reminder that Skaði watches over me.

This spring and summer, I plan to pray to Her often, waiting for Her to take the sun away, so I can feel Her presence around me once again and thrive.

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To Embrace Hopelesslessness

I think about the psychology of broken promises a lot.

There aren’t a whole lot of things that hurt more than broken promises. They’re a form of betrayal, and betrayal hurts like a motherfucker. And when society makes promises it can’t keep, that betrayal hurts just as bad—especially when it’s an alienating betrayal, a promise made to many but broken only for a few. That’s the kind of betrayal you can’t shake off.

(Incidentally, this is why I’ve always felt like Argus Filch was the most tragic character in Harry Potter, but that’s a story for another blog.)

I was born into a society that promised me (and every other child) eventual admission into the human experience of being loved and desired romantically. That promise was made through fiction, through media, through music, through literature, by example… so much of everything is tied to that one specific kind of experience that you can’t escape it, and it’s made out to be such a beautiful thing that everything else just pales in comparison. It’s basically some Dragonriders of Pern stuff—you meet a soul mate (or twelve) and you’re suddenly flooded with so much bliss you could fly.

How much of that is bullshit is really besides the point, because it’s a number between zero and one hundred percent, and therefore has some substance. And the truth is, said substance is not universally accessible.

The truth is that there’s not “someone for everybody.” Romance—any kind of ardent affection, really—is like any other kind of wealth: severely unevenly distributed. There are your proverbial one-percenters, and your people in poverty. A lot of people looking for love in the immanent world are just flat-out never going to receive it.

And it’s not fair—it’s an inequality rooted in social stigma, in the politics of desire, in disability, in other forms of latent inequality—but it’s there, and we’re not going to see it significantly alleviated in our lifetimes. People have died alone, are dying alone, and will die alone for as long as there are people, and for that to ever be intentional tends to be a proportional rarity.

I’m not, like, ace or aro—that is to say, not bereft of romantic yearning, or anything like that—and I wanted admission into that experience. I still want it, even now. But for a lot of reasons—reasons that seem to compound themselves with each passing second—I just don’t get to have it. (The reasons why are immutable, and thus not really relevant here.)

This is coming off as a very maudlin, despondent post, I’m sure, but it’s really not—I’m happy, because I’m really starting to feel Over It. Because the truth is, loneliness doesn’t hurt that badly—it’s just a sensation, really, like being hungry. What really hurts is the broken promise. The insinuation that I am somehow Other, lesser, for both wanting something and having been denied it. It’s the alienation felt when you’re in a group conversation and you can’t relate because you never got a fucking dragon (or twelve).

That’s a revelation, really—for me to realize that I’m not in pain because I’m alone, but because I’ve been lied to. I’ve been duped, conned, waved away. And that’s bullshit, but it doesn’t put the burden on me to find a soul mate in order to remedy it.

So I don’t have to keep clawing against reality anymore. The truth is that up until recently I was still looking out for somebody, but, well… since having this epiphany, I’ve been checking my work by asking friends to look into it with various divination techniques, and… yeah, it checks out.

My sister Sionnan did this reading for me tonight, with the Earthbound Oracle:

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“This is a spread about words, knowledge, research. Release is both literal in the sense of relief and in the way it can represent Hellenic faith in the cards. Your true satisfaction lies in your faith.”

This reading basically echoes all the other signs I’ve received: I’ve wanted release from alienation more than I’ve wanted the vindication of actual companionship, and the latter’s not coming around any time soon, so I need to find meaning in other things, a task I’ve already started on.

And, honestly, that’s the final nail in this coffin. I trust the divination enough to stop buying the proverbial lottery tickets and dedicate myself to other things. I admit that’s hard—I still feel alienated, so alienated, from even my closest friends, sometimes—but it’s workable.

Shit is hopeless. And that’s really not so bad.

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UPG: Salmakis’ Associations

My sister Sionnan asked me today what some things I associate with Salmakis are, and though I’m still kinda flying by the seat of my pants I thought I’d reproduce the list I came up with here, if anyone cares:

Concepts

  • recondite obscurity—the state of being present, but overlooked, and unknown.
  • the deep parts of nature, where the sky is blocked out. still pools of  deep, shimmering water that hide their secrets behind your own reflection.
  • vanity in solitude—beauty hoarded, kept hidden and revealed only selectively to others.
  • the independence to resist being assimilated by groups, and the selfishness not to want to be.
  • envy for what others have and you have been denied. desire so fierce and loud that it echoes through the heavens.
  • transformations—not the transformation of stains, of paints on canvas and dyes on cloth, but of bleach. of colors that fade in the sun, and impurities being expunged. of clear crystals blooming on opaque stone, of lightning-struck sand melting into glass.
  • liminal states and crossed thresholds. histories that never repeat. seeing the world at both dusk and dawn, and knowing what lies on both sides of a wall.

