I Worship (and Work) For A Comic Book Character

…and I’m not only not afraid to say so, but I have a large devotional tattoo to her on my body.

She came to me like any other God, and we entered into a relationship the same way I did with Loki, or any of the other Gods I Work for.

I will elaborate on this more later, as I am not at home in the moment, and can’t write more. (In fact, I didn’t mean to publish this yet, but my phone had other plans.) But I want to address the current conversation about “fandom” and how it is different, and similar, to being devoted to a God. And how Gods come to be, through shared stories we use to explain phenomenon in our lives, and comic books/movies being the modern day version of those stories.

I am, in fact, not alone in the worship of The Endless from the comic book Sandman as Gods. I originally bonded with Kate Bornstein (gender pioneer and prolific author on being true to oneself) over The Endless as Gods. She, too, has permanently marked her body to show her devotion and love to them.

More later, I promise.

Hysteria, or The Madness Road

Reblogged from Twilight and Fire:

hys•te•ria

1: a psychoneurosis marked by emotional excitability and disturbances of the psychic, sensory, vasomotor, and visceral functions
2: behavior exhibiting overwhelming or unmanageable fear or emotional excess

-- Merriam-Webster Online (http://east.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/)

The biggest lesson that most people learn in dealing with Loki, is that even if you lie constantly to other people, He will not allow you to lie to yourself.

Read more… 6,397 more words

When I tell people I am a madness shaman, or that I work with Madness as a concept (rather than death, as many other well known shamans do), I get a lot of mixed reactions. Frequently, I feel very lonely, as much is out there in terms of resources, when one chooses or is chosen for the death road; so much so, that the publisher of my book (which, the book is on a bit of hiatus as I deal with some health issues) required me to write a few essays about my experiences on the Madness Road. I share the following as someone's else journeys on that path, how it can tear you apart and shatter your life as completely, if not more so, than dying and being reborn. We, the mad, are always keenly aware on how we don't fit in with the societal expectations of "normal", often on ways we cannot hide or mask. It is wholly a part of us, something we carry and suffer and struggle with, every single day. I'm not implying that it is somehow more difficult or "better" than the death road, but it is just as valid.

MAP AND COMPASS VERSUS INVISIBLE STARS

Reblogged from facingthefireswithin:

OR – UPG versus very strict Recon

I have been a practicing heathen for well over ten (10) years and have seen a lot of strife, condescension and stupidity in that time with some of it directed at me or my friends.  It is, in fact, why I almost never call myself Asatru but rather Heathen.  I had early experiences with people telling me we were wrong to celebrate our sumbels a certain way that I felt was only proper due to hospitality. 

Read more… 718 more words

I think this blogger is brave for stepping into a contentious fray and attempting to remind both sides where we agree, where we are similar, and how behavior on both sides is sometimes antithetical to what we claim to believe.

The Fool

Reblogged from The Infinite Battle:

As some may know, I have a bachelor's in English lit, with a heavy emphasis on medieval and Renaissance. This means that I needed to study (and I earnestly did and enjoyed it) what certain terms meant. One of which, that is important today, to understand, is the fool. Throughout this piece, I'll be citing some sources. Sadly, I don't have my favorite text with me, so most of what I find can be accessed through JSTOR.

Read more… 990 more words

As one of my sacred roles is that of the Fool, and the Jester, this essay has a lot of widsom and information on what a Fool *really* is, and how to embrace your inner fool with grace.

International Day of Transgender Visibility: How Being Transgender Is and Is Not The Most Important Thing You Can Know About Me

I apologize if this essay seems a little off the cuff; ironically, I just learned that March 31st is the International Day of Transgender Visibility, and I felt compelled to write a little something about it, because I think it’s a really good thing to celebrate and educate about.

First of all, if it hasn’t been made abundantly clear: I am transgender.

For me, this means I was born with a vulva, vagina, ovaries and a uterus, and was thusly raised with the concept that I was female; meanwhile, I struggled internally with this “diagnosis” until I later realized that biology is not destiny. The reason many transgender activists have added the “*” to the shorthand “trans*” is because there are many ways the prefix trans (which means “to cross over”) is used by gender variant people: transsexual, transgressive, transcendent, etc. I think these apply to me in one way or another. Indulge me as I share a bit of my gender journey with you. Get a cup of tea, coffee, or a hot toddy (which sounds lovely on this brisk rainy evening) and see this in the context of my “story”. Although these things are true, they are also woven together specifically to make a point.

I often talk about that my mother was not only intuitively convinced that I was male while she was pregnant, but the doctors did some sort of test (she doesn’t remember, and it was a long time ago) to tell her I was male. They had picked out a male name (Sean, which I would have totally loved as a name regardless, but they ended up giving it to my younger brother) and had done the sorts of things you do when expecting a boy. When I was born, it was such a surprise for my parents that my “girl name” was chosen during the first few days of my life, as they poured over baby name books and made lists of names they liked. My first and middle names, including the middle name I kept when I legally changed my name to Del, were the only two they both had on their lists. So even from the moment of birth, the fact that I was female was somewhat of a surprise to the world. I have been strongly tempted, in the last few years, to pursue this medically; to get my DNA tested to see if I am Intersex in some way. I have had doctors posit this as an explanation to some of my issues with menstruation and pregnancy, which is not a typical diagnosis to discuss with a patient, so I’ve done a significant amount of research about Intersex conditions, and sometimes I’ve told people I am Intersex. My mother goes back and forth between telling me I am, and telling me there’s no way I am, so I don’t know if this “test” had told her anything more specific about my gender. I seem to have a functional female reproductive system, as I’ve been pregnant twice, but that’s not necessarily an indication of not being Intersex.

