Saturday, December 16, 2017

Slytherin Spaces: Cosy nest, wintry lair


Confession time: I'm not exactly a so-called Potterhead.

Not in the true sense.
 I am a Snapehead, but of a very specific and unusual type; I'm an actual witch-warlock (warlyne? warlass?) who channels Snape as a source of inspiration for real-life pursuits, such as herbal medicine, and for spiritual growth.
 But I don't have the cute little banners on my walls, the Gryffindor merchandise such as a striped sports scarf, the fake replica wands. Maybe I'm just stubborn; even at the cresting peak of the franchise wave, I never bought any of the merchandise.
 I like to think it's because I need to make anything I get into have significance on a deeply personal level, which means not simply buying into what's currently being sold to me . . . even if it's almost irrepressibly cute or cool.

And once your character relationship hits what I call the "Saint Severus" level of depth and significance, gawping like a twelve-year-old at the latest gimmick or Potterwhatever just seems dumb.
 Of course I still enjoy the books, but the sheer intensity of the Snape tangent left whatever ordinary geekdom I might have possessed in the dust. I may sound arrogant here, but one does begin to feel like a Ph.D. in physics trying to converse with middle-schoolers in science class. It's both the blessing and curse of a creative person with an old soul: When you pack legit magical heat, and can do stuff like embroider or sew, no merch on the market can match the status-symbol clout of a handmade leather-bound tome of real potion recipes that you can use to cure your buddy's cancer as easily as hex your neighbor. Or a sanguinary Severus relic, or a real magic wand. Which you made because you'll actually use the thing. Because you're, like, a real mage.


As one of the few figures with enough archetypal power to qualify as one of my animus figures that I did not create myself, Severus Snape left even his impressive character beginnings behind and grew into something much greater. (I realized he's not the only one; I forgot I have one other, Batman's Mr. Freeze, another tormented sympathetic villain or anti-hero who is committed to saving his wife's life, and thus reeks of redemption: That Redemption fragrance, man, it's some awesome shit.) Which is why we love the greasy bugger. One of every five fans, when polled, picked Snape as their favorite character; he is literally the most popular character in the most popular series in history.
 Damn, Sev.


But this pure and intense Snapecentric focus, combined with my fierce independence and resistance to be fully assimilated by the Pottereverything franchise machine, also meant I missed out on some potentially fun stuff. Like Pottermore. The potions class, I'll admit, would have been fun. And it means I'd seen the Slytherin Common Room maybe once.


Ah, enter the Internet.
I was dicking about on the Web last night, and nicked some pics that showed me the Slytherin lair in a clear light for the first time.


 Now, Harry Potter is a Christian-based series, inspired also by alchemical ideas; still, we know where snakes fall in much of the Western mentality. But many of my friends and I operate in a more matriarchal, pre-Judaeo-Christian value framework that recognizes the Serpent as a sacred symbol of feminine transformative power. Even the skull, instead of a horrific image, becomes a source of reflection and contemplation. This makes a setting like Slytherin Common Room a lot more appealing than a dank dungeon populated by a bunch of wizarding Hitler Youth. Rather, the place seems downright cosy.


Being a mage entails a courage to go beyond the comfortable boxes of religion, society, habits, and other rigid forms of existing. It requires exploring the Shadows. Spiritually, mentally, and sometimes even physically, you can't keep primping and fluffing and dithering; you need to be willing to get dirty. Poke around in the dark holes of your soul and psyche. Shed some skins, or paw through old discarded skins as a reminder of what you don't want to go back to being. It means overcoming fear.


