Contriting
Feb. 13th, 2012 07:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shelbyrou[Scene back-dated]
It is currently night on Thu Feb 9 2012.
Currently the moon is in the waning Gibbous Moon phase.
Umbra: Center of the Caern
A subtly spine-vibrating thrum of power issues from the Caern and its pathstone, pricking hairs and fur. Slowly but surely, the rejuvenating actions of the Garou have been transforming the once spiritually dead spot into something befitting a caern. It is alive with a wide variety of spirits, Wyld and chimerical, nature spirits and others, traveling about on missions of their own; though Wendigo spirits are never seen. The caern, visually, falls just short of the wildest rural utopia imaginable. Bare hints of a former pollution remain; tentatively green grass, hearty young trees where there ought to be mighty oaks and pines--and these are things that, with time and care, are slowly replacing what was lost.
The air crackles with tingles of spiritual potency. It is not, for those with long memories, as powerful as it was before the Black Spiral Dancers took over for a time, but there is power, and there is energy, dancing in the air.
Obvious exits:
South North West
About 10pm on Thursday night, when most people are winding down their date with Prime Time, two Ragabash slip into the Umbra. Shelby promptly shifts to crinos to do a circuit around the area, well-defended bawn and caern or not.
Tim, on the other hand, looks around that the Caern's Umbra in a manner of someone getting a long, last look. His eyes fall on the boulder, and he watches it while Shelby makes her circuit. He kneels down and sets down a few things he's brought with him: a hand-sized shard of mirror glass, a small, black lacquered, bamboo bowl, and a waxed paper bag with something dry in it.
The Fang returns to her packmate's side and gives the objects a curious look. After a moment she returns to homid and adds a nod. "I figured you'd say if you wanted me to bring anything special, right?" A lune, looking like a self-propelled refugee from a ticker tape parade, undulates over to play around her head and shoulders.
"Yeah, this is just, like, the kind of thing I would think of--so after this, you'll want to think about what you would do, you know? It's always good to do some of the other little rituals beforehand--feed the earth, maybe sun- or moon-greeting if you know them, breathing, bone rhythms for spirit contritions." Tim takes up the piece of mirrorglass, reflecting Shelby back at herself. "Probably self-explanatory." He touches the bowl. "For some water." Then the bag. "Some dried herbs and flowers." He takes the later and gets up, then begins walking around the other items and Shelby in a wide circle, sprinkling them out. "I'll show you the wolf shape way, then how I do it the human way."
Shelby glances irritably at the lune before seeming to recognize it for what it is, and offers up a hand for it to orbit (and fingers for it to lace) as well. "Mirror for Chimera," she half-guesses. "So something to signify what or whoever you're apologizing to. Water and... earth? Or are the herbs significant for some other reason?"
"The water is both because it's reflective, and because our auspice here is usually said to be water." Tim shrugs about that, and admits, "I'm kind of more air myself, but whatever works. The herbs and flowers are just something Hindus do. You could do all kinds of other things. I knew a guy once who had this black sand he would use, always kept some with him." Once the circle is done, he offers the bowl to Shelby. "Go fill it from the falls?"
"Mutable," Shelby guesses with a shrug that says she doesn't quite believe it herself. "All right. So it's more the circle that's important, instead of what it's made of?" Poor lune will have to do without her fingers as she trots over to fill the bowl. It tries to keep up for a while, but gets bored about halfway there and lollops off to mess about with some leaves.
Tim nods, raising his voice as Shelby moves away so that it will carry to her. "You can do it how it comes natural to you. You could do four points, for four elements or four directions. You want to ground yourself, though. I've seen some ritualists make a diamond, and they face the direction of the wind that favors them." He then shifts to lupus and waits for her to return.
Shelby keeps a close eye on the water-filled bowl as she returns, slopping only a little. "Where do you want this?"
Golden points his nose to where the mirrorglass now rests, just inside the circle, at the closest point to the boulder. Wolf shape, for the wolf way to give sorrow for wrong-things-caused.
The water goes where he directs, the Fang needlessly wiping her hands dry before shifting into lupus. She gives Golden a single uncertain wag before offering to lie down just outside the circle.
Golden moves outside the circle. He stands tall for a moment. Sometimes this is the best way. When spirits are more animal than not, when it is a lupus you give contrition to. His ears skew. When it is one who is most like a lupus. Then he rolls on his side, showing his throat and his belly even in a traditional sign of apology, and with a swift bite tears open one paw so that it's bleeding. His ears go back, and he whines; this one has done wrong, or done a thing which caused something wrong, and admits to that.
