#also what colours are even Tricksters inner clothes?????

[kirakimii]

TEAM FREEDOM EHEHEHEHEHEHEHE

Trickster belongs to @yourloveaton of course AND THE COOKIES: Nems belong to @bloobluee Dust belongs to @ask-dusttale Barely visible Horror belongs to @sour-apple-studios

[tipsycad147]

Shamanic Totems of the Four Directions 2

The east is connected to those whose birthdays fall between March 21 and June 20 and is represented by the Golden Eagle. While it is impossible to say one totem is more significant than any other, the eagle is a profound totem to many tribes. As mentioned in my last article, each totem has a key word or phrase that summarises the totem’s energy. The key words for Eagle are spirit, healing, messenger and creation. The eagle feather is the most sacred of all healing feathers and is perhaps the most powerful in feather magic. Eagle flies the highest of all birds and thus is closest to the Creator. In fact, Eagle is the messenger of Creator Spirit and is the prime connection between heaven and earth. The great height to which the eagle ascends allows him to “see the whole picture.” Eagle’s perspective is the antithesis of Mouse who views the world through close inspection as through a magnifying glass. The golden eagle is associated with the power of the sun and received its colour as he soared through a hole in the sky to the home of the sun. Eagle is a totem of great responsibility and represents an obligation and opportunity to integrate your mind, body and spirit-self through spiritual practice. Simply by having a consciousness of this great power, you may begin to incorporate it into your existence. While there are many ways to accomplish this, one excellent means is to “become” your totem while meditating. Even if you don’t meditate, you can still achieve this connection through contemplation or reflection. Find a quiet place where you can quiet your mind. When your mind becomes still, begin to see through your totem’s eyes. As an eagle you will soar above the earth below. During your flight do not try to do or see anything specific. Rather, ALLOW yourself to see whatever is presented to you. As the messenger of the Creator, you may be very surprised what Eagle brings to you.

The south is the direction of those born June 21 to September 22 and is connected to Coyote.Many tribes have stories involving Coyote. Coyote is seen as the trickster. Sometimes Coyote is even represented as “the clown.” In some of the stories, Coyote’s trickery backfires and he ends up tricking himself. Yet, the stories can be misleading as Western eyes may interpret Coyote to be just a comedic buffoon bent on self-destruction. While it is true Coyote’s energy is one of humor and the ability to laugh at ourselves, it is also the energy of being a catalyst for great change or evolution. The Navajo emergence story (how the Navajo people came to the earth’s surface) is one in which Coyote, through indirect action, served as the catalyst for the Dine’ (The “Navajo” People) moving from their original underworld home to their present place on the earth’s surface out of extreme necessity. Coyote has the joint energy of wisdom and folly. His energy is one of great magic which does not always work the way we intend for it to be but does work in a way that is meant to be. If you take any stock in the phrase, “everything happens for a reason, when it is supposed to and how it is supposed to” you may be expressing the energy of Coyote. Coyote teaches us not to take ourselves to seriously and that we can sometimes make things too complicated. He also teaches us that even if it seems our actions created a bad situation, the final end result may be positive if we envision and allow it to be so.

For those born September 23 to December 21 the totem is Grizzly Bear and considered the energy of the west. The key words for Bear are introspection, intuition and connecting with the inner self. As Bear enters the womb-cave of Mother Earth, she enters the Dream Lodge and walks in the Dreamtime. Medicine people have long called on Bear’s energy to access the subconscious/unconscious. When hibernating Bear emerges from her cave in the spring, it is as though she is born anew. Bear is a wonderful totem to reflect on during meditation. Bear energy is all powerful yet introspective. Bear teaches us to go within to find answers to questions of the 3-D, observable, temporal world as well as those of the ethereal plane. It is by quieting the mind and going within that we will truly KNOW.