It is important to note that being Intersex does not preclude being trans*. In fact, many Intersex children have their genitals mutilated (because “making a hole is easier than making a pole”) and raised female; only to be tormented with feelings they were raised the wrong gender, and transitioning as adults. There are also cases of Intersex children being raised male, only to transition to female as adults. In my heart, I really wish we could just accept that Intersexuality happens as often as 1 in 100 births, and stop forcing parents and children to choose blue or pink when obviously nature is creating us in many more than two, easily distinguishable, somehow completely opposite, genders. I’m even hesitant to support raising a genitally disambiguous child (that is, one who is born with complete and intact “female” or “male” genitalia) as though their gender is a predetermined, set thing. As more and more parents are accepting their children’s self-determined gender identity, and there are even medical doctors and facilities treating trans* kids with both puberty-blocking medications, as well as administering hormones of the child’s preferred gender so they go through the “right” puberty instead. I just mention my own experiences with both having shades of intimations that I may be Intersex, as well as my own intuitions, as part of my gender journey.

Regardless, I was raised and socialized female. This means that when I showed any interest or aptitude in things that our culture deigns to be “for boys”, my parents diligently reprogrammed me to like “girl things”. I have a strong memory of stealing my brother’s football, as he was barely a toddler and had no interest in the thing, and taking it down the block to play with the neighborhood boys. One of my parents seized it, wrote my brother’s name on it in big letters, and the next time I “borrowed” it I was punished.

Likewise, I was inundated with “girl things”. My mother decided I should be a child model/actress, and that world was very invested in hyper feminization; girls had to be “girly girls”. So my hair was kept in pigtails and I was subjected to a lot of dresses and skirts, which I very much hated and never felt comfortable in.

Even with all this, I never really had the coherent and complete thought that “I was born in the wrong body” or that “I should have been born a boy”. More, I was very confused and depressed that there were these things I wanted to do, be, and wear that were off limits for a reason I couldn’t understand. I have never, nor do I really even now, understand why we gender our children’s experience so emphatically. I once bought a newborn female-sexed child a small flannel shirt and courteroy pants, specifically because I knew their mother was going to be swamped in pink and frills. She balked at first, thinking I had made a mistake. Later, she wrote me to tell me it was her child’s favorite outfit.

As I grew older, the conflict was intensified when I realized that my childhood daydreams of having a wife and raising children wasn’t biologically or socially acceptable. As the sexualization of “girls vs boys” became more clear, I did everything I could to hide from these games. Some of my therapists have posited that I started gaining weight around the onset of puberty specifically because I was afraid of being seen as a “girl” when it came to crushes, dating, and eventually sex; first of all, I obviously have issues with the idea that being fat means that you’re no longer either a girl or a sexual being, but I did spend many a thinking session about whether I was trying to purposefully exclude myself from the proto-sex games of my peers by emphasizing my unattractiveness. In addition to gaining weight, I also did not wear clothes that made me feel attractive or sexual; I hid in oversized tee shirts and baggy pants. This was further complicated by the fact that I was very poor, and did not get a lot of choice when it came to clothing – I got whatever my parents could afford, and often that meant whatever was my size at the local Salvation Army.

I eventually realized what a lesbian was, and as I grew into an adult I felt I had to model my presentation and appearance so as to include the “secret clues” that would let other gay women know I was “one of them”. Almost immediately, I was informed that I was a butch, and was encouraged to cut off my long red hair so I would fit in. It wasn’t hard to accept otherwise, as I was still wearing “men’s” or “unisex” clothing more often than not, and this was also during the time when “grunge” was popular. The difference was, there was a way that women wore plaid flannel shirts, cargo jeans, and workboots that did not lose their femininity; whereas once I started cutting my hair short, I was sometimes confused for a young man.

Secretly, I didn’t mind. I had many of my first romantic and sexual experiences with gay men, which looking back makes a ton of sense (since I now identify as a queer man), but then was a road to ruin. I was both having my heart broken over and over again as the gay men found cisgender men to date and left me; and feeding my ego on being the woman that got these avowed homosexuals into bed. It was a push me-pull you that took me many years to break; I tried to only date bisexual men, but it turned out that both men who told me they were “bi” turned out to mean “I only fuck and date girls, but if a cute boy wanted to give me head, I woudn’t say no”.

I knew that transsexuality existed; I dated a trans* woman for over a year and did a lot of accepting and comforting to help them feel more feminine. Oddly and ironically, they ended up breaking up with me because I was too masculine for them. Later I realized it was their internalized jealousy that I had been born the way they deeply wished they had, and felt I was “squandering” it by dressing and acting masculine. I had even read Kate Bornstein’s Gender Outlaws (and that’s even the same cover as the copy I had), but somehow the idea that someone born and raised female could be a man in some form or function was lost on me. Maybe I was specifically disassociating the information because I didn’t want to admit it was something I wanted or needed? I know that it took meeting an actual transsexual man before I fully understood that it was both possible and not as terrifying as I had once thought.

For almost 15 years, I just decided that I didn’t really have a gender. Or more accurately, I didn’t deal with gender as a concept. I dated men and women (and I say it that was because the majority of my lovers were cisgender), and when I was with a lover I became whatever they wanted from me – either the soft and caring gentleman, or the demure and alluring feminine submissive, or the loud and dominant lover who could as easily fuck you in the ass with their prosthetic cock as take your fist in their vagina. I wore fairly gender neutral clothing, and stayed away from anything that required one to be a “woman” or a “man” to take part. I even ended up being invited to join a traditionally-male singing group, but didn’t accept until I learned there was a cisgender woman joining at the same time.

It all came to a head when the rest of my life did. Loki was clearing away all the things that were distracting me from being able to do and be what He needed me to, and one of them was my unresolved issues with gender and being “female”. I was slow to accept this, as there were parts of my life I knew would be negatively affected if I up and decided I was a man now. I started out by trying on the “genderqueer” label, which also fits in a way, never felt fully true to who I was. I finally met a post-transition transsexual man, which proved to me that not only do they exist, but they live full and happy lives. Many of them are socially accepted, or “pass”, as male without question. It wasn’t all sunshine and roses, but nothing in life really is.

