Lying on the floor listening to music in between drawing belladonna on my walls, I no-faced up a bunch of poems yesterday. Here are two of them…and a third (a repost) from which they are a continuation on the same theme.
Pear Tree contains a direct quote from on of Seamus Heaney’s bog-body poems (‘soft moraines’ and ‘thighs’ being the first and last words of a particular stanza in Bog Queen.)
I’ve never been a blue calm sea. I’ve always been a storm
~ Stevie Nicks.
~ Saoirse.
It’s great how things come together sometimes. When a combination of planning plus serendipity collides to make something really *work*, it’s deeply gratifying. That’s how Lá Bealtaine was this year.
First in the new house. It is my habit most years to make a flower crown in May Day colours (yellow and white) for the day itself and then dry it out and hang it on my wall somewhere. The number of crowns grows as the years pass. Intentionally, however, I did not bring any of the flower crowns from the old apartment into the new house. So this year, the first crown has now officially been made, used in art, used in collective spellwork, and is drying in preparation to take it’s place on a fresh new wall.
I have been going through a really…interesting… time lately with old baggage and insecurity. It’s a good thing I’m a witch who knows how to eat their old skins. I’ve been reading the cards (and asking friends) repeated questions over and over, from different angles… really trying to go the distance with a few snags in the ball of twine that is my life. Pull on one thing, find it loops back to a shadow wiggling behind you, journal about it, cry about it (a LOT), feel it begin to process, rinse, repeat. I am aware that having the good fortune to finally feel safe in my living environment has provided the perfect setting for this kind of work – it’s in the safety and quiet that you finally realise… it’s just you now, bitch. Do you even KNOW how to be happy!?
The answer is yes…or more accurately, that I can learn. If there’s one thing I KNOW I’m good at, it’s learning…and beginning to learn… and beginning to begin.
So May Day. Full moon. Time to let some shit go. Also the first day of my period such as it exists. Other than emotional dysregulation (grrrreat), my chief symptom is swelling… waxing full and round just like the fucking moon. Good for shadow work though. And I guess it means I’m sloughing more than just metaphors…
I went a bit quiet in the days preceding. Journaling, reading cards, squirming at the answers, and resting. Then May Day came and despite the swelling, I wore all cream and white. All handmade. Two petticoats with lace trim. A handmade corded bust support based on the top half of the famous Symington “Pretty Housemaid” pattern. A corset cover inspired camisole made from the same wide lace trim that’s gathered into the hem of one of my petticoats. I had intentionally left my hair unwashed (but *not* uncleaned or untended) for over a month (May Day was day 35) and my roots were growing in like crazy (half an inch in a single month! weee!!!). Then I attended Mixtress Rae’s radio show to dance with my shadows and expel evil. I took part in a planned collective spell she lead during the show – 5 people working the spell including me, I think… across 3 continents. She followed up the spell with Kate Bush’s “Get Out of My House” which was very cathartic and effective.
I took all of this very seriously (amidst the joy of dancing and so on). I mulled my readings over and did follow up readings through the course of the weekend. I also finally fully washed and re-henna’d my hair. I haven’t used shampoo or conditioner in 3 years… or anything soap-like on my hair in 2.5 years… what I use varies a little but it’s mainly a hand-prepared clay mixture followed by a diluted vinegar wash about once a month at the moment. I like that I have to pay attention to it. I followed this up with some ‘home-spa’ style care. It was good. Medicinal. Needed.
I’m not done processing things, of course. Who is? Ever? But this is ultimately what witchcraft is about for me… I’m grateful to have it. None of it’s my first rodeo but *that* feels pretty fucking cool!
~Saoirse.
So I’m reworking the first disc of my “You and Me and the Devil Makes Three” mix-set to be less of a randomized selection of the others’ tastes and, instead, more in line with mine… and focusing on what it is to be a changeling (child) witch. It reminded me that I wanted to post a few videos (three, in fact) that capture what my dreams/nightmares were like as a little kid. While no single of one of these videos is an exact replica, taken as a group and sort of …meshed together… you get a near-perfect representation of what they look(ed) like.
Right down to painted faces, labyrinthine city structures and old parking garages, strange dingy forgotten tenement buildings, grown-up-children, poverty, splitting wounds, blood, and disease… and a lot of very sad lonely people crying for things I couldn’t even give myself.
