Or, How Poseidon Saved My Life by Changing It.

I’ve mentioned previously that, when I first encountered Poseidon, I was quite negative. I had no tolerance for other people, no patience for what I perceived as weaknesses. I had some friends at this point in my life by they either only saw the surface me with glimpses of the deeper parts of me, or they were a special few who actually knew the darker, colder parts of who I was and accepted me anyway. The latter few had their own darker, colder places that they hid from the rest of the world.

My first step toward awareness was getting used to Him in my life. After the initial meeting, it took some time for me to get my head to a place where the experience could be useful to me. It took time to process, and then, I also had stuff going on — finishing high school, working close to full time, graduating, dealing with my father’s death, dealing with some rocky times with my relationship with my then-boyfriend. Then there was wrapping my head around polytheism, trying to figure out where I stood on the issue of the nature of the gods (I decided only polytheism-in-practice because it made my head hurt less, and I continue to do so because we will never be in a place to completely understand the nature of the gods and because they come to me as individuals, and I can only honor that) and sorting through some of His myths. The biggest, hardest ones to contend with, at that time, were his rape myths. It was a long time before I would even touch them, and it was difficult to deal with. The subject hits way too close to home for me to be comfortable with. Learning the history of the word helps, when factoring less-than-wonderful translations and then just sloppy translations; you take words out of their native use and connotations get lost. Learning about the mindset and worldviews of translators help. Coming to understand that not all myths should be taken literally helps. Finally, approaching Him without the baggage of the stories about Him, taking Him at face value, understanding what it was that, on that one night, He did for me, helps. He completely turned my life around. That was were I would start our relationship from.

Four years passed before I was at a place to devote to exploring this relationship more deeply. On the one hand that seems like such a long time. On the other hand, considering my age, considering everything that was going on in my life, it doesn’t seem so long after all.

Shortly after our initial meeting, I got internet access and started poking around pagan forums. My original home on the web was a now-defunct message board attached to a shop. Friends I met there are still counted among my spiritual siblings, and one in particular was a great, great support in my budding relationship with Poseidon. I was blessed to find a place where, for the most part, until it really started to go south, many of the people encouraged thought and research and had the ability to debate civilly — often heatedly — and still remember that the debate was about an idea, not about one another’s intelligence or worth. My initial meeting of other pagans, especially wiccanesque or Wiccan pagans, was positive, and, over a decade later, I appreciate how rare that is.

One of these friends, about four years after my initial meeting with Poseidon, was talking one day about her relationship with the spirits in her life, walking matter-of-factly about daily interactions with a few of them. I said to her, “I wish I had that.” That night, Poseidon moved in.

The sensation is hard to explain, hard to express. Early on, my most natural way of getting into that receptive headspace was through writing. It was the way I meditated, before I learned other ways, and it remains the easiest, most affective way for me to get to that in-between place, in my head, the easiest way for me to slip between the worlds and be in both. So, when, as I settled in for sleep that night, I was Told to get up and pick up a pen . . . well, you know I didn’t. It’s not my way And the pressure built until I had to relent, so the next day (though not as soon as I got up) I did.

For three months, I thought I was going insane. I can recognize now that it was likely a three-month-long anxiety attack triggered by this new awareness. My skin felt tight, my head felt blown open, I felt pressed in on all sides by people only “people” here means Poseidon, I felt like I was never alone — and as a person who needs solitary time, this was very difficult — I felt like I never had any silence around me. It sounds easy, now, talking about it, sounds like no time at all, but this was the first time I experienced anything like that, and it was a long, loooong three months.

Once that settled down, things began to change in my life. I wrote, dialogue between us, almost every night (and I wish I still had them, I can’t believe I lost them in the shuffle from MA to PA) which was my way of interacting with Him. A friend of mine talked about yoga, and at His prodding, I looked into it. The two closest spiritual sisters I had at the time both taught Reiki, and this would start over a years worth of His encouraging me to pick that up. Yoga taught me how to meditate without writing, taught me about moving into stillness, brought me to that delicious, open place where awareness hums throughout ones various bodies. Yoga was my first devotional act for Him and really underscored the whole “awareness” theme that He seemed to have for me.

Being aware, though, often means pushing yourself out of your comfort zone, and it wasn’t long before He was asking that of me. It was fine to do yoga in the privacy of my own home. A friend was, at the time, spending time at a Buddist temple in NY. She was attending a “walking meditation” workshop, and invited me along. I opened my mouth to say no (people! Omg, people!!) and yes came out instead. Apparently, I wanted to go.

It was a daylong event, though I worked out with Poseidon that I’d go and participate in the morning stuff, and see about the afternoon stuff. I was terrified. Ridiculously so, but these sorts of anxieties — new things, where other people can see omg! — aren’t really rational. I was able to seek out a corner (and there was a giant bell to half-hide behind, too) and that was good. There was some interaction with the monk who was leading the workshop, but it wasn’t terrible. In truth, the mindful-walking, calling attention to the present part of the workshop has stayed with me and it’s something I use a lot to calm myself, or to try to, when I’m in a crowd and it becomes too much.

It was hard, though, and by lunch time I was worn out, so I bowed out of the afternoon stuff and passed the time walking around the beautiful grounds. I spent some time at their Kuan Yin statue, wandered around the flowers and pond area. Out of nowhere a downpour came and drenched me, and I laughed and danced and was soaked in cool springtime rain. It lasted a good fifteen minutes, until I was happily soaked. That did a lot to soothe my anxiety, and I was dry by the time it was time to leave.

more to come . . .

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