Then Loki put it all into perspective for me, in the way He does. He very calmly but very firmly informed me:

Del, I need you to be a shapeshifter. I need you to be a guardian of the boundary, the diplomat who can dance between the sexes and facilitate communication and understanding. I need you to be able to be all things to all people. To horse Gods of any gender, to take on archetypes without limitations. In order to do that, I want you to explore masculinity, to find a balance between man and woman, a place where you are both comfortable and useful at the same time. You’re no use to me if the gender thing keeps coming up over and over again.

I decided to stand up, for the smallest inner voice inside of me screaming to be heard and acknowledged. I started by asking my friends and family to use male pronouns and referring words (dude, man, guy, etc) for me. I stopped wearing overtly feminine clothes. I started to explore who I was as a man, in lots of big and little ways. It was as much a mental health thing as it was spiritual; the more I was seen and accepted as masculine, the better I felt about my place in the world.

This year, I am starting male hormones (testosterone). I do not know how ‘far’ I plan to take my hormonal transition; my goal is to find a place where random strangers would not be entirely certain if I am a Ma’am or a Sir. I know you can’t control what effects you get from T, but my hope is that my voice will become more masculine sounding and perhaps some of my facial features. I’d love to have facial hair, but I think that’s a pipe dream, as people in my birth family aren’t very hairy at all.

This decision, to start hormones, is a deep and meaningful part of reclaiming myself after my separation. My STBX was supportive of my gender journey, up until a point. He was just radically uncomfortable with anything that would change me in a way where passing as female would no longer work. He didn’t want to have to tell his parents or coworkers that he was married to a man. He was okay with being married to a masculine female (as that is one of his fantasies, being with butch women), but was not even remotely okay with being with a feminine male. There’s nothing wrong or bad about that at all. We all have preferences and choices we make about our lives, and it’s ragingly common for relationships to end when one partner decides to transition. I’m happy he’s found lovers who better suit him, gender wise, and I’m also happy that I’m now free to explore my masculinity beyond social transition.

This is my story, my choice to become visible and knowable as a transgender person living in suburban America. A shaman and spirit worker, a Lokean shapeshifter, whose gender queerness is as intrinsic to my spiritual self as it is to my physical self. I am a lover and ally to other transgender persons from all over the gender spectrum, and speak my words and teach my classes so they can see their experiences reflected back at them when seeking spiritual or sexual information I have to share. I make sure to challenge people’s perceptions, and language, and inclusivity, to make sure they remember and accept that gender variant people are as sacred as anyone else.

Yes, and.

Quick warning: I know I’ve picked up quite a few subscribers and fans who love my posts on spirituality, spirit work, shamanism, and Loki. However, there’s a reason this is called Sex, Gods, and Rock Stars; I also blog about kink, both by itself and combined with my spiritual path. This is one of those posts, so if you’re not hep with the consensual BDSM or descriptions of sex, you might want to take a pass on this one.

I had stopped bottoming.

The reasons were many, and there were a lot of complications. And anything too complicated, that requires too much negotiation and limits, kills my hard on. I don’t mind if we need to take some time to figure out what works for us, but if there’s more processing than playing, I quickly lose interest.

Part of it was about being a presenter. Although I am quick to bring up the fact that I switch when it’s appropriate in my classes, most kink classes are focused on top-specific skills which sets the assumption that the teacher is a top. It doesn’t help that I’ve gained a bit of a reputation as being both a Badass Heavy Top, as well as a Dominant/Master; these are true, but it never meant that I stopped wanting to bottom. In fact, it should make it easier: “You. There. Pick up that thing and hit me with it until I say stop.”

But it wasn’t only that. I was in a relationship where bottoming was complicated. They didn’t want to cause me “bad” pain, since I was suffering so much chronic pain to begin with. I didn’t particularly enjoy the kinds of play they liked to give; and they didn’t particularly enjoy the kinds of play I liked to receive. We tried, a lot, but it never really clicked. And it only brought up the raw wound that we had started out in a power dynamic where I was the submissive, but like our play, we had very different ideas about what we wanted or needed from dominance and submission. None of this makes either of us wrong, or bad, or unsuited as a top or bottom for other people; they were and are an excellent top who has legions of people interested in play.

But it left me feeling like I couldn’t do it, not with them, and not with anyone else. I didn’t figure this out until I started dating a top who did like the kinds of play I liked to bottom to; all of a sudden the giant green eyed monster showed up and wouldn’t leave until that relationship went away. We all dressed it up as anything other than jealousy, but really that’s what it was. And I saw how hurt and sad it made them, to see me enjoying bottoming to someone else. So except for a few, very rare occasions, I didn’t do it. Not even when they weren’t there to see it or be affected by it. I just focused on other things.

Fortuitously, this happened at the same time as I was finding people who wanted to submit to me. I had gotten a bit of cache as a needle top, and played with hundreds of bottoms for a scene or two. Eventually, I started attracting submissive bottoms, who wanted to go deeper than just playing. I fumbled a lot, like most new Dominants do, and made some mistakes, but at the same time I found a well of desire within me that I didn’t know existed.

So I buried my bottoming desires and focused on becoming a Big Badass Top and a passable Dominant/Master. I found the right slave, one who fit my desires and for whom I was exactly what they wanted/needed. I sublimated my bottoming desires by giving random play partners the kinds of scenes I secretly longed for. Don’t get me wrong – I love being a top, kicking someone’s ass or making them bleed – and I also love being a Dominant.

Did I miss bottoming? Yes. Sometimes I felt the lack keenly, like reaching out for a lover who isn’t there any more. I would either try to bottom to the person I was in a relationship with, even though I knew it wouldn’t take me where I wanted to go, or I would find the very few types of scenes that I could bottom to without dredging up all the shit.

After the relationship was over, I was shy about bottoming. It had been a long time, and I had done an excellent job of completely burying those desires to a point where I almost didn’t think about them anymore. And in a fucked up way, even though I was free to do whatever I wanted, the thought of bottoming again filled me with regret and sadness about the end of the relationship. In fact, for the first few months after we broke up, I didn’t play at all. Part of it was grief; part of it was fear that I would take out all of my emotions and anger on someone who didn’t deserve it, and then I would be even more aware of my unresolved feelings about it all and possible do damage (emotionally or physically) to someone undeserving. Another part was that I didn’t know how bottoming would make me feel. A lot has changed in my body since I last took a really intense beating/caning/spanking/etc, and I was afraid I wouldn’t or even couldn’t enjoy it like I did before.