Sphinx-like Bright Eyes watches the Strider with ears swiveled sideways in uncertainty. After a moment she mimics his actions, though her head keeps popping up to see what he's doing next. I was wrong, she agrees, and though her lips curl is distaste, she too bites an injury into a front paw.
Without doing so (thankfully), Golden indicates that in the most extreme case, some lupus will urinate on themselves, because this is the truest sign of submission and wrong-doing. His fur shudders, suggesting he never does this.
Bright Eyes's ears go flat for a moment, her teeth flashing another 'ew'. After a moment she cautiously rolls onto her belly and gives her bleeding paw a lick. That is all? she wonders uncertainly.
Golden rolls over onto his feet and shifts to homid, then moves into the circle. "Yeah, in the wolf shape." He settles down lotus style and shoves his hand into the ground, performing an impromptu Feed the Earth. He shuts his eyes while he does so, whispering a prayer under his breath in Kashmirir. The circle is big enough to hold both himself and Shelby, with some room between them.
She follows suit after another moment or three, stepping carefully over the circle's boundary. "Wonder how long it's going to be before I get over not liking to bleed," she observes wryly, looking/not-looking at her hand. "I'd make a crappy theurge." Sitting is less graceful than usual as she folds herself down with the use of only one hand, but she manages, and closes her eyes to wait for Tim to finish.
Tim goes quiet for a moment, then says in a low voice, "Give it time. I didn't really get okay with it for a few years." He opens his eyes and frees his hand from the dirt. "So. For this, there's some of where you come from involved. Like I was saying the other day, Kashmirs--actually, Hindus--don't use apologies like Westerners do. If you give an apology for fucking up you don't mean, that's a really huge insult. But it's important to remember a couple of things. Contrition isn't about expecting forgiveness. That's their choice. It is about owning what you did, and that is wronged someone, or hurt them." He takes up the bowl of water and, with his clean hand. sprinkles a little on himself and then some on Shelby.
After giving his first words some thought she nods, lips twisting. "--I can see that," she continues after the sprinkling. "About what you're saying. If you're apologizing but expect them to forgive you, you're... um. It's like you're telling them what to do. Forcing them to do it. You can -hope- they forgive you, but really, this is to make the apology formal. Not just 'hey, Tim, sorry about that thing', but going through the extra steps to make it... make it real. Realer. More proof that no, you realize you screwed up."
"Exactly," Tim says, nodding in firm agreement. "Also, since it's a ritual, you're coming clean to the spirits, which for us is kind of like a public apology. The blademoons tell us the spirits are paying attention; they know what we've done or haven't done. And if you do this without really meaning it, they say the spirits will know and can expose it by making the ritual...fail, somehow." He grimaces. "I've never, ah, tried, but that's cultural for me." He places the bowl so it's touching the edge of their circle of herbs and flowers, then puts the mirror just in front of that. "So now, you pray, however you're used to doing it. I knew a guy who did Latin prayers. For me, it's pretty simple. Kshamaapanam samarpayami." The phrases roll of his tongue, a language that's much more liquid and flowing than English. "Literally, it's, 'I offer an admission of my wrong doings, and ask of your forgiveness.'" He closes his eyes, touching each eyelid with the hand bearing his bracelet to Dragonfly, and repeats, "Kshamaapanam samarpayami," then bows over so his forehead is touching the ground and his arms are stretched out in front of him, palms up.
Shelby listens attentively, nodding where appropriate. "I'm glad I don't have to learn that - it's a beautiful language, but I always feel weird using languages I don't know in rituals. It feels like I'm just mouthing the words - doing the form, but without the heart in it, if you know what I mean." After another few moments she nods as if understanding dawns and murmurs something in Polish, probably a translation of his meaning. "And it's not just a prayer. I mean... the ritual is both the prayer and the apology, right?"
Tim stays that was for a moment or two, though when he straightens, his eyes find Shelby, and he nods, indicating he was still listening. "Right. Some people don't pray, like, not what we would call praying; they might just give offerings and meditate. But mantras come to me pretty naturally, and maybe praying comes to you, so." He takes in a deep breath and lets it out very slowly. "You might pray a few times, depending on how you feel, and how you think they feel. When I was done with mine to," he nods at the boulder, "I took my piece of mirror and set it out somewhere that it would reflect the moonlight out onto a little pond."