To the north we find White Buffalo the directional totem for those born December 22 to March 20. As with Eagle, White Buffalo is among the most sacred of the totems. The key words for Buffalo are abundance and prayer. The buffalo were a primary source of life for many tribes; clothing, food, shelter, weapons, tools and ceremonial implements all came from the grace of Buffalo. It is White Buffalo Calf Woman (Ptesin Ska Win) who saved the Lakota in times of famine with the gift of the sacred pipe (chanunpa). As the story goes, food had become scarce in the Lakota nation so two braves were sent to find game. They had become desperate as their search seemed in vain. Then a beautiful woman appeared on a hill. As they approached her, she said she had the key to their salvation but one of the braves only lusted for her and he was turned to stone. She reiterated her purpose to the other and together they returned to the village. She brought to people the sacred pipe and instructed them on how to manifest a new reality through right action and right prayer. Through the pipe (and the sacred pipe ceremony), she showed how all things are connected (mitakuye oyasin). These teachings explained how, when the right action is accompanied with right prayer (or thought/meditation/reflection), all things needed would become abundant. Once the people had been instructed how to integrate thought (prayer), action and the 3-D temporal world reality, she transformed into White Buffalo. As she disappeared over the same hill she was first seen on, abundant herds of buffalo began to appear on all horizons.

https://earthdna.wordpress.com/2012/01/29/shamanic-totems-of-the-four-directions/

Image by http://ravenari.deviantart.com/

[astro-slytherin]

