New Heroes for a New Generation

Marvel Creates Hearing-Disabled Superhero
With Children's Institute In New York

I saw this article posted on Facebook, read it, loved it, and then broke the cardinal rule of the interwebs by reading the comments on the FB post. They both made me very sad, and very angry.

For the most part, the reactions were positive... if you can call back-handed comments positive. I refuse to name and shame, or even screenshot. I will, however, paraphrase. So many of the comments were preceded with lines such as:

“I’m not belittling these new heroes in any way, but....”
“I think what Marvel is doing is awesome, but....”
“This is a great thing Marvel is doing, but....”

It’s that ‘but’ that brought about the sad and angry reaction. Because it was inevitably followed up by some form of complaint about Hawkeye and Daredevil being ‘forgotten’ or ‘over-looked’ or ‘ignored.’ Well, guess what my fellow Marvel fans: YOU ARE MISSING THE POINT!

Sapheara and The Blue Ear are superheroes created for a comic designed to appeal to a specific target audience. A much  younger target audience than comics featuring Hawkeye and Daredevil are. Also, think about it for a minute: how many of these younger children are even going to be familiar with Hawkeye and Daredevil as comic book characters? I know if I were a parent, I certainly wouldn’t be introducing my children to those particular series until their teens, at least.

The movies, perhaps. I’d have to re-watch Daredevil as I’ve deleted much of it from my memory banks, but the Avengers films, certainly. And in the films, guess what? Hawkeye hasn’t lost his hearing yet!

Maybe your parenting choices are/would be different. Fine, whatever. Not the point. The point is that we, the adult Marvel fans, are not the ones for whom these heroes have been created. It's not about us! It’s about the next generation.

Think about it another minute: how many of our heroes were/are our parents’ heroes? How many of their heroes were their parents’ heroes? And yes, this goes beyond comic books and into the realm of all heroes.

So instead of complaining about Hawkeye ‘getting the shaft’ because it’s Ironman who’ll be getting the honour of introducing these new heroes, how about just simply being supportive? Because while this comic is targeted at children, it’s our voices that are the ones heard. And maybe, just maybe, instead of tearing this apart, we could be building this up into something even better. Because you know what would be cooler than a one-off comic? Sapheara and The Blue Ear getting their own full series.

New heroes for a new generation. And it certainly doesn’t have to stop with hearing-impaired heroes. We don’t need to re-invent or modernise Daredevil or, skewing over into DC for a moment, Oracle. Creating new heroes and heroines in no way invalidates the old ones. In fact, I personally would say that it validates them; they paved the way, so let’s walk down that road they made us, eh?

The Afterlife and Reincarnation: A Personal Theory

Every year as Samhain approaches my thoughts, perhaps unsurprisingly, tend to turn more often
toward the subjects of death, the afterlife, and rebirth.

Somehow, I’m not entirely sure how, I never went through any phase of believing that death was a horrible traumatic thing to be feared. The manner of one’s death, yes, can be quite horrible, traumatic and scary -- we can’t all peacefully slip away in our sleep without pain, sadly. But death, what happens to the spirit and what lies beyond, while always a point of curiosity for me, has never held any terror. Partly, I attribute this to growing up on working farms and the no-nonsense approach of my mother and grandparents to such topics. We hunted and killed animals for food. We raised animals for food. Sometimes non-food animals would get sick or injured and die, or have to be put down. Best case scenario, they’d live long happy lives and go of old age. But the reality of death was never hidden from me. On that note, I also feel compelled to point out that no-nonsense the approach to teaching me might have been, but it was in no way insensitive. They made sure that I also knew that it was okay to be sad, to grieve for the life lost ... but also to honour the life that had been lived.

This being said, I was rather young when my 'aunt' Jan died of lung cancer. Young enough that there wasn’t much difference in my mind about the love one can hold for an animal and the love one can hold for a person. I felt just as much grief over the death of my pony Rascal as I felt when Jan finally passed; I loved them both dearly and species wasn’t a factor. But as much as I grieved for the loss of them in my life, because of how I was taught, I also found happiness and peace in the memories of when they were alive. It didn’t lessen the grief, as such, but I believe it did make it easier to bear. Instead of being angry or feeling cheated out of having such experiences as feeding the snowbirds right out of our hands in winter, I felt -- and still feel -- fortunate for having gotten to have that experience with Jan at all.

I’ve been told by others that I have a rather philosophical approach toward the subject of death, and perhaps that’s true. All I really know is that it’s not a topic that holds any discomfort for me. Over the years, I’ve done a lot of reading into and research about the various beliefs about death and the afterlife in several different cultures, both modern and ancient, that have led to my current theories.

Personally, I have a very strong aversion to the concept of either Heaven or Hell (by whatever Names they may be called) being the soul’s destination for all eternity. I can understand the appeal of an eternal paradise as a ‘reward’ for living a good life... but by what values does one judge a ‘good’ life? While some core beliefs carry across religions, many differ in the extreme. Does that mean that actually, there’s more than one version of Heaven, and which one you ascend to after death depends upon which belief system you adhere to? And what about those who hold that certain acts, if done in the name of their God, will grant them entrance into Heaven, while by many other tenets of belief those same acts would condemn their souls to an eternity in Hell? And as for Hell... why the prevalent belief that one can only attain redemption during their mortal life? Surely, if the soul is eternal, there should be some manner in which it can earn redemption even after death. So many hold to the belief in a Divine Being who is all-forgiving, and yet simultaneously believe in ‘unforgivable sins.’ I could never wrap my head around that.

At this point I feel the need to emphasise: just because I do not fully comprehend or agree with a belief system, does not mean I consider it to be invalid. There are many Paths to be walked, and this diversity of belief should be respected. We choose, or discover, or are led to the Path that ‘fits’ and while that means our Journeys will take us in several different directions and to many different places, they all lead back to the Divine Source. Or so I believe. You might disagree, and that’s okay.

My personal theory -- and I prefer to call it a theory rather than a belief because until I die, I’m not going to know -- and the belief systems that have always resonated the most with me, are those that believe in a continuous cycle of life, death, and rebirth. I believe, quite strongly, that our souls choose to live mortal lives in order to learn, and sometimes to fulfill a specific purpose. What they learn, well, that depends on the type of life they choose to be born into, and the choices they make during that life. If we are judged for how well we’ve learned, or performed our appointed task, I believe that for the most part, we judge ourselves. This may seem conceited to some, because how dare we have the audacity to decide for ourselves if we’ve succeeded or failed and what sort of ‘reward’ or ‘punishment’ we should receive. Allow me to explain my theory.

