Reanimating The Warrior Goddess: Goodbye Cleavage, Hello Toes

Update on the weight loss journey:

I've lost 45 lbs. I’m only 15 lbs. away from my goal weight. I’ve also gone from a size 20 to a size 14 (and the 14’s are loose fitting). Only a few sizes to go...

My body has made an incredible transformation. I am both ecstatic and terrified of the new me. I feel like I’ve shed a weight consisting of more than mere fat cells. The weight of fear has been lifted as well. But it has been replaced with a new anxiety, fear of being seen without the walls that used to keep the world out. Being seen as I truly am. Am I ready for scrutinizing eyes behind my defenses? The answer is a resounding YES.

The other unexpected discovery: I can see my toes without having to lean over my cleavage. This makes me mad with happiness. I can stare down and see tiny painted piggies smiling back at me. A glorious feeling. My toes and I have had a long and tumultuous relationship, a love affair. It’s good to see these old friends back in my line of sight. I am going to treat them to a vacation where they can wiggle their sweet freedom. I hope Texas is ready for an invasion, my tiny feet and I. 

Is it VACATION yet?

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Your Morning Enlightenment Milkshake

Pounding enlightenment hard at the Lizzard Lounge this morning.

Meditating Nagayon Paya because stuff told me to...

 

 

Reanimating The Warrior Goddess: Reality of Transformation. I'm Writing A Book.

If I find the key will it even fit?

I’ve been silent on the blogesphere lately. I’m ready to reveal why. The reason for the quiet is because I’m working on a project that has metamorphasized into something I never quite expected. Forgive my rambling, but I have a lot to say and a lot to not say. It's a slippery slope at this juncture.

A few months ago I embarked on a path of physical transformation. I began a serious weight loss program, and I’m proud to say that as of now I am 33 lbs. lighter. Which is halfway to my total goal. What happened in the meantime that completely transcended the physical changes is what I am about to discuss.

For years, maybe even a decade, I have been trying to figure out a way to tell my life story in a way that doesn’t make me seem like I’ve flown over the Cuckoo’s nest. While working my ass off, literally, to get my health back in line, I inadvertently began writing little things to help remove the emotional attachment I had to my fat suit.

These little bits of therapy were written as conversations between myself and the voices of my subconscious. They had taken the form of various deities, my spirit guides, dead musicians, and fictional characters from books and movies. I was playing out events of my life as if I was discussing it with the gods.

As I was reading them, it seemed so simple, write the book I’ve been wanting to write using these conversations. So my autobiography has taken a semi-fictional turn. Once I began this process I honestly couldn’t stop. I still can’t stop writing these conversations with the voices in my head. It is flowing out as if it has been sitting there inside of me waiting for me to finally catch on. My inner voices are chomping at the bit to tell me their opinions on the events of my life. It’s a bit unnerving.

The truly transformative thing that has come about during this process are the things I’m learning about myself. The shocking theme that seems to be taking shape throughout my life is staring at me, mocking me for never seeing it before. I’ve hedged around it, but never acknowledged it as a root of my many issues. So in essence this journey is taking me to places I wanted to avoid every other time I attempted to write about myself. Including the things I’ve written in the past on this blog.

The voices themselves have even surprised me. A few of them have taken the form of public figures that have never shown up on my radar before. Even my spirit guides are transforming. One voice in particular has practically run me over with his presence. A voice that until now I’ve found irritating and irrelevant to my life. As the voices emerge, and the conversations evolve, I see myself more clearly.

Transformation, metamorphosis, transcending, emergence, evolution, growth, enlightenment; these are all the themes I began this story with. The story has become a different thing here in the middle than it was at the beginning. It is changing as it goes. I am anxious to see how my own story tell itself as I begin to weave these conversations into a cohesive narrative of my existence. I am a student of my own journey to enlightenment and hopefully will inspire others to become students of themselves.

I know most of what I am saying has been rather vague as to the project itself. I want to get more written before revealing the whole thing. And I am at a point where I must make a decision as to how personal I become in the book. I am not wanting to make this a tell-all type of book. But at the same time I am writing this for myself, it is my story as I see it. The fictional portrayal of how I see the world around me. The fantasy life I live explaining how I seek enlightenment. It mostly focuses on the spiritual journey thus far. But as with any journey of the spirit, life events define how we get from one point of view to the next. Growth is all encompassing.

I do plan on posting some of the conversations that don’t make it into the manuscript on here. Any feedback is welcome. Even if it is to say, “Hey Amy, you suck. This is a terrible conversation between you and your vagina.”

The title of this project is: How Can I Find God When I Can’t Even Find My Keys?

 Here's a little snippet of my body transformation:

Before I began this journey, May 2012

After 33 lbs, July 2012

I haven't taken a full body shot as of yet. I'll upload one as soon as I feel the urge to reveal that much.