The earliest and most ‘proto-typical’ of these dreams that I can remember was from when I was six. Many of them are recurring. Many show up in my poetry (of which I have included some examples in this post). And they are, of course, on-going.
… When the Morrígan makes sense to you, I guess it’s because REASONS. 😉
Do with all that what you will… it makes for great creative fodder.
~ Saoirse.
PS. The featured image on this post is a photo of me that is no less unsettling in it’s original form… Sweet dreams, witchy children 😛
Sitting in my weedy lair, thinking over creative ambition, doors between worlds, and the way witchcraft works wonders – staring out at blackbirds, hooded crows (and a wren!) flitting between drifting spells of rain – I finally finished two poems.
The first, paradoxically, took over a month.
The second was a classic case of how most of my poems emerge… “No-facing” them up from the gut and barfing them all over the page like so much ectoplasm.
The winter weather continues but I’m not sad about it. On Imbolc, I went for a river-side walk for several hours. Starting in the morning mist and ending in the midday sun through fields and several different woods, my partner and I saw two grey herons fly overhead with sticks in their beaks. The Cailleach gathers firewood! Six more weeks of winter. As it happened, we also saw their nesting place: five full grown grey herons perched in the tree tops overhanging the edge of the river… uncanny in their beauty.
~ Saoirse.
(Decks shown: “Trionfi della Luna (Paradoxical)” – 3 of Coins, Knight of Wands, 2 of Coins – and “Oracle médiéval et merveilleux” – “Colère” – in inverted blacklight)
PS. A personal reminder, “Eviscerate” by Faetooth playing as I post this <3
So we’re officially entering summer-like weather here in Ireland which, of course, means I’m losing my will to think. I have, however, been steadily working away on various creative projects the past few months and my aim is to continue this emphasis on gradual progress. It’s causing an interesting layering of imagery in my projects as well which, ideally, will lend itself to something like stylistic and symbolic cohesion…
For some important context on this post, I have previously written about Sexual Identity, Sexual Expression, & Gender Alignment + Tarot.
The idea for my latest video had it’s origins in a conversation with a friend. We were talking about the impact (over the years) of specific moments where you’re shown what you really aren’t to someone else… human, in this case. I brought up Cake’s “Friend is a Four Letter Word” being pointedly played at me as an example to which she replied “UGH what girl of a certain age HASN’T had that song used at them!?”
To which I would like to add, I’m sure there are a lot of people who used that song either at others or even at *themselves* to absorb or express something toxic that so many of us have internalised.
I myself don’t have the strongest bond to the “she/her” social identity. I have explained this in part in the aforementioned blog post. I don’t spend time calling myself a ‘girl’ or ‘woman’ in my head. That’s something that other people call me… usually the rudest people I know, too. I am less and less willing to have “she/her” plastered everywhere and have been opting instead for “she/they”… and the magical and artistic process behind this video (and other projects) has helped me to draw a crucial line in my life more generally: I can no longer sustain connections with people who see me as a ‘girl’ before they see me as a person.
Good conversations with good friends inspire so much don’t they!?
Thus, rather belatedly, it struck me that this was a bigger picture issue… but in my case this needless dichotomy that as a femme-ish person I may *either* feel human *or* sexual but not both in a patriarchal system has taken on this rage infused haunting quality. Of course, we see this theme all throughout demonic witchcraft tropes and mythic narratives and it’s not accidental at all that the goddess under whose auspice I live is imbued with sexual identity and expression… in a shapeshifting and often horror-based way!
In my opinion sexuality in general is a deeply fluid & poetic thing. It is beyond gender, of course, because gender is non-binary and sexual preferences and identity isn’t really map-able. It’s much like magic. Felt, learned, practiced, explored, poured out, drunk in, sung, quietly spoken… everything everywhere and nothing nowhere all at once. In the mind and/or in the body as you please. Mythicly real and woven from autonomy, agency, and consent.
People don’t get to hear nearly often enough how sensually beautiful they are… because humans really can be like living walking poetry. Embodiments of sacred verse! Yet time and space are wasted in saying you are either ‘friend’ to me or ‘something more’!? What is “more” in this scenario!? I was a mystical sexual being before I met almost everyone I know now (as well as certain people I knew *back then*) and I continue to be when people leave my life story. Yet somehow I could still read a book, climb a mountain, perform in concert halls across cities and countries, have thoughts and opinions all my own about whatever I wish… and appreciate the sensory, sensual, and sexual beauty of my friends regardless of gender.