When in our mortal lives, for the most part we forget what other lives we’ve lived. In part I feel this is to prevent confusion, disconnection, and the possibility of going crazy because some memories may just be too painful, shameful, traumatic or grief-stricken. While some people may be far more sensitive to and connected with their past lives, for the most part I believe that we’re meant to focus on our current lives -- and if something bleeds through strongly enough to awaken memories of a past life, then that means we’ve some serious unfinished business to attend to. Perhaps we got distracted, or prevented, or died before we had a chance to finish -- the possibilities are many.

But once we do pass back into the Aetherial Realm and reconnect with the Spirits and the Divine, all those memories from all those lives are once more available to us because in that form, we have the capacity to keep things separate and not be overwhelmed. Yes, I do hold that there are Spirits -- our Guides and Guardians -- who can help us see our lives from different perspectives and help us fully decide if our goals in our most recent life were met and also help us decide what we want/need to do next and where/when we should go to best accomplish our new tasks. I also believe that Time is a purely mortal construct, so we don’t need to be reincarnated along a linear time-stream. This also means that our spirits can spend as long as needed contemplating their lives and this will in no way impact when they return to a mortal life -- centuries or seconds, not a factor. Nor do we also have to return to the same world/dimension/reality. We have the infinity of the Universe to learn from and explore.

In a way, this theory of mine allows for some version of Heaven and Hell, but a mutable one. The Aetherial Plane is a place of pure thought, will and imagination. Depending on the lives we’ve lived, we may choose for a time to create for ourselves a small personal paradise in which we can contemplate, well, anything and everything. But if we feel that our spirits have been tainted, then we may end up creating our own punishments; our own Hell. This may be within the Aetherial Realm, or it may be in a series of short, brutal mortal lives chosen to inflict upon ourselves the mortal pain we, for whatever reasons we might have, feel we deserve to suffer. But we are not condemned to such suffering forever. Those Spirits who live purely within the Aetherial Realm are always there, waiting for when we’re ready, to help us cleanse and renew our souls and while it’s not they who offer redemption, they offer us the chance for it in the return to the ‘normal’ (for lack of a better word) cycle of reincarnation.

Until someone figures out a way to carry scientific equipment with them when they pass on, and then bring it back again, or discovers the technology that allows us to access, measure, and study what I call the Aetherial Realm, none of us will ever know for certain which theory is correct, or even if any theory is correct, or quite possibly if all of them are correct.

For myself, there are occurrences that have contributed to and reinforced my personal theory. Certain tidbits of knowledge that I have that I know I never learned in this life. Certain mannerisms that for me are instinctual but make no sense when one takes into consideration the culture within which I was raised. Meeting certain people whom I know and feel an immediate and strong connection toward (not always a positive one, mind -- one can encounter past enemies as easily as past friends). I’m sure many of you know the feeling I mean. That “Hey, I’ve just met you and this is crazy, but I feel like I’ve known you my entire life so let’s be BFFs!” feeling, or that “Hey, I’ve just met you and this is crazy, but I kinda wanna rip your tongue out through your anus.” feeling.

Light and dark, good and bad, life and death... balance in all things. Which is why I don’t avoid mentioning the negative when I write posts like this. As much as we might wish for a world that’s all sparkly rainbows, that’s just not reality.

Guides, Guardians, and Totems, Oh My!

Artist Unknown (would like to remedy that!)

While I have not read every single book or article out there about Spirit Guides and Guardians, I have

noticed among what I have read is that some seem to use the terms interchangeably. Given my own personal study and experience, I have to disagree with this. Guides and Guardians are two very distinct and different types of Spirit. One major difference, at least in what I’ve experienced, is that Guardians tend to be permanent, while Guides only come to us when they’re needed and leave once their purpose has been fulfilled. However long that may be varies, of course, so a Guide could wind up sticking around for quite some time, but that doesn’t mean they should be mistaken for or lumped in with Guardians.

For myself, Guides and Guardians have always appeared in animal form, which makes sense given my strong feelings toward and connection with Nature, as well as the environment in which I was raised. I have said before, and undoubtedly will say again, that I strongly believe that our individual interpretations of the Astral and the Divine are shaped in many ways by our mortal experiences, learnings and beliefs, as that is where the base of our understanding comes from. What builds on top of that, well... that depends upon the individual and the Spirit.

In the interest of trying not to ramble off on befuddling and disorganised tangents (though that might happen anyway), I’m going to begin with Guides.

Over the course of my life, I’ve had several different Guides, each offering a different lesson or needed reminder. They have included Mouse, Turtle, Bear, Hawk, Dolphin, Shark, and Snake. Some stayed with me for months, a couple for years, or in some cases a mere matter of weeks. Now, again, what these animals represent often depends upon the interpretations of a given culture, so when researched, one can find slightly differing, or even completely contradictory meanings, reasons for appearing, and spiritual powers ascribed to them.

Some of these Guides have come at points in my life that are not things I’m willing (yet) to share in a public forum. There are two in particular, however, that I will touch on.

Mouse first started appearing during my early teens, and stayed with me for roughly three-ish years. At the time, I wasn’t consciously involved in or actively studying any form of Paganism; I reacted to Mouse on a purely instinctual and subconscious level. It wasn’t until years later, as I began my conscious journey into exploring the many different facets of Pagan and Native beliefs, that I realised why Mouse had come to me at that particular time. The main thing that seems to be agreed upon about Mouse is a reminder to pay attention to trivial, but necessary and important things in life, and to not get lost in larger events or in trying to see the bigger picture. My own personal addition to that is that along with general life details, it can also be a reminder to not take for granted the things that, when compared to the big picture, seem rather small but are in fact quite important. Like everyday gestures of kindness from friends whose presence you’ve begun to take for granted and yet actually, the fact that they’re still staunchly by your side while you’re in the middle of an epic break-down and feel like you’re going completely batshit insane is really, really huge.

Hawk, appropriately enough, came into my life at around the same time that I made the conscious decision to study Paganism. To put it simply, an opening of awareness, enlightenment, and being guided toward a Path you’re meant to follow or purpose you’re meant to fulfill are commonly agreed upon interpretations of Hawk’s appearance. I was guided to meeting J, my Ha’shin and spirit brother, and thus ended my confused bumbling around as he and certain friends he introduced me to gently helped me begin a more structured approach and also helped me to understand things that until I had people to actually discuss them with, had only confused me. Through J, I also gained an awareness and understanding of aspects of the world and people that I’d never even been aware of before. While Hawk is no longer with me, I try to live by the lesson brought to me; to be aware of the world beyond my own little bubble, and always open to new learning.

