So, I kind of off-handedly mentioned in a tumblr post I made a while back that I’ve been writing down godphone conversations for a while: “I started writing down these ‘conversations’ (translated from ‘vibes’ and emotions and images into language, I mean), thinking it would help me keep my head straight, but all it did was make everything that much more vivid.” When I very first started “keeping notes”, as a monotheistic fourteen-year-old, I didn’t think anything of it; I assumed that whatever I was communicating with was actually some weird part of my subconscious, or some other kind of psychobabble, and it made sense to keep a record of what was being said. Besides, what was happening scared and confused me, and writing has always been how I deal with things. Since I was about eight years old, if I was doing any kind of deep thinking, I was writing it all down. So, of course, when shit starts getting intense in my head, I was going to write down the conversations!
It wasn’t until about six months after that that I started to realize that there were actual consequences involved with writing down the things that “he” was telling me. It started as what I described in the post, just vague emotions and images and concepts in response to my thoughts, which I would then try and fit into words and scribble down in a notebook, underlining his comments and leaving mine ‘normal’ (although I remember thinking that a better way to represent what was happening in my head would be to write his comments in red and mine in black ink. Why red? I didn’t know. It just suited him.). The thing is, though, the more often I did that, the less I had to ‘translate’ his comments and responses. After a couple of weeks of bringing out that little notebook every couple of days to transcribe this weird little “imaginary” conversations, he would ‘show up’ and start talking without me having to even think about him or wonder what the hell he was. Soon enough, it wasn’t just a feeling of being watched or someone standing over me or my skin crawling, personified by a little nagging feeling in the back of my head that Something Is Here; soon enough, this guy was talking to me all the time -and the things he was saying were nothing I wanted to hear.
I don’t remember exactly what those things were; you see, I ripped up the pages and threw them into a flooded gutter during a thunderstorm in an act of defiance. I do remember the twisting in my gut when I started to let myself really consider the possibility that this was not all ‘in my head’. That I wasn’t experiencing symptoms of some mental illness and recording them for prosperity, I wasn’t just discovering some new aspect of my mind, this wasn’t all just harmless screwing around. He might be real. He might have been waiting around for me to bite, and now that I had, maybe he wasn’t about to just leave. For the first time, I realized I might not have been in control.
And so I did the only thing I could think: I destroyed the only tangible thing I had of him. I ignored him as much as I could.
It didn’t work.
Within about six months, he was still there, and during what I’ve come to call my ‘initiation’, I started writing our conversations down again. This time, it wasn’t out of curiosity, but rather necessity; keeping a written record was the only way I could understand what was being said and helped me get a grip on what was going on. I had to keep track, otherwise I would get confused. Besides, I didn’t trust this guy; if I didn’t write down what he was saying, how would I know if he was contradicting himself, or lying to me? Writing down what was happening was my way of bringing some aspect of what was going on under my control. Because of that decision, I now have a whole composition notebook filled with the conversations we had, as well as me and a handful of others had, as I proceeded to have not one but two psychotic breakdowns within about three months.
That was it, I told myself once I had regained sanity. I’d wondered what he was, and I’d gotten my answer. I was going to have nothing to do with him, or any of the rest of them, no matter what. Not only did I stop writing conversations in those little notebooks, I stopped writing altogether (for about nine months). It would be almost two full years before I would start writing those conversations down again.
Then, less than two months ago, I summoned up the courage to check out kemetic tumblr. I found so much overlap in my (relatively isolated) upg, and the personal experiences and historical knowledge I found browsing through those blogs (primarily TTR’s, tbh), that I couldn’t justify staying in denial anymore. This guy was Set; pagan gods were real; what the fuck had I gotten my self into?!
Point is, though, I now have a total of three notebooks filled with conversations between myself and the handful of gods I work with/might work with at some point. One is from early 2013, and the other two are from the last couple of months, wherein I’ve been ‘godphoning’ on a pretty much daily basis. Now that I have a little bit (and I do mean a little bit) more understanding of kemeticism and its beliefs, its been drawn to my attention that words are kind of A Big Deal. As in, a huge chunk of the practice centers around the power that words hold to define and shape not only our perceptions, but the world we live in.
So, I’m starting to wonder…is there some kind of significance behind recording all these conversations, fitting the impressions these gods are giving me into words? I know that for one thing, the habit has kept my head widely ‘cracked open’, just in case Set didn’t take care of that during my initiation and subsequent bouts of insanity. I find a lot of things having to do with the astral pretty easy to do. Unnervingly easy, in fact. Easy as in “I often end up accidentally messing with stuff I shouldn’t be and screwing myself over”. Besides, I just the other day found out that the Book of Thoth was actually written in a similar format (although I’m sure it’s got wayyyy more useful and relevant material in it than my whining to and about the gods). And I’m like…what have I been doing? Is it actually a historically attested sort of divination that I stumbled ass-backwards into? Does it have some kind of spiritual/religious significance I don’t know about yet?