LOKI'S CHANGELING

Punishment for Living

This world is but one of many.

Over the years, a few people have pleaded with me to write something featuring autobiography. I can write about my visions, I can write about my dreams. I can write about my meetings with the dead, and other things, but writing about myself has never worked, because I’m not who you might think. So this is the best I can do, to relive my early years, and share them with you.

This Scintillating Darkness

Unperceived

Is the Home Unrecognized

Among us.

From here I moved into reality

A return

To suffering through incarnation

No direction

Easily found to the Scintillating Darkness

The void

No vector to reveal its reality,

Only Death.

Nobody knows-no one esteemed by this society knows what Life is or for that matter what is Death. The esteemed seem to claim that life is sustained by biological, or to a certain extent botanical processes. So abrahamic, saying that life is only that which reacts overtly, when damaged directly. Therefore somehow death is cessation of those processes. So the hills have no life, nor winds much less oceans. Modern mankind lives in a world fully dead, and his greatest fear is that of death itself.

My earliest memories were visions, and my earliest visions were dreams. There is always a maze and a plan to awareness, made as it is of myriad layers, mazes upon mazes under the sea.

Loki sailed Nagelfar across the rolling waves

Death Ship

Destined trip

Driving to Ragnarok at the world’s edge.

I was so unlike anyone in my family, although the paranormal infusion I did share with others, but in terms of interests and personality, there was no one like me. I was told by family that I was born in the wrong time. My appearance can change incredibly. My life has been like travelling a thousand different rays, a thousand different paths, flowing in a current, to their own mysterious conclusion.

They told me I was anything but easy. My mother said it was 72 solid hours of labor, lots of hard drugs and medical insanity. According to those who say they know, back in ancient times, a third of all women died in childbirth. Their babies usually died with them. My morbid curiosity gets the best of me, when I wonder about my birth history. I have a strange uneasy feeling that the Archons in charge of biology had declared that I, and possibly Mom were not entitled to live. Then did Fairie made a deal with Mr. Nasty. They got a human child, Mom was able to live, and I, I was the changeling of Loki. After all, my Mom had twins on the way before me, a special blessing, taken from her coldly by those hateful Archons of biology. Had it not been for that, her life might have been easy, nor would I be here to write this today.

She bore the scars from my birth to the end of her days. I wonder at what point I was ushered away, because it wasn’t like I was allowed to stay with her. I was fed formula like some synthetic brood, but who would care about the fate of the unlikely baby?

The ancient story of the changeling is found in many different places across Europe. It is said that uncanny mischievous Fairie switches human children for their own, and no one usually knows the better. Is there any hard and fast way to determine if one’s child has been switched? The legends don’t really say, and there are none who cover the fate of the Fairie baby brought into human company. Therefore this may be the first, for an explanation of what happens to those such as us.

Mom was weird, for certain. Her siblings gave her hell for it often. She believed in all the standard leftist pillars of ideology. That wasn’t what made her strange-not in this society! No, Moms’ weirdness came from her intersection with the paranormal reality.

Mom saw ghosts, and could read the future. She knew what other people were thinking. She got to the point where it all turned on her bad when she got religion.

Dad in his way was at least as weird as Mom, although he was convinced he was normal. The one thing he did have was a sense of humor, on those rare occasions he used it. There was this time when all these big kids were after me. They liked to do that because I was small and alone and easy pickins for them and their fellow goons-but I got some hits into them too.

Dad had great advice for me. He told me to shout BACK OFF I KNOW KUNG FU!

So, I asked him what to do if they attacked me anyway, he said yell back to them STOP!

I MEANT THE GUY NOT THE STUFF!

He thought it was funny. Dad never got that I wasn’t ‘a chip off the old block.’ It just never registered. Reality to Dad was society, and society was reality, there was no thought or consideration for anything out of that context, including life and death.

I don’t know how people get around the inevitable, it’s like a black wall that no one sees past because everybody is using the eyes of the world…This world, but there are others. I know there are other worlds because I’ve been to some, and I’m certain there are many more. I’ll relate my account of the first one I remember.

I was super young, and Dad had us move to another place again. I was kind of numb, didn’t know anyone or the lay of the land. One fine bright day I took off alone, into the arms of this living existence. I have never felt that the world was dead, nor did I give such evil thoughts a place in my head. I wandered off and away from civilization, to eventually find myself in a place where the tall tawny grasses grew into a towering creation. It was a magical place I had entered. Everything I knew or I was just faded away, amongst the mighty poles that climbed so far beyond my gaze. In the farthest reaches above one could catch glimpses of the blue sky, but surrounding me in all directions was the breathing of the huge plant people. I tried to move through this mysterious forest gently. I don’t know how long I was there, or where I was going, only that I emerged into a world forgotten.

