One Of A Few Probably

This is me, JameyBear

Today is a sense of tremendous joy and tremendous anger for me.

Nine years ago I was blessed by the Goddess and the strength of my wife to welcome my third son into this crazy world we live in. There was, as both of my other sons, issues with his birth and the wonderful people in the Neo-natal Intensive Care Unit at Strong Memorial Hospital made sure we had not only the best care we could receive for him but the compassion that is so desperately needed in times when your heart is torn from your chest and you are looking down at your hours’ old son not knowing what would happen next.

For those of you blessed to know my little hyper-mimic, you know that he is active and wonderful and remembers every bad word I shouldn’t say around him and a million other things that make him sweet and lovable and kind and gentle and, most importantly, so very much like his mother. His mother would smile and her golden eyes would light up a room and a laugh that would make the angels themselves weep with joy.

His mother who doesn’t get to see him today.

No, no I am not going to spiral into that hole, but she is indeed gone and every single person in the world who ever knew her is missing her.

What makes me angry isn’t the tragedy of early death, no what makes me mad is that there are so many that are alive that shouldn’t be when she is gone.

Yep, I said that.

Karma, yeah I know.

I still want the bad people dead.


This Too Shall Pass

I try not to write on this day, but it seems I always do. It is either my great strength or the albatross about my neck, swinging with abandon. Laughing with quixotic and gleeful ignorance at the apprehension and disdain I feel when I try to put thought to paper when my mind and heart have left me for as long as they need to remove the barbs that sprout fresh from wounds that will never quite heal.

Yet here I am.

I will not regale you with a tale, nor will I sadden you with the truths. I will simply write until I don’t want to anymore and what comes of it, does.

I am listening to Holier To Thou by Metallica, it was pure Charlotte Church until just a few minutes ago. My sons are scattered about the house doing what they do, Terry is in front of his computer doing what I am doing in his own way. I have heard from three of the four people I know I will hear from today, with a surprise thrown in as well. I can’t hear the outside world the music is up so loud and I am pretty sure that is the entirely the point of noise-canceling headphones. If I can close my eyes for a moment I am a world of white-noise and blackness. Not a single intrusive thought as my brain is trying so very hard not to compress under the sound waves of the music.

It isn’t about good or bad music today, it is about loud. Metallica is good for loud, Slipknot, Tool, and Otep will be as well. I stay away from classical instrumentals lest thoughts that should not be there arrive and try to make a home in their old, and ever so comfortable, reclining chairs in front of the controls of my life. The music simply serves the purpose of a misused translator, trying fruitlessly to grasp a subject that neither party ever intended them to understand in full. They never see their role as a way to make sure that in fact no one ever understands the other.

I could lie and say my heart doesn’t hurt and the fact that it is Litha, Midsummer, Solstice, makes it all better, but I would be lying. I do take comfort in the pregnant Goddess and the God in all of his glory as the crops near their penultimate moment before they are reaped and taken into the bodies of man to refuel the endless cycle once again. I have ritual later, a ritual I have not done the four years before this one on this day. I will leave it at that as there is power in words and my power is not yours, nor is your power mine.

I think a lot about love today. The meanings of it, the promulgation of it to the masses that huddle around it like the final fire on the Longest Night instead of the blinding light it is no matter the time of year.

So I take a special moment now when I tell you to in peace as I tend to. I tell you to lift your voices to those you love and make sure they will never once doubt that you love them with all you are.

Now, truly, as always, one another and until tomorrow, I bid you peace.

There Is So Very Little I Do That I Don’t Open Book About, Welcome To One Of Those Things, I Mean, Kind Of, A Little, I Think


I pray a lot. Well, pray might be the wrong word for it, but I think for this it will do just fine.

I do not pray for things, it always struck me as odd to ask an all-powerful, or even very specifically powerful, entity for…stuff. Don’t get me wrong, you do you boo-boo, but if I am going to ask a Power of the Universe for a thing, it is going to be for more than a touchdown in a game that most of the world doesn’t watch or for a shiny kind of metal statue for music that a computer did most of the work for. Do you know what I mean? It seems a little south of stupid to me personally.

