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Loki and me, again

December 29, 2014

Friday night, I dreamed myself doing kind of an odd thing: in a nearby forested area, lying on my back in dead leaves, with my head pointed towards the water, cutting my hair so it fell into the stream.

Saturday, I walked down the trail with scissors and food offerings in my bag, looking for a setting similar to what was in my dream. I knew people and their dogs and bikes would be traversing the trails, though; I didn’t want someone to see me lying there, think I was in distress, and try to help me. I needed an out-of-the-way site. I found one, teeming with large mossy boulders that could easily be trolls, or my ancient ancestors, or both. It felt right, even though it was canyon-y, so there was no safe way to lie down. I clambered down to perch on a boulder with water cascading around both sides.

Before I got entirely situated, a family of hikers hailed me from the offshoot trail on the ridge. I couldn’t understand what they were saying, but they looked Scandinavian to me.

It was only then I realized that this was a ritual, and it was somehow connected to Loki.

I cut off gobs of my hair, that mostly fell into the rushing water. Some also caught in the moss on the rocks; I left it there.

I ate two of my snack bars, throwing pieces of each into the water. Breaking bread together is a powerful ritual of its own.

When I walked back along the main trail, I found a spot that looked like my dream. It, too, was too steeply-sloped for lying with my head pointing down to make sense, but I sat for a while, looking at the water, thinking about what’s missing in my creative life right now. Eventually I cut more hair; got it to flow downstream.

As I approached the edge of the forest, I realized my duende (from early January 2014) seems to be entangled with Loki-the-archetype right now. If I want to write from my duende, I have to go where it wants me to go, no matter how unsettling.


I tend to think of Capricorn as my opposite astrological sign, but it isn’t. I’m a late-July Leo, so my opposite is late-January Aquarius. But… early January has always been a highly-charged emotional period. Capricorn birthdays of boys I loved. At least 3. If I expand the criteria to include Capricorn boys I didn’t know well enough to love, but was attracted to, there’s even more.

{I’ve had Capricorn friends who were girls, but the energy was totally different.}

This . . . association . . . has been really painful for many years. I desperately wanted it to go away, to stop being important to me. Gods, the dreams I would have in early January!

Saturday, though, thinking of Loki, my ritual (which gave me a more androgynous appearance) . . .

often polarities are not nearly as creatively energizing for me as split complements ~ a relationship from color wheels. Instead of two colors directly opposite each other, split complements are three colors: not the direct opposite of the first color, but its two adjacent neighbors. On the 12-hue color wheel I normally use, then, polar opposites are orange and blue, but split complements of orange are blue-green and blue-violet.

The astrological split complements of Leo are Capricorn and Pisces.

Another aha! moment because one of my brothers is a Pisces, and I’ve always identified with Piscean energies, but in a masculine way somehow.

What if, all along, I wasn’t attracted so much to individual boys of Capricorn, boys of Pisces? But to my own inner “boy” energies of Capricorn and Pisces? Not lusting for someone to bask in the glow of . . . but wanting to embody those energies myself.

I couldn’t figure any of this out when I thought I was just a really weird girl. Because I knew I wasn’t “male-identified”, but I wanted to be . . . boyish/something. Not just date people like that, or whatever. I wanted to be their friends, but that never quite worked, because supposedly being a girl got in the way of everything.

Loki gender-bends. It’s one of the many things I love about them.

Loki-in-the-movies is taken more or less seriously as a rival to his brother Thor because they’re both male, in a very patriarchal system. If Loki was Thor’s sister from birth, no one would’ve ever taken her seriously, as Thor’s rival, or anything compared to Thor. But mythological-Loki is a shape shifter, and has been a woman, a man, and other forms altogether.

Sexual attraction was . . . the only model I had for the intensity I felt. But it muddied everything up. It was the wrong answer to a question I didn’t know how to ask. But no one around me could even conceive of wanting, needing to ask a question like that.

I needed to be something there was no acceptable way to be.

I am something that I only see modeled in tricksters, demons, monsters.

I am.

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