"I wasn't really raised in a church or anything, if that's how you mean," Shelby notes, a little awkward. "But all right, do the apology-prayer-thing as many times as feels appropriate, depending on the situation and circumstances." She hesitates, hands folding together. "What do you do, if the Rite fails? Is this one of those where if you mess up you don't get a do-over? Or can you try again except with more... apology?"
"Probably more of the smaller rites, and get a Theurge to give you some pointers--they may have suggestions on how to make your meaning clearer. Like chiminage you could offer, if you've really fucked up." Tim leans forward, but only about halfway this time, and dumps the water from the bowl over his head. Once it's had a few seconds to stop dripping, he straightens and runs his hands through, careful with the one he's intentionally injured. "And now you wait and see if she accepts."
Shelby, about to add something, stops and blinks instead at Tim's impromptu bath. "Is that part of the ritual too?" she wonders, clearly torn between laughter and dismay. "Though if you say yes, I don't know if I should believe you!"
"Hindu rituals involve a lot of bathing," Tim explains. He shakes out the bowl so it's reasonably close to dry. "If stripping down and taking a dunk in a river isn't an option, that's kind of a close second. Again, not something you would have to do, but good for me to do."
Now she does laugh, a little, from nerves and relief. "Oh. Oh, good. No, for me it probably involves going somewhere and sitting by myself, quietly. Spend some time reflecting, you know? Extend the ritual time and space until it feels right to rejoin the quote-unquote real world."
Tim gestures with the bowl at Shelby. "There you go. See? Already thinking about it the right way. We'll have you calling down the sunbridge for the Great Hunt in no time." He gets up, leaving the flowers, and tucks the bowl away while offering the glass to his packmate. "Find somewhere good to set it. Realm, maybe; the stuff they use to make the mirroring on the back is silver-based, so."
Shelby quirks a grin and brushes a bit of hair behind one ear. "She can be taught!" she intones, and retakes her feet as well. "Right - I found this little baby waterfall when I was looking for my rock for the Moot rite. I bet if I can find the right angle the spray'll be gorgeous."
"Sounds perfect." Tim shoves the waxed paper bag back into his pocket, and trades it for an old, bronze, antique compact. He flips it open, revealing the mirror-side within, and disappears back across the Gauntlet.
It is currently night on Thu Feb 9 2012.
Currently the moon is in the waning Gibbous Moon phase.
Umbra: Center of the Caern
A subtly spine-vibrating thrum of power issues from the Caern and its pathstone, pricking hairs and fur. Slowly but surely, the rejuvenating actions of the Garou have been transforming the once spiritually dead spot into something befitting a caern. It is alive with a wide variety of spirits, Wyld and chimerical, nature spirits and others, traveling about on missions of their own; though Wendigo spirits are never seen. The caern, visually, falls just short of the wildest rural utopia imaginable. Bare hints of a former pollution remain; tentatively green grass, hearty young trees where there ought to be mighty oaks and pines--and these are things that, with time and care, are slowly replacing what was lost.
The air crackles with tingles of spiritual potency. It is not, for those with long memories, as powerful as it was before the Black Spiral Dancers took over for a time, but there is power, and there is energy, dancing in the air.
Obvious exits:
South North West
About 10pm on Thursday night, when most people are winding down their date with Prime Time, two Ragabash slip into the Umbra. Shelby promptly shifts to crinos to do a circuit around the area, well-defended bawn and caern or not.
Tim, on the other hand, looks around that the Caern's Umbra in a manner of someone getting a long, last look. His eyes fall on the boulder, and he watches it while Shelby makes her circuit. He kneels down and sets down a few things he's brought with him: a hand-sized shard of mirror glass, a small, black lacquered, bamboo bowl, and a waxed paper bag with something dry in it.
The Fang returns to her packmate's side and gives the objects a curious look. After a moment she returns to homid and adds a nod. "I figured you'd say if you wanted me to bring anything special, right?" A lune, looking like a self-propelled refugee from a ticker tape parade, undulates over to play around her head and shoulders.
"Yeah, this is just, like, the kind of thing I would think of--so after this, you'll want to think about what you would do, you know? It's always good to do some of the other little rituals beforehand--feed the earth, maybe sun- or moon-greeting if you know them, breathing, bone rhythms for spirit contritions." Tim takes up the piece of mirrorglass, reflecting Shelby back at herself. "Probably self-explanatory." He touches the bowl. "For some water." Then the bag. "Some dried herbs and flowers." He takes the later and gets up, then begins walking around the other items and Shelby in a wide circle, sprinkling them out. "I'll show you the wolf shape way, then how I do it the human way."
