I miss You.

I stand before the shrine, the house quiet around me. The cold clings to be from an hour spent outside in near-freezing temperatures, waiting for a cab to bring me home. The house is asleep — the cats doze on the couch, Corbie is tucked into bed with Beth. A half day on the job means I’m home halfway through the night, and my weekend, which feels like a retreat more than it ever has before, now that I’m up at night, starts early.

I consider pulling out a journal book, to write. I consider penning a letter or two. I consider opening a book to read. What I really want, though, is to turn the lights off, light the candle, and talk with You.

I miss You. Lost in my worries — financial stress that’s been mounting and mounting, though it’s also reaching a point of easement; new job stress; health worries over Beth, myself, the dog, always always the dog — and the distraction that writing often is, I miss You. I let myself get tangled up in knots, doing things properly, not doing things properly, worry, always worry, always anxiety, forever and ever getting in my own way.

I get caught up in the writing, and it starts out as something I do to remind myself to keep the boundaries thin and fluid, but then the story consumes me, and I forget to see You.

I get caught up in the healing — the toe, then the back, then the stress from the change with the job, and the fucking up the medication, and the upsurge of depression. I see You, of course, in how kindly I treat myself. I see Your touch in how I allow myself to be tired, to be run down, to rest as I need to rest without judgment or censure, and that makes me miss You all the more.

Take me deeper, I begged You, and You are. I remember that it used to be so frustrating, when You’d slip from a known path, when You’d forgo words, when You’d touch the emotion and make me figure out what was me, what was You, and then, how that distinction did not matter, does not matter, cannot matter.

I stand at the shrine that is different — a candle, images that are You and are not You. Neptune, with his trident raised, and Vishnu on his lotus, and the newest, the Krishna, with his flute, a gift I cannot not accept, all things considered. Why the struggle with Vishnu, when there’s no struggle with Neptune? I stand at the shrine, and I light the candle, and I say a prayer for she who is passing, who has passed, and I tell You how I miss You, not with words, but with heart. Standing open. Seeking. Listening.

Feeling.

You rush in, an incoming tide filling a canyon that was empty moments before. You, Who I recognize like I recognize myself. You, Whose touch is filled with all these things that You are, and if I hold this close to me, there is no struggle, because how can I define You in any way other than what You offer?

I miss You. I will always miss You, because it will never be enough, because the longing, the yearning, will always be there, so long as I wear this  flesh. I will always get distracted, and I will always miss You, and I will always come back to the shrine, seeking.

This is the ebb. This is the flow. I love this. I love You. I love You.

I am like a child, rather than a mature devotee.

Months ago at this point, I switched around the shrine I have for Poseidon. (I never feel like I get this particular phrasing down. I host this shrine for Poseidon. Is it my shrine for Poseidon? Is it Poseidon’s shrine? Most properly, it is O/our space, but then that always feels weird, phrasing it that way, too, and so instead you get an overly long, overly analytical parenthetical. You’re welcome!) In order to more fully welcome into my worship Vishnu-through-Poseidon,  I moved a lot of the items I had on that shrine to a more private, more personal shrine space. The upside: having a second Poseidon shrine, this time in the bedroom, so at a good space for contemplation and private meditation and the like. The downside? Having a second Poseidon shrine. I spend most of my time in that room asleep, it’s not where I do most of my writing and assorted other things, and so all the visual reminders — found objects, gifted objects, momentos, the material signs of a decades’ long devotion to Him — has been largely out of sight.

Why? Because I felt that having a less personal, less cluttered, less territorial space in which to invite Vishnu-through-Poseidon. Over all, it’s been successful, if slow. The shrine cloth is a compromise between the T/hree of us, They each get Their own ‘side’, and it’s a nice headache inducing back and forth between ‘the same/not the same’.

I’ve added some of the personal items back to the Poseidon ‘side’, notably a couple of boxes holding beach findings that the dog managed to get into and upend when they were on the other shrine space.

Between adding those bits back, and tending to the shrine in my post medication fuck-up vulnerable-feeling headspace today, I realized that having a space that’s set aside for Vishnu in the way that I have a space set aside for Durga isn’t going to work. At least, having space set aside on something that is so mine as much as it is Poseidon’s (the shrine space is, at this point, its own entity, a child  created by U/us, by O/our worship, without actually being a child) in the way that I have space set aside for Durga (a shrine that did not exist beforehand, that is not used for anything else, other than a ‘public’ space for Her and a few Others in Her family) isn’t going to work, not for approaching Vishnu-with-Poseidon.

