Names Don’t Matter, or: what to do when your god pokes around with your identity by poking around with His own

This was over a year ago, now.

Lately, He has been very present, very Him, and nearly tangible — and there is such, such longing within me. He says, come deeper with Me. He says, don’t hold back, don’t fear. He says that I am the one causing the distances I insist on perceiving that are not really there.

I have a table cleared off in order to build my shrine, to place my Durga mask, to place — when I get them — my icon for Vishnu and whoever else.

I struggle. I don’t want *things*, not having *things* has been such a part of my practice. I understand Poseidon and my connection to Him/our connection together, as minimalist, as not rooted in objects, as not being tied to material things — and puja and aarti are so very much thing heavy. Are there minimalist puja and aarti? Is that a thing? Even the informal approach is so much more formal than what I do, than what I’ve built my practice around . . . so is what I’m doing not good enough/desirable enough/correct enough?

“But you’re comfortable. You’re secure. Take the security that you have, in u/Us ,but let go of the rest. Do you want security and comfort, or do you want Me? Because I can take you deeper. I WILL take you deeper . . . . but you must come willingly.”

I agreed, months ago — MONTHS ago — that I’d stop worrying about studying and about doing things right, and that I’d just approach Vishnu, who is Vishnu-Poseidon-But-Not in my head. Can’t He just matter, the way Hekate does, and matter to me because He matters to Him? Apparently not without struggle.

I’m staggered to realize it’s been over a year. . . and I miss Him. I miss Him, despite His presence in my life, and what does that say about what I’m doing?

Strip Me Back To The Bone

A young girl is on her hands and knees at the water’s edge, keening into the sea. There is no other word for the sounds coming from her, the sounds of a spirit bound too tightly slipping its cage and splintering from the force of it. She feels herself shattering, and no amount of trying to hold on will stop the process. She is beyond fear, beyond worry, beyond hope. She has given over to this moment, and she is caught up in fury, in desolation, in these big, crushing waves of emotions that are too big, too wild, to be held back. Her spirit has tasted freedom and it will not return to its meager existence. Her spirit knows the depth and beauty of the worlds, and it calls out for rescue.

He comes clad in moonlight and darkness, in denim and leather, in flesh, bone, and magic. The…

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