Emerald

Emerald
By Amy Moloney

Crawling inside the forbidden, cups hold the hidden,

where secret knowledge dwells

Drinking from the pool, that hides from the fool,

the ancient doorway to your own hell

Somewhere croaks the raven, do not enter this haven,

follow you beyond the stone

Gathered beside the shade, the open evening glade,

Emerald sits upon his throne

He whispers to reap, crafty words from the deep,

they wrap themselves inside

Holding an ostentatious blade, you swipe them away,

afraid they’ll make you rise up with the tide

Never listening the grey, so this mage has to say,

banish your ego and your pride

Emerald walks turns himself away, denying your your claim,

casts a silent spell upon the night

The waters of hell, around you they swell,

sweep you up into a raging fire

The ways of the damned, have called you a man,

a thief, assassin, and a liar

Holding your blade, praying to names,

that rule your two-pronged tongue

Emerald appears enraged, you blaspheme his name,

like zealots blotting out the sun

You seek an unknown prize, with deceitful hungry eyes,

but refuse to play the seller’s game

Inside his hollowed lair, insulting the perfumed air,

again he denied this quest of empty fame

A knight of the other gods, whose fear you have wrought,

of a simple Emerald glow

Dwelling beneath the earth, holding no curse,

you vilify his shadowed place below

Now you become his, weeping into clenched fists,

a broken crusader of minds so old

Emerald frees your breath, saves you from death,

but still to lies you stubbornly hold

If a prize you do seek, look past the raven’s beak,

and knowledge will be yours

Just open your mind, leave old gods behind,

and kneel down at the shore

The green one awaits, holding open hidden gates,

take a sacred scroll from the pile

Drink from the cup, let it warm the body up,

and sit with Emerald a good long while

Emerald is not blind, his thoughts change your mind,

an enlightened one shares the bodhi seed

Sift through the sand, grasp it in your hand,

and allow the wisdom to feed

Again fear grips your throat, like a sinking boat,

you tumble through the waves

Somewhere you see, old archetypes make-believe,

a man himself he must save

Emerald is pleased, the green man on his knees,

to you he bows respect

It takes more than fear, to render man clear,

when he is his own shipwreck

You came here with pride, to slay what’s inside,

misguided prophecy upon your lips

You leave here with hope, new ways to cope,

your armor becomes your ship

Rising from deep, the knowledge you keep,

the raven will guide you across

Emerald you say, why show me this way,

our paths should never have crossed

He winks himself away, not before he said,

My son, we are one in the same

You called me him, then call it something grim,

but really it’s not what’s in the name

The wisdom is you, finding the truth,

on a quest to make pure the kingdom of what?

But this world is pure, it has been before,

and will always be what it must

The knight rides home, now never alone,

the emerald stone set into his ring

A new song begun, the honey bees hum,

and the kingdom of Emerald will sing

If I Were Made Of Paper

If I Were Made Of Paper
By Amy Moloney

If I were made of paper

I’d let you fold me, carry me within your pocket, a safe hidden place
Unlfold me and read the messages written upon my delicate face

An origami swan I could become, to tuck beside the pillow upon your bed
When you wake you could write your dreams inside of my head

Unfold the swan, you smile to find a tattered tale upon my flesh
Memories of our brief time in each others world still fresh

A tear falls upon my parchment skin, wetting the pulpy grain
Smudging the words of someplace we’ll never be again

A crumpled ball thrown to the floor, careless of where I land
Lying beside the bin, alone with the dust, forgotten where I am

If I were made of paper

You could burn our memory away leaving nothing but ash and smoke
Erased from the world like childhood toys you forgot that you broke

Even optimists get the blues

I know you remember that a few moons ago I posted a series about “Reanimating The Warrior Goddess.” Complete with a Dwarfercise how-to. Well, as it turns out, I totally dropped the battle axe on that project. I know it’s hard to believe that I of all people got distracted and gave up. (We really need a sarcasm font to highlight that last sentence.)
 
The truth is, I have become more than slug-like. I am a ticking time bomb waiting for some sort of cardiac event or stroke. The realization hit last week when walking less than a block made me feel as if my chest may just collapse in on itself. It isn’t just about aesthetics, it’s about me not becoming one of the statistics that I treat as a nurse.

Of all people, I should know better. I have been studying fitness, health, and nutrition since I was 16 years old. I was once a personal trainer, an aerobics instructor, a healthclub manager. I know how to do what I need to do. I know how to plan what I need to do. I just haven’t been able to do it. Maybe it’s because of extrinsic factors such as my job, a few injuries obtained in the past few years, or stress. But the real issue has been a full on battle with depression.

So I have enlisted the help of a Physician Assisted Weight Loss program. In order to have my health issues addressed while on this road to recovery. This, people, is a big deal for me. I have made a decision that contradicts my pride. I have no choice but full disclosure, to the physician I am working with, and to myself. I can no longer lie to myself about the state of my body. I am dangerously unhealthy as a result of my weight.

I know how many times I have stated that I am a proud fat woman. And I am. I do love my curves. But my situation isn’t about what I look like on the outside. It is about the damage happening on the inside. My goal weight is nowhere near what the textbooks say is my ideal weight for my height. Honestly, I think I’d look sick at that weight. I like having curves, I like having muscle. My only goal in this endeavor is to lower my risk of becoming like one of my patients before I even turn 40. This is the reality of my situation. It isn’t pretty.