I’m not the serious devotee with formal, fancy shrine space, austere and just-so. I’m the child, bringing  handpicked dandelions and wildflowers, dirt still on the roots, petals half wilted, hands dirty from playing outside. I’m the child with the make-shift offering bowls, and the ritual tools gathered quickly, re-purposed, maybe less shiny than they should be,  pressed into multiple uses. I’m the child who brings my heart to my gods, including my newer gods, messy and stumbling and complicated.

Treating Durga as an honored guest, with adoration and love in my heart, with an aim to please, and filled with gratitude is one thing. She’s the mother invite over for the first time into your own living space, who you want to impress and  serve. Treating Her like an honored guest is a bit of a play, a game of pretend, as if She’s not viscerally part of who I am (and how pathetic, an attempt to get this into words, but Her embrace has changed so much within me) Treating Vishnu-with/through-Poseidon as an honored guest is different. It’s distancing. It doesn’t work for me. Outside of my private worship, maybe. Inside? Inside, I am like a child, grabbing Him by the hand to drag Him around and show Him all my favorite things.

I’ll strive to remember that, for now. So far, realizing this takes me one step closer to being back to good with the shared shrine space.

Might I offer You some tea?

Twenty years. I’ve been at this whole involved-with-gods thing for twenty years at this point, tending a shrine space just a wee bit less. You’d be forgiven if you thought that by know I’d have some of this shit down.

This week, some things came together. One: I had some time on my hands to sit and do little beyond recover from surprise!toe surgery. (Why are all my surgeries surprises?) Two: I realized I still had a growing discontent with how things with devotional practices for Poseidon- and Vishnu-with-Poseidon were going (or not going, as the case may be.) Three: I was reminded that aniconic representations of deities appeal to me, and that even when icons are what’s being used, I prefer theriomorphic over anthropomorphic. Four: Beth made me a creature for my birthday that has become my hands-on Poseidon figure plushie thing, and yes, I’m going to make outfits for Him.

I welcome Vishnu into my awareness, my practice, my life. I welcome anyone that Poseidon reveals as important to Him, and the tenderness with which Others came, once that had been opened, cannot be denied. I thought, when He first mentioned Him, Them, that it would have to be all done just so. Properly. With respect and just . . . properly.

And I fumbled. And faltered. Withdrew, because I was expected to be someone else, other than I am. Vishnu and I had a sweet back and forth, centered around felines, around Luna, around other spirits, and we were able to find a common ground, a common language, a meeting point. I realized I had to let go of the study, that I needed experience, and then I would build upon it. Slowly. Organically. Formality for formality’s sake is a sure-fire way to get me to flee.

I still wasn’t comfortable with approach Him at the shrine. The shrine had become unrecognizable, and we were all dissatisfied with it. I was supposed to be inviting Him in, and instead we were all going out to some random public place to meet up and talk over the din as best we could.
24bc1d32b6a36b533978674c4e31af85I stumbled upon this image quite by accident, and more things clicked into place. I’m trying to find the artist – if anyone recognizes it, please let me know. I’ve only been able to find it on tumblr and deviantart, and there’s no attribution, and it’s — well, look at it.

It also made me realize: this is my way in, this is my path into touching in with/relating to Vishnu. It’s the same way I needed to go with Odin, and it’s not quite the same at all, but . . . the fierce protector, the super-powerful, and super-gentle at the same time. I need that. I need the massive to be approachable.

Poseidon does that with me, too. Those moments when He is this huge, massive, beyond reckoning giant presence, held utterly still so as to not crush, not destroy, not obliterate. I need to feel my smallness, in light of Their immensity. It’s different, with all of Them, but that is a thread woven through each relationship.

I offered Him tea this morning, Vishnu-with-Poseidon. I hadn’t been; Poseidon suggested a while ago that  the morning tea was our thing, or that’s how I read it. Really, I suspect He was more possessive about the cup, and a bit about the order. Or, He was possessive about the ritual, and in the time sense He’s come to see that drawing lines between “This is Mine and not His,” is something I can’t deal with if, at the same time, He is insisting They are less different than not. Poseidon got the first bit of the tea, and Vishnu the second. I offered Poseidon His, and drank from it as is our custom. I offered Vishnu-with-Poseidon His, and did not drink from it, as that will not be our custom. His offering bowl had cat fur along the outer rim. “That’s part of being here,” I said, as I wiped it away. It will not be pristine, it will only be the best that we are able to produce.

vishI felt more at peace with this whole adventure, this morning, after offering Vishnu tea along with Poseidon, than I have during all of this development.