One thing I have been doing for these projects is constructing “what’s playing in the studio” mixes. I made three that function as a whole unit (not unlike Tom Waits’ “Orphans: Brawlers, Bawlers, & Bastards” trinity) but that can also be listened to individually. Each one has a loose narrative structure on its own but as a group of three albums they also progress from the more collective/general (and femme)* to the more vulnerable/authentic/personal.
*[Edit February 2026 – dissatisfaction with the lack of direction and gendered nature of the first playlist has led me to re-do it to represent the idea of cosmically ‘heard’ words & magical power… making all three volumes subjective and biographical, “auto-” or otherwise. The new thematic progression might be said to be Volume 1 – (Changeling) Words/Volume 2 – (Murder) Stories/Volume 3 – (Nonverbal) Tongues…]
I made the second ‘disc’ first and it’s the one that fed most directly into the video above.
Each one features 15 tracks… see what I did there, tarot-nerds? ^_^ They’re mostly what they say on the tin except for three things: 1) it is worth bearing in mind the unreliable narrator as well as the idea of incompatible yet simultaneous truths; 2) these are not necessarily a faithful representation of *my* taste (although of course, they are born from the limitations of my exposure***); and 3) the third album is my answer to the question “what would I play if I let myself really say what I wanted to say musically?” Note, there are almost no lyrics or words on it at all.
Unfortunately, I can only make these available through youtube at the moment because the third album has two tracks I had to alter slightly to allow for a more natural fade into the next track. If anyone knows a good, free, freely available, and less-ad-ridden way to host these let me know!
Lastly, I’ll give you a visual glimpse of one of my other recent projects completed as part of this on-going process:
I made myself earrings inspired by the Devil’s foot in Jim Henson’s the Storyteller! You can barely tell, but I am wearing them in certain shots in the video (and in the header image for this post!) The screencaps above are taken from ‘the’ tube but I *DO* own a copy of the DVD series with John Hurt (I don’t have the Greek myths with Michael Gambon and have actually never watched them either.) These are paper mache clay, acrylic paint, and varnished to make them water proof etc.
Ok that’s all for now. Bear in mind, this is all a work in progress and likely poorly expressed! Back to feeling demotivated in the gathering heat.
~ Saoirse.
*** For example, Laura Marling features on the second album twice but I have REAL issues with her worldview as an artist. She’s made some good music in the past, that is all.
Get ready for a spat of unstructured posts. As I have said over on my youtube channel, I’m going to prioritise posting less formalised content for a little while. Honestly, everything about my online presence should be approached like that anwyay so this shouldn’t present much difficulty!
Recently, I have been talking to various people in my life about what we expect and value out of friendship (short and long term). We’ve been talking about aging, about appearances, about performance and body horror, and about external pressures and standards… narratives around expectations and control… and just how many people want to see themselves mirrored in others to the point of trying to force others to reflect what they want to see about themselves. It’s a pain to be fascinating to anyone, it seems. But it’s also a pain to be fascinating to no one. In a lot of cases, both result in people telling you what to be and how to be it the way THEY want…
I assume I’m not alone in feeling these pressures or in seeing how they clash with my expectations for healthy relationships. I don’t really think any age group is immune from them but as I get older I allow myself the liberty I always wanted to toy with these expectations. I love glamour magick and, sure, some of that can be maligned as shallow aesthetics and ‘playing dress up’ (if one is inclined to see such things as negative) but I love to subvert those narratives with accents of rebellion. Flowing gown? Sure. But add confronting skull earrings or drape silver bones around your neck. Velvets, sultry necklines, cute little glistening moonstone jewels, and makeup? Fine. But my lips and eyebrows might be painted “frostbite” blue.
Heck, the number of people who are thrown off by a black frock and tattoos is hilarious so it’s not like it takes much.
People can look and project, but *I* like to make the acknowledgement of death and decay a non-negotiable component of what they’re taking in. I don’t really care what their conclusions are, per se, but *I’m* not going to subvert these elements for their comfort.