Of course I have outlined an exercise program for myself based on what I know I can stick with. And I have been doing mantras in my head to keep from beating myself up comparing what I can do now to what I could do then.

Once the initial agony is over and I can walk more than a block without passing out from lack of oxygen to my brain I plan on revisiting (er... relearning) martial arts. Of all the exercises and programs I have endured in the past, my period of martial arts training was when I was the most happy with myself inside and out. I felt strong, and in control. Empowered. I need that back in my life.

So now I sit here with my packet of personal data and plan of attack feeling a bit overwhelmed. I am nervous, excited, and still a little pissed off at myself. I am not an idiot. I am not uneducated in regards to how the body works. I am a human who has found herself stuck inside the most dangerous of human traps. The mind. It can be a force of evil if left unattended. Like a garden with no one to trim back the weeds and overgrowth. The mind can become a dense jungle of rogue, toxic thought. So I am going to spend the next few weeks with my gardening shears pruning my own garden. I’ll be on my hands and knees weeding the poisonous vines and grasses from the soil of my soul. And hopefully soon I will have the most glorious, lush paradise that I will continue to tend.

Operation: Reanimate The Warrior Goddess is back in action. So mote it be.

Dear Goddess hear my plea, give me strength to not become...

Occult Octopus Part II

Meet Osgood and Oscar two newest members of the Occult Octopus family of creative muses. They want to tell a story. 

 

For the full story read about their father Onslow.

The story of the apples and the bees.

It feels like a long time since I’ve written a candid blog post about the life and times of Little Miss Fuzzy Lizzard. So here is a snippet of my life.

There are things I have mentioned but haven’t really discussed on my blog site. Some things that are like knives to my heart when I relive them. One is the death of my brother, Bryan. The only reason that I mention it now is because, out of nowhere, like usual, emptiness descends and I am a puddle of tears missing him. Due to watching television or a movie where a character loses his/her brother/sister/father (yeah, just about any family member) and my world just fades to sadness. Which is exactly what just happened. It might also be the fact that his birthday is coming up soon.

My brother was my best friend. He and I were 12 years apart in age. Which meant that he had a lot to teach me. He was my hero. He taught me to climb the apple trees in our backyard when I was barely old enough to walk. He taught me to love music. I mean really love music. He made my world bigger than the world most toddlers experience. I’m sure I was no more than an annoying tag along to a teenager. But he never made me feel like a burden on his young life.

Most of the mischief I found myself in was due to his influence. I always stole his records and played them on my little red record player. Scratching the hell out of them. He showed me the glory of bands like Pink Floyd, The Who, Led Zeppelin, Queen, Yes, The Band, and even the Alan Parsons Project. I learned what patchouli incense was in his bedroom, which I had to go through to get to mine. Never making the connection to what scent it was masking. Once I stole his naked women rubics cube, almost getting expelled from the third grade.

He was my life. Then I grew up. He moved out, once to Florida. And we still remained close. I wrote him letters. He kept those letters and a baby picture of me in his wallet until the day he died. There was a special bond between us, we needed each other. Like balancing forces keeping us from spiraling into chaos.  

When I ran away from home as a teenager he was destroyed. He told me later how much he cried thinking about the horrible things that were going through his mind. Thinking of me being hurt made him crazy, sometimes angry. When I went on my first date with my ex-husband and stayed out all night, he hit the streets looking for me. And found me. When anything happened to me, he was there to rescue me. Or at least try.

When he was taken to the hospital for the first time after having a seizure while driving, it was me he called to come rescue him. And for the next nine years, as he suffered from the effects of brain tumors, he always called me to rescue him. We were more than siblings, we were the best of friends.

His disease began to strip away his ability to do things. His disease began to strip away his memory. His disease stripped away his life. I was there through it all, rescuing him. He admitted to me only once that he was scared. That he doubted that he would beat his disease.

He had the strength of a lion as the disease tore through his brain. Always believing that he could beat the odds with his will to survive, his faith. It was infectious. I almost believed it too.

Then his disease took its toll. His life. I was there, holding his hand at the moment of his death. The moment I felt my own life tremble and fall.

It has taken 11 years to find the strength to truly move on without him coming to my rescue. But the space in my heart where Bryan’s memory lives sometimes swells to overwhelming proportions. Releasing the tears, suffocating me. I still miss him more than anything.

But I will never again let my grief stall my life, like it once did. Last year I got a memorial tattoo for him, symbolizing him living forever in my hear. The apple blossoms on my shoulder make me long to climb the trees with him again. The bee on my shoulder represents his ability to live against impossible odds. Also, it is a bee for Bryan. I smile every time I see it. Like he is with me.

His words infuse me with his strength.

“It’ll be alright, Amy. Everything’s alright. Never give up.”

