I was going to delete this site. I was going to quit my Etsy shop. I was swept away by spirit and I had mostly forgotten to write – simply too involved in my own activities to stop and pen some words about the experience.
And what words would I use to describe the experience anyway? Some of it is indescribable. Some of it feels private, something sacred, something holy – not to be shared.
But, at the same time, it’s been hard to sort things out and process and integrate experiences without writing. So much has become a tangled jumble – so much so I imagine it looks like a stopped up, debris-choked creek after a strong winter storm.
So here I am, trying again to put the ineffable into words. Maybe someone will read them and feel less lonely, less crazy, or find them inspirational. Or something. Maybe I will feel less crazy.
You may have noticed I’m using a pen name. If you’re a real asshole, I’m sure it wouldn’t be difficult at all to find out my “real” name – whatever that is. But I’m trying this out as a way to put a little buffer in between me and some of my more intense work, a breath or two between me and the endless stream of synchronicities, omens, coincidences.
Right before Cyprianmas of 2022, I was approached by the spirits of two dogs, recently deceased. I had just stepped out of the shower and there they were, scared and confused. One was clearly a recently euthanized laboratory animal; the other was probably picked up by animal control and when no one came to claim her, she was given the kiss of death with a needle. She had been used as a bait dog to train other dogs to fight. Neither had known love, a soft bed, or a kind human touch.
It was – to put it mildly – extremely distressing for me to be confronted with these two persons, traumatized by human cruelty and greed, but I also knew that I had to try and help.
I spent Cyprianmas that year acting as a kind of mediator or psychopomp for dead dogs – dogs who had been lost, abused, neglected or otherwise traumatically killed. I did not meet a single beloved family pet. Make of that what you will.
It ended up turning into a 10-day ritual I cobbled together from various sources and enlisted the aid of some other powerful spirits who are very dear to me, including St. Cyprian himself. It was a very unpleasant and emotional experience – an act of service. There were so very many dogs. Despite the pain it caused me, I could not look away or ignore them. This seemed to be my work to do in this world.
How did this come to be my work, you might ask. My inner life, my spiritual life, my religio-magico life has centered on my relationships with spirits for as long as I can remember.
I spent a lot of time alone as a young child. Growing up on 11 acres of farmland, I spent my days talking with my animal and tree friends – a black walnut and a fig in particular. I also had a small group of “invisible friends.” And sometimes, the wind would pick up and the world would fall silent and the gods would enter, using my mouth to speak prophesy. They don’t do that much anymore – who is there to listen these days?
Which brings me back to my pen name. I had a series of dreams which I started to write as a short story. Zerynthia could speak with animals and they would walk, limp, or crawl to her for her healing touch. Sometimes they would leave after they were recovered, but many stayed to live with her for the rest of their days. Had I inadvertently created a hypersigil?
All I knew was that I was presented with a pair of traumatized and frightened dog spirits and I had to do what I could to help them. I felt like a crazy person – wracked with anger, grief and so, so many tears. Perhaps if I continued my service as Zerynthia, I could give myself some room to breathe and maybe, hopefully, retain some sense of sanity.
I remembered some of what Elizabeth Gilbert wrote in her book, Big Magic: Creative Living Without Fear – that the ancients believed we all had a personal genius, a muse who was just as reponsible for our creative output as we were. Furthermore, she noted that since we have jettisoned that particular worldview, we put so much pressure on our artists that they usually die young from the burden.
So, Zerynthia found or wrote prayers, and designed a ceremony to help these lost creatures find their way across the Rainbow Bridge. Zerynthia assured them they were, each of them, very good boys and girls, that their plight had not been their fault, and that they were deeply loved. And I slowly found myself some equilibrium.
About two weeks before news of the Cambridge Analytica scandal broke, I had decided to delete my Facebook account. Although it was the easiest way to keep in touch with old friends and distant relatives, I knew that my data, my photos, my opinions were a product that I was not benefitting from – except maybe that things I may enjoy could be more quickly sold to me.
Twitter was harder for me to leave. The short, concise form required by the platform suited me. It was fun to see who could write the most pithy or resonant message in 140 characters. As covid rolled out in early 2020, I found that despite knowing all the things I knew about Facebook also applied to any and all social media, I was still taking the bait. I regret that I found myself writing things like, “Defund the Police,” and more. It became clear to me that despite knowing the risk, there were people and algorithms – students of Edward Bernays – who were far more sophisticated than I. Not wanting to have my mind open to weaponized influence, I deleted the rest of my social media accounts.
Which brings me back to almost deleting this blog and my Etsy shop. There likely won’t be a large audience. There’s no tweet alerting anyone that a new post has dropped or that I’m having a sale. It’s okay though – there is nothing that is worth more than the free time I gained, or the security of my own mind since I left all social media. I recommend trying it yourself. This blog however, Zerynthia can handle it – she’s smart and energetic, and above all, has a different set of responsibilities than I do. Hopefully, she will remember to post here more often.
Beautiful and bittersweet. There is a dog in my neighborhood, her name is Nala. I visit her a couple times a week in my walks and I don’t think she receives much attention or love from her owners. She is a beautiful medium size short hair dog, big ears, sand color fur. She gets so excited when i walk by and call her and caress her head and under her ears. I always say a prayer for her and her joy and well-being. So much suffering in this world, for those of us that land on what is ours to do, seeding and re-weaving love is beauitfully revolutionary act. Keep going dear friend. -Rabia
Thank you for loving Nala, I hope you’ll give her some scritches from me. It will never cease to both amaze and disappoint me when other humans are surprised to discover that animals are intelligent and have emotions, referring to them as “it.”
Wait until they hear about the lives of plants.