Though maybe He’s just looking forward to getting His own creature-plushie-doll made by Beth?

 

 

Vishnu-with-Poseidon, or: the struggle is real.

Am I invested in this feeling of discord? Have I allowed this to move in, to define my relationships? I light the incense, I stand before the shrine. It’s pleasing to look at, this space that was once mine yet now feels cut off from me. I feel like a visitor, venturing to a place that is familiar, and yet not. The fabric draping the surface is soft, the colors cheerful, if on the dark side. The icons familiar – well, one, and the other one is sweet-faced and approachable.

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I don’t find Poseidon in the idol. Oh, sometimes it feels like He’s shared some of Himself with the physical representation, but it’s more like this is a thing that we both touch and care for and share with one another, and less that it’s an extension of Him. The whole shrine space, previously, was an extension of Him, of U/us, of the history of my devotion, the history of His devotion. The spirit of the shrine itself feels like a child we’ve made together, and if I follow that particular story, it feels like the child has maybe grown up, gone to college, and has returned as an adult I barely recognize.

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The Vishnu idol is sweet-faced, as I’ve said, and has a genial feel to Him. Vishnu Himself has been approachable and kind. I find, as I search through images for inspiration, and as I read through stories (though in-depth, academic-minded study is not allowed at the moment, because I get lost in that, and these formative interactions are to be based in the experiential, not in the intellectual, knowledge) I see time and again that I am drawn to kindness, to warmth, to benevolent acceptance. I want the kind-faced Narasingha embracing the child, rather than the fierce lion avatar tearing apart the demon. I remember, when I was first getting to know Odin, how I felt like a young child in His care, and how much I needed that experience – the experience of a father willing to do anything to protect His daughter, the feeling of the uber alpha male, King and God and Patriarch, laying claim and showing loyalty and love. Maybe that was silly, me being a grown woman by the time He adopted me, but whatever. It healed things within that needed healing, and it has earned Pops my undying devotion.

I don’t find Vishnu unapproachable. I don’t. I find Him kind, and patient. I find Him willing to untangle the knots I catch myself up in when I try to worship Him just-so. “Include Me,” He says. “Maybe someday there will be guidelines. Preferences. Things to not do. Things to do. For now, simply include Me.” That was the goal for this year’s holy days with Poseidon, and Vishnu had a place of honor during the two holy days we’ve had since this began. I light the incense, and I give the offerings, but the shrine itself is still off-putting.

20160925_194907For my birthday, Beth made me a Poseidon figure. She’s making a Vishnu figure for me, too. They’re not the least bit human looking. I mean, somewhat. They’re juvenile, and I’ll be making clothing and costumes for them. For now, the icons will stay on the shrine, but these are hands on ones, and they’re introducing play to the shrine space, and I kinda really want that. Do I feel a bit like a child before Vishnu? Maybe. Maybe. But these are adorable, and I’ll never get around to making my own, and I just . . . like them. A lot. So. So.

The shrine space needs to be O/ours, not some neutral feeling space that is none of ours. So, for a while, the shrine will take on the feel of a doll-house, a play area, a give them things, dress them up, make it a home of their own. We’ll see how hat goes.

Poseidon of the Ponds

I made more things!

ppondad

Poseidon of the Ponds is the second volume in my Poseidon Liturgical Year project. It can be read alone, or as part of the series. In this volume, I write about the ritual I hold for Him, honoring my Beloved, along with others I call the Rainmakers, during what is for us a very dry, very warm, very dry part of the year.

It’s not revolutionary. These books are not meant to be scholarly works. This is just a glimpse into what it might be like, to be devoted to a Power who comes to us with very little information about past rituals held in His honor.

With this series, I really want to encourage people. Yes, to maybe consider Poseidon — because He is amazing, after all — but beyond that, more importantly than that, I want people to be encouraged to walk their own path. You are not bound to holy days or festivals that already exist. If your devotional path is missing something, or doesn’t quite have the shape you want it to, make it up. These are  living traditions we are making, here. If the festivals you have for your Powers do not connect with you, or with Them, or are just . . . off . . . experiment. Explore. Create.