That having been said, it is not that I have always been the holder of this particular belief, I was very Catholic for a very long time and Catholics ask for a LOT of stuff from the Bearded One North Of The Clouds, as he is colloquially known by those who eat and drink his kid on the regular.

Since I found a new path to walk, I kind of saw the selfishness in asking things from a being whose schedule is pretty busy as it is and, since I am fairly certain there are a great many who do not share my belief paradigm, they have the extra burden, if one can burden an omnipotent being, of listening to Wicca Wanda ask if she can totes have eternal magicks to impressive Wicca Will and they can have little Wicca Wayne or something like that.

All I talk to my Goddess about, and I suppose it is talk as opposed to prayer now that you want to split hairs on definitions, are the hopes I have for others and I try to put my power into the Universe to see if I can help and love them any more than I always do. Call it the power of positive thinking with a little extra something.

Now I am not going to sit here and describe my ritualistic practices in detail because I know there are a few people in the world, he said sarcastically and somewhat caustically, that really want me to go ahead and die because I am not best boys with J-Dawg and the Collar Posse anymore. That is your karmic burden and I leave you to it, the only reading this is to try and wash the taste of what I wrote earlier out of my brain.

It is a peaceful place for me you know, talking with my deity of choice. I always find calm in my heart there and that is when I know, well, what I know. I can close my eyes after the fact and feel, for lack of a better word, cleaner than I was than when I started the whole thing.

Someday I will try and put into words things that I only have pictures for in my head, but for now, I think I have said what I am going to say on the subject and I am going to let it go for the day. Well, I won’t really, I just have a hand cramp and I need to stop writing for a little bit so I can get ready to say other meaningless things that are all see-through attempts to explain the rising panic.

I Could Tell You What This Is About, But That Would Require Me To Know That Pertinent Detail.

Thought Bomb

Rather than write the utterly banal attempt of comedy I was about to try and write, I decided that hey, Theology sounds like a good substitute for comedy. I mean, who doesn’t want to learn about some random dudes personalized system of daily belief structure explained within an ever-shifting and even more personal metaphor. I know I’m all in!

Life is all about balance. I am not the first nor will I be the last person to say this at all. I think good and evil is a little too bland and vague for the purposes of it though, balance is maintained, and destroyed, by two groups whom by their very nature are exact opposites. I will simplify the internal monologue shit and call them the Givers and the Takers.

Those who Give, as you can imagine, are generous by nature. They give love, compassion, kindness, and grace in addition to the material things of the world that they can spare. Those who take not only take all of those things that those who Give offer, but they take that which is not offered freely, such as your time, your patience, your energy and even your very will.

In the middle of all of this, or I should say containing all of this, is The Fulcrum. It is that which must be balanced. It is life and death, hope and fear, love and resentment. It is existence and what comes after. It is everything and anything you can imagine.

I know I lost a bunch of you, and that is okay. My hippie loving, barefoot needing, not so much of a granola fan, self is not for anyone other than me. I am writing this mainly as a thing to do and not as a means of proselytizing in any way whatsoever. I have done the Shepard thing, y’all can have that job and the collar that comes with it. I am writing because writing is what I do. It is my Zen, my Center and it is all good if you skip this and head over to the beheading things…..yeah that’s totally coming next.

It sounds familiar you say? That’s because I stole most of it from Stephen King, Heinlein, a little crazy from Hubbard and the rest from some Germanic deities you may have heard of if you know the days of the week in the English language.

What else though, is that overall of that is the Goddess entire. If the Fulcrum is existence, she is that which carries it in her arms. My views of the Goddess are different than other people because religion is supposed to be a highly individualized, sacred, and personal thing. That includes not having one at all I may add, free will works that way for a reason.

I know I am rambling now, I might as well go with it though.

When I close my eyes each night, I see the Goddess, My Goddess, in the eyes over every woman I have ever loved combined in a beautiful framework I will not begin to try to explain while not royally stoned. I am not free to name names here, but know that if you identify as female and I have told you I love you, then you are in this framework of my personal eternity. Sorry if that totes creeps you out, it is the way it is?

That was rude.

I internalize everything see. It is how I process. The problem with the way I do it is that I both internalize too quickly and I never get any of it out. If you have ever tried to follow my metaphor of the planes you may have a clue what I am talking about here. If not, well, picture every picture you ever looked at being cataloged, but with no index, no reference and no clue as to how to look though, search through or even get rid of the damn thing.