But I am blessed with a wonderful, understanding, very switchy boyfriend who listened to all of my concerns and fears about going there again. He, too, had once taken a long sabbatical from bottoming, and had many of the same fears and anxieties about opening himself up like that again; and yet, without hesitation, he definitely let me be as sadistic as I wanted during our first fuck. So I decided to trust him, and to trust myself to let go and let the experience be whatever it was going to be.

Oh yeah! I used to like this stuff!

It started out slow and private; we did a little humiliation, a little tease-and-denial, some biting and punching, mixed in with our bedroom sex. It wasn’t a scene, I told myself, although where those lines really are, are getting very blurry for me as of late. I used to be able to distinctly tell what was a scene and what was sex, but these days it’s all a big sloppy mess of feeling good. (Likely, this is partly because I no longer have to live by different rules when it comes to “playing” vs “fucking”, and some of those rules were ones I had insisted upon. Lessons learned.)

Then, I decided to commit. I asked him to bring his canes down for our next visit. He giggled with glee – he is an incredibly enthusiastic caning top, and it’s a kind of play few bottoms specifically request. Yes, I am the rare bird who prefers sting to thud; but I’m very picky about what kinds of sting and where they’re applied on my body. Needless to say, I was so blissed and happy about it, I let him take and post a picture of my post-caning ass on FetLife. If you know me, you know that’s a HUGE fucking deal, as I very rarely post pictures of me without clothes on, and I especially have self-image issues about my ass.

The next logical step, in my mind, was to try bottoming in public again. I am both a voyeur and an exhibitionist; I have a Leo moon, which makes me love theatricality and production, and playing in a play space has an energy and atmosphere that can be hard to recreate in the room I sleep and write in every day. I will admit, it was also important because people were starting to assume that my boyfriend was somehow subserviant to me (either as a sub, a slave, a boy, or the like) and that’s not only not true, but it dances some hard limits he has. So by bottoming to him in public, I was trying to send the message that this is one helluva switchy relationship, one in which I am often the bottom of.

So that I would feel comfortable, and because he likes getting beat, we started by doing a scene where I topped him. What was electric, and definitely new territory for me, was that he was not the compliant, stand-there-and-take-it bottom – he punched me back at times, or flat out told me I couldn’t do something, or grabbed my hair and yanked it. It threw some people watching for a loop, as switch play isn’t what one might expect at a public space (and by “switch play” in this instance, I mean a scene where the line between top and bottom is blurry or non existent. Many switches will decide to do one or the other, especially if they’re not playing with a fellow switch) nor is it something that I’ve done much of, if at all, in public.

Even then, during the scene where I was nominally the top, he did something he knew would open up my vulnerability. I don’t cum in public. Part of it is to take the turn on home where I can wank or fuck anyway I want without having to worry about odd rules about what a penis is and where it can go. Also, as a wise man is fond of saying, I don’t enjoy being “National Geographic”. What he means is, it turns me off if people are watching me play or fuck specifically because my body or my identity is intriguing to them; rather than watch because it’s sexy, they’re watching because they don’t fully understand or haven’t seen it done that way before. As “enlightened” as I may seem sometimes, I still have hangups about my disability, my body size, and my trans*ness as they all relate to my sexual confidence. But knowing that did not stop my boyfriend from grabbing my cock and jerking me off right there in my wheelchair. And giving in, and not asserting my boundary like a Badass Top, felt more right.

We took a break, but we saw it was getting late and the club was closing soon. I had run out of reasons to procrastinate. We found a piece of furniture that would suit our purposes, and we figured out how to bare my ass without making me feel overly naked and on display. Granted, it was a queer oriented party, so I had less “Nat Geo” issues to worry about, but some of that is too instinctual at this point to so easily dismiss. He caned me, softly at first, but harder and harder as time went on. We changed positions and my pants and underwear fell to the floor, leaving me there with my cock hanging in the wind. Normally, I would have been mortified, but instead I just stuck my ass out further and asked for more.

The endorphins came over me like a wave. Usually, they creep up on me and I don’t realize how high I am until I’m loopy. This time, I distinctly remember feeling lucid one moment, and blitzed the next. He looked down at me and commented on how happy I was. I just urged him to hit me more. We had to start ramping down, both because I was in a good place and neither of us wanted to chance going too far and ruining the scene. But man, have I missed that wonderful, floaty feeling of love, both for my partner and for myself and my body. I am in love with my body, despite how much it pisses me off sometimes (kinda like my boyfriend :) ), because it can give me such elevating experiences. I was in the perfect headspace to embrace a friend who has felt a distinct lack of love lately, and share some of that warmth with her. I was pretty damn loopy the whole way home, and our plans to fuck like jackrabbits when we got home was superseded by my inevitable crash, which made me sleepy.

Oh right, I used to like this stuff. And now I love it, because it comes with no baggage, no complications, no expectations, no obligations. I can just be who I am, when and where I want, and get a good beating if that’s what I desire. I can still be a kick ass kink educator and Big Badass Top, and also float along in my own personal subspace while my problematic muscles finally relax and I feel a deep and abiding peace. “Yes, and…” as the improv performer in me says.

Yes, and.

Del, You Big Meanie! Why are you picking on cis gender women?

I’ve kicked up a lot of dust with my post about Loki’s wives, and regardless if it was singing my praises or cursing my name for all eternity, I’m happy about it. I’m a shit stirrer, and being the speaker of hard truths has taught me that any response is better than the whistlin’ of the wind.

But there seems to be one part of the entry that people are scratchin’ their heads over, one point that doesn’t seem like something I would ordinarily say, something that doesn’t fit with the overall point(s) I was trying to make.

Namely, “Hey Del, why did you single out cis gender women in your Ranty McRanterson post? Aren’t you, like, a gender activist?”

