When She Comes

There is something incredibly fulfilling about waking before the sun, confused and wondering what it could be that has pulled one from sleep so much earlier than usual, to look out the window and behold those first fat, fresh flakes swirling in the moonlight. She doesn't always wake me when She comes, so those times when I am called send a tingle down my spine and fill my heart with gratitude for the opportunity. I grab my black wool coat, my head scarf, boots, and a libation. The kids are sleeping. The dog is sleeping. It is an enormous rarity for me to be alone. The steps outside my back door are treacherously icy, so I must navigate carefully. I am not known for my grace.

The puff of my breath comes long and slow as I re-gather Her kindling, strewn about by a particularly naughty German shepherd, into a neat pyramid. It is always painful to me to disturb the pristine whiteness that covers the ground. It seems sacreligious, though I know I must do it, so I step carefully, deliberately. I pour the spirits on the ground and take a swig myself, grimacing at the fire that clutches my throat. My cheeks flush, even with just this minimal consumption. I've always been a lightweight. I whisper words reserved only for Her and settle myself beside the birdfeeder, after filling it, to listen to Her response. The snow nearly always stops for at least a brief bit after our exchange. She may come back later, She may not.

Back up the icy steps, into the warm interior of my home, and now I can shake the melting snow from my garments and hang them over the heater vent. The liquor is put away, high above my head and out of reach of curious little hands. I won't be able to sleep now that the brisk early morning air has invaded my brain. I press my hot cheek to a frosty window and watch the splendour resume.

Baptism

I was just cleaning out the attic and ran across the certificate I was given after I was baptised.

Did I ever tell y'all the story of my baptism? Hmmm...

I left my pagan beginnings for awhile during my teen years, for a variety of reasons, and decided to join a church at 16. I had a deeply moving spiritual experience in that church. Maybe I'll share that some other time, but today is about my baptism.

The church I'd joined was quite small, not more than 100 people in the congregation at any given time. The building reflected that, with no room for a baptismal, and so baptisms were done in the local YMCA pool. Yes indeed. Though my mother was adamantly against my new-found faith (she didn't care if I dabbled in witchcraft, but please for the love of god do not join that Christian cult), but she agreed to come to my baptism and bring her video camera.

I was very body conscious as a teen, so the church tried to accomodate my fear of bathing suits by allowing me to dress in a choir robe. In pictures of that day, I looked like a fucking advertisement for purity: long blonde hair, blue eyes, pale skin glowing, choir robe disguising any shape to my thin, developing body.

Eventually it was my turn to be dunked. I hardly remember what was said in those moments because I was completely overcome with Spirit. I know there were words said, questions asked and answered. I saw the red light of the camcorder as my mother prepared to capture the memory. A hand pressed against my forehead, another holding steady at the small of my back as the pastor bent me backwards to cleanse me. Everyone was quiet, reverant. Just before I hit the water, I heard my mother's voice cry out, "SHIT!"

Her video camera had run out of batteries. I've never again heard such a deafening echo.

It was all downhill from there.

The Worst has Passed, but the World is Ending...

Thanks to those of you who have been thinking of my family. I think the worst has passed (knock on wood), but I've been wrong before. Today marks the first of 40 or so treatments in an approximately 10-month-long process. It's going to be a long year.

Have you seen this? So fun. Even as a very small girl, I hoped that I would live to see the end of the world. It's a difficult urge to explain, and I think it has a lot to do with seeing things through. This was particularly troubling for my Grandmother-the-Prophet who had visions of the demise of the Earth, just as any good prophet would. She would tsk at me and say, "you don't know a thing at all. You're too very, very small."

January 3, 2012

I haven't been blogging.

I haven't been sleeping.

I haven't been eating.

This post is not going to be related to witchcraft, so feel free to stop reading now. I also won't be going into detail because the crux of the issue involves one of my children, and I won't put their private life on public display, even on a tiny blog like this.

2011 ended on a very bad note for my family--a very real, life-and-death type of bad note. For now, everyone is fine, with all their appendages in their proper places. I hope that is where it will end, but we're all feeling scared and lost and unsure of what the future holds. Don't worry, help is soon to come (I hope).

