Old Woman Sorceress
Kanka, the sorceress, who appears as an old woman,
or witch, is a Supernatural Spirit who transforms.
Packing, packing, the little routines cast asunder and one becomes present to life. Nothing stands in the way of the awful anxiety of it, of the frail individual standing against the mysterious and dark forces of the universe. One is stripped; the queen truly had no clothes after-all. I am working very hard to unpack the voice in my head that controls the world, that furnishes and clothes it in what one is told from day one how it all looks, acts, feels, smells, tastes. I am able to shut off thoughts more easily in my meditations, but still do poorly when not. When I pay attention to the thought program I see clearly how it works. It is always ahead of time and event, setting up the parameters of what to expect. And of course, that’s what happens, with a few minor deviations. The problem for a writer is that every thought is cherished for the possibility of transmuting it into a full blown essay or story,
Alone in a box of an apartment with a slew of packed boxes, a whole bunch of empty cartons waiting for contents, odd things that didn’t fit in filled boxes, I’m not at the barren stage yet, the kitchen has yet to be packed, the utility room, the clothing, but the books are all boxed, a biggie, and most of the livingroom. I’m taking myself apart by degrees. No more evening movies, no gossiping on the internet.
Underneath the screen that shields, numbs, deceives, and hoodwinks me is an entity that’s been there from the beginning, aspects of me that come to fore and then recede, but they are always waiting to assert themselves. I’m a bitch, but a decent person. I am evenhanded when interacting with others, am respectful, even with those who are not worthy of it, (you never know, they might get the message,) and like company in small doses. My creature comforts are few, a good public library system, public transportation, some art galleries, museums, (speaking of which, here’s a good site I stumbled on this week, https://www.artsy.net) and of course, music, i.e. Spotify and my mysterious and bitchy black and white cat, Chloë.
The favorite essay this month has been, Karpman Drama Triangle.