#DOMAGICK FEB 5.-7. Nothing, really.

I did regular Meditation in the form of tantric master Tilupas "Song of Mahamudra".
It is a beautiful Space to inhabit, even though I always struggle the first minutes,
but on the other hand that struggle is Part of the Song itself.

"Cease all activity; abandon all desire; let thoughts rise and fall as they
will like the ocean waves."

#DOMAGICK FEB 3.-4rd. Coming home

Yesterday
was the 3rd. I spend all night at the Hospital with my Girfriend, I felt I had to watch over it. so i didn't took the time. Even though i got insights and met people i will incorporate into my rituals, later more.

Today i took my Meditation, my bones where heavy be sleep, I asked myself where my fear comes from, after a couple of minutes my body pointed me to a cramplike feeling in my Stomach, I embraced it and let it grow over my body, i felt left alone, but also whole.as it grew  it became more positive and waves from my Stomach swept over my whole body, like i was the middle of a lake. A pure Feeling. I waved for a while. and then my tiredness overtook me. I didn't want my tiredness take hold of the rest of meditation and stopped. Also the thought overcame, that my tiredness maybe was a safety reflex of my body, but i can't clearly tell since i didn't start out with the best conditions.
I have to investigate
tomorrow

#DOMAGICK, FEB 2nd. Ancestors II

Today , before i slept, after shower, i sat down eager to meditate, and to revisit my Grandmother, find  out more about the stern Look at her face.

I began meditation for around 15 minutes, i went deep fast, and i had the feeling to cast protection around myself. Later I also felt a left out of mayself, overcerrecting?

Me grandmother startet emerging, sitting on her bed, but this Time the house around her got clearer, i was searching the stinge of the old family home, which startet to sink slightly in the ground, i remembered details of the house. Old and pouring and reeking dense steam of past through ist pores. I asked my grandmother, after findning the right Question that Wh is the Family like it is. Instead of a straight answer I endet up sitting on the Table in kitchen, looken at a clock on watch, which was in the form of a red Frying Pan, symbols of chores where the numbers should be written, from that point on could i recreate the House in great detail, even though i barely knew it.

I could se the Face of my Uncle emegring he face like a ghoust sliding on the sphere i cast around myself. He never left the house and his mother, while his Sisters where treadet differently and left early. Whe just stayed there  when my grandmother died, and until he died. Since an chemical accident at his wirkplace in his twenty his teeth fell out, and he got a small pension, and wasn't forced to do anything other then exist anymore.

So he had a dayly routin life whithin the old sinking house by his mom and alone.

It hit me that in worst hours and days, I am him, the wish emerges to be taken care of, It was  like that with my mother untill she got sick. And in my depressed time this is the pattern that I reenact. I am my Uncle, at that days or weeks or years.

I got out of my head and ended my meditation, feeling loved.

#DOMAGICK, FEB 1st. Ancestors

In the last breath of the first Day I stumbled into Meditation, unprepared.

I decided to do an ancesters Meditation for about 15 minutes,

Conemplate your Ancestors, about the line of blood and DANN and Trauma and Dreams, that span their Narrative throuout the Family Tree.

I only really knew my mother, so i started with her- It was hard to concentrate and I drifted, so I chilled down for about 5 minutes with an empty mind. After that I concentrated again, saw my Mother, my Uncle, I was feeling nd remembering different Phases of the life I had with them,

I was thinking about my Grandmother, which inhabited an eyre foggy presence.

Suppenty she  dropped sharp into my mind. Her old Face, the Skinn hanging on her Arms.

Sitting on her Bed, in her undergarment.  I saw her profile and could sense her presence, like thick air.

I looked at her directly, she wasn't moving and didnt seem in a hurry to tell me something, she felt frozen.

After that memories kicked in, some of them  I have to investigate,  The rest of the meditation went uneventful, but i can conjure the matriarchs image now, when i want to. 

Leine

Kabel schneiden die Luft, angeleuchtet vom violet-goldnem Schein der Straßenlaterne.

Sie taucht die ganze Nebenstrasse in fremdartiges Licht und reflektiert unstimmig mit den gekachelten Leisten der tiefen Häuser. Armut lässt sich in den Ritzen ablesen, in den etwas zu blanken Häusern, den gepflegten Autos. Die Mauern sind hoch. Es sind Betonsteine in der geflickten und geflickten Strasse.

Ein Hund rennt entlang , lange hat er das nicht mehr gespürt, lange an einer Leine gehalten. Er weiss gar nicht mehr seinen Instinkten zu gehorchen. Mit der Entfernung seines Heimes wächst auch seine Angst. Woher bekommt er Essen?

Er rennt schneller und das alter zieht ihm in die Nerven. Hecheln. Seine Nase ist trocken.Die nur von aussen wahrzunehmende Erhabenheit des Elends trägt er mit und in sich.

Er bellt voll und ganz. Ein anderen Hund lauscht und jault, genau hört er im tiefen den unterschied.

Ein oder zwei teile Wolf in ihm nie ganz weg gezüchtet, winden sich nach oben.

Kalte Böen krachen auf seine Schnauze.

Als er wieder in seine Hütte hinter dem Feld des ummauerten Garten ankommt kauert er sich erleichtert in eine Ecke und wartet, es war ihm wohl zu unangenehm herumzulaufen

Ohne die Sicherheit der Leine,

Ohne die Sicherheit ihrer Freunde

Ohne die Sicherheit unserer Eltern.

Und das ist wichtig.

The Soul, that flies as a Bee at night.

