The · Stairwell

This was a big list thing, but stuff changed. I don't feel up to changing it all, sooo I just took it down. Nobody seems to have taken the challenge anyway, so no harm done.

 

My imagination is my polestar; I steer by that. -Clive Barker

    I am by definition a mystic. I sometimes speak with infuriating metaphor, because the purest keystones of existence do not translate well into literal thinking. One might tell me that this is a fancier way of saying that such things do not hold up to scientific examination. I concede, but science (like religion) reinvents itself at an increasingly rapid rate, and does not hold up to religious conviction. I dwell somewhere between these two extremes of thought because science and spirituality both have their place in a person's life. I'm not going to deny that fire needs fuel, oxygen, and heat to burn; nor am I going to deny the profound metaphysical power that a flame calls into existence. Science should reinforce faith and vice versa. For me, this is exactly what happens. What I view as a startling meditation during which I encounter spirits of great power imparting their wisdom to an earnest seeker of truth might just as easily be a psychological practice during which I probe my own psyche through rigorous focus revealing archtypical images of human nature and my own subconsciousness's unique way of processing information. But my magical craft and my scientific bent both claim that truth is fact, and fact is what your experiments yield. It doesn't matter if the meditation's productivity stems from supernatural or explainable sources. The fact remains that when I finish meditating, I am refreshed in every possible way: my body and mind are more relaxed and capable, while emotions that raged against my intellect are yolked as passions that support my goals. Religion may be accurate and religion may be inaccurate, but it is only false when its members abuse the faith that others put into the religion. I admit that there might be absolutely nothing listening to my prayers, but that doesn't scare me. It liberates me, because I know that it doesn't matter. My acts might be dedicated to something more than human, but the practice of dedicating acts to a divine being is definately human. As Serge Kahili King writes in Urban Shaman, "Effectiveness is the measurement of truth." Because science and mysticism yield similar results, they are simultaneous truths, and that is all I need to know. So long as one exists, I will practice the other.

    Not long ago I decided to write a Book of Shadows. For those who don't know, a Book of Shadows is a personal account of spiritual matters belonging to either an individual neo-pagan or a group of neo-pagans. I thought that an intense introspection of my own path (witchy speak for denomination) would make it easier to handle the stress my life was throwing at me. Instead, I learned that my path defies description, and that the timing was real bad. I aborted the project, far from unscathed, but clutching tightly a few kernels of truth I hadn't possessed before.
    Like most people, I'm a social creature and a big part of my identity is based on my relationship with the rest of the world. I longed to explain my path to others, but I was forced to admit such things must be experienced, not described. That's when I had an idea. What if, instead of reinterpreting my meditations for people who might not understand the vibrant symbolism therein, I blatantly described that same arcane symbolism? I know this paragraph is verbose and makes me sound pompous, but sometimes I am. (I undermine my ego constantly, so I think it evens out.) This idea- to describe unapologetically the bizarre, personal world of meditation- was the basis for the Theand stories.
    So far I think they're working out really well!
    I wanted to write today, but I don't have the literary coherency to write a Theand story. Additionally, I haven't meditated in a while (I really should get around to that) so I don't have a lot to write about. Maybe I'll revisit old sessions from before I started the Theand stories. One byproduct of the Theand stories is that I feel more capable of describing personal, magical ideas. Here's a brief explanation of my own take on what magic is, what elements I use to categorize the universe, and what I mean when I use the term "spirit world."

    The Associative Property of Addition can be applied to magic.
    Basically, the universe is 1. An individual magician might classify the components of the universe in whatever fashion helps her or him keep track of such things. Two opposing forces, four or five elements, a periodic table. Magic doesn't change the solution of the equation; ultimately, all of these forces add up to 1 universe. What magic does is change the composition of this 1 universe by shuffling the numbers around once the magician has figured the various fractions of that whole. To make the point more succinct, a computer that's 1 computer is still 1 computer even if you upgrade it, but it's definitely a different computer.
    I've thought similar things, but never so clearly. This is the closest thing I have to a Book of Shadows, and I wanted to record the thought before I lost it. I'll get around to writing more Theand material, but I haven't had the inspiration lately.
    I guess that's my way of saying, "I really ought to meditate more often."