Celebrate.

~*~*~*~

Poseidon of  the Ponds e-books are available at Amazon.com and at my brand spanking new  Etsy shop. The price is the same at both locations; I’ll see more of the money if you purPoseidon of  the Pondschase it through Etsy, but either way works for me! If you’re interested in receiving a free copy in exchange for a review, please contact me. And as always, thank you for your support!

 

My Polytheism

There are plenty of folks abounding who are eager to tell you what polytheism is, and is not. There is no shortage of people with opinions they wish were firm boundaries. You aren’t a polytheist if: you don’t put the gods first; you don’t believe in the gods in the right way; you ‘bring politics’ into your religion; you don’t decry the destruction of ancient polytheism and the ruthless conversion of entire peoples.

There are plenty of people talking about The Polytheist Movement, and I’ll be honest here: seeing such a wide variety of ways of practicing, of worshiping, of bringing the gods into our world narrowed into such a small, singular way of speaking, makes me weep. It makes me frustrated. It makes me want to run far away and bury my head in the sand. Bottom line for me: I don’t give a fuck how you worship. I don’t give a fuck what the Powers you’re involved with ask of you.

Look: there is no ‘Polytheist Movement.’ There are a bunch of people who are working hard to make polytheism visible, who want to see it as a viable option, who want people to find the gods and know they’re not alone. Even with those I disagree with vehemently, I’ll concede that that’s something we have in common. But that’s where it ends. Don’t let the vocabulary trick you into thinking there’s one united Polytheist Movement, where we all agree on some fundamental things. There isn’t. We don’t.

My gods do not need me to help people find Them. They’ve been doing just fine for all this time. Who the fuck am I, that Poseidon needs me to get people to worship Him? I adore this God. I love this God with all my being. I tie myself up in knots for Him, and surrender, again and again and again, my comfort, my desires to be private and uninvolved. He’s created a person who strives to be compassionate and kind, where once there was only apathy and distrust. He is amazing, and I’m grateful that He deigns to share anything at all with me — but let me make this clear. He does not need me to get people to Him.

Within traditions, sure, there should be unifying goals and tenets. But polytheism is not a singular tradition, and I hope to all that is holy it never will become one. The way to counter monotheism — if we must — is not to model how we build communities based off what they’ve been doing, and getting wrong. Common ground MUST be rooted in hospitality, and not in same-ness seeking.

My polytheism does not tell you how to worship, and it never will.

My polytheism does not tell you how to believe, and it never will.

My polytheism does not tell you what the gods want from you, and it never will.

My polytheism does not pretend to be a holy war seeking enemies at every turn. Holy wars cannot be won; that’s not just a bad analogy, it’s a doomed one.

My polytheism does not require you to leave your concerns and issues at the door. It doesn’t demand that you pretend that our experiences are not connected, and the world in which we live does not inform our interactions with the Powers.

My polytheism will never pretend to be something it’s not. It’s contemporary and new and messy. It’s not a revival of polytheism of yore, because we will never be removed from the context we are in, and the wide spread of monotheism will not be undone. I don’t dream for a world in which these things never happened, because it’s not the point, and also, call me a heretic, but I don’t want a polytheism that is controlled by groups of people.

My polytheism is not rooted in PCPG, and it never will be. My relationship with my gods is mine alone, and you have no power in it. You’ve got no place in it, any more than I have a place in yours.

My polytheism is not concerned with whether you’re a theist or not — in fact, I’m likely to be curious and intrigued, because my polytheism is not threatened by your lack of belief in the gods as distinct, individual beings, and because different ways of telling the story of how and why and what is fascinating. If the only thing we can find worthy in common is how we believe in the Powers, we’re in trouble, and no amount of ‘correct polytheism’ is going to fix it.

My polytheism does not look like yours, maybe. I’m concerned with polytheism remaining visible. I’m concerned with those coming after us not necessarily having to do SO MUCH WORK to get to the point of simply interacting with the Powers. I’m not concerned with building close, intimate community beyond my immediate family, because quite frankly, I don’t trust people. I’m not involved with various communities, because generally I’m a home-body, and except for this blog, private. I’m a solitary worshiper, and I’m not interested in doing religion with other people, which is another thing that maybe makes me a ‘bad’ polytheist.

Don’t know.

Don’t care.