A Woman Without Heat

A Woman Without Heat
By Amy Moloney

A woman survives without heat
Upon smiles that raise the sea
Held tight, secrets, inside and out
Carrying the seeds of bitter doubt
She flows with quiet yet clumsy grace
Pain never hidden from her weathered face
Floats like petals upon a midnight breeze
Sunlight penetrating through the freeze
A wild beast within a strangers cage
Desperation is the war she waged
Youthful hope holds no power here
A woman lost to her deluge of fear
No redemption can heal this siren’s soul
Without damnation taking an eternal toll
The heat once bright encased in heart
Withers without at least a matching spark
Spiral down until darkness becomes real
Heat now something she must learn to steal
A woman without her own heat
Builds a fire then sets it free
Remembering a time when heat burned deep
Learning to live as a woman no one will keep

A short divergence from fantasy to focus on being a woman in 2012.

I don’t often voice my political views in public forums. Sometimes I repost funny memes about the ridiculous nature of the political landscape. But as I continue to scroll through my social networks the desire to speak gets more and more undeniable.
 
I am a woman. As such, I am outraged at the backward motion of our culture to place women in the subservient position once again. It is becoming clear that government and fanatical Christianity are becoming inseparable. The constitution is just seen as an obsticle in the way of those bent on controlling the bodies of women.

More than just being a woman. I am a woman unable to reproduce. My question is, in this new regimented mindset of governmental control of women’s healthcare, where does that leave my options of controlling a disorder I cannot control without the use of hormonally based medications? I cannot make children, so do the rules of procreation before health apply to me? Or am I just fucked? As a woman unable to be the baby maker politicans want me to be, do I even count. Is my medical condition now a crime according to recent legislation?

I may not be able to take birth control at my age due to high blood pressure, but it is unconscionable to take that option off the table for others battling the same disorder as I fight on a daily basis. I know birth control is only a small part of the trend to limit one’s access to gynecological care. Especially if you are under-insured or uninsured. Which most of the American public is.

I am pro-choice. Period. It should not be permitted for a medical professional to refuse care based on religious beliefs. I am a nurse, if I refuse care to a patient based on cultural or religious issues I will be sued for discrimination. So why is it permitted for a pharmacologist or physician to deny pregnancy prevention care for a woman based soley on the basis of a religious difference of opinion. If I did that I would lose my license.

The landscape of healthcare has been deteriorating in the United States since we have allowed pharmaceutical companies and insurance companies to make all the decisions. Doctors are mostly removed from the process unless it is an acute care situation. The US is the most inefficient society in the world for healthcare. We have the most advanced technology, but are limited by a capitalistic insurance adjuster saying it isn’t medically necessary to utilize the technology based on bottom line costs. We have put our medical decisions in the hands of those schooled in fiscal health not medicine.

Those same bean counters are the ones in Washington pushing legislation to limit access to those they deem unworthy, i.e. uninsured Americans. Then from there they have begun to target women in order to gain further control over the population.

I know this post is more of a rant than a political commentary. I have worked in the medical field for 15 years. I have seen it from many sides. The backsliding of healthcare scares me. As a woman. As an American. As a human.

Here is an article that say it better than I do.

 

While I'm ranting... Do not get me started on gay rights. I will always defend the rights of any human to love another human. I am pro-human. Period.

Short Story: Viking Ship

[[posterous-content:pid___0]]

Viking Ship

By Amy Moloney

Maxwell sat on his favorite chair staring at the computer screen. It just stared back at him, blank. He wanted to write it all down, to broadcast it to the world. But the words just didn’t come. He had the most incredible experience of his life and he couldn’t tell anyone. Not even his cat Barnabus would believe him. And Barnabus had been there, as his guide. But now the lazy cat slept at his feet and was again a cat.

“Barnabus, you were there. You saw that Viking ship. You met Odin. We sailed to Valhalla. Tell me you are not just a cat again?” Barnabus just blinked up at him. There was no sign of the spirit guide he was just a few hours ago. Maxwell sighed.

Maxwell put his fingers to the keyboard tentatively. “I have to write this down, Barnabus. I have to.”

But there was some sort of internal censor stopping him from writing it. He could feel it sending pain to his fingers as he tried to type the words. He got as far as the words, “I was taken by invisible gods to Valhalla tonight” before his brain shot electrical current into his fingers. His computer completely shut down.

Maxwell sat there staring at his hands. Barnabus was unmoved by the commotion putting his paw back over his eyes and went the sleep.

“Ok, I can play this game. I can’t type? How about speak? Can I tell the story to my cat? Who was there.” Maxwell was speaking to the air, but he knew Freki was listening. The wolf was breathing down his neck. Invisible, but there.

Freki had befriended Maxwell when he first arrived on the ship. An uncharacteristic move on Freki’s part. For some reason this man had a familiar feel to the wolf. And that feeling is what saved Maxwell from being tossed into the churning sea beneath the ship. Freki was the only creature on the ship to recognize the endless journey was finally nearing a real destination.

Maxwell rose from his chair, tossing the laptop aside. Barnabus padded off to a corner on the other side of the room, miffed at being disturbed again. Freki stalking behind the man nudged his nose into Maxwell’s palm. Sensing it was useless to remain hidden from his friend.

