Sticky hands and a lull,

Dirt under my nails and sticky sweet smelling hands. I went and collected a bunch of balm of Gilead this morning. I found a massive amount of it right off the trail near the house. I caught a few strange looks from joggers and dog walkers. It was beautiful this morning though, low mist and birds dripping from the trees.

I'm thinking of making an oil with the buds, for working with Hekate and Artemis. They're so rich and pungent! Pure (real) cinnamon oil would pair super well their fragrance.

(wrote this bit a few days ago, injecting it here below)

I've paused with my trance work. I was getting close and closer with each attempt and when that wave of nausea hit me in my last session (over a month ago I think) and I could feel something I cant really describe creep up my spine it spooked me, so I'm on a break. Break might not even be the best word, more like, I'm scared of what might happen if I go further.

During the break, I have had moments of what I guess I could describe as a "thinness" - and it will hit me at any time, anywhere. I close my eyes and I feel like I'm falling. Or slipping into light trance states without even thinking about it, being taken totally by surprise.

I don't know what to do with it just now. I do know that the current thing on my mind is protective measures. I have a bunch of rowan wood that I had collected over the summer, that I would like to make beads out of and into a protective necklace.

I do want to dive deeper, but I'm glad that I'm not rushing into it.

(/end)

Trance-Portation,

So, I've been working my way through Trance-portation, by Diana L. Paxson (found via Sarah). I am just now tapping into chapter three, and I can say, it's pretty freakin' awesome. It has laid out, for me and what I feel, is a great foundation for trancework and possibly crossing into the otherworld - something I've never done before. I don't think I can count dreamwalking as it isn't something I do at will, it just happens.

So far, I've established a routine I feel very good about. I've added and subtracted a few things. For example, I don't really feel that I need to center myself. I don't know, I know where I'm at and where my body is at, I know which direction I'm facing (usually west). Warding is done with burnt herbs and a charm. I settle down and stretch my hips and legs out so that they're relaxed. I really like the way she explains grounding, it just makes so much fucking sense. I drop, what I guess I could describe as an anchor into the ground. I watch it move through the concrete foundation of my house and into the muddy and probably water logged earth beneath it. I know that this will sound very cheesy, but bear with me: its like plugging yourself in. I feel plugged in. I can sense the roots of the Alder tree in my backyard, the Douglas fir in the front and the sneaking suspicion I'm being watched by that unknown spirit that lurks in my neighborhood.

Haha, writing this out and reading it myself, it all sounds ridiculous. It's a reality check and that is why I blog about it, anyway...

I try to chill my overactive mind out, and I breathe, very slowly, pausing at each inhale and each exhale. Once I feel ready to move on, I begin breathing rhythmically at a much faster but controlled pace. Back when I was going to yoga classes (I loathed the crowd, but I loved the workout) they taught us the ocean breath, where you constrict the back of your throat to create a, well, oceany sound. This gives me something to focus on. I don't know how long it takes me, but eventually I slip into what I think, is the tip of trance.

Everything is fuzzed, my body, my face and something inside of me quivers. It depends on how I'm feeling each night I do it, but tonight felt powerful. My mouth began to water, which for me is a sign that I might vomit, and then there it comes ... nausea. I get scared, which I guess is a good sign! I sit in that feeling for a little while, still breathing. Opening my eyes takes effort and when I do, I feel kind of drunk. For some reason, I held my breath, for a long time - long enough that I told myself I need oxygen to live. Vision blurs, I don't feel like breathing, but the fear grips me and I sip in air little by little. At that point I felt ready to return and almost forgot to reverse my whole procedure. Lifting the anchor, thanking the one I asked for protection, blow out the candles and done.

There is an edge I am beginning to feel to this, it's a bit scary.

I'm off to dreamland.