A week ago, I started working on the Goblins. Well, I started on a plan. I don’t know actually how to find a goblins, so I did what I know how to do. I meditated.
My wife, The Witch, helped me develop my meditation into a sort of spell. (I’m a witch, but I rarely do spells. Another story for another blog.) Anyway, I decided to work on the three major areas I spelled out in my earlier Field Report on Mitigating Factors. Namely, the Suppression of Truth, Emotion, and Dissent.
We went to the local hippy-dippy pagan shop and got three quartz stones. I asked for the help of Apollo, Quan Yin, and Athena respectively. (Yeah, I got their permission to mix pantheons. I truly don’t believe most gods are the type to get miffed by that sort of thing.)
So, each night for a week, I lay down with my Apollo stone and meditated on Truth, what it means, what it means for the truth to be suppressed, and what my feelings are on the subject of truth. As I meditated, I poured my emotions and energy into the stone, which I then covered in sea salt until the next session. After seven nights, I buried the stone in soil (some potting soil in a little dish) to clear it. And the salt got flushed down the…ahem.
Tonight started my dance with Quan Yin and the Goblin of Emotions. (I won’t lie–I practically begged her to be gentle with me as I am not comfortable with emotions.) I will work with her for seven nights, and then do the same with Lady Athena and the Goblin of Dissent.
When all three stones have been cleansed in soil, I will bury them in the earth permanently, allowing them to ground my fears and pain forever.
At least, that’s the plan.
So, let’s talk about Lord Apollo and the Goblin of Truth. I’m not sure if I got to the bottom of my issues with truth and the suppression thereof, but I do know I was a raving bitch the day after my first intense meditation. I realized there is a lot of rage inside me in that area.
And even though this isn’t a political blog, much of it comes down to The Election that Will Not Be Named.
It’s hard to separate my rage at the current state of our country from the ancient rage burning in my soul. Something got triggered in me in November, 2016, and I haven’t been able to shake it. I watch as these men, these bloated, greedy, horrible old white men, flaunt themselves and get away with it. Men with no scruples, men who lie without shame or remorse, men who double-down when they get caught instead of owning up to their transgression. I see these horrible old men in their neat suits, looking for all the world like those old men I remember from the 70s, confident in their position on top, confident that anything can be smoothed over, palms greased, arms twisted, truth ignored or hidden or just mangled beyond recognition.
And I realize that, in 40 years, nothing has changed. These vile men who have taken over my beloved country are just the same as the vile men who ran the world when I was growing up.
- Men who referred to adult African American men as “boy” without a smidgen of irony in their hearts.
- Men who referred to their adult female employees as “girls” without a moment’s thought as to how demeaning that was.
- Men who pinched and whistled and catcalled and somehow assumed their targets would be “flattered.”
- Men who were always right.
- Men who self-congratulated.
- Men who balked at even the slightest resistance.
- Men who took control, not because they were more qualified but because it was their “right.”
These loathsome dinosaurs we thought we’d put out of our misery have never gone away. They are still pounding everyone and everything to a pulp under their heavy, clumsy paws as they lumber along, oblivious not only to the havoc they’re causing but to the level at which they are genuinely hated by the rest of humanity.
And here I am, fifty years old, still cringing at the same old jokes that were never funny to begin with. Here I am, still watching as horrible men make decisions that affect my life and my future. And here I am, screaming at the top of my lungs into an echo chamber that distorts and disperses but never accomplishes anything.
What good is the truth if those who have all the power don’t give a flying fuck about it? What good is screaming at the top of your lungs if those who have all the power deny your very experience as being invalid?
This is something everyone who grew up sensitive understands. It’s something every recovering Catholic understands. It’s something people who lived in environments where substance use was a “thing” understand.
Gaslighting. Denying of experience. Distortion of perception.
No wonder I’ve had such a hard few months. The monsters from my childhood have taken over the country, and it’s not a nightmare. It’s real.
But I’m not a child anymore. I’m not at the mercy of loving but flawed adults. I’m not at the mercy of a Church that drills inadequacy and shame into the hearts and minds of its members.
I’m a grown up person now, and I get to decide what my truth is. I get to decide what my experience is (and was), and nobody gets to tell me I’m wrong. I may have the facts wrong, I may have the analysis wrong, but I do not have my experience wrong.
That’s what Lord Apollo tried to teach me. I think I’m learning. I think I’m gonna at least move forward with a strengthened resolve to ignore the bullshit and know what I know.
The Goblin is looking a little different these days. Truth. I can haz it.
One down…let’s keep moving forward, shall we?
The Goblin Hunter 