I'm sitting here in my living room. It's dark, the sun having just finally dipped below the horizon. It would be quiet except for the loud forced air sound of the air conditioning unit and I'm tired.
I've spent the last few days in transition. Throughout my life I have many similar transitions, but what's different about this one is the fact that I feel like I have come home, as opposed to finding something I could rationally support. I can not scientifically support this, but I have finally accepted myself enough to know that this is inside me and it is never going to go anywhere.
I am a witch.
I won't go into my definition of the word. I'm hoping this journal will demonstrate that enough. When I start over analyzing definitions I get in trouble and I am not going to let my analytical mind take the reigns in this. This needs to come from my soul. It needs to come from that place, deep inside my belly where all of my primitive feelings and reactions reside. It just has to be.
When I open up myself to it, I can feel divinity all around me. It's not a god or a goddess, but an everything. An everything that fills up the universe like a thick blanket of fog, drifting in and out of our molecules, pulsing within and without.
I need to smell the woody scent of burning incense and meditate on the meanings of the Tarot. How does the Eight of Wands relate to my life in this current moment? What sort of things can it teach me?
Magick has become the way in which I deal with my emotions and with my fears. It turns on that switch in my brain that makes me calm and capable. Without magick, I am a dried husk of a person. It's like trying to be mindful without a mind. Magick is my road map through a life that I find increasingly hard to find direction.
I am a witch.
There is no better word to describe me. I have no religion, but I have a spiritual home. My home is where my hearth is. It's a warm, inviting place. It smells of cedarwood, yarn and cooking food. My altar is my kitchen, my fireplace, my dresser top. My church is my backyard. My gods are the rain, the wind, the sun and the dirt. They lift mountains and carve canyons. They smell like the top of my son's head and the rich black soil underneath the garden.
The shadow of death hangs over us all, and I honor that shadow on Halloween. The winter comes, and the electricity in the air increases. This is the moment to honor ancestors. I fear death, but I respect it, and the cycle of life holds a deep and ever-present hold on all of us. Forgetting that is detrimental and dishonest. Understanding is the cure for fear.
I am a witch.
It's a loaded word and not everyone understands. Not everyone feels it like I do and that's ok. For now, that is the only word I can use that describes myself and how I see the world. It's the only word that can define my lifestyle and the way my brain needs to process life. You can call me silly, crazy or damned. I make no excuses or apologies anymore. I choose to honor myself for the first time that I can remember and the first way to do this is to be honest. If I want to be happy for this brief spark of consciousness, this is what I must do.
So mote it be.
No comments:
Post a Comment