January 17, 1891
The winter season is upon us and my moods often match the dark and frosty depths of it. There are random bursts of bright flames and a low but steady fire to comfort me as I retreat to gather strength. For company I have my books, my beginning relationships with the lavender, mint and ginger and the welfare and training of my adopted raven whom I’ve named Lucas.
One of the brilliant sparks of flame appeared as I was sitting in Underhill with Miss Winter and she made mention of the Goddess. A flood of warmth and recognition washed over me–she is the same as the Lady who watched over me as a gypsy child, playing in the outdoors–I was known to her as her “little otter” then. Feeling abandoned during the drudgery of the orphanage years, I now realize she is with me always, if sometime in very subtle ways.
My comfort and happiness are also replenished by my inclusion in the Wardark Clan. I care not for the misunderstandings and opinions of that freely made choice nor do I care for the details about females sniffing about him. The man is a Devil after all and my eyes are open.
With relief, I’ve resigned two of my employment positions–the ones serving the public–at Underhill Social Club and the restaurant and bar area of Adra’s Emporium. What a grand waste of my time attempting to get to know members of the public has been. Sunday evening was the last straw. IMPORTANT PEOPLE came in and the male seemed to be making a bit of a fuss. As usual, this flustered me but inside I was screaming–“Oh for fuck’s sake use your brain as I’ve had to do as a newcomer to London, in need of care at the hospital or assistance from the Constables. Everything was a struggle–have you really become so pompous and lazy?”
The evening became even more unpleasant as a bizarre couple from the other end of the spectrum arrived. Babbling insanely, they proceeded to become offended at nearly everything. Without bothering to learn that I’m actually from the Roma peoples in Southern France and Miss Pandora is from—I forget where at the moment–they were venting about the treatment of the Irish by the English. No matter how graciously I attempted to assist them, they appeared steeped in paranoia and confusion. Odd terms like “babe” and racist tramp” the likes of which I’ve never heard were thrown about. Feeling compassion for their social ineptness, I remained tolerant in manner long past what I felt was acceptable. Then it dawned on me–they were totally unaware of who I was, standing before them, so deep were their minds into their own excrement.
After crossing off “serving the public” as acceptable activity for London, I soon crossed “involvement in politics” off the list. On Sunday, my dear Adra, was called away for matters of responsibility and was unable to attend the announcement of the election results. This was called out to attention in a newspaper inclusion by another candidate. I’ve now begun to doubt the suitability of this candidate, someone whom I’ve admired and liked. This, after a public calling out last week of the Doctor–being called a coward for choosing her own matters of responsibility over the demands of someone to meet. Just who are these people to publicly criticize those who obviously have other duties they aspire to attend to? I fear politics in this city is so much horse dung and brings out lower qualities in people. I attempt to appear interested when Adra passionately goes on about it and while admiring his enthusiasm it hurts my heart to suspect he’ll find disappointment. This Mayorial position is surely somewhat like a sow’s ear and not at all as a silk purse.
I’ve received several remarks to my face, from a few who seem to notice me, that I have wisdom and poise beyond my young, human years. Hah! If they could only see some of the moments I’ve had. It’s true that I have this one human life, but I also have flashes of understanding from my soul—the soul who has put fragments of us into many lifeforms on many planes in many timelines. The fact that much of the purpose of this particular life is to insert vibrations of possibilities from the future shall remain unknown as rarely does anyone delve deeper than the surface with me. It also helps me avoid the likely questioning as to the fashions, foods, dances, states of magic and implements of machinery of the future–as though the transitory flash and form is what is of importance.
The Lady communes with me by my hearth and I’ve advanced from “little otter” to “poppy flower.”
She’s shown me the balance of the poppy–between delicacy and hardiness–and also it’s vibrant display.. Like the poppy seed, I’ve endured drought and freezing, seasons of change in order to even sprout. And like the poppy I can bloom with nurturing, sunlight, patience and time. This I can provide from her and my own self, in spite of the dearth of such conditions in London. My free spirit is my blessing, not my curse.