“Freki, I thought I was abandoned again. Why can’t I see you?”
“Because I am not of this world. I still sail with Odin. I am here to bring a message and protect that which is sacred.” Freki’s voice resonated within the small room with a deep, etherial tone.

“Odin has a message for me? I thought he kicked me out of Valhalla after kidnapping me there in the first place. Dealing with him is worse than my last crazy girlfriend. Can’t he make up his mind?” Maxwell was irritated to say the least. He had lived a lifetime in the past few hours.

“You insult Odin? You are brave and stupid. I knew there was a reason I liked you. His message is simple. You may tell your story, but not write it.”

“What the hell does that mean? Why can’t I write it?” The questions were answered inside Maxwell’s head. By Odin. Which hurt Maxwell more than the hand electricity bit.

Odin was not exactly what Maxwell had read in his mythology books. He was a crank old man who couldn’t find his way home. He had accidentally kidnapped the young man and now was trying to tie up the loose ends of his mistake. Odin had once been the most glorious Gods in history. Now he sailed in circles looking for a place he had forgotten. Valhalla was always eluding him and he was uncertain why. This is why he distorted time and perception in order to keep his crewmen from knowing the truth. Odin was lost.

That was until a few hours ago when a man named Maxwell mysteriously appeared on his ship and stole his wolf. This man then had the nerve to disappear and attempt to tell the world that Odin was a senile old man. The fury boiling under Odin’s skin was visible. His crew avoided being within ten feet of him. They had found the halls of Valhalla alright. But those halls had aged and turned to dust. Odin was beside himself for allowing so much time to pass. The rage that was at himself, but Maxwell was going to be the target. And that damned cat was going to pay for being the soul vehicle that brought the man to his ship. Odin new never to trust a cat. They were always in too many dimensions at once. It was too easy for mortals to cross the planes if they used cats.

Barnabus stood and stretched. His hackles up. He growled low in his throat, sensing another presence in the room. The cat circled Maxwell’s legs then caught sight of the wolf on the other plane of existence. The cat hissed and clawed toward the spot where Freki stood. But the veil protected the wolf from physical harm. He could not cross into Maxwell’s world at this time.

“Why is the wolf here?” Barnabus spoke.
This was the first time Maxwell had ever heard his cat speak. He just stared, mouth open. The man drew a deep breath then rationalized that he was already talking to an invisible wolf, why not a talking cat.

“Have you always been able to talk, Barnabus?”

“Of course I have. You just haven’t always been able to listen. Again, Why is that wolf here? I am not going back to that cold, wet boat. If that’s what he wants, leave me out of it this time.” Barnabus walked away with his tail in the air making sure that the wolf had a full view of his opinion.

“Barnabus, he isn’t taking us back. Whoa, are you?” Maxwell suddenly was worried too. He agreed with his cat. No way did he want to go back to Odin’s world.

“You are not being invited back. Do not worry. However, you may want to inform THE CAT that it was him, not Odin who transported you to our world in the first place.” Freki was teasing the cat.

Barnabus sat at attention in the middle of the room, watching. He did not like being called out for doing what cats are supposed to do. When something comes through the veil, a cat’s job is to catch it. They were proud of keeping the world safe from mischievous visitors from other realms. The mischief on this realm was for cats to claim. He was only doing his job when that spirit bounced through the veil. He and his human were not supposed to be sucked into a portal. And he was not meant to be a spirit guide once on the other side of that portal. None of the events of the evening were his fault. It was Odin who cast that faulty spell.

Barnabus opened his mouth to say something but was cut off by a loud knocking on the door. Maxwell wasn’t expecting visitors, so he was caught off guard as well. The knocking repeated, this time with an authoritative, “Mr. Karnes, this is the police. We need to ask you a few questions.”

Maxwell froze. Why were the police at his door? He went to the door and peeked through the hole. There was a small uniformed officer and a taller man in a suit waiting. He opened the door with the chain still in place. “What can I do for you Officers?”

“Have you seen this woman?” The man in the suit showed the picture of a young girl to Maxwell. She looked familiar, but he couldn’t place why. Maxwell shook his head no.

“She was seen having coffee at your cafe. You spoke with her for a long time yesterday. She is missing. And sir, we have reason to believe that you went missing for a some time this evening as well. Would you like to answer again, have you seen this woman?” Mr. Suit was pressing at the door.

“Sir, I do not recall this woman. If I spoke to her at work I probably was telling her about our specials. I have been home all evening, alone. So if you do not mind I am quite busy.” Maxwell tried to close the door but Mr. Suit was still holding on to the other side. He leaned into the gap between the door frame and the door, looked Maxwell in the eye and smiled. He let go of his hold on the door a moment later and walked away.

The woman had looked familiar. Mr. Suit looked familiar too. Neither the uniformed officer nor Suit had identified themselves. They did not show ID. Maxwell doubted that they were actual cops. His paranoia began to grow. This had to be about Valhalla. Freki had mentioned that Asgard still had human operatives in this plane. They were around to protect the gods from being forgotten, but also to protect them from being known. Maxwell frowned when he thought about how everyone he has encountered recently spoke in riddles. Even, it seems, his cat.