When it comes to Guardians, at this point in my life I have three. They have names¹, which I will share, but please don’t ask me how I know them. I just do.

Dmitri has been with me the longest. I think quite possibly since I was hatched². For the longest time, all I really knew was that he was a big cat, possibly a leopard or a tiger. I was never really sure because he’s never appeared in any kind of solid (figuratively speaking) form. He’s always an ethereal, shifting silvery-white cat-shape. It’s taken many years for me to properly identify him as a snow leopard.

I think I had on some level always felt his presence, but the first time he fully revealed himself to me was when I was four. I was being stupid with some friends, as young children are wont to be. Somehow one of them had discovered that the angled wooden doors that led down to the cellar were bouncy, almost like a trampoline. So naturally, we made a game out of taking turns to run up, jump on the doors and see how far we could launch ourselves with the springy recoil. If you’re thinking something bad happened, you’re right.

It was my turn, and I made my run up to the doors, jumped... and the world disappeared. I can’t even remember the sound of the doors breaking, though I’m sure there was a crack or crash of some sort, nor the sensation of falling or even landing. Just that one moment there was resistance beneath my feet as I completed my jump, and then blackness. What happened is that the doors had given way, falling open inward and dropping me several feet down onto the cement stairs. I was definitely being looked out for on that day, because I really should have ended up with a busted open skull. Instead, my head bounced off an empty plastic bucket and my body was snapped forward in such a way that I somehow broke my four front teeth off. We assume I hit the edge of a stair. Barring some scrapes and bruises and fat lips, that was the worst injury I suffered from the experience. Anyway.

I had blacked out, though I’m not certain for how long. It can’t have been very long, because my friends above were still caught in that shocked ‘What just happened?!’ silence. It was dark and cool, as you’d expect a cellar to be. Certainly a frightening place for a four year old. But I felt no fear, nor even pain. I attribute some of this to shock, but not all, and I’m sure the skeptics will pass off what I’m about to relate as an hallucination from my brains just having been scrambled by the fall and bouncing off of things.

Dmitri was there. This softly glowing, absolutely gigantic cat crouched down with his tail curled up along one haunch, filling almost the whole cellar. Our gazes met and locked and I have never felt as safe, as protected, and as certain that everything was going to be alright as I was in that moment. It felt like it lasted forever, though it can’t have been much more than a single second. He seemed to nod at me, just once, and then faded from my vision. And that’s when the pain and fear set in and I started screaming my head off, getting the attention of the adults and being whisked off to hospital.

Shadovar was the second Guardian to come to me, but those circumstances are far too personal and painful to share, and not only for myself. He is a Western dragon, pitch black with ivory horns and red-yellow eyes. He is cloaked in shadow, and when he unfurls his wings it seems almost as if thunderstorms exist beneath their folds, clouds roiling and lightning snapping, his roar the thunder. He’s usually asleep, which is a very good thing, because he is an embodiment of rage. It took me far too long to realise that he’s not only a Guardian against outside forces, but also there to protect me -- and others -- from myself; from my rage. For several years I was out of control, my temper lashing out unpredictably and often violently. Eventually, after many struggles and trails, I learned that I could use Shadovar as a kind of siphon. I can channel that rage and violence into him, and he is strong enough to keep it contained and eventually neutralise it so it doesn’t get sent out into the world. I’m not saying that there aren’t times when my temper still gets the better of me and I go off like a super-volcano. But thanks to Shadovar’s presence in my life, I’m not nearly as volatile nor producing nearly as much negative energies as I used to.

Third and most recent is Khanyar, my golden gryphon. While Dmitri and Shadovar both revealed themselves to me, I had to be made aware of Khanyar through outside influence. Given the state I was in mentally and emotionally at the time, I’m not at all surprised that I needed help in realising he was there. He came to me after I got out of a particularly nasty abusive relationship. The mental and emotional abuse this guy had heaped on me had come very close to breaking me. I felt fragile, like cracked porcelain that might shatter at any moment, with just the tiniest of touches. I had come to doubt nearly everything I believed and everyone I loved. I was also silently suffering with having been raped. I was young and naive and honestly believed the bullshit idea that a person can’t be raped by their significant other, so I felt that if I ever tried to tell anyone what had happened -- be it the authorities or just someone I trusted -- I’d be the one held to blame because I’d had consensual sex in the past with the guy.

Khanyar is a constant reminder of my strength, my fortitude, my self-worth -- all things that I had forgotten I had and that the gentle support and love of friends helped me find again. He’s also a terribly vain creature, but this helps balance out my own frequent lack of confidence.

Finally that brings us to Fox. I’m not entirely sure that Totem or Spirit Animal are appropriate terms for him, but I can’t find any other that applies. Fox, for me, is much more than just a symbol or an embodiment of traits that I share. (If you really want to get technical, I share more traits with Kitsune than Fox, but I definitely don’t feel anything like a Kitsune. I’m without a doubt a Red Fox.) I’ve never really been able to find words to properly describe the relationship, and it seems I still can’t. But I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that he is neither Guide nor Guardian. It’s very simple, and yet extraordinarily complex -- we are two separate Entities who are one and the same. I am Fox, but I am also me. Fox is me, but also very much himself.


1. Lowercase intentional, and most certainly not to be confused with Names of Power.
2. Short version: I was born via C-section, and also when I was very young my mother would tell me she found me hatched out of a dragon’s egg. The term stuck, because we’re weird and like it that way. :-)

Cosplay Against Bullying

"It's a blessing to be different, not a curse."

I didn't write myself a script or rehearse in any way. This is just me, speaking straight from the heart.

Act Against Bullying
Luna’s Fandoms Against Bullying

I went so far out of my comfort zone to record this, I can’t even. I was shaking, and I still feel a bit nauseous. Also, very anxious. Actually, scratch that. Terrified. It seems silly, I know, but there you have it. I have this irrational desire to snatch it back, delete it, pretend I never put myself out there like this. I won’t, of course. This is something I feel strongly about, and as awkward and full of run-on sentences and pauses that would put Shatner to shame as it is, I stand by my words.

TRANSCRIPT

Right. Well, hello. I am Kaida Stormshadow and I am taking part in the Cosplay Against Bullying Movement. Uhm, which is, basically, pretty much exactly how it sounds. Uhm, a bunch of cosplayers or just, y’know, people in accoutrements -- because we don’t have costumes -- uhm, go and get our geek on and go out to do our small bit to spread awareness about the problem of bullying in our schools, and the fact that in many cases school officials don’t do anything about it.

