I Sold the Boat



I sold the boat.

The car needed an expensive repair, and things were slow in the reparation of FUNDS, so I did the honorable and reasonable thing, whereupon the entire mechanism of my underworld of money redirected power into healing my capacity to function in the middle class. 


I don’t regret the fiscally trashed journey of ASCENSION TO GODS. The gods I was offered — in my refusal to accept the “mediocre FOR ME art but lots of money” gods called Santeria — were, of the course, the Norse gods, and they are only really powered in the lower middle class especially that works with MUSCLE. So I got to catch Jason Miller in a slip: “If Astaroth offers you a low-paying job, feel free to turn it down.” IF ASTAROTH OFFERS YOU A LOW PAYING JOB, FEEL FREE TO BE AN ADEPT.

OF COWS.

I wanted a great life for the boat, and was actually considering holding off until I found the right owner, but he showed up right off driving a big rig and needing a cheap housing situation — and a boat — for when he was home. 

Here is where we see that Norse paganism actually works, because THOR came riding in HOUNDS and brought the perfect owner for this amazing boat.

I could feel the power rise as I left the ad on Craigslist and was really serious about selling the boat. It is that this point that my Mormon family came in to not only sell the boat but REVEAL the underlying wyrd of the entire project.

I now had the power world of Western art magick put back together, as well as the Abramelin with the frequent offerings to the much-disgruntled Holy Guardian Angel who had been working the Norse portals when no one else would take a DEMON WORKER seriously in crowds.

The Abramelin usually takes a decade to come in, and here we are at year 7 with the whole thing coming together wonderfully, my pagan gods now clear to me. It is not possible to work with the Goetia without the pagan gods you need, because these ancient Urduhr structures contain many animal and plant powers and power faculties that can become quite destructive if you don’t have the locus points of the pantheon that they most need. In my case, with the Jewish ancestry, the Cabala, the Anglo family, the great Norse world of Seattle, my Mormon upbringing, the study of an ancient Germanic language, and the many family members who were Scandinavian, the only pantheon that made sense was the one most cursed by English Hermetics, the HITLER gods of Norse, surreptitiously STILL forbidden in Thelema. WHOOPS.

They came in with the Abramelin but were MASKED and I didn’t know what to do or what they were. I just knew that I was now making sauerkraut, my own brats, lots of Swedish meatballs, and an obligatory coffee cake at 4 p.m. Gorgeous cakes. I have about twenty recipes of my own making and here we are, not very Mexican at all.

I was walking around Los Angeles looking at everyone’s tattoos. I had always hated tattoos. I thought they were trashy. But now I was all about being covered in tattoos. 

We did have this big situation of large power clashing and everything rushing in to cause things finally, and in the whole melee of HATE! I have caused myself to be quite poor.

In retrospect, blah blah blah. But I don’t feel bad about losing the cash, because I had erred not in striving for excess A CUTE BOY REALLY, but in callous disregard for the Arabic powers that had built the Cabala that brought all of this home when I took up with a defense contractor during the Iraq War. He warned me but I was face down in the macaroni and didn’t heed him. So much for the humanitarian world of ART! “I am what we are” has always been my battle cry about dating, and I didn’t make the right call. Who does? The opening of the psychic centers had been so painful I wanted them to go away and I would just work and work in western art magick and try to be okay and NOT. The Arabic powers — many of them in pale Mormon skins — wanted a show of good faith if they were to return and save me. I could “see” them on their horses way up the sandy hill of the desert, and as I threw away fine jewels and elegant tchotchkes, they came riding down in a great fury and uncrossed the mesmerizing fancy stuff above my pay scale and got me a job in scrubs that I could work and feel with my body.

This was four years ago now, and the Mormon powers showed me things about the energy of money and class that had caused the boat to be an untenable project at this time and THOR helped me let go of it.

The working class has one strand of money in mind at a time often but many fine relationships with family and friends, and the men often function as a WORK PARTY. They pool their resources and get one guy a boat. They all fix up the boat. Then they all have a good time fishing. 

They then go and get the next guy a camper.

Then they go and get the next guy a woman. They throw a party, have lots of food and drink, everyone is nice to her, they all give her presents, and pretty soon she is installed. 

And the work goes on.

They are always at each other’s houses, and take jobs that only have a few hours of work a day HOPEFULLY and hang around a lot. It is a situation of intense connection and shared resources, and if I had had such a work party, I would have been fine with that boat, because it was a great boat that needed a lot of paint and a little bit of carpentry, which I can do in small doses as a theatre artist but not at the magnitude of a 28-foot boat. That is where I erred. A rowboat would have been fixed up right away, as the ANCESTORS have pointed out. 

Though I did do the bottom paint and sand the mast. 

With western art magick back, and its social class of middle, I now have returned to several strands of money: the job, the expenses, the savings, the charity, the outlay with family, a BUDGET, as the Mormons would say. I can see the threaded candle of Havdalah, which assists us to have many threads of POWER.

The car needed to be fixed, and is now in an orgy of getting fixed — the power is just crazy for fixing the car — and I needed to remember that my relatives nearby no longer have the manual labor skills that the earlier generation did. I cannot allow my college-educated young men working in cubicles to clamber about on a boat eight feet in the air. I can clambor about because it is my boat, but we are not having those injuries, and the boat yard no doubt agrees.


IT TAKES A WHOLE VILLAGE TO FIX UP A BOAT.

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