“That was Thor’s Hammer at the door. Of course he goes by Jorgen in this world.” Freki said it very matter of factly.

“Thor’s Hammer? Thor’s Hammer is a person? Why was he here?” Maxwell looked at the empty space where Freki’s voice emanated. He was hoping to see his friend standing there, reassuring him that what happened wasn’t all in his head. That he isn’t going insane.

“Thor’s Hammer has many meanings and many incarnations. This particular Hammer is the most deadly of them all. He is an assassin, as spy, and very dedicated to Asgard’s secrets.”

“Great. This just gets better. So now I have a Viking assassin to contend with. Does he want to kill me?” The fear was hard to hide from his voice. The adventure which started out exciting was fast becoming a nightmare he couldn’t wake from.

“He is fishing for answers. You must have set off alarms in Asgard. I fear many will now be trying to figure out what you were doing with Odin. The others have long been suspicious of him. Loki will be the next to track you down. I will stay with you after I tell Odin that you won’t betray him. Until I return, do not leave your home.” Freki retreated into the void once more.

“Don’t look at me for answers.” Barnabus shook his head at Maxwell then walked away mumbling, “Humans, what a helpless species.”
It was midnight when Maxwell felt Freki’s breath on his hand. “Welcome back, Freki.”

Freki just nuzzled his hand. It was a show of affection that was unfamiliar to the wolf. Affection that was genuine. Maxwell was the closest thing to a friend Freki had encountered. He had no obligation to the human. The human asked nothing of the wolf other. Freki felt loyalty to Maxwell. At times, he felt more loyal to Maxwell than he did to Odin. Which was a dangerous realization. Odin had once been a very sound master. But time and misspent magic had eroded the God he had loved into a madman.

“First things first. Who was the woman in the photograph that Jorgen showed me?” Maxwell was ready to unravel the mystery and get on with his life. Without interference form Norse Gods.

“Freyja”

“Freyja? The goddess Freyja was in my cafe before all of this happened? That cannot be a coincidence.” Maxwell’s eyes twitched. His hands clenched. He was beginning to feel as if he’d been set up. “You said the others were suspicious of Odin. What if they had set this whole thing up to draw him out of the time loop he created?”

Freki processed that idea. “You may be on to a logical explanation of how you ended up on Odin’s ship. Maybe it wasn’t the cat’s fault after all.” At that last comment, the cat perked up.

Barnabus looked directly into the wolf’s eyes, through the veil, before he spoke. “If that is an apology, it is a poor one. However, I accept.”

“We are partners in this you two. Stop the hostility. Now, to figure out why I was chosen to cross the void and out Odin. And is Freyja really missing?” There were now more questions than explanations. “How about we go out to get something to eat, I need new air to breathe.”

As Maxwell ate his greasy diner steak he fed every other bite to Freki. The waitress pretended not to notice that the meat disappearing into thin air as she poured a second cup of coffee, almost overflowing the mug. Maxwell just smiled and said, “I have an invisible friend.” She walked away looking confused.

Maxwell pulled out his notebook and pen and began making notes. This time there were no electrical shocks.

The little bell over the front door tinkled the arrival of a new customer. Maxwell looked up and saw Freyja walk in. She headed to his booth and sat down across from Maxwell.

“Hello Freki, I wasn’t expecting to see you here.” She nodded toward the invisible wolf. “Mr. Karnes, I believe you have information that is pertinent to Asgard.”

Freyja was more beautiful than he remembered her in his cafe. She was stunning without trying to be. She wore simple jeans and an Iron Maiden T-shirt. Not what Maxwell expected of a goddess. Though, he had never expected to meet a goddess at a diner before. Nor had he ever expected to be the center of a conflict between Norse Gods. One of them losing his mind.

“I’m not sure what you mean. I have never been to Asgard.” Maxwell didn’t think deflecting the question was going to do him any good, but he tried anyway.

“I know where you have been. I know that Odin is not himself. What I need to know from you is how unlike himself he is. He has let Valhalla crumble, his warriors are trapped on that ship circling the sea, he has lost his wolf to a human. You cannot tell me he is well. Quit playing the fool, I will show you a goddess if need be.” She was matter of fact. He caught the treat, took her seriously.

“He swore me to secrecy. I cannot tell you exactly what I saw. I can tell you that his warriors no longer sail aimlessly.” That was the truth.

“I can tell you, Freyja.” Freki began. “He is beyond Asgard’s help. His magic has distorted and he sails without the winds to guide him. He is lost.” Freki sounded as if he were crying.

Freyja nodded at the wolf knowing the courage it took. Odin would not easily forgive the wolf for betraying his secrets. “I am not your enemy, Maxwell. Neither is Jorgen. We are doing what is best for Asgard. Also, for humankind. If things continue to spiral out of balance in our world, your world is at risk of destruction. Ragnarok will happen in your world if we do not stop Odin’s madness.”

