domenica, novembre 19, 2017 21:28

Tribute

Thirty years ago my sister and I were loosely known as the Culbertson sisters. We had a reputation for being outlandish and downright difficult. The reason for this was because while everyone agrees in theory that women have the right to think for themselves and have the freedom to choose what they want, we found this to functionally not be the case.  People pay lip service to the idea as they do not want to seem unenlightened. In practice we found that people were annoyed with any woman who actually thought for herself or acted out her chosen path.
The one thing that Shareen and I always had in common was that we both lived on our own terms. We did not agree about what is the way to live. We lived very different lifestyles but we both supported the right of the individual to think and choose for him—or her—self. We were both very outspoken and both struggled with chronic disease and survived our family.

Our family is more or less a collection of people who do not play well with others.  Rugged individualists who were great to learn from but sucked as parents by any traditional definition. One member of the family expressed this by saying that it was like being raised by Cenobites from Hellraiser. Specifically my grandmother would make Pinhead crap himself. So when my brother says “run it’s my sister,” it is funny but it is one of those jokes where truth is couched in humor. I seem to have a catalytic influence on people. Sometimes fortunate and sometimes unfortunate; proportional to how pre-programmed people are when they meet me. My inner strength was forged in the fires of my experience with my family. My sense of humor developed as a coping mechanism.  Dealing with them can be difficult. Especially when someone dies. No two deaths are the same.

My Uncle Bob had arranged a party in Haiti for his wake. Grandmother’s wake and funeral had been handled by her surly daughter who tried to steal her little pile of worldly goods. My Aunt Connie was that surly daughter: we call her incompetent evil because she is an idiot. Nevertheless my grandmother’s death was an epic experience followed by the epic collapse and redistribution of her astral constructs anchored between her and my mother. My mother’s life and death was filled with paranormal activity. Many disincarnates who were attached to her in life were suddenly liberated when she died.  They were not all happy about that. Both my mother and grandmother were very powerful but denied there own power because they thought it was “of the devil.” This made their thought-forms and extra-planar relationships less than hermetic.

When I refer to hermetic, I refer to a method that is energetically efficient and healthy on all points. On my maternal grandmother’s crest is a phoenix with blue gems and on my fathers side it is a black snake on a yellow field. My mother’s maiden name means “Son of Man” and my Father’s name means “Son of the Bright Star.” (Interesting variations of the star are also serpent and ditch.) Power is a funny thing when it travels in a family. It destroys it, if it is dammed and allowed to stagnate for generations. In our family it does not matter who you are or what you believe, sooner or later you have to deal with it.
Shareen and I chose to embrace it, to change it through personal alchemy and become what we each wanted to be.

This is a tribute to my beautiful sister Shareen, whose name means beautiful rose and who got what she wanted in death as in life. Her ashes are at dad’s house on the mantle.  She always adored dad and our step-mother Rose. I share this here for two reasons. She is the one who dreamed about Azerate, which led me to the discovery of the 218 current.  She was very psychic and though we did not call our philosophy L.H.P, it is the way we lived and she died. We were fearless psychonauts during the early days of the Chaos Magick movement and she died fearlessly living the life that she chose.

Until next time…Blessed Awakening

Tribute by Firestorm Coraxo

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