I’m still a polytheist. I’m still a devotional polytheist, even. I still want polytheism to be a visible, viable option for generations to come.

When people speak of ‘the Polytheist Movement’, when people speak of polytheists as though we are one homogeneous group of people, please remember this is bullshit. We are not. If the Gods are good, we never will be.

Slipping back in

I really need to bring the lesson home: don’t worry so much. Stop over-thinking. Just come and sit and be. Just say hello.

Writing my last post helped me to confront that, yes, I was actually struggling with this whole thing again, and yes, it was mostly my doing, and yes, it needed to be confronted head on. Is it all my fault? I don’t think so.

I struggle with reconciling Poseidon’s desire for me to regard Them as One Being, while dealing with two distinct personalities, with different expectations and preferences. Is that a short coming on my part? I’m okay saying that it is, but owning that does not make it easier to deal with, and  right now it’s hindering me rather than helping me grow.

I struggle with having a shrine space that is less mine and more Theirs — and there’s nothing to be done for this except getting in front of that shrine and making it a part of me. The whole reason the shrine was so much O/ours was because I’ve kept a shrine for Him, and then for U/us, for  over a decade. Of course this new one is going to feel, you know, new. That’s sort of the point. So, own that discomfort, and then yes, in this, work through it by working through it, by giving devotions despite the discomfort, because that’s the only way to move beyond this particular discomfort.

I struggle with missing Him, so I reach out and make an effort. I set aside the self-recriminations, because those serve no purpose and only work to distract. I reach out, offering Him tea, and love, and praise, sharing my thoughts with Him, drawing upon O/our history, and what I know of Him, and my Beloved rushes at me like the incoming tide. Having been to the Atlantic so recently, and then to the Pacific twice in a season, I can compare and contrast the experiences, and I can say that while I love the Pacific, the Atlantic feels like home. I find Poseidon in both places — I find Poseidon everywhere I look — but, because I met Him at the Atlantic, that location is just more viscerally His, and it’s a super fast and powerful touchstone. And I wish I had that at the Pacific . . . but also, a little bit I do. It’s just not as powerful, not as immediate. Possibly the local spirits of place sing to me strongly and distract. It’s not a bad distraction. Possibly I simply do not know the Pacific as well as I do the Atlantic. Possibly there’s ancestral ties that strengthen that bond that I don’t have with the Pacific. I don’t know. Possibly a dozen things; at some point trying to suss out the finer reasons why a thing is or is not serves no purpose, and it’s time to just accept what is without having to seek a pattern.

I struggle with wanting to come to know Vishnu better, because my method for doing so tends to be 1) gain some working knowledge of tradition and then 2) retreat from that to establish a personal relationship free from the trappings of tradition. I’m cognizant of the fact that this is a privileged stance, and I’m mindful of appropriation, and so these are interesting waters to navigate. Except, I’m not a person to join traditions, and anyway it’s not like there’s any locally that I can explore that focus on Vishnu. I want to be fluent in the language of His worship, so to speak, but that’s as far as that goes.  I really am grateful that the foundation of my relationship with Poseidon happened outside of Hellenic paganism, happened outside of social media and the scrutiny of peers, and I realize I want that, too, for this exploration with Vishnu-with-Poseidon. At the same time, I can pass up an opportunity like this to share with you as I go, because it’s messy and uncomfortable and did I mention messy? But I think it’s so very important to share that, to show that. My refrain: it’s been two decades (or will be, in a week) and I don’t have my shit together, I still flail about, it’s not neat and tidy, it will never be neat and tidy, let’s keep it real.

There’s so much tradition out there, too, with Vishnu — His worship is so established, so it’s not like I even had access to anything on that scale with Poseidon. Do we get to just disconnect Them from that, to take Them out of context? I need, I think, to find a happy medium, because I need to make this personally relevant for me, and when it’s just study and holding Historic Vishnu in my mind, He becomes unapproachable and so different from the Vishnu-with-Poseidon. So, I struggle with this as well.

Struggles aside, when I reach out, I am met with love and compassion, and patience. I’m reminded that often, when Poseidon encourages me to do a thing, we stumble together. This would not be the first time He has decided I need to approach something a certain way, only to have it damage rather than help. He stumbles, my Beloved, and it’s not His fault, for my emotional responses are a quagmire, and what works one time might blow up in His face the next. So we’re rethinking this One and the Same approach, and we might relax it a bit, and just take attention off how I’m supposed to regard Them for bit, and just allow myself to regard Them as I can, as I may, and just let it go from there.