Let me start by quoting an email I got about six weeks ago. I have the permission of the author, as long as I don’t reveal their identity.

“Dear Del,

I’m very confused and as you’re a trans* man who works with Loki, I’m hoping you can help me figure something out.

I know, down to the marrow of my bones, that Loki and I are in love. He approached me, for reasons I’m still trying to figure out. And I was excited, and scared out of my wits. So I went online to find out what other people have done about these things, because you’ve mentioned God spouses and consorts before, so I figured I would find some.

And not one of them were anything other than female.

I know that Loki emanates from a traditional human culture, one in which homosexuality was seen as either all about severe power dynamics, or about men being lesser for choosing to have sex with other men. And there were likely very few, if any, same sex unions in Norse culture. So am I crazy? Do male Gods ever take male or otherly gendered followers? Even the few non-cis-gender women I found were all born female, or identify that way now, and I’m just a gay guy living in (somewhere in middle America), sure of my sexual orientation and my gender.

I feel very alone, and I’m really afraid if I tell anyone about my love for Loki, I will be in more danger than I already am for being out as gay *and* Pagan.”

I’d love to say that was the only email I’ve ever received of that nature, but I’d be breaking my oath as a truth teller. It isn’t always Loki, or even a Norse God; and it isn’t always a cis gender man asking the question, but the theme remains.

The overarching point of the post was that we needed to take a critical look at the current trend among spirit workers, and especially the subsect of Loki’s spouses online, and see what we can learn from it, both the positives and negatives. I am aware my tone made it hard for many to see where I was saying good things about these people, so let me try again without being quite so grumpy.

One of the really inspiring thing about the Tumblr and WordPress conclaves of Loki’s wives is that they have created a strong and findable community where spiritual paths that are considered in the very minority of Pagans and polytheists are accepted and supported without having to do a lot of “proving” that what they are experiencing is real and meaningful. If you read the stories of some of the early God spouses (Freya Aswyn was brought up in one of these discussions), you’ll see that God spouses were unilaterally treated as people who had jumped the shark when it came to spirit devotion. But they paved the way for these communities to thrive and flourish, maybe to such a place where non-spouses are seen as the odd men out.

For a while, I asked about non cis female spouses. I asked to be linked to blogs, books, and other reference material where I could send people like the dude above to let them know they’re not alone. I know they exist; I’ve met and interacted with a few of them but few of them blog about their experiences. Because they are so few, a Google search on God Spouses or the like don’t usually highlight these references. But many, many of the online safe havens for Loki’s wives show up.

Another commenter called me on belittling the teenager-crush-like behavior that many of these blogs and bulletin boards sport in droves. Although I admit, part of my derision makes me an asshole; I have been in more than one serious conversation about why Lokeans are excluded from some Heathen, Asatru, and other Norse-derived groups, and this “I had prawns at an adorable dark tavern in Jotunheim with Loki, and He was wearing the sexiest leather pants” attitude comes up. I agree, it’s not nice, fair, or right to have that held against us as somehow less serious or reverent than how others relate to their Gods; but they aren’t completely wrong either. Few other Gods, from any pantheon, have groups of followers who treat their Gods like that hot transfer student in English class with the leather jacket and the distressed jeans. I know they exist, but not in such numbers.

I don’t think this means that the Loki mooners need to shut up and go away, although I think using more discernment as to what they share about their devotional work and how it reflects on the greater community they represent, whether they like it or not, or whether they choose to be representatives or not, could be helpful to those who actually care about Loki being hailed at places like Trothmoot. I don’t belong to any of those sorts of organizations, as I do not identify as a Heathen, nor are all of the Gods I worship from the Norse pantheon. I do sometimes use the term “Northern Tradition Pagan”, but they’re specifically not only Loki-accepting, but dual-trad accepting as well.

I expect that many of the people I’m describing will happily go on doing exactly as they’ve been doing, or even start fake Tumblr accounts specific to spoof on my and others grumptastic views of them. Good. Part of what I want from all this dust-upping is for people to speak authentically about their experience, and if it’s all movie date nights and co-writing erotica, please for the love of Sleipnir don’t let some cranky redheaded old fart (me, not Loki) stop you. Running away because some asshole criticized you on the Internet is about as ludicrous as lying about shamanic abilities in order to make people think you’re awesome.

What I would like, if I may be so bold as to ask, is to take a moment to think about how you, the ones with the safe havens and popular Tumbrs, can help the guy who wrote me. Ways to be inclusive in you FAQs and advise columns to other God spouses and consorts to make sure you’re not setting a standard or assumption that one must be a certain age, sex, level of ability (in whatever), or sexual orientation in order to join your Fun Brigade. Use inclusive language when you write about your own experiences, so that people who have different plumbing can still relate. Link to people who are writing about God sex and/or relationships that aren’t heterocentric or assumptive. Remember that Loki Himself is a liminal God, and therefore isn’t always the lanky, elf-looking redhead I’ve seen way too many fan art pictures of. Heck, he fucked a male horse once, as a female horse, so who’s to say he doesn’t come in a female form to a male mortal, or has heterosexual sex with men as a woman, or homosexual sex with either men or women? Or maybe he manifests intersex genitalia and interacts with a slew of differently gendered people that way?

What makes this odd and a little uncomfortable for me, is that I am neither a Loki’s spouse or even a consort. I’ve had sex with Gods, but not Loki. Elizabeth Vongvisith used to tag posts that described sex with Loki as “Not Safe For Dels”, because as my Father I have some of the same hang ups as mortal children have about thinking about or seeing their parents engaging in long hot sessions of fuck. As a sex educator, I can at least accept that all parents, including my own (God or mortal), have sex lives – or none of us would be here – but like many offspring, I have no desire to see or hear about it, thank you very much.

But I don’t go around to the blogs and journals of Loki’s chosen and chastise them for describing the monkeyhumping that they do with Dad; in fact, specifically because of my love and service to the greater Lokean community, I suffer through quite a lot of it with grace.

One last thing, as I have to go to bed early tonight.

