Judas Quincy Priest!

Bay Area Rapid Transit (BART), a major public transit system where I live, has seen three murders in the past five days. BART police only admitted to the public the first two after the third took place. I used to take BART on a daily basis, and my nerves were always rattled. I never knew when a transphobic rant would turn violent. My sexual assault on a crowded evening commute train was a source of entertainment for the men and women in the train car near me.

News of these murders, including the third that happened at a station I used to rely on, have left me both grieving and enraged. I’ll be going to through various ritualized prayers tonight, including prayers to my lord Antinoüs and His Infernal Majesty.

As of the time of this post, the suspect in the most recent murder has been arrested. I still haven’t heard about the other murders.

In the Names of the Gods, why can’t people just live their lives without fear of some random person slashing their throats on a commuter train?

Circle of Cerridwen Statement on Family Separation

27 June 2018 The current US administration has recently enacted a policy of separating children from parents as they are caught crossing the border without prior authorization. Such entry to the country is a misdemeanor and few if any other misdemeanors in this country result in children being forcibly taken from their parents. These parents…

The Banishing Dance

This was inspired by the last time I ran through my negativity banishing musical meditation. 

CONTENT WARNINGS: nsfw text, sex mention, sex
magick, sacred sexuality

/*—————————————————————————————*/

The
Banishing Dance

by

Rev.
Constance Antinoë Magdalene
McEntee

/*—————————————————————————————*/

It
had been a long time since I went clubbing or dancing. Depression and
a flexible mobility disability will do that to you. I decided to use
my cane instead of my wheelchair and if dancing with the cane was too
hard on my body I’d use the wheelchair next time.

I
was mostly people watching and grooving, sitting at the bar so I
wouldn’t have to walk far when I got thirsty. And I was being very
careful with what I was drinking. lack of strength in one’s legs
and drunkenness do not mix. The music was a good mix of stuff from my
youth, newer stuff, and older stuff. Most was uptempo, but
there were always those who would slow-dance to just about anything,
like those two middle-aged gay men slow dancing to There is a
Light that Never Goes Out
. Oh, God, they were adorable! Singing
to each other, swaying back-and-forth in each other’s arms. I
couldn’t help but smile even as I wished for somebody to dance
with. If a partner was able to steady me, I could slow-dance without
my cane.

“Can
I buy you a drink?” this ageless man said. He
hadn’t taken a seat and wasn’t leaning on the bar next to me.

“That’s
an old, direct line,” I said, “But your distance suggests you’re
either a pickup artist or you’re genuinely respecting the
possibility of a rejection.”

“If
this where I’m supposed to say something smooth, I’m gonna fail,”
the guy said, and I still couldn’t decide if his charm was real. “I
think you’re beautiful, you’re grooving in your seat and look
like you’d like to dance. But the pink cane makes me think
you’re not feeling up to dancing.”

If
it wasn’t for the fact that I was people watching in a nightclub
with said cane, it would almost be
stalkerish of this guy. But at the same time, he was spot-on.

“Kahlua
and cream,” I replied smiling. “I’m Dana.”

Gently
shaking my hand, he introduced himself. “Mel. My I sit here?”

“You’re
buying me a drink.”

“Yes,
but that doesn’t ‘buy,’ for lack of a better word, the right
for me to sit next to you.”

Please
don’t be a woke misogynist
, I
thought to myself.

“I
would be delighted to share your company,” I replied as if I was in
period, penny dreadful novel.

Mel
was an easy and awkward conversationalist. I was really starting to
think he was genuine, and not a creep at all. It was always so hard
to tell, if I were to go by the stories of others. I really hadn’t
had all that much experience with men. Well, not dating experience
with them. It could be argued I grew up as one of them before my
transition, though I’d describe it differently. My experiences
dating men, albeit limited so far, had been mostly positive. A lot of
what I heard from other women, trans and cis alike, was a mixed bag.
Since it seemed bad experiences were common, it made me wary. And, of
course, that bothered me as women like me were called “traps.” It
felt odd to judge an entire group of people in much the same way the
group I was a part of was judged.

Yeah,
all that ran through my mind while we talked at the bar, song after
song thundering around us. Mel didn’t seem to be trying to open my
legs with alcohol, and when I requested a glass of water instead of
another mixed drink, he didn’t try to talk me into more booze.

He
must have noticed the way I perked up when All Night Long
by Peter Murphy started playing because he asked, “Would you like
to dance.”

“I’d
love to,” I replied. “But I don’t know if I can.”

“We
can slow-dance, if you like.”

“Okay.”

He
stood first, offering his hands to me. As soon as I touched them, it
was as if the pain in my hip and knee were suddenly gone. Looking
into his eyes, I swear I saw blue flames.

“You!”

“Good
evening, priest. Shall we dance?”

“My
king,” I said, smiling up at the Blue God.

“My
lady,” he replied. My hand in his, Mel led me to the dance floor.
And in his arms, we danced. “We don’t need to be touching for you
to be pain-free. But I understand how the minds of mortals can work.
I know there are those who wouldn’t judge you for slow-dancing.
They’d simply assume I was helping support your weight. But if it
looked like I wasn’t holding you up, they’d accuse you of faking
with your cane.”

“I
don’t mind you holding me,” I breathed.

“So
mote it be,” he smiled.

I
was dancing! Yes, it was because the Blue God was here, but I was dancing! It was a lovely
thing. I hadn’t been planning on staying until the club closed at
two, but that’s exactly what ended up happening. The Blue God had a
hotel room nearby, and he had asked if I would like to spend the
night with him.

This
was the Blue God. The Peacock King. He would top me in all ways if I
didn’t top him back or set clear boundaries. Relationships with
supernatural beings could be tricky.

“I
will spend this night with you,” I said, both accepting his offer
and clearly setting a boundary at the same time.

I’d
never had sex with a god, or a goddess, before. And here in the real
world I was still pre-op. But in the bed of the Blue God, my body took
whatever form I desired at the moment. How much time between arriving at his room and sunrise did we spend making love and having sex? Was it really
the whole time? I didn’t remember taking any time to sleep, and yet
I felt like I’d been dozing on his shoulder for at least a little
while before sunlight began pouring through the window.

“Good
morning, priest.” He kissed me again, and then I did indeed fall
asleep.

When
I next awoke, I was in my own bed in my own modest apartment, and
only shortly after sunrise. My body was as it was originally, but I
was still in what was unmistakably the afterglow. And it was one hell
of an afterglow.

Though
I woke alone and in the mundane world, for a time my negativity and
physical pain had been banished. I guess I should go dancing more
often.