It is, for example, why I can still remember the song I made for all ten of my ex-wife’s toes, the entire second act of Hamlet verbatim and how to exorcise in three languages. I am not boasting, I want to dump it, if y’all have ideas on how to do a hard format of that shit, I would really appreciate a nice reload of the brain.

So now I have taken up a few minutes of your time, I have written for maybe six minutes on my end and I can finally go and half that delightful fourth cup of coffee at ten minutes after three in the afternoon.

Vive La Différence!

The Die Is Cast, The Characters Made, The Names Given, The Scene Set, The Master Story Teller Waits With A Curled Lip Smile As She Knows What Is To Come


The pain. By Siobhan Herself the Pain!

The pain spread in every direction, every fiber of his being was in agony, and yet it was a thing he knew he simply needed to push through somehow. He opened his eyes wide as the pain hot its crescendo and saw his Goddess before him, beckoning him, welcoming him home and back to where he always belonged, with her, for her. He opened his mind to speak to her, to ask her why it hurt so bad, but what came out was not words, not anything that even sounded like words.

It was a roar, a growl, an avian screech, a violent and dark noise that comforted him in its intensity even if he did not understand it. He tried again to speak and the sounds from his mouth got even louder, the air seemingly shaking around him as the sound moved through it. He did not know if he was going to be able to take any more pain. He was so strong, but there was a levy within that was about to be breached. One last noise exited the old Dara, a noise that was pain and agony, suffering and fear. Not his, no not his.

Even as the last sound exploded from him, Dara felt his arms move backward and fuse with the wings he wore proudly on his back. He looked down to the ground, so very far below him now and saw his feet and legs were mottled black and red, wider than the massive tree trunks he had run through and his entire body was covered in the same coloring, the same texture. Dara went to breathe out as panic set in and flame gushed from between his lips, a tornadic blast of wind and fire that shot thousands of feet in front of him and lit the sky up brighter than the sun with its intensity for a moment before fading to nothingness.

Panic vanished, the pain vanished, in fact, he who had been known as Dara vanished completely and Beithíoch lifted into the air with hundred-foot long wings and the mark of his Goddess emblazoned on his chest in the form of the all-seeing eye of amethyst. He leaned his head back, newly extended on a great neck and roared once more. In triumph, joy, love eternal for what he thought had just occurred. Just as he thought this his Goddess appeared to him again and held her hand out to him and waited for him to come to her through the ether of space, time and the very earth itself.

With a final roar that seemed to shake the sky itself, Beithíoch flew towards Her, his heart glad as the sky wrapped itself around him and tool him to her at last.


Neart laid down upon the heather soft grass of the field around her, covered in the wonders of the family she came from, climbing on her, in her. Her mouth lolled open to allow them to be one with her as she felt the surge from within her begin and she knew what was to happen. She did not know why she knew, but all that was happening was exactly as it should be.

Her legs started first, lengthening and turning a black pitch that reflected nothing and light seemingly vanished into. There was no time to appreciate as both of those long and perfectly legs split in twain starting at the feet and racing upward like a thunderbolt. Then again. And again. Eight legs there were now, each slowly turning into the void of the darkness of its mates. Her eyes closed, forever in the form they were in now and when she next opened them she had the two eyes she had, but besides them were six others that let her see things eyes could not. Heat, the depths of the earth, the wind blowing and the patterns in made in the sky. Tears leaked from them as the love of this newfound her took hold and she felt everything from her breasts downward swell, not in fat or in pregnancy, just growing with taut muscles and the skin mirrored her legs in their blackness.

An eternity, or was it a moment, later, she who was formally Neart stood tall on her eight legs, her head above the tallest of the trees and when she opened her eyes she saw the world in ways none save her Goddess could see. She stepped with the legs as if she had always had them and her family followed her, each of them taking the size of a small down to follow her at speed. She moved faster and faster, her legs stepping between the trees and her speed was violent and wonderful.

From eyes no one had ever had she saw Siobhan beckon her and without hesitation, she turned towards her and walked into the arms of the Mother Goddess of the Universe.