It was the ruin of life lived poorly. I didn’t know it then, but it was a living premonition of what I would experience directly, the abject failure of this society. Railroad tracks completely overgrown, and a dilapidated home with bones of its vanished life strewn around in decay.

The house spied silently from its perch beyond the railroad tracks, a skull bleaching quietly in the sun. I’ve seen the corpses of great Elk lying, and watched over time as their limbs and their bones were dragged and strewn about widely. I didn’t know it then, but this was what I was seeing. Strange odd shapes and forms were its bones and its limbs, and that dead old house just sat there, staring out of empty window sockets.

I have no memory of finding my way back to my new temporary abode. Somehow I got back, and when I asked Mom about the old place, of course she knew nothing. But I discovered that there is a silence to this world, untroubled by human activity, meeting noisy efforts with rust and quiet breezes. The loud sounds that filled the sky from buisy mankind only for so long keep the Grim Reaper at bay.

How I tried and tried to return to the bleached skull house, and the reed forest at its approach. I told everyone who would listen including adults. They would say there were no railroad tracks anywhere around us.

No old houses abandoned.

No reed forests that grew.

The community was pretty new, built up from old sold off farmland.

I launched multiple expeditions in different directions. I took other kids along who knew the place better than I, and at different times I thought I was on the right trail, but it never led back to the reeds, or the tracks, or the old skull house. It always kind of haunted me, that thing of walking into another world, the fact that I could never find it again was baffling. Of course no one, and certainly not me had at that point heard of Fairie.

I came very close just once, wandering. The grasses were short, and they were green but it felt kind of similar to the time in the forest of tawny reeds. I wandered up a hill and naked earth greeted me. There were a number of useless things piled around, dumped doubtless by someone who didn’t want to pay the fee of proper disposal. I remembered where I had been, and had I been older I might have reasoned that it was in the right resonance, just in the wrong frequency.

In those darkest moments, when my mind wanders to the Archons of biology, I think of that journey into another world. I think of the fact it never existed in this one, but that there was a nexus, or a meeting place, where one might slip back and forth, perhaps when the stars aligned. It wasn’t that much longer, after going and returning, before Dad got that familiar itch, and his Gypsy nature took hold, and we were packing up to leave again, only this time I had a little brother.

I used to love to sit alone

In the wooden rocking chair

Going nowhere, just to and fro,

In the trailer

Piled high with our things

Worn out and somewhat useful.

When we moved so far away

And I could stare out all day

Watching what I knew fade away

In the trailer.

The new place was nothing like the old. It was populated by vicious pets, dogs and cats that loved to attack. Drunken men who worked on garbage trucks, people who were my neighbors that got themselves shot, cars with stars that people called cops.

It wasn’t exactly ugly, but the place was haunted by a dark energy. Trees stood strangely, giant wounds gaping where branches once spanned. Drifters wandered through leering, it was a rough place barely hidden by its veneer of obscured civility. There was no aesthetic to anything. I was told sometime later that it was company housing for a factory that had ceased operation. I thought it was true because of the dirty grit that shone through everything.

The place was no stranger to death. It was everywhere, reeking, and when it discovered me it decided I needed a testing, and it prodded me relentlessly. The worst were the visions of skeletons, they would swoop down upon me from some hidden perch. It got to the point that I couldn’t get a break. What was truly amazing was that later in life I discovered they were anatomically correct.

In retrospect I found greater compassion for Mom. Her paranormal experiences made her a bit batty, well more than just a bit. I think she found religion for a respite from the constant pressure, but it never sufficed, just drove her deeper into a personal funk where no matter how hard she tried, the religion would not accept her, although it was happy to take her money.

The things one notices when one is pegged by the Archons of biology to be a mere casualty.

My Fairie connexion had not left me, even then. I would watch the golden dust rising in a kind of twisting wind. I could have open or closed eyes, it didn’t matter, the dust would then transform into a million blue lights staring as they danced before me. They got to visiting me every night, the dancing blue eyes, and the skeletons that dived on top of me. The men came into my room, and at the foot of my bed stood silently. I was paralyzed and lost, unable to form a thought as they contemplated whatever it was that they saw in me.