Shelby glances irritably at the lune before seeming to recognize it for what it is, and offers up a hand for it to orbit (and fingers for it to lace) as well. "Mirror for Chimera," she half-guesses. "So something to signify what or whoever you're apologizing to. Water and... earth? Or are the herbs significant for some other reason?"
"The water is both because it's reflective, and because our auspice here is usually said to be water." Tim shrugs about that, and admits, "I'm kind of more air myself, but whatever works. The herbs and flowers are just something Hindus do. You could do all kinds of other things. I knew a guy once who had this black sand he would use, always kept some with him." Once the circle is done, he offers the bowl to Shelby. "Go fill it from the falls?"
"Mutable," Shelby guesses with a shrug that says she doesn't quite believe it herself. "All right. So it's more the circle that's important, instead of what it's made of?" Poor lune will have to do without her fingers as she trots over to fill the bowl. It tries to keep up for a while, but gets bored about halfway there and lollops off to mess about with some leaves.
Tim nods, raising his voice as Shelby moves away so that it will carry to her. "You can do it how it comes natural to you. You could do four points, for four elements or four directions. You want to ground yourself, though. I've seen some ritualists make a diamond, and they face the direction of the wind that favors them." He then shifts to lupus and waits for her to return.
Shelby keeps a close eye on the water-filled bowl as she returns, slopping only a little. "Where do you want this?"
Golden points his nose to where the mirrorglass now rests, just inside the circle, at the closest point to the boulder. Wolf shape, for the wolf way to give sorrow for wrong-things-caused.
The water goes where he directs, the Fang needlessly wiping her hands dry before shifting into lupus. She gives Golden a single uncertain wag before offering to lie down just outside the circle.
Golden moves outside the circle. He stands tall for a moment. Sometimes this is the best way. When spirits are more animal than not, when it is a lupus you give contrition to. His ears skew. When it is one who is most like a lupus. Then he rolls on his side, showing his throat and his belly even in a traditional sign of apology, and with a swift bite tears open one paw so that it's bleeding. His ears go back, and he whines; this one has done wrong, or done a thing which caused something wrong, and admits to that.
Sphinx-like Bright Eyes watches the Strider with ears swiveled sideways in uncertainty. After a moment she mimics his actions, though her head keeps popping up to see what he's doing next. I was wrong, she agrees, and though her lips curl is distaste, she too bites an injury into a front paw.
Without doing so (thankfully), Golden indicates that in the most extreme case, some lupus will urinate on themselves, because this is the truest sign of submission and wrong-doing. His fur shudders, suggesting he never does this.
Bright Eyes's ears go flat for a moment, her teeth flashing another 'ew'. After a moment she cautiously rolls onto her belly and gives her bleeding paw a lick. That is all? she wonders uncertainly.
Golden rolls over onto his feet and shifts to homid, then moves into the circle. "Yeah, in the wolf shape." He settles down lotus style and shoves his hand into the ground, performing an impromptu Feed the Earth. He shuts his eyes while he does so, whispering a prayer under his breath in Kashmirir. The circle is big enough to hold both himself and Shelby, with some room between them.
She follows suit after another moment or three, stepping carefully over the circle's boundary. "Wonder how long it's going to be before I get over not liking to bleed," she observes wryly, looking/not-looking at her hand. "I'd make a crappy theurge." Sitting is less graceful than usual as she folds herself down with the use of only one hand, but she manages, and closes her eyes to wait for Tim to finish.
Tim goes quiet for a moment, then says in a low voice, "Give it time. I didn't really get okay with it for a few years." He opens his eyes and frees his hand from the dirt. "So. For this, there's some of where you come from involved. Like I was saying the other day, Kashmirs--actually, Hindus--don't use apologies like Westerners do. If you give an apology for fucking up you don't mean, that's a really huge insult. But it's important to remember a couple of things. Contrition isn't about expecting forgiveness. That's their choice. It is about owning what you did, and that is wronged someone, or hurt them." He takes up the bowl of water and, with his clean hand. sprinkles a little on himself and then some on Shelby.