To that effect, I have begun to explore this sort of thing in poetry and so on… and, as is often the case, making the link with other media, like music:
Usually, I’m thinking of many different tunes even if explicitly making reference only to one. Here are some other bits and bobs that have been floating around my head of late:
So far as I can tell, the lyrics are approximately as follows:
LAL LAL ARS’ A’ CHAILLEACH**
(chorus) Lal lal, lal lal, lal lal, ars’ a’ chailleach,
Lal lal, lal lal, lal lal, ars’ a’ chailleach,
Lal lal, lal lal, lal lal, ars’ a’ chailleach,
Ith am bò, thogaidh ò, ith am bò, ars’ am bodach.Am pòs thu fhéin, am pòs thu fhéin, am pòs thu fhéin, ars’ a’ chailleach,
Am pòs thu fhéin, am pòs thu fhéin, am pòs thu fhéin, ars’ a’ chailleach,
Am pòs thu fhéin, am pòs thu fhéin, am pòs thu fhéin, ars’ a’ chailleach,
Pòsaidh mi, pòsaidh mi, pòsaidh mi, ars’ am bodach.Có an tè, có an tè, có an tè, ars’ a’ chailleach,
Có an tè, có an tè, có an tè, ars’ a’ chailleach,
Có an tè, có an tè, có an tè, ars’ a’ chailleach,
Tha thu fhéin, tha thu fhéin, tha thu fhéin, ars’ am bodach.Cuin a thig thu, cuin a thig thu, cuin a thig thu, ars’ a’ chailleach,
Cuin a thig thu, cuin a thig thu, cuin a thig thu, ars’ a’ chailleach,
Cuin a thig thu, cuin a thig thu, cuin a thig thu, ars’ a’ chailleach,
As a’ mhionaid, as a’ mhionaid, as a’ mhionaid, ars’ am bodach.LAL LAL SAID THE OLD WOMAN
Lal lal, lal lal, lal lal, said the old woman
Eat the cow, you will raise, eat the cow, said the old man.Will you marry yourself, will you marry yourself, will you marry yourself, said the old woman…
I will marry, I will marry, I will marry, said the old manWho’s she, who’s she, who’s she, said the old woman…
You are yourself, you are yourself, you are yourself, said the old manWhen will you come, when will you come, when will you come, said the old woman…
In a minute, in a minute, in a minute, said the old man.
And here is a lovely live version of the same tune, sung with Julie Fowlis and Muireann Nic Amhlaoibh! Look at them giggling at the lyrics!
It should be noted that my Irish is terrible but my Scottish Gaelic is non-existent.*** I’m wondering if the ‘rise/lift’ in “thogaidh ò” might have a double meaning in this context? Also, as far as I can tell, it’s possible the reflexive pronoun (“fhéin”) serves a similar function to the corresponding word in Irish – as an intensifier or for emphasis, as in “selfsame”. So “tha thu fhéin” is likely to translate more like “You yourself!” etc. Lastly, “co an tè” translates more literally as “who’s the one?” except that “tè” means ‘one’ in a female or feminine context. It reminds me of “who’s your one” (or “yer wan”) here in Ireland to ask “who’s that” with reference to women… but I’m only assuming there’s a link.
Finally, musically speaking, I want to end on a note that packs a more magical and otherworldly punch to these themes I’m exploring. It should be no surprise that, as a devotee of the Morrígan (UPG), I appreciate a good ‘otherworldly woman pursues mortal man’ narrative. Whether she’s rejected or not, it’s an appealing vehicle for commentary!
The lyrics for Sir Mannelig**** are as follows:
Swedish
Bittida en morgon innan solen upprann
Innan foglarna började sjunga
Bergatrollet friade till fager ungersven
Hon hade en falskeliger tungaHerr Mannelig Herr Mannelig trolofven I mig
För det jag bjuder så gerna
I kunnen väl svara endast ja eller nej
Om I viljen eller ej.Eder vill jag gifva de gångare tolf
Som gå uti rosendelunde
Aldrig har det varit någon sadel uppå dem
Ej heller betsel uti munnenEder vill jag gifva de qvarnarna tolf
Som stå mellan Tillö och Ternö
Stenarna de äro af rödaste gull
Och hjulen silfverbeslagnaEder vill jag gifva ett förgyllande svärd
Som klingar utaf femton guldringar
Och strida huru I strida vill
Stridsplatsen skolen I väl vinnaEder vill jag gifva en skjorta så ny
Den bästa I lysten att slita
Inte är hon sömnad av nål eller trå
Men virkat av silket det hvitaSådana gåfvor jag toge väl emot
Om du vore en kristelig qvinna
Men nu så är du det värsta bergatroll
Af Neckens och djävulens stämmaBergatrollet ut på dörren sprang
Hon rister och jämrar sig svåra
Hade jag fått den fager ungersven
Så hade jag mistat min plågaEnglish
Early one morning before the sun rose up
Before the birds began to sing
The mountain troll proposed to the handsome young man
She had a false tongueHerr Mannelig, herr Mannelig, will you be betrothed to me?