I’m an asshole. Just some dude who eats, and shits, and watches too much reality tv. (In fact, I’ll probably watch me some Celebrity Apprentice when I’m done writing this. Judge me!) Maybe you see me as some sort of “elder”, but please take note that I call myself a lot of things, like a grandpa and a cranky bastard and an old fart, but, like “shaman”, I really believe that a title like “elder” is one that is bestowed on you by those who recognize your work and contributions to community. So whether you invest any real meaning in my ranty pants, or dismiss me outright, is your choice. I am not now, nor will I ever, profess that I have it all figured out, that I am the sole arbiter on what spirit workers and shamans ought to be and not to be doing. Furthermore, I’m not a God spouse at all, but only know what I know from having the luck and blessing to know some really wonderful, intelligent, and well spoken ones who have deigned me as someone they can share the nitty-gritty of what it’s all about for them. I haven’t met every single God spouse, nor have I read every single entry on every single webpage written by all of them. I can only comment on trends that are remarked upon by people I trust, and what I experience in my own life. I am always, always open to be told how very wrong I am, and those who have commented on that post, or any other I’ve written or commented on will attest that I do not come out, fists ablazin’, unless you start attacking me or people I love by name or by insinuation. Otherwise, I wholeheartedly enjoy learning about the breadth and depth of spiritual expression that exists, and if that learning comes with a “Hey Doofus, read this!” as its invitation, then I accept.

There is at least one, if not more, repostes I will be writing in reaction to the crankyjock one, so don’t think this is the last you’ll hear of it. And if you read this blog for the kink stuff, there will be some good posts about that coming very soon too.

Thank you, each and every one of you, for reading, responding,debating, berating, and commenting on what I write.

“I aspire to inspire before I expire.” Unknown, possibly Manali Jan

Reblogged from Twilight and Fire:

For those who thought I spoke too harshly, or was just making up stories about how those newer to shamanic services like divination are actually harming people, this post is proof that I'm not just some old fogie shaking my cane at the youngins'. Although I do believe one has to get practice doing these things *somewhere*, and trading reading for reading can be a useful tool, it doesn't divorce itself from two old adages: caveat emptor, and you get what you pay for. If you're just starting out with divination, be honest about it and tell your clients/friends that you're still figuring out how all this stuff works. And in case it needs to be said, just because you've memorized the little book that came with your tarot cards, or can recite all the Younger Futhork, does *not* mean you understand divination. Divination is a skill; the cards/runes are the tools used in applying that skill. The Nine of Swords might mean physical illness, but in a specific placement in a reading, or in the story of the person you're reading for, it might also mean a time of mental turmoil, a time where physical needs are more important than spiritual ones, or that a person's insight is being influenced by a medical reason (like an undiagnosed diabetic suffering from chronic high blood sugar might be having hallucinations due to their physical issue that are clouding their point of view of the situation at hand). Fehu means wealth, but not always monetary or material richness. I'll write a post about divination at some point in the future (or I may force you to buy my upcoming book by only publishing it there! Insert maniacal laughter here!) Read this if you think I'm full of it, when I talk about the dangers of moving too fast, of not being able to recognize your own filters; but also read it because it remind us old fogies that the freshman have important things to teach us too.

We Can Learn A Lot From Things That Annoy Us, Or What I Figured Out About The Proliferation Of Loki’s Wives Online

I can’t lie: some of us old, crotchety spirit workers and godspouses find a lot of the blogs from new Loki’s wives kind of annoying.

It’s not a nice or kind thing to say, but it’s true. I find myself in at least three or four conversations a week where someone – a Lokean, a Godspouse, a Spirit Worker, or just some random person with too much time on their hands, reading Tumblr – comes to me to gripe, ask mean questions about, or even just to point and laugh at some Loki’s Spouses’ blog.

For starters, it gets under many craws (including my own) that so many of these starry-eyed lovers are young, cisgender women. It has been pointed out in many different ways how this is potentially damaging to the efforts to see Lokeans taken more seriously by the greater Heathen/Asatru, and even the larger Pagan demographic. When it’s all titters about hot Loki sex and dinner dates on the astral plane, we kinda look like a bunch of Twilight fans. It makes me nauseous, and I’m not alone. As one of my Jobs from Loki is to be the speaker of hard truths, I’m stepping out into the potential (who am I kidding?) line of fire by stating this plainly. But it’s true.

I’m involved in a few online Lokean haunts, and the issues manifest there, too. I’ve seen more than one discussion group dissolve when it’s descended upon by this new wave of Loki’s wives, who rave about getting a God’s affection and attention, but bemoan that they don’t seem to be manifesting the Kewl Powerz that some of us grouchy spirit workers write about, like “Godphones” and “Possession”. They seem to have come to some conclusion that we got some sort of “welcome to Spirit Work” package by UPGPS (The Unverified Personal Gnosis Postal System) that included our very own Godphone and User’s Guide. If you read this blog, or any of the others written by us grumpy old timers, we’ve been collectively holding forth for the last few months on the many, many ways that this is just not so. But somehow, it’s not getting through, as we’re still feeling grouchy and still getting emails and reading empassioned journals about how unfair it all is.

More frightening than that, is the amount of Loki’s wives who claim to have this abilities, and offer them as services to others (sometimes for a price), who have only been “doing this” for six months, a year, a few years. To be fair, sometimes that’s how it really happens, someone developing a new shamanic ability in a very short amount of time. But just because one can do something, often doesn’t mean that they should, and in the considered opinion of the grampas and grannies out there, this is one of those times. Speaking from my own experience, I was hearing the voices of Gods since I was a teenager, but I never even spoke about it, much less offered to do it on someone else’s behalf (God or mortal alike), until my late 20′s, a good ten years later.

Some of this annoyance is directly related to that. I’m sure you can think of something you do well – knitting, playing an instrument, throwing a flogger – that you consider yourself pretty damn good at. This did not immediately translate into the idea that you should teach others how to, nor did it create some sort of cosmic obligation to educate, either. Not all oboe players have what it takes to teach someone else to oboe, and not all of them are playing in professional symphonies. They just play because they’re good at it.