It was in this place of evil and lust, of death and that which must have money where the only true act of kindness I had known in my short life visited me. To say I stepped into another world is only partly an exaggeration. I was starting to become changed by the dark energy. I felt the emotion of desire wash over me. I was too young, yet I wanted grown women sexually. I learned to throw rocks with deadly accuracy. I got my first gun, before that was taken away from me. I knew the taste of Moonshine and hard whiskey.

All this and more, long before I ever hit double digits in age.

My moment of reprieve was long on arriving, yet arrive it did, for one special day. They were a tall and stately elderly couple, their parchment skin was almost translucent, and they dressed impeccably. I have no idea what they saw in this changeling, this barbarian of Faerie, but they showed me a kindness I had never known, one that melted my hardened heart of stone. It remains with me, stays with me, reminds me of what mankind can achieve if they aspire to something higher.

Their home had the aroma of candles and tea. They moved slowly, quite deliberately. I was stunned by the vision before me. I saw real wood, and sculpture, fine art paintings on the walls, in the middle of their big room a huge piano. I had never seen a piano. I had never tasted tea. I knew lanterns that stank of kerosene, but I never beheld the soft light of a genuine candle.

It remains a mystery how they managed to live, as an island in such a sea of depravity.

I don’t have the slightest idea what they saw in me, I was skinny with a mop of blonde hair I never combed willingly. My coat was way too large and hung low at the knee. Mom always bought me shoes and boots that were several sizes too large because money was tight and I would grow into them eventually. I must have looked exactly like the ancient image of a changeling. But with my true father Loki, I was already haunted the ghosts of dark desires that almost owned me completely.

The stately couple treated me openly. They took no precaution to protect themselves from what I could do, instead they just accepted me unconditionally. Something within me began on that day that never left, a gratitude, and respect for their bringing out in me something approaching dignity.

I realized I craved a life that included art and the ways of creativity.

What was odd and almost uncomfortable was that they truly seemed curious about my identity, and my life, and in their gentle way they pressed, and I told them I had recently moved there with my family. They smiled and softly laughed, thinking perhaps I had misunderstood their questions. No, not at all, it’s just that there are things I never share with anybody. Loki was Odin’s blood brother, not his son.

I left their home of the warm glow

I thought it amazing that such kindness could flow

This world to harbor such a cultured couple?

Little did I know that the last laugh was launched

Unseen even in my least trusting hunch.

It was nearly dusk when the truck sporting gumball lights drove all the way up the sidewalk, to park before the front door of the stately couple. I still remember so clearly, like a vision those spinning lights cascading across the house blocks and trees. There was no siren, no hurry, as the condition was clearly beyond the skill and ability of the men in that ambulance running quietly.

It was just the next day after my visit, and I wondered what had become of it. Still, no one had to tell me that death had struck again resolutely, laughing as his wont, once again disassembled my life. I saw the bottom fall out of the kindness. I saw the art mocked by Death and His calloused hands as he seized me and threw me back into my native savagery.

Mom, to her credit tried to break it to me slowly. She was too tortured by her ghosts, and what she saw despite the bibles and religious quotes, to really have much available compassion. She tried and succeeded to not use the name, ‘Death,’ and to tell me it was inevitable and all the rest. We just had to deal with it and that was that.

I ran away then to place I can’t say, and I was followed by the skeletons laughing. My banquet was set and my meal was death, and I was in for a life of abuse and honourless hatred.

Loki is not of Odin’s blood

Yet blood brother all the same.

The oath taken to always share the cup

Treat each other as of the known name

But the Aesir never held their troth

And the Vanir were just the Wanes

Loki served his sentence at last

Bound to the stone of serpent’s pain.

I can’t say, in my child mind, that I knew anything besides a howling rage. The laughter of the Hateful Ones, was fully out on display. I was betrayed by this dark world I just set foot in, and I was stung all the same. My anger was unquenchable for a dozen or more days. I vowed to never serve the God, of the ones who hate. I reserved for myself an inner place, where the evil world held no sway. When the skeletons came again, I grabbed them and crushed them in a wrestler’s embrace, and laughed as they thrilled me all the same. The Fairie eyes I imagined shooting, with a gun they couldn’t take away, and my heart grew as black as night, and I had nothing more to say, when Dad punched me in my chest in his usual rage, saying how disappointed he was with me in every conceivable way. And I felt the fire burn, and it turned into a cold flame. I became the revolt against the world, and in revolt I would stay, for all my time of walking different paths, and I would long for the innocence I never knew, and the art I would never reach. I longed to be that gentle soul, impeccable as perfect pitch. Yet in my frozen heart that never thawed, I knew a different love. A love that cannot be put in words, not for Loki’s Changeling.