Stories

🐲🐉 The story begins with the Dragon Charmer. A young, blooming soul, daringly taking the first steps on the rough path. The words escaping Aries' mouth are almost never soothing to the ear, but nevertheless true. They say, the truth always hurts. But Aries knows sometimes it's exactly the only thing that can help. The determined Dragon Charmer enters the beast's cave. Its walls are burning and vibrating with unspoken curses. The air is hot, suffocating. They step nearer, without a single spasm of reluctance. A solitaire tear of freedom slides down their face, though. It's simply unbelievable! They've finally reached it. They're going to do it. Right now, right there. Aries draws out their silver blade, stained with years of war, years of white and black fury, right behind the gigantic beast. Aries knows it hears them. It might devour Aries' whole life out of their body. It could turn cities, empires into ashes with a mere breath. And the beast knows what they're about to do. It has lived a long, dull life. Taking the life of others doesn't make yours any better. It just leaves all their lingering problems on your shoulders. Lifetimes of loneliness and hope, all carried by an equally lonely beast. Neither of them is afraid, though. Neither wants to give up on the aching tales that, sooner or later, will be spilled all over the unknowing world. No one never wins. But where would be the fun if they did? 🏡🚪 In another corner of the world, in a village you might call boring, you, perhaps, might even have trouble finding on the map, there's a nice and very charming house marking the last portal to another realm. The 'Doorgiver', as they jockingly like to call themselves, lives a quiet life. They wake up early. They dress up, eat some butter bread and drink a glass of honey tea, while in their hands the morning newspaper reads old stories. "The mayor's changing offices again," Taurus mumbles their breath, not really surprised. After they're done eating, Taurus walks down the rose alleys into the village, and does their groceries as any other inhabitant of the place. On every monday and thursday. Never later than midday.Tuesdays, Taurus gives some meditation lessons to the local yoga club. Sometimes, they'll all go together to the cinema in the evening. On every wednesday and friday, they take long walks into the forests surrounding the village. There's an odd door carved into a tree, not far away from the main path. But it's not their door, and they hardly mind it. Once they knocked curiously on its dark motive, but no reply came back anyway. On saturday, Taurus invites some neighbors over, and have tee or lemonade. Sunday mornings they wake once with the sun. The village is always quiet on sundays. Taurus has, as usual, a nice breakfast, puts on clothes and walks up to the front door. "Yes?" They ask. The strange-dressed man before them gives Taurus a mischievous look, but says nothing. "So you remembered the right door to knock at." 🎪🎭 It's the show night. The clowns put on they're funny little hats and funny big shoes, the beautiful dancers pamper their bodies with glowing moon-powder, the tiger keeper whistles calmly to his beloved friend. "5 more minutes!" The voice calls. Everyone must be ready. Everyone must enjoy the spectacle. Only old, bitter fools would want to spoil it. Old, bitter fools like the Trickster. Rejected by the clowns, dismissed by the magician, Gemini never found their place between earth and air. "Belle, it's time for your dancers." Gemini observes how a suite of jeweled dancers walks prettily onto the stage. Music, sparkles and hearts. Not much later, after the dancing act ends, the circus workers take their place. But only to begin installing great metal walls around the spectacle arena. And, after that, all kind of feral animals take the spotlight. Some bite, some spit. Some kill the tamer. The public couldn't care less. The show must go on. Even the magician and the clowns are done as the Trickster makes their way onto the stage. They've no distinct job in this place. No real jokes, or talents. Gemini's dressed in a long, plucked coat, with mismatched shoes and a topper they stole from the magician's car. Their presence is noticed. They've got a quirky way of putting their mind into words, an unexpected sense of irony and definitely a great many secrets. The public cheers. They love them. Some, in awe, raise up and applaud with excitement. Everyone wonders how they could forget the Trickster; their favorite part of the show. Meanwhile, back in their small cabinet, Gemini closes their very own pandora box. 👑🌕 Once upon a time, there was a crown. And this crown, like no other of its kind, was a gift of the water gods themselves. For its jewels are real ocean drops, its gold always shining an unusual blue. It's something hundred of monarchs started wars for. Something that flooded cities and destroyed civilizations. Something that felt into wrong hands, was misused, and eventually returned to its rightful owner. Now, a childlike (though old enough to have lived the creation of this world) Heir's head is where the wet dome rests most of its unending days. The Heir is small and pretty. They like to soothe the crown's pointy ends, polish every water droplet and sing. But underneath all of that porcelain skin, there's resistant silver. Layers of tears, of sorrow and fear too. Cancer plays with the beautiful roses in the gardens, gets enchanted by their sweet perfume, and hides hurting after they're remembered by a bleeding finger of how