Now, I can already see eyes rolling and hear cries of “Slacktivism! Go do something useful, because what is marching around in a costume or fan gear going to do?” Well. Every movement has a beginning. Every awareness campaign has a beginning. They all start with an idea, and those ideas need to be taken out into the world. There is a wonderful woman, Featherwolf, who got an idea and she is trying to spread that idea out into the world, and myself, and roughly a thousand other people in various cities are trying to help her spread that idea. Bullying is an epidemic and we are the people trying to find a cure. Slowly. Because as I said, everything has a beginning and sometimes it’s a small beginning.

When children are bullied in schools, that is -- let’s call a spade a spade -- abuse. Verbal abuse. Mental abuse. Emotional abuse. And sometimes it escalates to physical abuse. Now, when we send our children to school, we generally do it with two primary expectations: we expect them to be educated, and we expect them to be safe. But when school officials and the adults that we are placing our children into the care of are turning the other way and ignoring the bullying when it happens, are failing. Us, and our children. They are failing because they are not protecting our children from the abuse that they are suffering. Now, this needs to change.

Bullying has been a problem for a very long time, and it’s been a problem that has largely been overlooked. “Oh, kids will be kids,” and that sort of thing. But guess what? Those kids grow up into adults. And the bullies sometimes get a clue, realise what horrible jerks they were and sometimes even reach out to the people that they bullied and try to make amends or at the very least, apologise. And as for those who were bullied, they sometimes -- quite frequently -- end up going out into the world with crippling social anxieties, or they suffer from severe depression, or any other sort of problem that, y’know, people try to pass off as ‘just in their head’ or ‘cries for attention,’ and that’s just wrong.

When an adult looks the other way, when an adult ignores the bullying, when an adult says, “Oh, if that little girl doesn’t want to be bullied she shouldn’t be carrying a Spider-Man lunch box.” or “If that little boy doesn’t want to be bullied he shouldn’t be carrying a My Little Pony backpack.” they are giving tacit approval to the bullies; to the abusers. They are saying, “This is all right. We condone this behaviour.” Because there are no consequences. It is clearly the victim’s fault, because they are different.

NO! This is wrong. This is wrong and it needs to stop and we need to take a stand. As parents, as friends, as god-parents, as aunts, as uncles, as grandparents, as cousins and family friends, we need to get out there, in our communities, be aware of what’s happening in our schools. We need to listen to our children; to the stories they tell. Whether it’s about another child being bullied, or themselves being bullied, or if they laugh about “Oh, haha, that person is so weak because they like My Little Pony.” We need to show the bullies that this is not acceptable, this is wrong. We need to show the victims that we are there for them, that they are not to blame because of their loves, because of their passions.

Because those passions are what make them unique, what make them special, and what make them treasures to be sent out into the world; to improve it; to make it better.

We cannot live in a bubble and say, “Oh, well, I shouldn’t get involved because it’s not my child.” or “Oh, I’d better not make a fuss. I’d better not cause a scene.” Wrong! Just because it’s not your child today doesn’t mean it couldn’t be tomorrow. And do cause a fuss. Do make a scene. Because if nobody stands up, if nobody says, “This needs to change!” then it’s not going to change. School officials will continue looking the other way; they will continue to place blame on the victims; there will be no consequences for the abusers, the bullies.

This message today is a planted seed. Hopefully it will reach fertile ground and grow, and spread, and flower, and more seeds will spread, and grow, and flower. Because our future belongs to our children. And being different is okay. “It is a blessing to be different, not a curse.” Because those differences are what make us physicists and doctors and artists and actors. And those differences are what we take out to say, “I am going to contribute something. I am going to change the world in some way. I am going to contribute and make it better.” But if those passions are ever squashed, if those dreams are made fun of, then they will be abandoned. And that, is a tragedy.

Some Monsters are Real: Depression

Depression is a twitchy subject at the best of times, but I have to say, I’m glad that it’s actually being talked about. It never used to be. It was “the invisible illness.” Something shameful that had to be hidden away and never mentioned. People didn’t understand it and didn’t want to understand it. Many still don’t. But instead of being able to ignore something because it simply isn’t being put out there to be made aware of, those people are having to willfully shut their eyes, plug their ears, and choose to remain ignorant.

It’s a slow process, this growing awareness of and education about the truth of depression. It’s still hard for many to admit even to those closest to them, never mind absolute strangers, that they suffer from depression. It’s still misunderstood as something that’s “just in their heads,” or dismissed as “melodramatic attention-seeking.” But that first rock was loosened and now the pebbles are falling, picking up momentum, and that gives me hope.

I have fought an on-going war against depression for most of my life. Even when I’m “winning” it’s never very far away. This nebulous, gigantic, hateful monster that follows me around like a second shadow, feeding on every doubt and insecurity, amplifying and enlarging them before spewing them back at me, just waiting for a chance to fully sink its claws back into me once again.

At my absolute worst, I have entertained thoughts of suicide. Formulated plans for how best to go about it so that I wouldn’t be found in time to be saved. I stood at the edge of that mental chasm, looked down into oblivion and was tempted to take that final step, over and over and over again. But somehow, even during the darkest times, there was a hand on my shoulder and a voice that whispered, sometimes so quietly that I could barely hear it, but always there and always insistent: ‘Don’t go. There are people who need you.’

‘LIES!’ the monster would shout, urging me to give in. To stop fighting. To stop living. If I were truly only an empty shell with nothing to give, nothing in me worth loving, why would anyone miss me? They wouldn’t. But that hand on my shoulder never wavered, nor was that voice ever fully silenced, and for that I remain ever grateful. Call it a Guardian, or an Angel, or the true voice of my heart, or whatever you wish. It was there and I never lost it, never allowed the monster of depression to convince me that it had abandoned me.

There have been many, and undoubtedly will be more, who have not been and will not be so fortunate. This saddens me on a level I cannot even find words to describe; makes my heart ache with the desire to be able to reach out, take their hands, lift them up and say, ‘You have never been alone.’ Even while knowing, having been so close to that chasm myself, that once fully lost one may no longer be capable of reaching back, of allowing themselves to be lifted up, or even of allowing anyone to simply be there until they feel capable of standing again.

Even as a sufferer, I also understand the helplessness of only being able to stand by, waiting, hoping, that a person you love will reach back and take the hand that you’ve had held out to them. The urge to fix the problem is so hard to overcome, even when you know that the absolute best thing you can do is just stand by until the other person is ready. Each situation, each person, is different and needs different things from the people around them. Hard as it is, instead of asking ‘How can I help?’ the best thing to ask is actually ‘What do you need?’ Then give them that, be it space to be alone, or hugs, or a bad movie marathon, or a sob-fest over a pint of ice cream, or whatever. Don’t assume that you know better than them what they need, for in trying to push on them something that they don’t want or can’t cope with, you will only feed the monster instead of strengthening the whisperer.