Poseidon is steadfast. He is constant. I pull away, and I miss Him, and He reaches for me, and closes that gap, until I’m able to reach for Him again. His heart in where I reside, and it feels like He is my heart, that He is my capacity to love and be loved.

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In other news: I miss my brother.

“Take me deeper,” I beg.

Do I talk about going to His shrine, O/our physical representation of U/us, that now also houses Vishnu-with-Poseidon, and meeting Him/Them there? It’s confusing, still, and They move together, and yet are not the same, and yet are, and yet are not. My heart must understand this first. The mind will follow, or the mind will be dismissed as unimportant.

“We are one and the same,” Poseidon says, but then, “I’m glad that garland gift is not for Me.”

“Oh, that pink is lovely,” says Vishnu.

“Don’t think of it like that,” Poseidon says, but then, “I really dislike it when you bow before the shrine in that manner.”

“See how it serves her, though,” says Lord Vishnu, “and it is only fitting.”

“It isn’t so complicated if you don’t keep trying to pin it down,” says Poseidon, but then, “I’d rather have separate offering vessels. This vessel you use for your morning tea is Mine Alone, not to be shared with Him.”

“I’d like some water,” Vishnu agrees.

“You think of Us as separate beings entirely, and We’re not,” says Poseidon, but then, “maybe a separate incense burner is in order.”

“Oh, I don’t mind sharing,” Vishnu-through-Poseidon offers. “Can we please have yellow in the next shrine cloth, though?”

I address Them as separate, yet not. I don’t know how else to do it, for now. Vishnu is not Poseidon. Poseidon is not Vishnu. Together, though, They feel more . . . just More. Beth joked that the Vishnu that I’m experiencing is maybe Poseidon’s shadow-self, wanting all the things Poseidon rejects. It works well enough at the moment.

The heart must go first. The brain may follow.

 

Never say never.

Every time the Vigil comes around, and I change my diet/become conscious of choices, the v word always comes up.

Once upon a time, I was a member of the Food Police. You know the sort. “A REAL pagan wouldn’t eat _______.” It was usually aimed inward, mind you, but it was still a judgment that I passed. Wouldn’t eat mass produced crap food. Wouldn’t eat fast food. Wouldn’t eat anything other than organic. Would only eat locally sourced meats, humanely slaughtered, etc.

What a fucking oxymoron that last one in. Humanely slaughtered? Humanely slaughtered?

Cognitive dissonance, let me show you mine.

I understand the sentiment. Animals slaughtered for the meat market in as quick, painless, and terror-free environment as possible. But, maybe there are different words we can use for that.

Humanely slaughtered.

Anyway. Anyway. We struggled for a number of years to grocery shop with our ideals in mind. And then? Then, we were fucking broke, and we had to get real. Organic became a sometimes luxury. We always opted for the less treated meats, because Beth’s digestive system is a princess, but they haven’t always been the best, just the best that we could afford. Because we had to, we let go of the guilt eating that way created, and really, it was a humble and needed lesson for me. Don’t be an asshole, Jo. Just don’t.

The only person whose diet I get to judge, is my own, and I am demanded to do so with compassion, at all times. Damn it. Fucking compassion. And so.

Holding Bull, on the first night of the Vigil, and feeling Him also holding me,  I think things shifted. I’ve toyed with vegetarianism off and on for most of my life, and it always come back to being too much work.

Which is a bullshit excuse. I live in a vegetarian and vegan mecca, for fuck’s sake. I pretty much have ALL the options. Can I afford them all? Nope. But maybe this means I need to be thinking about my food more than I do, and maybe this means I need to make better choices, when I can.

I used to say, I’d never be able to give up cheese. And now, eating dairy is causing Beth bodily distress, and we’re trying out nut cheeses, instead. Because, above all, I want things to be simple, and having two different menus to shop for is just not simple.

Will this take, this time? I dunno. But it feels like it might.  And I have to wonder, is prozac the reason why? Fucking anxiety. Fucking depression. Fuck them both, so much.

He pushes. He’s pushed, all this time. Gently. Water erroding rock. “Maybe try again.” No judgement, but maybe you don’t need this thing. Maybe one more try? Maybe keep trying.

Always, with keep trying. Poseidon, He is constant. He is steadfast. Moody? Unpredictable? Those stories are so out of date.