After giving his first words some thought she nods, lips twisting. "--I can see that," she continues after the sprinkling. "About what you're saying. If you're apologizing but expect them to forgive you, you're... um. It's like you're telling them what to do. Forcing them to do it. You can -hope- they forgive you, but really, this is to make the apology formal. Not just 'hey, Tim, sorry about that thing', but going through the extra steps to make it... make it real. Realer. More proof that no, you realize you screwed up."
"Exactly," Tim says, nodding in firm agreement. "Also, since it's a ritual, you're coming clean to the spirits, which for us is kind of like a public apology. The blademoons tell us the spirits are paying attention; they know what we've done or haven't done. And if you do this without really meaning it, they say the spirits will know and can expose it by making the ritual...fail, somehow." He grimaces. "I've never, ah, tried, but that's cultural for me." He places the bowl so it's touching the edge of their circle of herbs and flowers, then puts the mirror just in front of that. "So now, you pray, however you're used to doing it. I knew a guy who did Latin prayers. For me, it's pretty simple. Kshamaapanam samarpayami." The phrases roll of his tongue, a language that's much more liquid and flowing than English. "Literally, it's, 'I offer an admission of my wrong doings, and ask of your forgiveness.'" He closes his eyes, touching each eyelid with the hand bearing his bracelet to Dragonfly, and repeats, "Kshamaapanam samarpayami," then bows over so his forehead is touching the ground and his arms are stretched out in front of him, palms up.
Shelby listens attentively, nodding where appropriate. "I'm glad I don't have to learn that - it's a beautiful language, but I always feel weird using languages I don't know in rituals. It feels like I'm just mouthing the words - doing the form, but without the heart in it, if you know what I mean." After another few moments she nods as if understanding dawns and murmurs something in Polish, probably a translation of his meaning. "And it's not just a prayer. I mean... the ritual is both the prayer and the apology, right?"
Tim stays that was for a moment or two, though when he straightens, his eyes find Shelby, and he nods, indicating he was still listening. "Right. Some people don't pray, like, not what we would call praying; they might just give offerings and meditate. But mantras come to me pretty naturally, and maybe praying comes to you, so." He takes in a deep breath and lets it out very slowly. "You might pray a few times, depending on how you feel, and how you think they feel. When I was done with mine to," he nods at the boulder, "I took my piece of mirror and set it out somewhere that it would reflect the moonlight out onto a little pond."
"I wasn't really raised in a church or anything, if that's how you mean," Shelby notes, a little awkward. "But all right, do the apology-prayer-thing as many times as feels appropriate, depending on the situation and circumstances." She hesitates, hands folding together. "What do you do, if the Rite fails? Is this one of those where if you mess up you don't get a do-over? Or can you try again except with more... apology?"
"Probably more of the smaller rites, and get a Theurge to give you some pointers--they may have suggestions on how to make your meaning clearer. Like chiminage you could offer, if you've really fucked up." Tim leans forward, but only about halfway this time, and dumps the water from the bowl over his head. Once it's had a few seconds to stop dripping, he straightens and runs his hands through, careful with the one he's intentionally injured. "And now you wait and see if she accepts."
Shelby, about to add something, stops and blinks instead at Tim's impromptu bath. "Is that part of the ritual too?" she wonders, clearly torn between laughter and dismay. "Though if you say yes, I don't know if I should believe you!"
"Hindu rituals involve a lot of bathing," Tim explains. He shakes out the bowl so it's reasonably close to dry. "If stripping down and taking a dunk in a river isn't an option, that's kind of a close second. Again, not something you would have to do, but good for me to do."
Now she does laugh, a little, from nerves and relief. "Oh. Oh, good. No, for me it probably involves going somewhere and sitting by myself, quietly. Spend some time reflecting, you know? Extend the ritual time and space until it feels right to rejoin the quote-unquote real world."
Tim gestures with the bowl at Shelby. "There you go. See? Already thinking about it the right way. We'll have you calling down the sunbridge for the Great Hunt in no time." He gets up, leaving the flowers, and tucks the bowl away while offering the glass to his packmate. "Find somewhere good to set it. Realm, maybe; the stuff they use to make the mirroring on the back is silver-based, so."
Shelby quirks a grin and brushes a bit of hair behind one ear. "She can be taught!" she intones, and retakes her feet as well. "Right - I found this little baby waterfall when I was looking for my rock for the Moot rite. I bet if I can find the right angle the spray'll be gorgeous."
"Sounds perfect." Tim shoves the waxed paper bag back into his pocket, and trades it for an old, bronze, antique compact. He flips it open, revealing the mirror-side within, and disappears back across the Gauntlet.