cruel these games can be. At midnight, they walk outside again. Only that this time they've got absolutely nothing to fear. It's the time when their crown shines the brightest. When lullabies, and wishes, and souls fly up to the mooned sky and cry happily. Cancer misses touches of the dark, but midnight moments seem forever enough. ☀️🍸 Unless the high pyramids would flip over and open a passage to an undiscovered land, the gold of deep rivers be forgotten, or the day the sun won't rise up again, there isn't much for mere mortals to care about. Of course, there is death. And loss. Also, they passionately hate peace. But enough about mere mortals. There have been times and situations where the only thing of real relevance was whether the Gods liked or liked you not. The only thing that could save or kill you. Lost in the desert, under murderous rays of ultraviolets, alone. Alone with the Gods. The world has known their wrath, their fury and misery. It fell and disappeared with it at once. But, it also bloomed and shone with their mercy, and care, and love. For each whispered prayer, each obedient sacrifice, each offered soul reborns and makes the bond with the Gods stronger. From their light throne of paradise gold, Leo nods at the sight of gratitude and fear coming from their silly followers. Even a bird would know better than fly too far and enrage them. Even a shadow would know to hide under its motive than defy them. Because they're greatness embodied into human face. Into human alikeness and voice. But do they love them? Do they really feel like a human? They're a pitiful, weak race. Nothing in comparison to Leo's grace. Above heavens, loneliness is hard to bear. But sky wine with bubbles of pure pearls helps the soul forget. 🌲📚 Spookish, indefinite figures marsh down the wooden walls of the inner forest. They clash into thick, dark doors of a thin, tall house. A house that itself looks like a giant bookshelf. A house with a few dozens of stories. With an undefined amount of stories, of all kinds and uses. With long, curtained windows all over, big doors and plants fading into the forest's decor at the top. If one didn't look specifically for it, they wouldn't even notice its presence. It's like some undiscovered door hides it all behind a veil of secrecy. Like the only way to gain access is by some sort of extradimensional portal. The Timeless Scholar has been many times unpleasantly struck with the realization that, someone, somehow, could get inside and take on them vulnerable and unprepared. Or, worse, derange their sweet bookish solitude. Honestly, Virgo would rather have their throat sliced than someone laying one finger on their works. So much knowledge, in peril of some unknown, rather stupid and curious fool. Never! The Timeless Scholar decides to shut the door down. They aren't sure how they did it, but it works. Keep the fools away! Virgo murmurs to themselves. Sometimes, they still hear knocks from the other side. But they never pay any attention. After all, the only thing to be trusted is what lays on the forest's side. 🥀💋 In the light of morning, a Flower Cutter fights the urge to cry truth. Next to them, rows of smiles and glittering shoes captivate the transparency of day. They dance into circles. They sing to the lovely, perfumed plants. The Flower Cutter watches them right from the heart of the event. They see, they hear everything. Libra answers always. With the same natural easiness, same unnerving spirit. But shouldn't be there some pain, some disgusting feeling at all? Some depth? Libra laughs at the thought of it, because, why, yes of course it is. It's a full world of it. At the bottom of their heart, grasping new roots every time they breathe in. Making itself at home through the thorns and petals of lilies, swallowing all the numbness and hate out. Libra feels a stranger and a dear old sibling of life at once. Coming from the heavens, there's rain. Rain and colours. Everywhere, colour models the world how it pleases. It gives it hope. It feeds it hate. A little of everything. It's funny. How some think that suffering and loneliness does only bad. It's a shame they still choose truth, Libra thinks, and the flower's head meekly hits the ground. 🐈🔥 Spices, feathers, spiders, black gems, dead names. The cauldron sparkles joyfully under the stir of a silver-headed spoon. Hoarded behind the window's curtains, the candles squeak oddly. There's wax everywhere on the floor underneath. The silky, old things catch fire, and a hellish warmth bursts into the room. Though, the squeaking! It annoys the Witch terribly. Scorpio leaves their comfortable armchair at the chimney, and proceeds to blow the fire off. Around them, six cats meow more or less in distress, the seventh looking considerably bored from her high-placed lair. Scorpio curses the candles, and they shut up in fear. No more squeaking, at least! they think. The fire also calms slowly down. Beside one of Scorpio's dark robes, discarded in one of the corners of the room, a familiar meows keenly. Yes, yes. It's 7 in the evening, after all. The Witch fetches some bowls, and feels them up with food and milk. After they're done, Scorpio returns to their comfortable place and closes the eyes tiredly. What a distasteful situation. Shall the fire come once more to their house, they'll send it straight back to hell. Shall the obsessive thoughts set their mind ablaze again, the Witch will know how to have it instantly disappear into a shadow of nothing. 