I've reached a point of growth at which I actively seek the dark places. Push my boundaries. Get out of my comfort zone, not just to titilate myself as in a haunted house, but to challenge my soul.
 For some reason, I've never been fond of Mormons, for instance. Why is that? Why would that whole "package" not set well with me, or taste the way it does in my mouth? Let's find out why, by exploring both sides, in those who are of that faith and those who have abandoned it. While never intending to become one -- their God-box is too small for me -- I still might learn something. Or, in Slytherin fashion, use what I learn from them to get a leg up in something else.
 (Turned out I did. I ended up exploring Freemasonry, on which its services are based, Rosicrucianism and the Ancient Order of United Workmen, all of which are powerful yet somewhat benevolent systems. Slytherins certainly know the pluses and minuses of an old boys' club kind of society!)


On the flip side, this time of year is when we seek our cosy zone. A nice warm place to nest in, particularly here in the PacNW where lots of us need to stave off SAD, or seasonal depression. I tend to wallow in the feelings, myself, marinate in them like a dark Saturnian sauce.


But I won't deny that having a decent nest, with space to work, working heat, and roommates that don't suck, makes the marinating a helluva lot more pleasant. (I mean, Snape's pants! First time in Stumptown I've had access to a fireplace! Surprised I ain't using it every night, except I'm so often working the night shifts. Talk about cosy. And a Jacuzzi tub! What's wrong with me? Sev, get your ass over here, whether it's wearing pants or not. No shampoo required.)


Part of the Slytherin scope, hand-in-hand with ambition, resourcefulness and determination, is the ability to dream, to set goals. To see potential. To seize opportunities. Snape shows us that not all Slytherins come from filthy-rich homes. Even in those rich families, someone had to be the founder, the initiator, the ambitious one who built that family's wealth in the first place and taught her'is brood how to do the same. If you came from a poor family, like both me and Severus, you spot opportunity and grab it.
 Yesterday I was on my way to meet a friend for a movie, when I saw a group of antique, little wooden chair-legs with hand-carved scrollwork, sitting in a free box on the sidewalk. I shamelessly scooped them into my arms, next to my patch-emblazoned "Go Snakes" totebag, and onto the No. 8 bus they went with me.


 I thought: Why, those will make a fine footstool! Or other cool furniture. It won't be hard to put a puffy little upholstered, brocade seat on them, the kind with a button in the centre. Then I can rest my feet on it beside the fire, in my mansion . . . once I have one. Nice things for a nice, Old World style home. A man on the bus today remembered me from yesterday . . . along with my odd cargo. A conversation ensued. I joked that my superhero alter-ego is . . . The Accumulator!

The Slytherin master's dread office, full of accumulated fun: Kick back and have a pint!

 I'm the patient, camoflaged sort of snake, not the fast, striped racer. I'll lie in wait, plan long-term and build slowly, putting up with a bit of hardship meantime, until the prize is mine. I succeed my way. A challenging lesson at times, when everyone around me is doing this and shining brightly in that: Ambition, I've learned, does not always mean a person is in a hurry.


Slytherin spaces: They can be intimidating, yet compelling, and for me, even welcoming. So show me the dark tunnel. Let me into the common room -- oh, wait; I'll let myself in: (whispered) Serpensempra. I'll happily curl up by the fire on that old plush couch, a glass of port in hand. Oh, yeah, and hand me that book: There's this technique I've been dying to research lately.


 If I'm lucky, I'll come to light entwined in the arms of my own dark-eyed, black-haired animus, who smirks and lights a clove off the end of his wand, sated by our feast, then kisses me and murmurs that we, serpent-twins of the Divine mysteries, are nothing less than . . . Invictus.


Feel like cuddling?


There are too many cool spaces to feature on a whole blog, let alone a single post. But here's a neat one I found on a page I follow:
(Above and below photo)
 "The Seiano cave is named after Lucius Aelius Sejanus, prefect of Tiberius, who according to tradition, commissioned its enlargement in the first century AD. The first tunnel was built by architect Lucius Cocceius Auctus for Agrippa during the civil war between Octavian and Sextus Pompeius in c.37 BC to connect the villa Vedius Pollio and other patrician villas of Pausilypon to the ports of Puteoli and Cumae. The tunnel is one of a number of such works in the Naples area built by Cocceius."


Every snake needs his lair.




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