    Theand laughed at the second definition listed under his Word. It read, "to render active service to, to render obedience or homage to, God or a sovereign, etc." It made a complicated undertaking sound deceptively simple. Gods, with their archetypal moods, were hard enough to keep happy. In nearly a decade of service to a sovereign, he'd concluded that serving a human was infinitely more dangerous. There were just too many ways for things to go wrong when dealing with a human. With Gods, a transgression was a transgression and you could basically expect some kind of bizarre, divine retribution. Those transgressions, however, were effectively timeless. Humans weren't as reliable, and what offended your liege one day could be just what he or she needed the next.
    His mind began to wander. At times, Theand was stunned by the vastness of human experience. His path up to this point had been surreal and winding, and retracing it made him wonder how he'd ever made it. He remembered dream-haunting daggers, sorrow-filled mirrors, and discontent at the academy, but he could barely recall the effortless way a stranger came into his life and cut through the veils of endless yearning. This was Theand's crownless king, his leonine liege, his commanding officer. There was hero-worship there, but there was also practical compromise, fierce loyalty, and fathomless friendship. The weight of the book in his hands brought Theand back to reality, and he scanned down the page a bit.
    This third bullet defined "serve" as "to have a definite use." Ironic that this was one of Theand's guiding principles. He often joked with his fellow warriors that he had two goals in life: to not be yelled at, and to feel useful. Trouble had forced him to choose between the two before, and he'd usually stuck with the latter. He didn't need to be important or celebrated if he was appreciated and allowed to perform a necessary or helpful function... and if performing that function ruffled some feathers, those birds could fly elsewhere.
    A nagging thought that Theand had thus far been ignoring had grown impatient enough and shattered his serenity. With a sigh he closed the book and tossed it in the direction of its shelf, where it settled itself before wrapping a shroud of dust back around itself. Even if somebody cared to look, evidence of Theand's intense introspection would be invisible. He had to get back to the war; his liege was counting on him, somewhere, in a land far, far away.
    The implications of a Word were strikingly similar to the actions of a person. Even so, actions and Words were unique enough to make a difference. There would be time for Words, but it would be later. He descended the tower, boarded his skiff, and spoke the sacred words dedicated to shaping waves. The familiar, grinding noise of departure was reassuring. It was time for Theand to act, and the tide was rising.

    The spire was ready to collapse. The worn stones of the circular room were bowing inward. Untrustworthy bookshelves stretched from one place to another in a spidery way, providing the tower's last vestige of stability. Theand heaved a resigned sigh and extended his arm towards one of the shelves. It was a simple trick to pass his hand between his eye and the spine of the books. All he had to do was wait for that familiar flicker of gravity as fate longed to complete itself. He just hoped that when he pulled the books from the shelf, the tower didn't come tumbling down around his ears. He grunted; it couldn't be helped, so it was now or never.
    That was the secret, of course. A single person could only channel so much power, and that power followed the path of least resistance to begin with. Theand could have dumped a massive bucket of power on the situation, but it would have been spread so thin that it would have been a waste of energy. Instead, he directed that power at one thing only: he didn't tell the world to find his Word. He urged the world to let his Word go, prying the fingertips of reality off of what was his alone, and let metaphysics do the rest. Once the world's grip had slipped, his Word could effortlessly rise to awareness, like bubbles of air through dark water...
    One of the twitching books flew from the shelf and made a beeline for Theand's hand. Its spine was warm, its cover blue, its pages blotted with age and sweat. Curious, the magician thought. He stopped mentally kicking at the fingertips of reality and savored his book, flipping gently through its pages. The words were hard to make out, but he knew the story intimately. It was then he came to a single word, its characters written with a slow penmanship and thick, bold strokes. It was Theand's Word.
    Theand's Word was illuminated like a Catholic manuscript, but the lines twisted just enough to make the whole Word seem slightly perverse. It was the word "serve," and it was Theand. A magician skilled at drawing parallels could compare his own actions to the vibrations of a spoken word. Words are composed of vibrations and men are composed of actions. In either case, identity was determined by examining the unique way an identity affected the world around it. But each collection of vibrations existed to express a particular concept. By exploring every implication of his Word, a magician could understand his role in the grand scheme of all things.
    The grand scheme of all things was quite complex, and Theand was happy to have a little guidance.
    More delicate script flowed in bullets beneath the bold, underscored word. The first bullet read, "to go through a term of service; do duty as a soldier, sailor, senator, juror, etc." Theand felt this was an easy definition. Years ago he'd toyed with the idea of soldiering, but he never thought he'd have the right orientation of balls, brains, and besides to make it worth the sacrifices involved. Now he felt uncomfortable without his wand on his thigh or his staff held firmly in his hands, and his armor felt lighter every day he wore it. He was going through a term of service, and there were lessons to be learned in it. His patience, situational awareness, self-motivating capabilities, and self-control were reaching new heights. He felt like some creepy monster, taking a foreign concept and gobbling it up with ferocity. It was digesting now, however, and he was learning to like the strange little kicks it made in his stomach.
    In one way, Theand was serving. He felt this was a good start, and followed his finger down to a second bullet.

    The sun's reflection was a golden tattoo that rippled as the ocean flexed its muscles. Theand was frowning over a map on a small boat, its sails full of wind. Opposite of him was a taller man who seemed to be wearing a ceremonial bird suit. Theand didn't think it was out of place any longer. Instead, he explained what was on his mind.
    "I've just received a message that trouble is brewing in Filigree." Theand rested his index finger on the named city. "My liege has an outpost there, but if things don't smooth out soon he might have to withdraw his forces back to Crosshome." He dragged his fingertip along a road that cut through the hills and ran parallel to the coast. "The plan is to continue sailing for Filigree. If worse comes to worst, his lordship will send another message. In that event we'll change course for Crosshome and merge our strength. We'll figure out what to do from there. It's a secondary plan, but we have it if we need it." Theand glanced up. "What do you think?"
    The man behind the beaked mask seemed to smile. "Does it matter? You seem to have this all planned out."
    Theand shrugged his shoulders an inch. "I don't care if you approve of the plan. I just want to know if you think it'll work."
    "It could work. I'm just surprised to see you so certain of yourself."
    The wizard paused. His spirit guide was right, of course. Responsibilities were infinite, but Theand was not. Somewhere the ocean had washed away his desire for personal approval. He'd sailed through too many storms to care if people liked his decisions or not. His decisions just needed to be effective. He nodded, more to himself than to what he'd just heard.
    "Then we continue towards Filigree," he said to nobody in particular, "until I say otherwise."