Unsurprisingly, with the uptick of people offering these services online, there has been a directly related uptick in clients running to us crones and crags because they got horked, or lead astray, or even more depressing, made big giant life decisions (like oathing themselves to Loki) because it was easier (and maybe cheaper) to ask one of these newly minted possessory workers or channelers for their services. I know that when I got started, I was eager to do shamanic stuff, for cheap or free, merely because it was a huge ego stroke for people to know I could, and being afforded opportunities to do it in a way where others would know about it. Since many of these newbies are interfacing with each other online, they get the immediate social cache of channeling a God for a fellow blogger and having that blogger share that newbie’s name/URL along with the message they received. It’s a scary Ouroboros, a cycle hard to break from, because one the recipient sees how the channeler is treated, they’re only going to feel even more inclined to offer services they may still be coming to understanding, much less good at.

We, as humans and as spirit workers, also have to remember that we have biases, filters, lenses through which we interpret the information we glean. I have a colleague who is *wonderful* if you’re working with Odin, but if you’re still unsure who is Knocking on your head, they interpret every male Deity as being Odin, and if it’s female, it must be Freyja (as if there were no other pantheons, much less Norse Gods and Goddesses)! I don’t know where this deluge of Loki’s wives started, but I have a strong suspicion (that is slowly becoming a theory, based on my own client work) that this is part of this Ouroboros I mentioned earlier – since Jan is married to Loki, and is new at this whole Godphone thing, when someone approaches her who may or may not also be trying to understand their own relationship with Loki, she will necessarily filter whatever information she gets through her own experience, and announce that Loki wants to marry this other person, too. Why not? Jan is still in a honeymoon phase where being married to Loki is a wonderful, inspiring thing, and she wants to share that feeling with as many people as possible, so they will all feel this bliss.

This also applies in another direction – because Godspousery is most being discussed in relation to the Norse pantheon, many people assume that if a God/dess is pursuing a mortal for marriage, it must be a Norse one. In addition, since so many Norse Godspouses are married to either Loki or Odin, it’s practically a safe bet to assume that this pursuer is one of them. And conversely, if someone is feeling that they are being pursued, because searching for “God Spouses” brings up all these blogs of Loki’s wives, that it must be Loki. Meanwhile, people who are sure it is not Loki, or who are not cisgender women, or who are being pursued for some sort of Relationship by a same-sex Deity, find these blogs and convince themselves that they’re deluded, and stop exploring this potentiality.

So I’ve explained in (great) detail how this proliferation of Loki’s wives online is causes ill to many; how, then, did I come to the conclusion that there is something to be learned from this, and turned towards the betterment of Pagans and Spirit Workers everywhere?

Tell your story. Tell your story even if you’re still figuring it all out. Admit you don’t have a God phone. Write a blog that’s all about how hard it is for you to meditate. Write about how it makes you feel when you feel chosen by some other path, especially if that path makes you feel lonely, different, radioactive, frustrated, depressed. Talk openly about how all this talk of spirit work makes you feel lesser because you weren’t chosen for that. Create a Tumblr for people who don’t hear the Gods, and encourage each other to create and stick to devotional work in spite of that. If we, us non-Loki’s-wives, can learn anything from this new development, it’s that sharing our honest personal experiences will draw like to like.

It’s not easy, being a homesteader. At first, you’ll feel like no one is reading your words, and your stat count makes you cry. You’ll feel isolated and alone. But two things will be happening at the same time:

1. You’ll get better at describing and detailing your own story and experiences. Many of the Big Name Bloggers out there were doodlin’ away for years before they wrote that one post that went viral. I was writing Dying For A Diagnosis for over a year before I started writing this blog, and it still took me six months before Hearing the Gods and God Sex went viral, and many of you first learned about me from those posts, (or maybe one of the Month for Loki posts); I needed that year of blogging experience to fully grasp how to write a viral post, as well as to hone my writing to a place where people would enjoy reading it. I frequently hear the compliment, “I don’t generally read blogs, but I love what you write!”, which is probably why I got the book deal.

It was the same thing, becoming a sex/kink educator. I’ve been teaching adults about sex for over a decade, and I’m just now starting to gain some recognition (and money) for doing it. There were plenty of times I was incensed that educators that knew less than me, or weren’t as engaging, or had a narrower range of classes were getting more gigs (and money) than I was – because they had a book, or used to do porn, or had a podcast – until I realized how much grunt work they had to do to be where they are. It was different grunt work, but it was still unglamorous and difficult (and financially crappy).

But the way I got here, is by being unafraid to find my truth, and sometimes that process was and is very public. I’m really an introvert, so sometimes sharing the dirt and shit of my life (on my blogs, on Facebook, whatever) is hard for me. I feel alone, or worse, like I’m highlighting what a stupid fuckup I really am. But the more I did these things, the more people found it resonated with them, and the more attention (and money) I got. And I know even I’m not where I want to be yet – I have a lot of plans this year to start moving forward with more financially lucrative ways of doing what I’m already doing (like the books), and I’m going to be writing and sharing the sausage making of that process, too.

The reason you feel alone, or worse, are willing to accept a more popular answer to your own spiritual questions – is because you’re waiting for your braver twin to come forward and start doing this stuff. You’re the answer you’re waiting for, to borrow a hackneyed hippy philosophy.