My most recent battle with my own monster was just last year, and it lasted for months. Rationally, I had prepared myself for using a wheelchair on really bad days, or days that would otherwise be walking/standing intensive. However, accepting something rationally and being prepared for it emotionally are two very different things. That first weekend when I needed my chair was devastating, made only worse by the monster latching onto my self-blame. I’d missed seeing a very small ledge, so instead of stepping off it, my foot met air where I expected floor, and slammed down the remaining inch and a half to hit the actual floor, thus jarring my whole leg. Now, for most people, this type of incident results in an embarrassing stumble that’s laughed off and they go on about their day. For me, well. I played it strong and finished walking around the shopping area with my husband and friends before heading back to the hotel.

I was in agony halfway there. But I clenched my jaw and kept going because I was not going to let this fucking Fibro bullshit win.

I was barely able to hold the tears at bay by the time we were walking up to the hotel doors, couldn’t even stand up straight, and each step felt like I was wading through molten lava. My husband went and got the wheelchair to get me back to our room, despite my protests that ‘I’m fine, dammit! I can make it!’

For the rest of the weekend, I couldn’t walk. I was guilt-ridden because if I’d only been paying attention and seen that stupid ledge, the whole situation could have been avoided. I hated having to depend on my husband and friends for my mobility, and I began to resent them for theirs, which only made me hate myself and feed the depression monster. I managed to hold it at bay for the remainder of the holiday, but my strength only held out until my husband and I returned home.

Once there, I did what I call “turtling.” Mentally and emotionally pulled myself into a shell, hiding from everything and everyone. I barely spoke, ate only when food was put in front of me or I began to shake and feel dizzy, whichever happened first. I lived in my pyjamas and would only change them after a bath, which I usually had to be prodded into taking. When I wasn’t sleeping, I was playing either one of the Mass Effect games, or one of the Dragon Age games. Mainly Mass Effect. According to my Steam account I clocked in somewhere around 300 hours played time on Mass Effect, and hit nearly 400 hours played time on Mass Effect 2. Origin doesn’t tell me how many hours I’ve got clocked in for Dragon Age, Dragon Age 2, and Mass Effect 3 (or if it does, I haven’t found out where, and really, I’m not even sure I want to know).

There were times when I forced myself out of my shell because it was expected, because I felt obligated, but I’d pop right back into it at the first opportunity.

I’d feel guilty for not replying to messages from friends, for not returning my mother’s calls, for hardly even wanting to spend time with my husband. And of course that guilt would only add to the overall depression. Then there was the guilt that I piled on myself. ‘Be happy you can still walk at all; there are those out there who have no legs at all, or only one, or have both but can’t feel or move them. You? All you have to put up with is pain, you sissy.’ And other things along that same vein.

Eventually though, I was able to work through it. I started poking my nose out of my shell more often, and for longer periods of time. I began to interact with the world again. Even if it was just by logging into Facebook and reading status updates. Slowly but steadily, life began to feel like something good again. I could feel happy and only happy, rather than having a constant awareness of the monster’s looming shadow as it just waited to pounce.

I won the battle.

But the war will never end. At least, it’s unlikely to in my lifetime. The more people talk, the more people share, the more people educate themselves and others, the more people study and learn and discover, the more likely it becomes that eventually, we’ll be able to do more than throw medication at depression and hope that it works to keep it in check.

The Origin of a Name, pt. 2

I don't have nearly as powerful or meaningful a story behind Kaida. Actually, it's pretty much just silly and geeky. Imagine if you will a character creation screen. The race, class and look have all been chosen. All that's left is the name.

The process went something like this:

Input character name: ____________
Kaelle
That name is unavailable.
Kaede
"Wait, no, that's Kikyo's sister on InuYasha."
"I do like it though. Let's play with some variations."
Kaeden
"Hmm. I like it, but it's a bit too masculine for this character."
Kaeda
"Ehn."
Kayda
"UGH no."
Kaida
"...."
"...."
"...I like this version!"
Congratulations! Your character has been created.
"Yay!"

Proceed to play game, make connections with people, start using name as common handle in forum/chats/TeamSpeak. Use name in other games. Become known as 'Kaida' to many people; have them use that name more naturally than my real one when we meet in real life, because that's what they've been calling me online for months or years. Begin answering to that name just as readily as my real name.

Discover later that baby name sites like to claim that 'Kaida' is a Japanese girl's name meaning 'little dragon.' Facepalm a lot, especially when research turns up absolutely zero evidence to support this claim.

Keep the name anyway, because I like it. So there, nyah nyah.  

The Origin of a Name

The first house I can remember living in with my mom was an old farm house at the top of a ridge. There was quite a bit I loved about that place and the surrounding land. But my absolute favourite part about living there was watching storms roll in. It gave my mother fits, because I would pop the screen out of my bedroom window and crawl out onto the roof of the back porch; she was convinced I was going to fall through and break my neck.

It was the perfect spot for storm watching, though. I could see for miles over the surrounding hills, so I could watch the storms for quite a goodly while before they got too close. It was breath taking, awe inspiring and absolutely beautiful. Gigantic dark, roiling thunderheads slowly devouring the sky and shadowing the land, the horizon blurred by torrential rain and best of all, the lightning lashing out in searing flashes, creating incredible images of shadow and light. Far from being frightened by this fierce display of nature, I was always filled with excited energy. It was invigorating.

From the first moment I’d feel that shift in the air that warned of a change in weather, I’d also feel the beginnings of a happy buzz. I’d have no choice but to run, leap and dance, whooping with delight, just to vent the energy that began to fill me. And when the wind would bring that first cool whiff of rain and ozone, I’d stop and breathe deep; as deep as I possibly could, just at the edge of the point where inhaling any further would begin to hurt, and then I’d hold that breath for as long as I could. I’d let it out with a whoosh, with a holler of pure joy, and begin to race around again.

It was only a healthy respect for the very real danger posed by the lightning that would send me back indoors, albeit reluctantly and with much disappointment. I always wanted to stay out in the wind and rain, reveling in the sheer power of nature surrounding me. Every peal of thunder only heightened my delight, and even more than simply being outside, I wanted to be in the storm. I wanted to fly through the clouds, dance with the lightning and bathe in the rain.

I’ve never lost that joy, or that desire. Nor does it always have to be huge spectacular storms that awaken it. A simple rain shower still fills me with the urge to run (or stay) out and dance in it.