🚍🌄 The Professor grins from behind their rose-tinted car window. They roll it down, saluting the watchman. "Sorry, Professor, but the observatory's closed today. There's a fire code announced." "Fire code, you say? Oh, bad luck. Bad luck for me, indeed." Sagittarius wheels anyway down the entering road. The watchman calls them to stop, but they don't even listen to him. When they reach a spot far enough for the watchman to find them, the Professor leaves the truck behind and walks along the contaminated waterline. It's glowing with deadly substances. Sagittarius' eyes burn every time they stare at the fantastic, surreal colours. All neons, he feels like a traveler who finally found the path to heaven. Of course, heaven's a very malleable word. Shall it be a dreamlike garden, with clouds for flowers and ambrosia for water? Or a room full of unopened passages. A room leading to a thousand places, a thousand such gardens. The truth is, the lethal waterline never ends. It's a great guide, but a terrible destination. It's thrilling, it's almost entrancing. It captivates the thirsty mind, lures it to know, to desire adventure. Sagittarius kicks their shoes off, and jumps into the water. It surely won't hurt as bad as the first time. Above them, the sky pulses in bright pinks and glistening oranges bursts. ⚔️🏆 A troupe of blood-red dressed soldiers march towards north. None of them dares look back, or, worse, doubt their cause. Gossips never erupt in the camps, and no one allies with no one. They've all got the same mission. World domination. They've all got the same means of winning. Leading hounds of hell everywhere it's needed. They all follow the same leader. The Great Marshal. A fist of iron, a mind of composure, a soul of spiteful determination and inflexibility. Capricorn is definitely a human to be feared, to be obeyed no matter the situation. They have a suite of cruel weapons, and will gladly use them to punish you for your unruliness. They hate unruliness. They, and that curious sibling of theirs. But no one dares to say a word about the Great Marshal. Only this small information that slipped somehow out is a dangerous taboo. Nights and days, on boats or tanks, they travel the world. They live on subdue, glory, supremacy. Capricorn kills what must be killed, spare what shall be of use later. No one, ever, disagrees with their decisions. All of their faithful soldiers would follow them to the bloody hell, and back. Of course, countless armies tried to pin them down. To make them retreat, to take away all what their beloved leader gained after so many hard won, fair battles. But the blood-red soldiers know better than let themselves be fooled by such irrelevant, crazy concepts. For their ruler is undying. They're something this world will hold for greatness a long time after they, the soldiers, will perish away, and new ones will replace them. 💼🛰 There are few things that the Alien Minister (officially admits) they don't know: firstly, Earth's days have come to an end. It won't last long until its shallow crust will fulminate into fire blades, cutting and throwing pieces of soil everywhere in the Universe. It will be forgotten as quickly as it has been created. But the question remains: whose going to save it from its awful sorrow? Well, of course Aquarius cares. Not the affectionate, dependent kind of caring. But from afar, regretting all the great communities and societies they assisted, they influenced from their very first tender beginnings. Not weeping, but pitying what could have been. The second thing Aquarius doesn't know, it's how they'll manage to rebuild everything. The voices, the freedom, the ingenuity of the new ages. They'll be alone for a while; that's obvious. They don't even mind it that much. But it's much more entertaining to create alongside others. Much, much more provocative for the mind and the inspiration process. Yet, what could they do? The world's finally ending. The people wanted it gone, and gone shall they have it. There's more to being a humanitarian than compassion. Besides, they've never set foot in that place anyway. Nothing would really change for Aquarius. Pressing the END button, the Alien Minister leaves behind their spaceship only a pulverized tray of existence. 🕊🌊 Pisces stands at the seashore. They look at a point far away in the distance, indefinite and shabby. "Must be my last hope," they murmur, as the shapeless spot flutters nearer and nearer. The sunset is also just around the corner. Soon, the world will be swallowed by old darkness. How long will it take until they'll see light again? How much pain will they have to suffer until everything will be fine again? Pisces doesn't know. The spot finally reaches the place where they're sitting, and it turns out to be a small bird. It's feathers are turquoise, with drops of lila pearls at the ends. Its eyes are sun-gold. Its song sweet, sad. "We're the only ones, little bird." Pisces begins weeping, knuckling the tears away with incredible misery and grief. What shall they do? All they ever wanted was a place to feel free. To feel safe. To feel young and old and strong and meek and alive. But the world's almost gone. They're no dragon slayer. No wise archivist. No god, nor do they have armies to rule behind their shoulders. They have just one, last protection against whatever will happen. Hope. Nestled at their chest, the beautiful, small bird chirps soothingly. "There, there," Pisces whispers, patting her on the head. Maybe they'll come back. Maybe they'll hear the Ocean Child's cries, and come to rescue them.