For that, I offer you gifts very gladly
Surely you can answer only yes or no
If you wish to or not.To you I wish to give the twelve horses [palfreys]
That go in the grove of roses
Never has there been a saddle upon them
Nor a bridle in their mouthsTo you I wish to give the twelve mills
That are between Tillö and Ternö
The stones are made of the reddest gold
And the wheels are covered in silverTo you I wish to give a gilded sword
That chimes of fifteen gold rings
And fight however you fight [well or badly]
The battle site you would surely winTo you I wish to give a shirt so new
The best you will want to wear
It was not sewn with needle or thread
But worked of white silkSuch gifts I would surely accept
If thou wert a Christian woman
However, thou art the worst mountain troll
The spawn of the Neck and the DevilThe mountain troll ran out the door
She shakes and wails hard
If I had got the handsome young man
I would have got rid of my plight
The narrative structure here bears a lot of similarity to an old favourite of mine, “The Loathly Lady” … a version of which is called “King Henry” by Steeleye Span. Steeleye Span also sings a version of “Allison Gross” and so on. There are many traditional variations on the theme of promising/demanding gifts and goods. Sometimes it’s in the hopes of lifting a curse, other times in bestowing one, all of which can occur with or without ‘conjugal felicities’ at the end.
I feel especially drawn towards wondering about “between states” though… so much of the media available to us either focuses almost entirely on young women (with what is subjectively for me an uncomfortable current trend towards childlike china-doll makeup styles) or much older fully grey women (if any older women at all). What about the process of *becoming*? Neither young nor old but anything and everything in between? Are we not shapeshifters?
Aren’t these divisions all rather broadly brushed in the end? Who does ‘maiden, mother, crone’ apply to anyway… I’m not aware of there being a straightforward “maiden” component to the Morrígan, for example, and I think her “motherhood”-relevant narratives are deeply complicated. Ultimately – at least from my lived perspective and my own religious Unverified Personal Gnosis – that’s not really a paradigm that illuminates much. Aging is interesting but dividing it according to sexual reproductive function as a marker of social development and value? …Perhaps only with biting sarcasm. At best it’s one variable with rather limited pre-conditions.
Hence the reference to my current age in the poem.
Sincerely,
Saoirse.
* This Baltimore Consort recording seems to be the only one I can find of this tune. Incidentally, I did have this album growing up and I have mixed feelings about it. For example, the vocalist is American and she mispronounces “cailín” in “Pretty Maid Milking Her Cow” at one point…
** Here’s some info on Rona Lightfoot! ~ https://projects.handsupfortrad.scot/hall-of-fame/rona-lightfoot/
*** I’m really thrown by Scottish accent marks. I’m used to Irish having only the fada!
**** Erik Ask-Upmark is as well known Swedish folk musician and performer of various traditional and historical nordic music. His main musical groups are Dråm, Svanevit, and Falsobordone. I have had the great privilege of meeting him as well as hearing him lecture and perform (including Sir Mannelig!) Also, here is the wiki article for Herr Mannelig ~ https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Herr_Mannelig
The header image is a Portrait of Christina of Denmark (incidentally ca. 36-37 years old :P), Duchess of Milan and of Lorraine, dated 1558, by François Clouet … There is another more famous Holbein portait of Cristina done when she was as teen widow.
PLEASE NOTE ~ I didn’t do a great job of diversifying my language in this post. It may come across as specific to cis-gendered female experiences but I want it to be clear that I think these pressures apply to all genders… and to the extent that the cis-gendered experience differs from others, I see that mainly as part of the over-arching problem of external – often valueless – pressures.