Then there’s the time immediately after a storm or shower. One might think that, given how much I enjoy the storms themselves, that having them dissipate/pass on would be a disappointment. But this is far from the case. It’s a calmer sort of energy, the kind that makes me want to slow down and just breathe, to take in the scents of the surrounding land and reaffirm my connections with the Earth and the people I love. I become grounded once more, centred, but revitalised.

For me, the entire experience is very much a spiritual one. It may seem like chaos, but all the elements are together in their own harmony, intertwined. Chaos and order, destruction and creation, death and life.

This is where I get the name Stormshadow from. For some, it may seem to have ominous connotations; indicate a brooding darkness, anger and negativity. This couldn’t be further from the truth. For me, the name is the best way I can distill into simple words a celebration of and joy in life. It feels right; feels like me.

Medicine is Medicine

When I was growing up, my mom got a lot of flak from her social group for taking me to the doctor, giving me cough syrup, using medicated ear drops, and other such ‘unnatural’ methods for treating illness and infection. This apparently meant she wasn’t a true ‘Earth Mother’ (their term, capital letters required) and was to be looked down upon for ‘giving in to The Man’ or some such bullshit. She actually lost friends when she followed a doctor’s advice to have me taken in for a tonsillectomy.

Never mind that doing so saved my life. As soon as the goldenrod would start to bloom my allergies would kick in extremely bad, and my tonsils would swell to the point where I struggled to breathe. Let your child suffocate or have them undergo a procedure that eliminates the risk? Seems like a no-brainer, right?

Well, there were those who believed she just didn’t take the time to find the right ‘natural’ remedy, or that she didn’t have enough faith in the Earth Our Mother to look out for one of Her children. (Sound familiar? Thought so.)

Now, don’t get me wrong. My mother is all for holistic medicine and doesn’t discount the benefits of spiritual Healing or herbal remedies. I mean, she herself is a spiritual Healer. But she doesn’t believe that these methods can’t be used in harmony with modern ‘technological, scientific medicine.’ Science, and advancement through science, is natural. And this brings me to one of the best things my mother taught me (out of many):

Skepticism is healthy. By questioning the supposed ‘truth’ of a claim, we investigate and learn. Or at least, we should. Simply dismissing something out of hand because you’re skeptical can be just as detrimental as blindly believing in everything you’re told by a so-called ‘expert.’

My mom is an intelligent woman; she uses that intelligence to educate herself and taught me to do the same. Whether the advice was coming from a certified medical professional or an herb woman whose knowledge was passed down from generations of oral tradition, my mother never took anything at face value. She found other sources to consult, did her research, sought to understand why something worked... or discovered when it was just snake oil and best avoided.

This has served me well over the years, and especially now that I have Fibromyalgia.

There are a lot of organic methods out there for boosting energy, managing fatigue and pain, promoting joint, muscle and organ health, and so on. Many of which can be applied to management of Fibromyalgia symptoms, and which I use. However sometimes the organic methods just aren’t enough to quite cut it. (And if that prompts you to think “Well, she just isn’t doing enough/trying hard enough/doing it right.” you can just bugger off right now. We all of us are different and not all methods will work the same, or as well, or at all, for everyone. Here ends the mini-rant.)

I take prescription pain medication, muscle relaxants, and an SSRI. The SSRI is daily, to help boost my energy levels. Before I started using it, even with dietary changes and organic energy boosters, I was flat out exhausted most of the time. I pretty much turned into a koala, such were my periods of sleep vs. wakefulness. Being prescribed the SSRI was one of the best things that happened. No, it is not a magic cure-all for my fatigue, but my episodes of ‘koala-ness’ are now infrequent, rather than every single day.

The pain meds and muscle relaxants I take ‘as needed.’ Which means that some days, when my pain levels are low enough to be tolerable, I don’t take the prescription pills at all. And the muscle relaxants I take even more rarely, as they are largely a preventative measure when I get warning twinges from my back.

This is a balance that works for me. I know there are those out there with Fibromyalgia who don’t use prescription medications and they’ve found ways to make that work. Good for them! But such is not for me.

I guess where I’m going with all of this is my own little counter against both the “All natural all the time!” and “Modern medicine is the only way!” arguments/attitudes I’ve seen. These two things need not be mutually exclusive; they are, at least to my mind, two sides of the same coin. Both have much in their favour, and both also have their share of problems.

Recognise the benefits, be aware of the dangers, educate yourself. Sound advice. Thanks, Mom.

When Lives Touch

I am going to blatantly and without shame use an example straight out of Xena: Warrior Princess. Because the truth of what was shown is in no way lessened by being part of a script in a fantasy show.

A stone is thrown into a lake, and the immediate impact is that of ripples radiating outwards, the surface of the water disturbed. Eventually though, the ripples will still, and the surface of lake return to calm. But unseen beneath the water, the lake has been forever altered, for the thrown stone still remains.

This has been on my mind a lot recently. But instead of stones and lakes, it’s people and lives. Some encounters are more like wind; they disturb the surface of the lake but don’t change it. But some... some are definitely stones. How they affect your life may not be readily apparent, but the encounter will irrevocably alter it. Allow me to share how one chance meeting has had far reaching and meaningful impact upon my life. This is bound to be a bit rambly, so please bear with me.

It was my 18th birthday, and my mom and I had gone into town for some mother-daughter bonding and so that I could pick out my present. Back then, I took a book with me everywhere, so I’d have something to do during idle moments. Also, it was something of a security blanket. My book was my shield, helping to keep my social anxiety at bay. I can’t remember which exact book I was reading at the time, but the author was Mercedes Lackey.

While wandering through the mall, we stopped at a jewellery kiosk. Mainly just to browse, because shinies! The man working the kiosk gave us the required retail smile and greeting, to which my mom responded while I half-hid in awkward shyness behind her because he was cute. I don’t remember which happened first, telling him it was my birthday and we were present shopping, or him noticing the book I had tightly clutched in my hand. He recognised the author with enthusiasm and asked me if I’d read her Last Herald-Mage trilogy. Me being the socially awkward penguin that I am, and frequently lacking in a brain-to-mouth filter, responded with a happily (over-)enthusiastic, “Oh yes! I love that the main character is gay! More authors need gay characters.” Or something along those lines.

The look on his face.

My brain kicked in at that moment, and I roundly -- but silently -- cussed myself out for being stupid. I should have just left it at, “Yes, I really enjoyed it.” But no. I just had to go and gush and be weird. Somehow that awkward moment was broken, I can’t remember how. But it passed and we moved on, with J being helpful and asking questions about what sort of jewellery I liked and I wound up walking away with a gorgeous sterling silver Chinese dragon pendant. Which I still have. I also walked away with a churning stomach and half-hopeful, half-fearful anticipation because J and I had exchanged AIM details.

