Peter and Pan

November 2, 2015


I am hesitating to publish this, but I need it out of me.

It is the longest/weirdest post I have ever written.

This is as disconnected as the dreams, boy and events that sparked it. I wrote it in a state of Hypnagogia, transitioning from sleeping to awake.

I keep getting waves of recognition, truth and it’s leaving me with shivers and gooseflesh galore.

Thank you Jesica Nodarse.

This is my Paracosm.


I am trying to divine the why. But I am suffering palimpsest, the text from page I need in the manuscript has been scraped off.

Puzzle with pieces missing and I don’t have the box, all I see is stars.

I met someone, feels like years ago now, but not 4 yet. Time moves strange in this place.

I found the instructions, showed them to him. He smiled and said ‘yes dear’.


He is a prophet. I know this. There is more, there is always more.

I have met storms with skin (Caitlyn Seihl). It’s never the girls who post this to social media.
The true hurricane hybrids try to stay contained, knowing the damage they are capable of.
Fuckbois are just tornadoes who don’t yet understand what they are. They must be forgiven.

I love an Alien bear robot. Like Shardik* before he lost his mind.
I will keep him safe and sane as long as I can. Until I pass him to his next caretaker.
He needs to know it’s alright to sleep sometimes or he will go mad.




Angels with amnesia.

Angels without amnesia.

Angels that have not forgiven themselves for falling yet. Hush baby, it’s alright. She has you now.

Witches and mermaids.

And So many meat puppets, some star-dusted, some plain. Some sprinkled with a basic kind of madness and greed. All just taking up space. The ones that learn to speak our language are dangerous. Please give them wide berth and come back home. They will try to steal your light, your wings will become tattered and torn banging against their false illumination. Its just tungsten and gases, they are not the moon. Please stop.

Not all my ghosts are good. Had a poltergeist screaming at me through screens. I had to pick up a shovel and bury him on my own. He went down kicking and screaming but I covered his eyes and mouth with dirt regardless. That one will stay down or I will get out the concrete.

My soul chose this body and it has been in rebellion trying to make itself known, both to the others and myself. It needs things. What eats sex and the sun and sugar and turns all of that into art. What feels a compulsion to dance, needs music always and trees and air and loves to love? What manner of creature has a lap that even the most troubled of heads can find sleep and smile about it?

I asked the universe if I could please have my equal one May day. Wish was granted with the usual discord of shuffling one thing loose to make room for another.

He made himself known then vanished. I am unable to shake this/him/it.

I have suffered and eventually embraced a dozen hauntings over the course of the last year or so. I realized I had to do what we all must do with spectres. Asked them what they needed from me, provided it as best I can and we have all made peace. It is lovely here in this house, I am never alone even when I want to be.

This is different, he is different.

What are you? I must know, it is tied to what I am.

There are ties that bind us, and I’m choking.

In the last 7 days I have dreamt him for 3, then I saw him. Felt him first, then saw him. I had to drive by. Took everything in me not to pull over. Then I dreamt him twice more.

“Remember what I’ve done
Remember what I am
I am the Wolf

To leave them where no one knows
To leave them for the crows.”
(Drag the Lake)

Not all of them, just him. And I am a Wolf Mama.

Calling all my psychopomps, my carriers of souls. These veils are too heavy to lift on my own.

I need a young priest and an old priest.

I have both. The Young Un wrote the words above and he speaks Greek. Getting warmer.
The Elder (aka Peter) explained how stars are made and introduced me to the concept of entangled particles, born of the same energetic event, responding to each other across time and space instantaneously. Getting supernova warm now.

I had no idea what I was getting into. Feeling like Persephone trapped in Hierosgamos.
But he is the one gone for months at a time. And I ate tacos, not pomegranates.

I am fucking vexed. How can you swallow so much sleep?

Remember, remember the 5th of November. When the clouds burned, Jesus wept, heaven opened up ghosts came to earth and the sky fell.