I have been working on categorising my poetry. I knew there were a few themes that, in general, a lot of my poetry might fall under… but I have spent the last week or so slowly charting, dating, accounting for and making sure I had back ups of my poetry and the first realisation that came out of this is that I have written over 70 poems since the beginning of 2021.
There are almost no poems before that until you travel back about 10 years.
Turns out field-working autistic burnout and shuffling personal care away from heavily medicated *misdiagnoses* brings the poet back out in a person… but I digress.
What is challenging about assigning organised and uniform categories to my poetry is that, of course, there is organic overlap. This is precisely what it is to be an archivist (i.e. why we don’t rearrange physically what we categorise intellectually) …Or if I were to try and write up a descriptive summary of each poem and derive collection schema from there… THAT would be more like the work of a rare books librarian wrangling unique/historic items into DCRM(B) and MARC-XML friendly formats.
…I digressed again.
The point is, it’s tough but I LOVE doing this sort of thing… ad infinitum, it seems.
Here is a pie chart I have constructed and colour-coded to represent the themes and distribution of my poetry as of right now. Representing 71 poems written between January 9th, 2021 and October 15th, 2024. (I’ve written a few more but for various reasons they are not included on this list.)
(Interestingly, there are a few I cannot find copies of though I know I at least have physical copies somewhere. Bad LIS-professional! No cookie!!!)
The colours are loosely significant but the important thing to absorb here is that a) poetry is one of the main ways I channel my anger… especially as an autistic who goes largely non-verbal under social/interpersonal duress and b) I actually think of the Tower Quartet and (Channeled) Anger as subsets of a larger intellectual fonds …which is called “Excavations”. You will see that title in the pie chart as pertaining to a single slice, but really you can also view “Excavations” more broadly as occupying just over 45% of the chart! …The unifying emphasis is on digging deep, getting into the chthonic, and shadow-working my shit… oh, and a little revenge poetry here and there.
The thematics in the rest equally relate to each other pretty intensely. My poetry is always devotional in nature but some poems are more direct forms of near-audible gnosis. This makes sense to me from a mythic perspective as it is (personally) derived from the function of verse, alliteration, sorcery, ‘supplication’, evocation, and so on in medieval Irish literature.
I have made “Death” green mainly to evoke a #deathpositive association – ‘verdure from void’. I could equally (and perhaps should) have made it some kind of gold colour:
“I know you’ll remember me when I’m gone
remember my stories, remember my songs
I’ll leave them on earth, sweet traces of gold
oh, they’re calling me home, they’re calling me home.”
~ “They’re Calling Me Home”, Rhiannon Giddens
I will likely include little blurbs illuminating each category on a basic level whenever I manage to post them.
At any rate, I still need to figure out how to create a poetry gallery where poems that can’t occupy a single slide might appear… Until then, here are some of the poems I’ve written in September and October (minus “Athame”… which I have posted already.)
I suppose this set is all rather on the nose, but the themes of each are as follows: Love, Excavation, Death, Anger, and Anger.
For what it’s worth, I guess.
~ Saoirse.
* Get it? Theme-attics and Scheme-attics? Because it’s a post about poetry thematics and schematics? And I have a thing for sad attics? Ba-dum-tssshhh!!! Genius at it’s finest. I kill me.
Things that fed this one?
Petrus Christus’ “Madonna of the Dry Tree” (1465). That painting is a door, goddammit.
Also, Antichrist legends and an Irish annal entry for the supernova that is now the crab nebula.
…and some other things based in devotion and personal gnosis.
~ Saoirse.
** Image of Madonna of the Dry Tree is in public domain, sourced from wikipedia: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Madonna_of_the_Dry_Tree#/media/File:Petrus_Christus_-_The_Virgin_of_the_dry_Tree_-_1465.jpg
So, just some thoughts.
The issue of lacking social terminology to define my own sexual identity and preferences for expression is pretty perennial for me. For some context, I grew up in a town known (at least in that general set of townships) for being a *relatively* inclusive place… we were one of the early towns in our part of the state to have a rainbow painted crosswalk etc. However, the language of most parents and highschoolers I encountered was not only highly heteronormative but also rather homophobic and … honestly well ignorant of anything resembling fluiditiy of identity, expression, or lived experience. I and my friends spent a lot of time watching and attending Rocky Horror but didn’t have access to too much else… and most understandings of sexual expression were contextualised along lines of ‘promiscuity’ rather than a more sex-positive outlook.