    After two steps, Theand had picked up such momentum he wouldn't have been able to stop himself. The quiet voice split itself into butterflies of doubt to assault him with their distracting colors and he hardened his heart, popping their forms as easily as walking through bubbles. He picked up speed. The floor was cobbled stone. The fire pit suddenly emerged from the darkness, its wide boundaries marked by an encircling strip of metal sticking several inches out of the ground. It resembled tarnished bronze. Pieces of metal stuck out here and there, but Theand wasn't sure what purpose they served. He didn't care. A pressing need had brought him here. He indicated the fire pit with open hands and reached deep within himself, letting his sense of urgency move up from his legs, through his veins, filling metaphorical wings before it flew from his lips and palms. "Come hither," he commanded. He had only done this once before, and he wondered if it would work again.
    Writhing shadows sprang out of the fire pit into the air like a geyser, but filled out only to the boundaries marked by the strip of metal forming the base of the pit. The shadows sculpted themselves into a towering monster with broad shoulders that tapered to a point towards the ground. Its head was nearly as wide as its shoulders, and two menacing eyes of scarlet eyed Theand- and everything else in front of it- with indiscriminate hunger.
    Recognizing its summoner, the beast's writhing silhouette slowed to a gentle murmur of darkness. A pressing fog of smug amusement threatened to crush Theand, but he stood tall. The demon knew it was an act. Theand knew the demon knew it was an act. The young wizard hoped that this would be one instance when intent was enough to shape the power. The beast considered. It carved rare intellect out of its ravenous urges using deliberate cruelty, and it spoke.
    "So much silence, and now two callings within a week? To what do I owe the pleasure?" Its civilized tone left Theand wondering if it was mocking him, or if his infernal id would be interested in a spot of tea.
    "I bring this." Theand reached into a cloak he knew he wasn't wearing and produced an orb of amber and magma no bigger than a large marble. "It is a fear. I want you to devour it."
    The beast made a thoughtful noise and asked, "Why?"
    The wizard hadn't expected that. He thought of stalling but knew the lull of intent would weaken his conjuring circle; he wondered if that was the demon's intention. "Fear is your domain, isn't it?" He was surprised to hear himself use a contraction in a spell.
    The beast chuckled as people died somewhere. "So it is." It unfurled its claws and let the wizard surrender the little orb. It lifted it just above its head, inspected it between his fingers as if it were a precious gem, and flicked it into his gaping maw. Theand stared in amazement as he watched the glowing orb travel down the shadow's throat. For a moment, its golden fire coursed silently through the beast like lightning through a cloudy horizon. Then, the beasts own darkness enveloped that briefly-lived light. "You have my thanks."
    Theand nodded. "That's all I wanted."
    The beast smiled a wicked, knowing smile. "Of course it was."
    Theand opened his eyes and slowly let himself become confident that he was in a war camp, safe from dark spirits. His careful exhale caught on his lungs, forcing him to shiver. He climbed to his feet, but he moved slowly so he wouldn't accidentally pass out. He told himself to walk around and get the blood moving again, which he did.
    The quiet voice asked what Theand had been afraid of. For once, he was glad that he didn't have an answer.

    After a hard day of manning the battle machine, Theand just wanted to sleep. Certain individuals were making that impossible. They were too important to yell at. They weren't worth endangering his career over, either, so violence was out of the equation. His only option was to take a long walk, so that's what he did. The old buildings threatened to engulf him, but the mountains in the distance dwarfed even them. Raindrops were starting to fall and kick up dust. Wind tossed his face around like a ball. Other warriors were hurrying past. Theand didn't blame them; these storms weren't his idea of a great time either. But he dropped his arms to his sides and shaped his fingers into a wizard's pattern just subtle enough to pass for some guy being weird and nothing more.
    It was a strange land complete with strange smells and sights. But his skin couldn't tell the difference between the wind of war and the wind of home. He let the timeless sensations lure him out of the context of his frustration.
    The quiet voice inside pointed out that eventually even the sun would implode and destroy everything he felt. The quiet voice inside told him that when he died and the fire in his brain was put out, there was a chance that none of this would matter any longer. The quiet voice inside wanted to know what he was going to do about the problem back at his barracks. The quiet voice reminded him that 'timeless' was a relative concept. But the wind was louder than the quiet voice, and Theand was grateful.