Colors

  • the greens of nature, and of jealousy.
  • the silver of mirrors, and pools that reflect in fountains.
  • all shades of immaculate human skin, and the blush of lust.

Symbols

  • fountains of all kinds, spouting shimmering water and shining light.
  • mirrors and reflections. glass and polished steel.
  • sparkling liquids. mineral water, seltzer, champagne, any flowing beverage with a relationship to springs and fountains.
  • long, flowing hair, or any hair that reflects one’s own vanity.
  • any representation of a beautiful woman with a phallus.
  • kylices, or any fountain-shaped chalice.
  • polished ametrines, especially those with an equal balance of gold and violet.
  • estrogens.*

*not, like, femininity in the abstract. actual, literal, estrogen, as in, the organic molecule, specifically. As for why this is, I could write a whole post.

Anyway, yeah. These are just my thoughts.

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Early Game Hell

I grew up nonreligious—pretty much by the time I realized there was no Santa Claus, I was pretty firmly fixed on the notion that nothing existed outside the immanent—and for some reason, through all the various fundamentalist Christians discourteously proselytizing at me throughout my young adult life, I thought being spiritual or religious was, like heroin or something. Like, one hit and you’re addicted—as soon as you open yourself up to the possibility that good people go to Heaven, you start believing you’re being followed everywhere by angels, or something like that. I never imagined there would be such a process.

I think the really frustrating aspect of my life right now is that, well, the process of becoming a more spiritual person feels like trying to start a fire with nothing but wood and no survival training. Like, I find myself having to fucking lean into so much just to feel anything and, like… I’m always impatient, about everything, because so much in my life has come way later than it was supposed to. So this doesn’t make me feel especially hot. I guess it’s kind of like the first few weeks on a psychiatric med.

This is probably the reason I’ve been rather unreasonable in going out of my way to create the most beautiful shrine within my means—it’s just hard for me to take anything seriously when it doesn’t look the part. I remember the first time in my military career that I was ever put at parade rest: I was in an ugly, windowless building wearing my shitty civilian clothes, and I just felt ridiculous. I was relieved when I was given my first military uniforms, because finally things could start feeling real. Before that, I felt like an impostor, doing everything ad hoc.

My shrine needs to have a sense of grandeur for my relationship with Salmakis to seem real. I bought a statuette to represent Her and as soon as it was inside my apartment I just felt better. Relieved. And when I worship at Her still very modest shrine, made out of an upside-down storage tub and a derelict microwave (I have no furniture), it just means more. I feel like that sounds materialistic, but… it’s just how my mind works.

The one thing I haven’t really needed to second-guess much in this journey is my relationship with Salmakis. It’s weird, though, like—contrary to what you might expect, I have oodles of UPG about Her. I read about the myth of Hermaphroditos in Ovid’s Metamorphoses when I was in eighth or ninth grade and I’ve just been, for more or less, fixated on it for most of my adult life. It’s come up in my thoughts often—it resonated strongly with me, as an intersex woman who underwent transition, and, well… I didn’t need much of a push to start worshipping Salmakis after I drifted into polytheism. It just feels right, for reasons that could be their own post, honestly.

But it’s strange venerating not just an esoteric goddess, but an esoteric aspect of an esoteric goddess. There are Hermaphroditos worshippers, certainly, especially in the MOGII community, but I don’t know how many people see things as I do and worship Salmakis. Probably not all too many. Knowing that kind of makes me feel like a weirdo among weirdoes, and like people who know way more than me are just sorta humoring me. I dunno.

Anyway, I’m praying to Her every morning and night (I’m taking some of my HRT meds as a devotional activity, it’s complicated), and that makes me feel better. I’m not sure how we’re doing, exactly, but… I don’t know. It certainly has an effect.

I’m feeling drawn to some other goddesses—particularly Skadi, whose presence I definitely felt last week—and, since my sister began worshiping Frigga… It’s weird. Like, I feel no draw to a relationship with Frigga whatsoever, but a relationship by proxy still has power of its own, so, it’s like… I know She’s there and feel like she’s glancing at me occasionally? That’s the only way I can explain some of the vibes I’ve been getting lately. It’s not like it’s unwelcome, and it’s certainly interesting.

So, there’s progress, I guess, but also frustration. And spending way too much money on frivolities.

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