This situation has the potential to bind us all closer together or blow our entire family apart. Because it is one of my children that hangs in the balance, I'm feeling particularly vulnerable and, well, a bit like the worst mother in the world. There is a permanent lump in my throat and the weight of a cannonball resting firmly in the pit of my stomach, but I'll be damned if we're going to go down without a fight. I will not be the parent who doesn't see it coming. I won't be the parent who ignores warning signs or pushes it all under the rug because I'm too afraid to face the worst case scenario. It's balls to the wall here, folks.

All that said, do you think it's a bad omen that my own dog bit me on New Year's Eve (my fault, of course)? On New Year's Day I woke up to dog vomit. I went to the grocery store and was halfway through checking out when I realized that I hadn't brought any money. The clerk was very gracious about the whole thing and held my order while I drove home and back. As I was loading the groceries into the trunk, the wind blew the trunk lid shut... on my head. Because of the delay with the groceries and my bleeding head, I ended up driving through an ice storm that stopped the moment I reached my house.

I'm chalking it up to a preoccupied mind. Barring that, I'm hoping that I'm getting all the damnable bad luck out of the way early in 2012. In light of the trouble we face, even my particularly shitty New Year is laughable.

Pray for us, readers. Pray very hard.

Occupy

For those of you who support the Occupy Wall Street movement but cannot be on the front lines of the protests, here is a quick, easily implementable suggestion for how you can help from the comfort of your own home. The best part is that it hit the banks where it counts--the bottom line! Please help and show your support if you can.



Also, there have been some really brilliant herbalists and healers putting together information for those who would like to help the protestors at the Occupy Herbalism facebook page.

I am the 99%!

I Am...

Pondering:

"...Long before man appeared on earth he existed as a dream of prophecy in the animal soul..." ~Edwin Muir

Dreaming:

A series of dreams in which I flip light switches on only to have the darkness grow blacker.

Crafting:

Clay evil eye talismans to hang over my door and the doors of friends.

Learning:

That the breadcrumbs leading me this primal/paleo diet (and, more and more, lifestyle) were sprinkled in places I never consciously looked for them before.

Needing:

A serious house cleansing/blessing/uncrossing... and money.

Letting go of:

The fact that our roof--for which we signed a contract in MAY--will not actually even be started until, well, probably next May.

A Missed Opportunity for Corrupting the Youth and How the Gods Reward Such

Our dear, beloved, ever so obedient pup (almost 7 months old now!) chewed through some of the wiring to our exterior A/C unit (thank goodness we haven't used it in some weeks now). The repairman came today to lecture me for an hour about getting a fence erected (tee-hee!) around the unit and to give me an estimate for the repairs ($164, FYI). While I was trying to reach my husband at work to make sure that we had the budget to go ahead with the repairs, the kids came outside to tell me that there were more men at the door. I opened the door to...

Two rosy-cheeked, clean-shaven youths in matching white button-down shirts and black pants, nametags labeling them "Brother ______". I could be wrong, but I think most people (Christians, pagans, etc. included) have a standard response for this sort of thing, a line that you whip out to make the encounter as quick and painless as possible. Mine is: "I really respect the work that you're doing to spread the word of your god, but I'm a pagan. Thanks, but no thanks."

I swear they stopped breathing. They were dead still for about five seconds. I've used this at least a dozen times on Jehovah's Witnesses, and they usually just avert their eyes and go on their merry way. These Mormon boys, however, were a different story. One of them, in his sweet, southern drawl, said (and I quote): "Oh really? What do you believe in? I've never met a real, live pagan before!" That's when the A/C repairman started calling for me to help him. Damn. Opportunity missed. The boy was so excited that he actually asked if he could wait on my porch until the repairs were over so that we could talk. It nearly broke my heart to tell him no.

The upshot was that the repairman decided not to charge me anything but the $69 fee to have someone come out in the first place. Shhhh! Don't tell his boss. I'm pretty sure that I've lost my pretty, young girl appeal, so what else could it be except a gift from my gods? ;)