Pluviophilia, as befits a Pluvisylva-dweller.

It’s raining today. It rained yesterday, and presumably all night (I was sleeping the sleep of the dead).

Vancouverites complain about the rain, because the most common mark of a true local is someone who can complain facilely about one of the most common features of their current place of residence. Of course Vancouver is rainy. It’s in a temperate rainforest. (Pluvisylva, if you want a fancy word for rainforest.)

I love the rain. I’m a pluviophile. I’m not always happy when I get stuck in it and get soaked, but often I’m the person running outside, barefoot, to dance in the storm.

It wasn’t always this way. I think, growing up in a place where most people hate the rain, you learn to hate it too — even if that’s not what’s natural to you. I hated on the rain like a true Vancouverite.

Then He arrived in my life, and I realized the rain was how He showed me He loved me. (It was pouring when I first met Him.) I realized I was loved by the rain, embraced by the mist, cradled by the sea. And I was able to shed the learned dislike of the rain, and embrace my natural state of being a pluviophile.


His Ink

Back when I formalized Manannan’s adoption of me, I made a decision that I would get ink for Him. Not an oath, but a promise, definitely. I had a design in mind several months ago, but no money — as it happens, it’s a blessing, because now I am redesigning in my head. (And I think I needed to wait. I had to give myself a year, to really understand the enormity of what it is — to give up one’s mortal father and to be adopted by a god.)

I think He needs the entire left forearm, if not the entire arm itself, which means I now have to decide where else to put my Tara tattoo.

I’ve got some nebulous ideas in my head. I’m thinking I want something incorporating Celtic knotwork, rain/mist, possibly the ocean, and the words “God is in the Rain”. Definitely those words. I don’t know how to design it, however, or if I want it on the inside of my arm or the outside. I’m leaning towards the inside, so His ink is closer to my heart (and to keep the backs of my arms possibly free for some other ink ideas I have).

(This is when I wish I had more talent in the visual arts. Writing is all well and good but I have no idea how to describe the images I have in my head.)

I have many tattoo ideas, but His ink is next.

mysteries you’re not meant for

On Winter Solstice, I attempted to do trance to get closer to my Lord.

Normally when I trance I go to my inner landscape: a cottage in the woods. From there I travel to where I need to go, be it the beach, a campfire, a waterfall….

I had trouble connecting; images were shaky and messed up. My head hurt and my throat was dry. I decided to try to go straight for the ocean.

I was wrapped in love and held, and started sinking deep into the water, into the Deep. Usually this would make me feel loved, warm, happy, but this was directly following a conversation with a friend about the death mysteries of Manannan.

I couldn’t breathe. I started panicking, like I was drowning, and had to wrench myself out of trance to not have a full blown panic attack.

I sat up, shaking, and asked Him what on earth had just happened. I got a very clear answer:

There are Mysteries you’re not meant for yet. 

Obviously I have more Work to do.

Notes from the Betrayer

I had to interact with Poseidon at Spring Mysteries Fest. This was a betrayal; my Lord does not like Poseidon, nor does he like me interacting with him.

I think, perhaps, he’s lost folks to Poseidon before.

So I must make it up.

I am searching for a way to make things up to Him. I do not know what it is yet, but He has not withdrawn completely. I have faith this can work.

Loved by the Rain

And the sea, and the fog, and all the purviews of Lord Manannan. He is more than just the god of these things; he is these things and when I stand in the rain or swim in the ocean or let the fog cool my skin, I feel his presence and am reminded: I am loved.

He is the dark space between stars, and when I look to the night sky I do not feel fear at those spaces. I feel a loving, warm embrace; arms that hold the stars in their spots, arms that hold guideposts for lost travellers.

He holds up a lantern and suddenly the darkness clears. I’m no longer lost, because I’ve found him, and he’ll never let me go again.