The Mirror

UPG astral post disclaimer, blah, blah.

This story was stuck in my head this morning. It’s something that happened years ago, but if I’m revisiting it now, it probably means I should write it out and reexamine it.

Back then, I was training with Wakinyan, the Lakota Thunder Being. Sometimes Waki* is called a Thunderbird, but I find that if you get your cultures mixed up, that the Thunderbirds that other nations talk about bear little resemblance to the Thunder Being. S/He technically has wings but that’s where the resemblance to birds, or anything else, breaks down completely. Or, Wakinyan can look and act like a guy, even though he’s really a she. The lore says that if you see a Thunder Being’s true form, it will drive you insane. This explains much. Though honestly, I don’t think I had far to go in the first place.

Waki had me do this thing where I’d fly to the top of the mountain where I could look over my city. It was MY city. I had bonded with it. If anything went wrong, I could feel it like an itch that had to be scratched. If you hurt my city, you hurt me. I would feel compelled to fly down and do battle with whatever was causing the problem. I would fight spirits and constructs. Then I’d spend a few days to a week, healing from my injuries. Then I’d go out and do it again.

One evening I was hanging out in Waki’s house. His house is a wreck. There’s papers and stuff scattered all around the place. I noticed that the closet door was left open. I went to have a look. There was a full length mirror on the inside of the door. Astral mirrors have this nasty habit of telling the truth.

In the mirror, I saw a handsome young man. I can’t really tell you about any specific features, except that he appeared “golden.” I remembered what Sekhmet had told me a long time ago about my connection with Horus/Heru. I saw him in the mirror, and I knew exactly how bloody, freakishly, violent he could be. Like a lot of pagans, I started out with Wicca. “Harm none” had been thrown out the window and trampled to death a long time ago. I felt that he had no right to look that pretty. If he was going to act like a monster, he should have the courtesy of looking like one. My fist smashed the glass.

I often get the feeling that people don’t know the real Heru. I can’t really blame them because I don’t think he wants them to. I’ve met a lot of veterans with PTSD. I even married one. It’s complicated.

*Waki is not just a shortened nick name. It has a double meaning that is highly appropriate. I used to take an Iaido (Japanese katana) class. In it “waki gamae” was an upside down and backward hidden sword. Since Wakinyan is backward and contrary and Thunder Beings hide in the clouds, the name stuck. My friend used to always think it was pronounced like “whacky” which in terms of silliness and strangeness is also appropriate. It’s more like (wah-kee) the full name, Wakinyan, is more like (waw-kee-yaw).


I lied down on the mountain top, sprawled out on my belly. My awareness spread across the land, across dry, jagged rocks, between scratchy creosote, yucca and sotol plants, across pavement and houses, north east to the desert, and southwest to the river bed. Waki walked up and stopped a few feet away. “Are you ready to love again?” he asked. He came close, but I knew he wouldn’t touch me. I wasn’t his anymore, and my energy had been changed by Ra’s fire.

Love, so that’s what this is about.


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