2. By having the courage to stand up and talk about some stuff publicly, you’ll also learn what to keep to your damn self. The more I teach classes on sexuality, the more I treasure what parts of it are personal. Same with my spiritual shite; I write about a lot of it, but in the same vein, I write about very little of it. The P in UPG is there for a reason – my relationship with my Gods is Personal, and I learned (sometimes the hard way) that the Internet hordes are only going to mock and belittle you for putting it all out there; I tell people often the difference between blogging and journalling is that blogs are written for a greater audience than just you. Granted, your personal life might just be salacious enough to gain some readers, but if it’s at all wacky like mine, you’ll gain twice as many spectators as witnesses. Spectators just sit back and watch, and look for the mistakes and holes and other places where they can feel superior; they’re disengaged from the real emotions and experiences that lie beneath the words. My old livejournal (no link, Google fiends) had a lot of followers/readers, but people really only commented on shit they felt superior about. You want witnesses, people who are engaged and moved by what you say (so much so that they reblog or share it on social media, thus relieving your angst about your stats); the best way I’ve found to finding witnesses is to look for the underlying universal (or widely relatable) truths in your story. People may not fully understand my specific issues with having an undiagnosed chronic condition, but they can totally relate to chronic pain, insomnia, and what it’s like to be in the hospital. They may not share the same spiritual path as you, but they might be in desperate need of the wisdom you’ve gleaned from an ordeal or other devotional work. Even if your words are about a specific Deity, there may be others who worship or work with the same or even a similar God that will inspire them in their own interactions with Them.

Instead of advising that everyone’s spiritual path should look the same, we should all be out there having deeply meaningful spiritual lives that are also intensely personal; but sharing both the means by which you develop that personal path, and the enlightenment you receive from it, will speak much more universally to people-at-large. Jan (you remember Jan from before, right?) can be doing much more important and moving spirit work if she is showing others how she is developing her own channeling abilities, rather than just trying to gain fame and fortune by using a skill that’s only a few months old (and she also avoids the angry mobs whom she steers in the wrong direction, using a skill she doesn’t fully comprehend yet.)

I do hook suspension; it makes me a fairly sought after ordeal master, since hooks-as-ordeal was 2009′s version of being a Loki’s wife (sorta, but follow me here). Everyone thought that the best and most meaningful ordeals involved hooks. So I had a bunch of ordeal masters chasing me around, demanding that I share my skill with them, as clients were supposedly (and I highly doubt it to be true) as lesser, or “not real” ordeal masters because they didn’t do hooks.

The frank truth is, I can teach someone how to put a hook in someone else in about six hours. But my apprenticeship was three years long. This is not because it took me longer to learn how to put a hook in someone else; it was because my mentor knew that it wasn’t knowing how to hook someone that would make me a hook suspension artist good enough to claim his lineage: it was the thousands of little (and big) idiosyncratic experiences I had while working as his apprentice. I know what to do if someone bends their hooks and falls to the floor (Which, by the way, is much more likely to happen than the hooks tearing through your flesh!). I can act calmly if someone goes into shock from getting the piercings. I know, instinctually, when the issue is something I can handle, and when I need to call 911. I know, because I’ve been there and been in it when these things all happened, and now, even if I face a situation I didn’t see in my apprenticeship, I have the confidence that I can figure it out. That took more than six hours to learn.

The same obviously goes for shamanic services like channeling and possession. Not only do I know and understand the mechanics of how my body becomes possessed, but I know what to do when I realized that the Spirit is doing things with my body that I’m not okay with, or what to do if I need to eject that Spirit or face going to prison. I know these things well enough that I can articulate them to lesser-experienced “handlers”, so I can know that everyone, including me, will be safe while I am doing this. I know what my filters are, and so when I get messages from Gods that seem eerily connected to my spiritual experience, instead of assuming that my client is having the same experience, I can take a step back and say to them, “This feels like it’s coming through a personal filter, so I’m going to speak in generalities and need your help in figuring out how this applies to you.

One last note: this is for many of the newer spirit workers out there. You’re making us old grouchy spirit workers nervous. Many have shared with me that they don’t share parts of their personal stories online, lest someone else decide that you can’t be a “real” or “true” whatever-they-are unless they have the same abilities or experiences. A friend (I won’t out them) has even shared that they posted something wildly false, just to see if other spirit workers who share their particular calling would echo it – fuck it, I’ll even say it was a God Spouse – and they did. Not only was there a rush of, “OMG yes, that happened to me too!”, but it became something they judged others by: “If you haven’t experienced (this completely made up thing), then you’re not a real (role)!”

We want the freedom to write about what we do, but we’re terrified of these trends. Just the onslaught of people talking about “Godphoning” (because yes, a joke slang we made up when you were in high school is now being used as a verb) or their lack of ability to “Godphone”, makes us wary. If you were to stop contrasting and comparing yourself to what we do, we could speak more freely about it, and sharing that might actually be useful to you or people like you.

So in a nutshell (TL;DR?), just be your authentic self, as much in person as online. Share your authentic spiritual journey, and don’t spend so much time keeping up with the Raven Kalderas and Elizabeth Vongvisiths of the world. Spirituality, like sex, should be personally fulfilling and full of meaning, not a contest to see who gets the most reblogs or who has all the Kewl Powerz. We crotchety old timers (as well as the rest of the Internet) will take you much more seriously when you do.

13 Orgasms

Reblogged from annemarieclulow:

Click to visit the original post

In a talk recently on conscious sexuality, I shared with the group that I personally have identified 12 separate, identifiable orgasmic experiences in my body.

My orgasmic background until the age of 38 was incredibly limited. As I have shared my story with many woman that walk through our doors at Tantra Evolution, I have noticed the parallels that have emerged, patterns that run throughout our lives, not just sexually, in every arena from relationships to parenting to career choices.

Read more… 541 more words

I've been doing some writing about something very similar to this post: the idea that the way we approach our sexuality, in addition to our spirituality, also colors the way we approach everything else in life. So consider this wonderful post by Anne Marie Clulow about how spending some time really considering how we approach orgasm in relationship to sex, can open up doors of realization as to how we approach pleasure in general. For example, if you are the kind of person who forgoes your own orgasm for the pleasure of your partner on a regular basis, are you also then the kind of person who does things for others without ever getting what you need or want out of the exchange? Of course, orgasm is not the be-all, end-all of sexual experience, but continually denying yourself pleasure and release can not only directly affect the rest of your life, but could also point towards an unhealthy pattern of fear and shame around asking for and receiving things that you want and need in your life. Read this post, and then take some meditative time (in the shower, while you drive, sitting in meditation, during yoga, etc) to think on how your sexual habits inform or mirror your habits outside of the bedroom.