I am sitting at Spot bar, in the heart of the Old Town in of the Capital City of Latvia, next to the Dome of Riga. The seat of Rigas suprinsingly young looking Archbishop.  MTV and Icehockey is playing on 2 Flatsceens opposite to each other. I am completly alone, next to the Barman. Autotuned bloaded clubsongs from USA as backround noise, maybe not the right place to start to write an Essay about latvian and general baltic Mythologies influences.  Also I don’t truly understand it that much yet. On the other hand it spreads it magic realism deep into my brain, my interest ist awoken. The words Laima, the Baltic Goddess of Fate, she also spans her wing around birth, marriage  and finally death, and the word „Ragana", the latvian idea of a witch, are also present on the Shot list behind the counter,  right next to „red headed slut“ and „blowjob“. The Font of the Sign of this bar is made up by simple Runes and reminds one a lot of the Signs of their gods, simple geometrical Structures.  Even the national Booze Black Balsam is sorroundet with an atmosphere of awe and mysticism. In the beginning stored in wooden barrels and up to this day sold in ceramic bottles. It is a black  strong bitter-sweet liquor made out of a variety of herbs and a scent of berries. Supposedly also connected to „Jägermeister“, which stole their recipe from Balsams, or the other way around. The ending of that story depends on the Narrator and his national pride. Or it just could be bullshit. 

 An older a little obese man standing in the middle of „Black Magic Cafe“.  He slowly nips on a glass of white wine,  wearing a well picked, well cleaned suit. Occasionally he visits other guests at their table. „This place  has a very interesting history“, he mumbles while approching me. „This Place used to be an apothecary.“  The dozens  of gracefully grown old wooden drawers all over the wall speak the same language.  He seems pleased to tell a story. „ And in this bar the Riga Balsam was declared a medicine, Abraham Kunze invented this mixture and sold it as Kunze balsam “ „Oh medicine against what?“ , he begins to think . „ I guess against everything in its time. It was patented after it healed the russian Zar Katharina II„ „What was her illness?“ „ „She went sick in Riga“  „ Are you from here?“ „No i am from sweden, but i work here a lot as an architect“ 

Men and woman in a big train of ignited torches. One big voice reciting old songs called Dainas. Originally short 4-8 bar poems told down from generation to generation. Building the essence and secret philosophy for a society who needed to rely on them as their own voice, being under a foreign domination onwards from 1230 A.D.  The Festival signs the end of the war and the declaration of latvia as its independence as nation since 24 years. Next to the singing fields near to the Daugova, a big River dividing the City and the connection to the baltic seas which made Riga an interesting spot for the „Hanse“ traders union,  are glowing red as hot wax slowly searches its way through the grass, building a little lake that will harden over time. Grave lights make up an unstable field of lights. A lot of family and friends lay out Symbols with them. L+S, Riga, a triangle, a form of a swastica to opposing angles forming a cross. A lot of them are Symbols of their gods. I am Sitting at the Daugova near to a wooden Statue of a wooden man holding a baby on his arm. He rescued a little baby in the Daugova and gave it shelter over the night at his home. At the next Morning instead of the baby a big chest of gold was laying in his bed. With this money he founded Riga. 

As i watch the reflections of candlelight on the pier of the river . A rather drunken man stumbles to the edge of river and speaks to me in latvian. „ Sorry no latvian“ „English?“ „Yes, but I am from Germany“ „Germany huh“. He raises his arm as if he wants to spread it over the whole Daugova. „This River is our soul. It’s latvian destiny!“  After that he starts to piss in the river. 

Rigas habitants are surrounded and in tune with their Gods and therefore their  part of their heritage, their signs are spread all over the city. People wear them as armrest or amulettes around their necks, little wooden versions of them are sold at every tourist place, at the markets and elsewhere. He old baltic Gods are common Names, are latvian Brands, for instance for chocolate. They are imbedded in their architecture and even on the the list of shots . After many talks i had with half drunken  barflies, concerning the struggle of identity latvians, in their eyes, feel after their occupation by russia and the omnipresence of german symbols and influences for a couple of hundred years, still the me the link to the baltic Gods carved in stone and in the mind forms a poetic silent resistance and re-assurance of identity.. Laima is still knowingly and lovingly breathing her breath into the society and fueling the intelligence and the flow of the organic mass in this part of the world. 

Sitzen

Den teil des inneren zurücklassen.
Daheim geblieben, sich selbst forttragen.
Daheim in in einem weg den man nicht mehr zurückverfolgen kann.

Duchzogen durchsagen durchmachen,enntfachen.

Der wunsch und das Sein und ziehen und das stülpen, das tun, ruhen , dass unnütze.
dazwischen sitzen und hören, und sich ziehen.

Sie steht in der Mitte eines Nasenloches. Bähen fliegen über ihren kopf hinweg. Mos unter ihren Füssen aus Adern und druck und Flüssigkeiten einen organischen Teils, Gottes von etwas dass sie in seiner Gesamtheit nicht mal als ein Verweis auf das verstünde

Ich meditiere und konzentriere mich auf meinen Atem  wie er aus der  Nase austritt und in eintritt. ich beobachte die schwelle wo der Atem rauszieht, in die weltsich in die welt zerstäubt, und den moment in dem ich die zusammengehörigen flüsse aus schlangen und teufeln und Lichtern und Ziehenden und drückenden, süssen, verschmorrten, vernetzen konzentrieren, durch die leere ansaugen und aus dem Kosmos in das kleine abbild verteilen austeilen und wieder an der Oberfläche vorbeifliessen lassen.

Sie betrachtet das das verknorrte gestokte unendlich im kreis gehaltenes Drama, Die metergrossen stämme um sie die sich dem Druck beugen, dem Ziehen dem in und den her. Dann schließt sie augen und war nie gewesen.

Ich öffne meine Augen und  ein Bier, mein hals kratztfür eine sekunde füllt sich die ganze leere vor meinen augen mit dichter blanker Welt. und dann stehe ich auf. es regnet ja auch gleich.