“You are saying that Ragnarok is really going to happen? Here, in my world? What does any of this have to do with me? It was no coincidence that you showed up before I was whisked off to his ship. Why me?”

“Simple. You are Odin’s offspring. His great-great-great-great-etcetera etcetera etcetera grandson. A human grandson with Odin’s blood. You were the only choice to reach him.” She stood to leave then turned back around. “And Maxwell, take care of that wolf. He is in your care now.” She walked out of the diner with another tinkling of the bell.

On his way back home Maxwell noticed that he was being followed. He kept hold of Freki’s fur. Freki walked close enough to knock Maxwell sideways more than once. Until Maxwell finally stopped and turned around to face his shadow.

The man following thought Maxwell was drunk. He walked up and handed Maxwell a pouch. “This is a gift from Jorgen.” Then the man vanished.

Inside the pouch was a dagger. An ornate dagger with runes carved into the blade and a green stone in the hilt. Wrapped around the handle was a note that read: Use to free a soul from it’s own prison.  

When Maxwell arrived home Barnabus met him at the door impatiently. “Odin was here. He looked angry.”

“He was here? He came through the veil?” Freki asked, cutting the cat off from his retelling of the events.

“As I was saying, Odin was here. He wants you to return to Valhalla immediately Freki. He said that you should bring the man-child. And that he will unleash his fury if you do not obey at once.” Barnabus did not like gods walking through his home. He took great care to keep the walls between the worlds in place around his human. Now all the rules had been broken and his job was becoming near impossible.

“He’s right.” Maxwell said. “We have to return to Valhalla. That is the only way to rebalance Asgard. I have to free Odin’s soul. I know what I must do. How do we get there?”

“I guess that’s where I come in,” Barnabus was beyond annoyed about having to do what he was about to do. Maxwell was right, he had to return. This time however Barnabus was not crossing through, only holding the gate open until Maxwell’s return.

Barnabus began circling his human’s legs, drawing a tight circle around Maxwell. A small vortex of energy rippled at his feet. Then he was standing on the ground where the halls of Valhalla should have been.

Standing in the center of the rubble was Odin. He looked old, weary, lucid. He looked lucid. Only for a moment, then the crazed look returned to his eyes. When he spotted Maxwell the veins in his temple began to visibly grow. “I see you have returned. I demand that you give back what you have stolen.”

Confused, Maxwell looked at his grandfather more closely. “What have I stolen from you?” He decided to play along. It wasn’t going to be easy to get to him with Viking warriors surrounding him. And they were. The entire field was filling with Vikings. They didn’t seem to be threatening Maxwell. But he hadn’t pulled his dagger out as of yet.

“You stole my wolf. I demand you return him at once.” Odin came closer to his grandson, oblivious to the fact that Maxwell was his only living heir.

“I did not steal your wolf. He is right here. He can go where he desires. I lay no claim on him.” Maxwell tried to sound confident as he spoke. But his voice cracked at times betraying his fear.

Freki stood between the men, afraid Odin would act rashly and crush Maxwell. Odin looked down and noticed the wolf. A smile creeping onto his face. For a moment he looked young and happy. That faded when his glare met Maxwell’s eyes. “Who do you think you are? My wolf has changed allegiance. I can smell it.”

With Odin’s attention on the wolf, Maxwell drew the dagger quickly, hoping he was right about what the note meant. He plunged the dagger deep into Odin’s chest. Blood pooled on Maxwell’s hand. He felt the pain of his actions instantly. As he withdrew the blade a wisp of black smoke came with it. It circled the two men then flew toward the trees, disappearing.

Vikings descended upon Maxwell, pinning him to the ground. He didn’t fight back. He just waited for what he hoped was about to happen. It did.

Odin sat up slowly, holding the hole in his chest. He looked around and saw what had happened to his great halls. Odin sobbed. His grief a palpable thing. The Vikings let Maxwell up. Odin reached out and threw his arms around his grandson in an almost suffocating embrace.

“You did it, boy. You freed me. I knew you could do it.” Odin was happy, young, vibrant. He was himself.

“You knew I could do it?”

“Why else would I send Freyja to find you? I’m still upset about my wolf. But then again, you do have my blood running through your veins. Consider him on loan. For your safety. The others know you are kin. That may not bode well for you in the future events. Now, if you don’t mind finding your way home, it seems I have a lot of work to do rebuilding my halls.”

Moments later Barnabus appeared, opened a door, and escorted Freki and Maxwell home where Freyja was waiting with take out from the Chinese Buffet.

Life had suddenly become complicated for Maxwell Karnes.

Short Story: Lemon Cake

Lemon Cake

By Amy Moloney

 
She floated into the room, an apparition, holding a delicate china plate. Her soft voice rang in my ears with a sing-song lullaby.
 
“Please dear, try some lemon cake. It will soothe the edges of your pain.” She said with a hint of sorcery.

“Thank you, Mrs. Teagarden. It looks divine.” I was under her spell before the first bite touched my lips.

