“Attack of the White Clouds” Chapter Five, Part Two

D- stepped to her side. Her arm passed around the seer’s trembling shoulders and drew her in for a tight embrace. In a low murmur she spoke of how it was the season of the marsh’s red colouring. That in the desert, it was the season for travelling and crossing. How in the plains, it was the season for the first growth. “And it has been nine months since the White Clouds arrival,” she added softly. Her hands now rubbed up and down the seers’ shaking arms. “When do you last remember?”

“Nothing,” the seer said in a hollow voice. “Nothing.”

“You remember something,” CH- said sharply.

“Nothing, nothing. Nothing! No-”

D- shushed her, leaning back to hold eye contact. “We are the season of the marsh now. That is all that matters.”

The seer shook like a leaf in the wind. “Nine months,” she whispered brokenly.

I began stepped back from the seer. In a sidelong glance I gestured to Ch- to come with me. D- stayed, comforting her and keeping her mind in the moment. Ch- followed me, grumpy as she stamped over twigs and underbrush. Her hackles were raised, her fangs bared.

“That seer knows something!” she hissed as we drew to a halt in the clearing of the White cloud. “She must!”

“But what?” the words slipped from me. It took me by surprise. It had seemed so effortless. Now, of a sudden, it felt impossible to speak a sound more. I wrung my hands. I gulped and tried to form the stories, the words to frame every picture and thought. It was hopeless. I shrugged and lifted my hands in the gesture of not knowing.

Ch- scowled. “If I knew, I would tell you! She would have told us! But all we know is that something is not right! She has been missing- how could she not know that the tribes have united? Has she been in league with the White Clouds?”

Or she was one who was taken and now she’d returned. A shiver of excitement ran through me. COuld it be that we had met our first survivor? Wondering this I stared away from Ch-. I took in the trees with their red trunks. Took in the whisperings of the wind and H- stalkign towards us. “Here they come,” he murmured under his breath. we stiffened and turned. Indeed, D- was approaching. Their arm was around the seer, walking her as one would walk a frail or sickly person. As they approached D- beamed with pride and the order for us to echo their happiness. I put on a large grin in hopes that I would be right. Let this be our first revenant. Let this be a surivivor with some clues.

“Welcome the new member of our party, Ale,” D- said proudly, patting the seer on the shoulder.

“Welcome,” Ch- said most unwelcomingly.

“We-w-w-w-,” I nodded and gestured wildly in greeting. H- chuckled and greeted her.

“Welcome. As you can tell, our bravest and best can not talk very well.”

“Hm! I speak just fine,” Ch- muttered savagely under her breath. Somehow, that made me smile. Ch-‘s comment, albeit insulting, felt harmless and boisterous. Charming, even.

“Ale will be travelling with us,” D- said cheerily. “I wish us all to get along.”

“We will,” H- said solemly.

I nodded, once again stuttering through the words. My sweaty palms wrung over my trident as if squeezing the words out for me. “W-w-wwe will!”

“Hnh,” was all that Ch- said. “We shall see.”

D- drew in an exasperated breath at this breach of politeness, but what was to be done? The seer turned pale beneath her scales, but did nothing. if anything she drew closer against D- for comfort.

And so, Ale was added to our group. Little was known of her. She walked huddled in her robes as if cold or frightened. That first day, we left the tracks of the White Cloud and continued onwards into the forest. Our pace was much slower than the frenzied rush our tribe had fled with. Now, we’d not even left the reaches of the mountains and trees by nightfall. As before during the day, we drew camp hastily but not in the marks of the Clouds. This time we nestled the tent in shadowy safety and made sure to light no fire.

The seer was put in the tent to rest wholly through the night. Us others took turns in watches of two to dwell awake. It would have been a relaxing time if somehow it hadn’t been so fearful. The air seemed tinged with danger. The birds refused to sing, and the crickets wouldn’t play. H- was crouching a few feet from me while I stood and looked around for any signs.

“I can’t sleep,” Ch- said as she threw her blankets off her and rose ingratefully. Beside her, d- was sleepign fitfully. With a scowl and huff Ch- rose and walked soundlessly to H-‘s side. There she crouched next to his hulking form. “What’s the matter with this place? THere is no sounds, no breeze, no bugs.”

Indeed, I realized with alarm, even the bugs seemed to have fled in fear. Whatever was wrong?

“We are walking into a trap.” Ch- said. Then, pointing to the tent, she lowered her voice. “It is all since she has arrived. The birds flee our arrival. The animals of four legs turn away at the sight of her. Even the trees don’t want to touch her. Something is wrong, and it is her.”

I tilted my head to the side, but did not know what to think.

Praying the Rosary?

As with so many of my spiritual bursts, it started with a dream. I dreamed of Buddhas and Christian icons, particularly a little wooden one of Jesus, and rosaries. When I woke up I went ‘ah’, and continued on my day.

But I kept thinking of rosaries. And so, the other day, I picked them up and was like ‘okay, what am I supposed to be doing with these?’. Well, as a pagan I wasn’t completely comfortable with them for the longest time, but then the other day I went ‘oh fuck it’, and decided to pray the rosary in the most Catholic of ways.

Well, it was nice. It was comforting, if a bit difficult to manage all the prayers and themes off the cuff like that. But I liked the structure. So I decided to keep doing it, along with reading the book from the Dalai Lama that I’m working on.

Now, I’m still pagan. But praying the rosary feels like coming home, making peace with the Catholic faith in a way. Integrating it into my daily spiritual life.

You see, my family has a long history of Catholicism. One of my grandmothers (that I never met) used to send my family prayer cards and plastic rosaries (even glow in the dark ones!). I kept and still have all the prayer cards, and was delighted to see that I still have a blue plastic rosary. She used to send blue ones for the boys and pink ones for the girls. How I ended up with the blue one is strange, but I think of it as a nice sign. Maybe she approves of my transition.

In any case, I was sifting through Catholic stuff online, thinking of those prayer cards she used to send when it struck me that -> not all my ancestors were pagan. I know, duh. But the ones that are the closest to me, who probably care about me the most, were Catholic.  Now they weren’t blind Catholics. Many practiced tarot and had their own opinions, but remained Catholic in their self-definition. Anyways, it just struck me that praying the Rosary and collecting prayer cards could be a lovely way to connect with those ancestors.

I mean, there’s got to be a reason that I have so many rosaries. I’ve got like five -> and I never set out to collect them or even keep them. It just happened.

Anyways, I’m not quite sure what to make of this development, honestly. I’m just going with what feels good right now. What’s odd is that my patron deity (Lucifer) seems plenty happy with this turn of events. And what also strikes me as odd is how satisfying it is. I’ve always felt that within paganism there is a lack of order, discipline, and depth. But delving into Catholic stuff, I feel that order and depth that I’ve been looking for. It just feels like so much of what I’ve been looking for from paganism is there in Catholicism. Which is strange.  But hey, I’m really not going to overthink this. I have enough on my plate emotionally right now that I’m just going fuck it. If it feels good and makes me feel better I’m going to do it. Which, coincidentally, the rosary has been doing. I find that because it has such an opening and a closing with the sign of the cross, it helps me get in and out of a meditative state relatively okay. Or so I feel.

Anyways who knows. Maybe this will be another of my strange bursts that makes very little sense. Maybe it’ll pass. Or maybe this is a new way to connect with my ancestors. Either way, there’s this song from the Notre Dame theater production that I’ve had stuck in my head for two days now. For those who don’t speak french, it’s a song about the gypsies asking for refuge in the city of Paris from Mother Mary (Notre Dame). It feels timely for me.