My college – at least at that time – was fairly unusual in that there were no bathrooms segregated by gender identity. All dorms, bathrooms, and shower areas were gender neutral. Asking for pronouns was considered a totally run of the mill polite thing to do. People had classes to go to and life to explore and nobody gave a shit whether you were prone to monogamy or followed any specific paradigm of any kind at all. Coming back to my home town/area for work after college was a massive culture shock.
Years later, I remember having a conversation with my BIL over pints about how the secondary school one of his kids was attending was talking to the parents about possibly introducing gender neutral bathrooms and (at the time) he was really against it for a man who seemed only to have unanswered questions. A lot of ‘what if’s’… to which I was able to say, ‘Well, I can tell you from personal experience [insert anecdotal answer here]… and that was 10 years ago.”
The same night (over more pints) the discussion around consent came up. It was a topic newly in circulation at the time (the #metoo movement had arrived in the awareness of the slightly older generation in Ireland by then) and I heard the usual stock answers of ‘Isn’t it a huge turn off to just ask someone if you can kiss them?”
Jesus CHRIST on a split banana, I had things to say.
So here’s my perspective on the benefits of promoting diversified vocabulary along with some musings on my own identity.
Personal preference is like a favourite colour. We don’t have bathrooms only for those who pick green. We don’t care if someone used to be purple but now they’re silver. We don’t have to have full blown personal crises if ‘suddenly’ we don’t get to assume everyone loves blue. You can ask or be interested in the world… and you will find that some people *do* love blue. Just blue. Nothing but blue. Other people don’t care about blue but they’ve noticed they like blue things… blueberries (with a purple tinge), the sky in late summer, the dark slate blue of the glistening sea. Other people will verge more toward periwinkle. Other people will swear that they don’t mind blue but they’d NEVER wear it… and still other people will be somewhere else in the colour wheel entirely and, as a matter of fact, don’t engage with cool colour shades at all.
What matters (of course, this is not revolutionary) is that we give people language and vocabulary while also communicating that words are allowed to be an approximation.
So, personally, I find very little terminology to express what I feel I am in social terms. Usually this doesn’t bother me – I benefit from a lot of intersectional forms of privilege. But it really irks me when it comes to the erasure of daily lived nuance.
In the past, lacking better words, I would have described myself as a ‘nympho’ or ‘hypersexual’. I’ve been ‘boy crazy’ since I was 5 but my understanding of (loosely speaking socially male or socially masculine) beauty is highly sensory in nature. I love line, texture, movement, colour. I love expression. I love embodiment. And I love these things physically and sexually… My creative impulse is strong, constant, and sexually expressive. It’s amazing I’ve ever been called a ‘tease’ given that I am and always have been ‘easy’ as fuck.
As a teen, there were certain partners (and especially one particular individual) who would have used this term ‘tease’ but at the same time were operating on the assumption that there was no such thing as a ‘woman’ who just said ‘yep! let’s go’ if you asked her directly if she’d be down for various things. They’d resort to indirect forms of emotional manipulation – verging on coersion (pouring my drinks etc.) – to get me to ‘put out’…when all they had to do was just ask and we’d have gotten there already. If anything, messing with my boundaries made me clam up. Once, I can remember literally already being naked by the time someone felt they needed to get me more drunk…which had the effect of making me put my clothes back on and call my mother to come pick me up. For the record, we still did it generally, just not that night. My attitude has always been – don’t insult my intelligence, it’s a turn off.
I struggled to find concise terminology for my own identity. I have a long and dark history of ED so some of this is complicated by learned shame around my natural embodied reality. In a recent google search, trying to find something other than ‘hypersexual’ (which comes with connotations of compulsion and addiction in the clinical sense, which doesn’t apply to me) I came across an article where someone invented the term “flammasexual” to imply easily ignited and with gusto. Like, frequently and merrily aflame with sexual impulse and desire. Sex like spiritual fire in the solar plexis. Sensory experience like visionary ecstasy in the finger tips. Magic pouring from carnal portals.
If we think of that in ‘Wands’ terms, I think that makes excellent sense. It makes for a good descriptor.