During our first chat, he told me he was gay. I wasn’t really sure how to reply. Not because I had any sort of problem with it (aside from being a little disappointed because like I mentioned earlier, cute guy), but because “Yes, and?” felt like too dismissive of a response.

Skipping ahead a bit, though at the time I hadn’t known, I found a brother that day. A teacher. A best friend. Someone who would be and continues to be a huge inspiration and source of goodness in my life -- even if an ocean separates us. Our friendship opened a whole new world to me. Literally, even, for it was J who introduced me to online roleplay in the form of MUSHing.

Skipping ahead further, it was through MUSHing that I met my husband. Maybe I would have found my way to MUSHes without J, but I highly doubt I would have wound up temporarily living in San Jose. Because while we had been friends online for almost 2 years, it wasn’t until we met face-to-face while he was on holiday that A and I fell in love.

After moving to England and marrying A, I discovered the world of MMOs. He’d gotten World of Warcraft for himself and said I could make a character on his account since I was curious. We neither of us expected me to enjoy it as much as I did. I got my own account. This becomes relevant, I swear.

Through A, I also met F. He knew her through MUSHing, and was invited to her and Also-an-A’s wedding. Weddings and receptions are not really great places to meet people, especially when those people are the bride and groom with everyone vying for their attention. I’d also gotten a nasty migraine and had to leave the reception early. But I digress. We met up with F and Also-an-A several more times, and our friendships grew.

As we became more comfortable with each other and trusting of one another, I realised that I had found another best friend in F. More than that: a sister.

Skipping ahead again, to very recently. Just a few months ago, really, though it feels like longer. In the good way.

WildStar went into Open Beta shortly before the live release. I gave it a go and really enjoyed it. Enough to get the game. Toddling around questing one night, I saw a guild advertisement pop up in the zone chat. I figured “What the hell?” and asked if I could join. After a little while, I even braved connecting to the guild’s Teamspeak. And that’s how I ‘met’ JB as more than just a random guildy. In the midst of chatting he made note of my American accent but that I was playing on the EU servers and I told him that I’d moved to England to get married. Further chatting and eventually he asked if I’d mind ‘meeting’ his fiancé, Featherwolf, who is also American but going to be moving over here.

I could go into much more detail, but the short and sweet of it is: Featherwolf and I formed a very strong connection. Strong enough that I happily and proudly call her ‘sister’ and am honoured that she calls me the same.

These people are all so important to me that I cannot imagine my life without any of them in it. Removing them would feel like removing parts of my own soul.

There are, of course, the many other friends whom I’ve met along the way. Though as deserving of mentions as they are, to include them all would turn this from a blog post into a biographical novella.

In this story, clearly I am the lake and J is the stone. The impact he has had on my life has forever altered it. Not only in the paths I’ve taken and the people I’ve encountered, whether directly or indirectly through him, but also myself, as a person. I am a better person thanks to his influence and teaching. He will always be my brother, my Ha’shin.*

And while this is largely biographical rambling, I do have a point hidden in all of this. That point being that we can never know who will be a stone in our lake, or when we will be the stone in another person's. Whether small or large, every encounter has some kind of impact. What we must do is endeavor to make that impact a positive one. Of course, we don’t always have control over the outcome of events, but in as much as we can, we should. Even if you never know it, or realise it years later; even if a meeting doesn’t result in a lasting friendship -- never take for granted the people who touch your life, or whose lives you touch. We all carry with us things to teach, and we all have things we’ve yet to learn.

In closing, I shall blatantly and without shame steal a line from another gem of sci-fi, those wacky teenagers Bill & Ted: Be excellent to each other.

*In Mercedes Lackey’s Valdemar books, Ha’shin is the Shin’a’in word for ‘teacher.’

Stop Saying 'Must Be Nice'

Whether it’s envy or disdain that prompts the impulse, when someone tells you they don’t/can’t work due to chronic illness or disability, do not say “Must be nice to stay home all day.” or any variation of that phrase. See also: “Wish I could do whatever I wanted whenever I wanted.”

Guess what? Having a chronic illness or disability is not nice. Not in the least. And, gasp shock, we don’t get to do whatever we want whenever we want. Far more often, our illness or disability prevents us from doing what we want to do.

Like work.

I was diagnosed with Fibromyalgia a couple of years ago, but had been suffering the symptoms for many years prior. I went through reams of tests. Rheumatoid arthritis, Lyme disease, endometriosis, bone cancer, just to name the big ones. There were more. So many more. Every new test always came back with the same result: negative. I was also hospitalised a few times, underwent a laparoscopy and had an MRI (which discovered a prolapsed disc, just to add insult to mystery). For those who aren’t aware, this is pretty much how Fibromyalgia is diagnosed. Process of elimination. Anyway.

I dread the question: “What do you do?” Hearing it gives me that sinking stomach sensation, because now I have to explain that I don’t work, and why. It’s not just a simple answer, because I have to correct the assumption that I’m unemployed-but-looking, or a stay-at-home mother. There’s also the added joy of trying to explain just what Fibromyalgia is and why it makes working any sort of ‘normal’ job all but impossible.

Fibromyalgia is pain. It’s a bone-deep ache, it’s shards of glass stabbing into your joints, it’s a burning sensation as if your muscles have somehow been set on fire, it’s sharp bolts of pain like you’re being randomly zapped with a cattle prod, it’s your head feeling as if the Hulk is crushing it in his hand, it’s laser beams of death being fired into your skull, it’s cramps so bad you can only liken it to an Alien chest-burster that got confused and is now tangled up in your guts.

Fibromyalgia is exhaustion. It’s having barely enough energy to crawl out of bed to make it to the loo before crawling right back into bed again. It’s the tired of having been active and on your feet all day after only three hours of puttering around the house to make breakfast and do a bit of tidying. It’s a sledgehammer of sleepiness where you’re perfectly fine one moment and the next can barely keep your eyes open.

Fibromyalgia is confusion. Cognitive dysfunction, also called fibro-fog. It’s forgetting what you’re doing in the middle of doing it. It’s losing words and having to struggle to finish a sentence. It’s forgetting names two minutes after hearing them.

Fibromyalgia is completely unpredictable. Asking me if I’m going to be feeling all right in three weeks/days/hours is like asking a Magic 8 Ball... well, anything.

I never know when I’m going to have a good day or a bad day, or when a good day is going to turn bad. All I can do is be hyper-aware of the signals my body is sending me and adjust to hopefully keep things at a balanced level.