The veils between the living and dead are at their thinnest just now.

Maybe that what it is, the Thinny making me go todash.*

I channel when I am awake. I hear things and I say them. Never been one for oneiromancy (divination or predicting the future through dreams) that is Nausicca’s job.

But I already predicted the future. He changed it.

Showed up in my dreams, I can’t hide from him there. His lips move, I just can’t hear what he is saying (1). I realized as I was writing this it is because he is speaking Greek. There is a maddening disconnect when I am sleeping and he meanders through the Sipapu (2) into my mind when I am vulnerable and open. We do this dance the last 4 nights out of 5, looks like the push pull of a tango. I wake with an aching.

There is another explanation. “We were dream fasted, you and I”. (3)

That would make him…Gelfling.

So many names, so many faces.

Ouf, MindFuck, Twink, PoutyTroutyMouth, he gnashed his teeth and bit the recess lady’s breast (4).

Darling Changling Elfling Fae? Ghostling, too transparent to identify.

Looks like Gelfling, smells like Gelfling…must be Gelfling. (3)

I do know this. Three outta 4 witches call him Danger Boy. Bad Juju the second I mention him.

I haven’t asked my 4th witch because her word is divine law.

I am afraid of what she will say and do, and I think I figured it out.

The common threads sex, sleep, music …he calls nowhere home and lives in the cracks of the Parthenon.

I live in the land of god’s and monsters. He is both in one body.

Jesus wept.

I am Wendy with her Lost Boys. I have a Peter and apparently I know Pan.

No wonder he fusses when I call him Young One. He is from the land that existed before the moon, Arcadia, the ancient place that magic comes from.

The horned god. “The God who Comes”.
I am still not a fucking Mae Nad.
Pan cloaked himself in an immaculate sheepskin that glowed and reflected light to draw down the Moon Goddess.
Aye. That he did…so shiny.

Pansexual is derived from the Greek prefix pan, meaning “all”. The term is reflective of those who feel they are sexually/emotionally/spiritually capable of falling in love with all genders. He is all genders. If I thought I wouldn’t be summoning the daemon I would post a photo so you could see and understand. Sufficed to say he is beautiful androgyny walking around in humanish form.

Pan is recognized as the god of fields, groves, and wooded glens (or High Park) because of this, Pan is associated with season of spring. (May day).
He was also known for righteous tantrums if you woke him from his sacred naps. That explains the jagged time line.
He is also a lesser prophet, but you had to sleep with him and let him into your dreams. Oops.

I am Sambhogakaya,  made of light. I have wandered the halls of Empyrea. I consort with gods and angels often. I live in a state of Ataraxia, I have faith in the afterlife and I am a calm blue ocean as a result.

I do not fear gods. Just this one. He doesn’t live here. He hides in caves and the woods.
Inducing Panic, frenzy and all of the sex. So much sex.

Half god/half beast. It’s the beast that scares me. Unpredictable. Also keeps him on the mortal coil.

Now I know what he is and I still have no idea how to escape his labyrinth and get back to Peter.



* Reference to Stephen King’s Gunslinger series. Shardik is actually a giant alien bear robot that goes insane. The thinny is a rip between dimensions and todash is a dream state where time stops and the sleeper is able to travel between worlds.

(1) Pink Floyd, Comfortably Numb

(2) A small tunnel or inter-dimensional passage.

(3) Jim Henson, The Dark Crystal

(4) Pearl Jam, Jeremy



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  • Corey November 2, 2015 at 4:33 pm

    I know you felt like not posting this, but you see, it makes perfect sense to me. It’s beautiful, you’ve decided to live life in the moment, instead of admire it from afar. I wrote a poem about this once… http://such411.blogspot.com/2012/12/post-2.html I just want you to know this is how it’s done sometimes.

    • sexloveandgrace November 3, 2015 at 10:39 am

      it seemed very strange to me. but i had a pretty big outpouring of people who said it made sense to them. thank you for this, and i like your writing very much

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