However, if we then turn to qualifying identity in ‘romantic’ terms… I’m not sure I have a suitable word yet. I don’t always know what ‘romantic’ means. For me, it’s never been proposals, rings, monogamy by default, roses and candlelit dinners. I’m more of a ‘explore an old crypt with a loved one and talk enthusiastically about medieval mysticism over pints later’ kind of person. A let’s live through things together and have fun kind of person. These are things one can do with friends. So, for me, my ‘romantic’ relationship is down to longevity of closeness, dedication to mutual development and growth, shared language, and… sex! Certainly I think there is a romanticism to how friendship at least *can* work. I really enjoy seeing the sensory beauty of my friends. I love seeing the colour and temperature in someone’s face or the way their hair sticks up in the wind. I love the suddenness of some people’s humour or the gentle slow burn of a joke that takes ages to be gotten in full. And the level of disappointment I feel when someone I thought was a friend turns and all but says “yea we share interests but I’ve decided to be mean to you about something or to forget that you matter” cuts deep… Perhaps, I romanticise friendship too much then?
So, personally, I understand a romantic perspective on life… I understand romanticism… but I’ve never overtly linked them with sexual interaction and expression. They can and do co-occur but they’re not interdependent. Would that be… ‘aroflux’? Or ‘abroromantic’? One term seems to emphasise the fluctuation and the other the romanticism… Neither have ever been as constant a part of my identity as sexual desire, attraction, expression, and sensory experience.
I’ve been romantically in love with fictional characters (‘fictoromantic’) with whom I can’t ‘consummate’ anything except on the astral so… Thoughts in the comments if you know terms that approximate what I’m trying to get at here!
Is ‘Gomez & Morticia/Laszlo & Nadja with a healthy dose of Leonard Cohen’s carnal mysticism thrown in’ a sexual/romantic identity? Because if so, that’s what I’d align with best.
Lastly, the emphasis for me has always been on clear, useful, and honest communication. On not pushing boundaries where they aren’t willing to go. Perhaps this is because I am autistic and am oriented toward seeking clarity over hoping I can risk passing something off as smooth and cool.
A final example of what I mean. I had a conversation recently around the lack of opportunity and cultural permission to speak openly about things – especially as a non-binary* person with what is often perceived as a feminine style of dress. (I was assigned female at birth and I allow those pronouns only as an approximation and out of vestigial/uncomfortable social inertia. I struggle with the awareness that other people hear things I don’t mean if I use female pronouns. The binary is a system very few benefit from, if anyone really, so for clarity my pronouns are currently she/they.) As an introvert who has been in a monogamous sexual relationship for over 16 years and is now socially perceived as an ‘ageing woman’… there aren’t many people who get to hear the way I talk about things on a natural daily level or understand that my worldview doesn’t necessarily match their assumptions.
In this example, a person was surprised to hear that I don’t emphasise monogamy by default and that I see no practical use for society being so rigidly founded on monogamous partnership. The ‘polyamory is just an excuse to cheat’ clause came up and I said NO – polyamory [or any other non-monogamous relationship structure] is not cheating because it’s founded on open communication and consent.’ If a person enters, say, in to a relationship on the explicit understanding that their consent is founded on a condition of exclusivity, then their partner ‘cheats’ in so far as they violate those terms for consent. In this case, if ‘the lads’ (mates of the person I was talking to) have sex with someone else (sticking with the sex-based example here) knowing their wives are not okay with it and then return home to conceal that truth… they are tampering with the conditions of her consent. Could not this kind of problem be avoided if we placed less automated emphasis on ‘everyone should get married, in specifically this kind of ceremony, in this one kind of partnership, spending this certain amount of money, within this narrow range of ages regardless of inclination or practical maturity…so we can all complain of the ball and chain later like it’s some kind of rite of passage!?”
I value art and card based divination. I value witchcraft… I value the power and embodiment that witchcraft and paganism have helped me teach myself. At some point I may talk explicitly about how my devotion to the Morrígan plays a role in this. But I do not value exclusively ‘sanitised’ imagery, absence of physical diversity, rigid gender essentialism and so on. People of course do their shadow work and come to terms with different worldviews at difference paces and on their own journeys… Tarot meanings and symbolism must reflect that if it really is to be ‘the book of life’.
Is the tarot capable? Only as capable as we think we are…
~ Saoirse
* Specifically, xenogender. (Here are some explanatory links: Xenogender – Gender Wiki & Xenogender – Nonbinary Wiki)