“Madame Teagarden, dear. And it is divine. Made by the Goddess herself.” With that last part she winked and I saw a radiant light emanate from her fingers as she held them to her mouth in a shush gesture.

As I lifted the first bit of soft, creamy lemon cake to my eager mouth a darkness fell over the room. A complete darkness that always made everything feel colder.

“The Feedlings are here, dear. You have a decision to make. Eat the cake. It will make things easier.” Madame Teagarden was as calm as ever. I could hear her fluttering about the room at ease in the darkness.

“Who are the Feedlings?” With my mouth so full of cake that it sounded more like I said “Ooo er da eefigs?” The cake was more delicious than I had expected. I truly believed that a goddess had made it. Nothing has ever felt so perfect in my mouth.

The lights flickered for a moment then came on with an audible electrical buzz. She was across the room holding a beautiful glass wand the color of the afternoon sky. The tip glowed violet. She waved it in the air, sparks of sunshine following in it’s wake.

“That’s better. Isn’t it, dear?”

“Yes. The room seems brighter than before.” My mind was floating in a state that reminded me of the twilight time when I am just waking up from a vivid dream. The room was brighter and slightly out of focus. I could see movement at the edges of my vision. Little flashes of light flying just to my peripheral.

“It’s time, dear. You must choose.” Then she held out a small serving tray with three cards face down. On the back of each card was written the word Lonliness.

“I’m confused. What do these cards mean?” I didn’t feel particularly lonely right then. I remembered feeling lonely before Madame Teagarden came into the room. In fact, the loneliness was suffocating.

I remember it being blinding, obscuring the little things around me. The sweet little things of life that can otherwise be glorious experiences. It reached inside of me, inside my very soul. Erasing memories, replacing them with bitterness. Distorting the truth of what they once were. I allowed the loneliness to get it’s claws deep inside my skin. A succubus slowly dissolving the breath within my lungs. Constricting with each inhalation, a python breeding misery.   

I took another bite of lemon cake and felt numb to the memory of loneliness again.

“Do you choose loneliness, dear?” Her voice slightly less calm.

“What? Who would choose loneliness? I am very confused.” I was swimming in a sea of detached emotion. Why would I want to be lonely? Suddenly the visit from Madame Teagarden didn’t seem so divine. Fear was beginning to bite at my skin. I could feel it, sort of.

“Hurry dear, the Feedlings are here. If you do not choose a card they will feed on your loneliness. I do not think you would want that. It is a far worse fate than loneliness.” She was losing her calm and speaking a bit faster.

The Feedlings appeared suddenly before my eyes. Little flashes of light expanded into brilliant vortexes of fire. Each with a mouth as big as their spinning center. Fangs dripping with glittering liquid, beautiful and sinister.  It was impossible not to become entranced by the Feedlings. They were like nothing I’d ever seen.

I heard them speaking into my mind. Promising to take away the crippling pain of loneliness. Their voices sang together like a choir. It was irresistible. I was opening my mouth to answer them when Madame Teagarden came at me with the lemon cake in one hand and the wand in another. She laid the lemon cake on my lap before tracing a circle around my chair with the wand.

“Eat the entire cake now.” She said it with authority. Squeezing the words through gritted teeth. She was either angry with me or frightened. I couldn’t tell which in my current state of detachment.

I was frightened. That much I knew. I ate the cake, devouring it. It was still delicious, but stung my throat on the way down. I felt emotion slowly descending upon me once more. I was myself again.

I could see the circle Madame Teagarden had drawn around me. The feedlings were hungry, frantically ramming the circle with their teeth trying to get through. Under the plate with the cake was the tray holding the three cards. I looked at them closely. Above the word loneliness on each card was another word written in a smaller print.

I chose the one that read Accept Loneliness. When I turned the card over there was a picture of my face staring back at me.

The Feedlings became irate. Their singing became howls of anger. They continued to assault the circle around me, chipping away at it. I saw threads of light crumbling, fracturing the barrier.

Two Feedlings made it into the circle with me. They were close enough for me to feel the suction of the vortex pull my hair into their mouths.

One bite of lemon cake was left on the plate. I picked it up with my fingers and put it into my mouth. As it melted on my tongue I whispered the words, “I accept my loneliness as a part of who I am.” I do not know where those words came from, they seemed right. I closed my eyes and prayed for the Feedlings to go away. I wanted my emotions back, the good and the bad. I wanted to feel like me.

The Feedlings disappeared with a popping noise. The circle dissolved and Madame Teagarden was nowhere to be seen. I looked down at the empty plate, the card with my photograph, and the blue glass wand. My hair was singed a bit on one side and there was a ring of smoke rising from the carpet around my chair. But every entity that had been there moments before were gone. Except for me.

I laughed at the sudden quiet exaggerating the loneliness of the room. The loneliness that somehow felt right. I picked up my purse, checked myself in the mirror, then went out for the night.

 

 

**While writing this story the following song kept playing in my head. If you haven't heard of The Jane Austen Argument, I suggest you listen. They make me happy. And this is a great song to accompany this story. Enjoy, my lovelies.