So when I say I don't work due to chronic illness, and get the reply “Must be nice.” or “Wish I could stay home all day.” it’s more than a slap in the face. More than a punch in the gut. It’s a full-on Bruce Lee just flying-kicked me through a brick wall. Whatever the intention of the person saying it, whatever they might be thinking, it only comes across as one way: condescending. Because I have an illness, all of a sudden I am ‘less than.’ ‘Not good enough.’ I have been judged and found lacking as a person.

I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t want it. I wish I could work. I wish I didn’t need a cane for short distance walking. I wish I could commit to a long day out without needing a wheelchair.

Having Fibromyalgia, or any other chronic illness or disability that makes doing ‘normal’ things like holding a regular job difficult to impossible, is nothing to be envied. It is not nice. I can’t say that enough. It is not nice.

Yes, most days I’m at home and able to indulge in my crafting hobbies, my gaming, watching favourite TV shows and films, and that sounds wonderful right? It really, really isn’t. If other people think I’m lazy, just imagine how I feel, when I want to a productive member of my household. When, on a really bad day, I can’t even get out of bed, but there’s laundry to fold and dishes to wash and any of the other innumerable everyday tasks of keeping a house tidy. When, on a bad day, just doing a load of dishes or folding the laundry leaves me feeling like I just ran a 5K marathon.

Constant pain of varying degrees and types, constant fatigue of different levels, takes its toll, and not just physically. Mentally and emotionally as well. I am always fighting against depression, against feeling worthless and useless, against feeling like I’m nothing but a disappointment to everyone around me, against feeling like a burden on my husband. I might be outwardly laughing and smiling, but on the inside I’m a dark, writhing mass of self-recrimination and guilt.

So tell me again how that “Must be nice.”

Divine Aspects

DISCLAIMER: This is my personal belief. You don't have to agree with it, you don't have to share it. All I ask is that you respect it and if you wish to engage in discourse, keep it polite and civil. Bright Blessings

I can't pinpoint exactly when I first began to think of the Divine as a single Entity (or Force, if you will). When I initially began my journey down a Pagan path, I believed in a multitude of Gods and Goddesses, all separate and distinct from one another. And while I do still believe that They are all distinct, I no longer believe that They're separate. Not completely, anyway. 

I have come to believe that it's pure hubris on the part of anyone who claims to fully understand and comprehend the Divine. It's just not possible. This Entity, this Force, is huge, spanning across not just this Universe, but all possible Universes, realities and dimensions. We can connect with It, merge with It, commune with It, but fully comprehend It? Nuh uh.

The simplest analogy I can make is that the Divine is like a spinning multifaceted prism with light shining through it. When we look at the prism, our eyes are dazzled by the light refracting through all the facets and casting rainbows to swirl around us. And even when the prism is still, there are facets that are distorted or obscured from our view. We can change our angle of view, but we still can't see the entirety of the prism clearly.

So, how exactly does that analogy relate to the multitude of Gods and Goddesses who are honoured and worshiped across the world? Simple. Our mortal comprehension is limited. To fully and completely connect with the Divine as a whole would overwhelm our organic brains and bodies; the energy is just too vast, too powerful. But we can 'see' and connect to facets, and then we translate that spiritual experience into something we can relate to from our mortal experience. The shape of our lives, the culture we were raised in, the attitudes and influence of the people around us.

The result being the creation of Aspects. Born of the Divine, but given life by our belief in Their existence.

I feel it's important for me to note here, that this belief of mine does not mean that I discount the individual stories and mythos of the various Gods and Goddesses. It is not just our reality that contributes to the creation of these Aspects; also, They exist in realities of Their own.

They are the rainbows cast by the prism, each distinct, but still connected to and a part of the Divine Source.

So basically what I'm trying to say here is that whether you believe in only one God/dess or many, in the end we honour the Divine in our own way. That is my belief. That is why I embrace and celebrate the diversity of spirituality. I don't need to follow a specific Path to offer respect to its practitioners and the Aspects associated with it.

Learn from our differences and find kinship in our commonalities, for there is much we have to share and to teach.

The 'I Am' Post

Rambling babble, commence!

I tend to not be so good with these intro things. Silly, huh? A small surface overview of 'who I am' and 'what I'm about' shouldn't be difficult. And yet, there it is. I stare at the screen and the blinking cursor mocks me.

Of course, it does that quite a lot, intro post or not. Writer's block, that nemesis of millions. ^.~

So, let's see. I enjoy writing fiction, usually of the fantasy variety, though I haven't written anything in ages. I would say mostly original stories, but in recent years the majority of what I've written falls firmly under the title of fan fiction.

I'm quite a crafty type. I knit, crochet, cross stitch, make jewellery (usually beaded) and spin. I also do a teensy bit of hand-sewing once in a blue moon.

I'm an amateur artist; it's a hobby, not something I attempt professionally. I play around with a lot of different mediums: water colours, oil paints, pencil sketches, crayons (that's totally valid!). Just this year I delved into the world of digital art, and I've been greatly enjoying it. I haven't done too many pieces yet, but I'm learning and gradually finding my style.

Oh yes, I'm a gamer girl. I enjoy quite a few different games, from online MMOs, to single-player FPSs, to adventure games, to the more 'old school' board and card games. That is by no means the full list, just enough to give you a gist. =^.^= And speaking of games (and other things that I wasn't speaking of), I'd really like to get into Cosplay one of these days.

Let's see, what else? I'm an eclectic Pagan walking a Solitary path. Most recently I've been studying Santeria, as I feel quite a strong pull toward it and the Orishas; Oya and Yemaya in particular. There are also quite a few elements of Buddhism in my personal belief system, along with some Native American and a smidge of Norse. And a smattering of others. ^^

I believe in equality for all humans. ALL humans. I don't care what colour your skin is, what gender you identify as, who you love or what your religious/spiritual beliefs are. The only time I start to care is when someone tries to force their views, values and beliefs upon others. Otherwise, live and let live, I say.

"An it harm none, do what ye will."

I will say it plain: I am bi-sexual. This comes up only because I do and will talk about women that I find attractive, as well as men. This can confuse people because I am in a strong, satisfying monogamous marriage with a most wonderful man. So the usual assumption is that I'm straight.

My husband and I have known each other for 14 years, been together for 12, and married for 10. We 'met' online, then met face-to-face in California, and now live together in England. His home country; I'm an ex-pat. I originate from Wisconsin, the Land of Cheese. ^_^

And ya know what? I'm just gonna leave it there. Future posts shall delve more deeply into the wide variety of things that make me who I am.