blind

i don't know if i've ever felt confident about the afterlife. if there is one. for years i lived in deliberate ignorance of the "forbidden" realms of spirituality, though they always elicited a kind of curiosity in me. believing that i have no right to delve into the misty outer regions, i have skirted them for nearly my whole life.

no. no, when i was a child, i felt no such restrictions in my relationship to the divine. i communed with nature and God with the purity of innocence unblemished by doctrine and taught by the most loving teachers. i sometimes wish i could return to those days, before religion took hold of me and warped my vision of divinity. i think for the last couple of year i have worked to unravel the cords that have bound me to what is "right" and what is "wrong." i have to trust myself more.

i am, by nature, not a bad person. not wicked, spiteful. i am a seeker of truth, and i try not to do what obviously will hurt me or others. i love deeply in my own way. i love God. i don't want power or money. i only want peace and knowledge. i am, though, becoming rebellious in my old age. :) i see the boundaries that confine me and i want to burst through them. not to injure anyone, but to do what i know is right based on my knowledge, experience and spiritual beliefs. my beliefs, not anyone else's. yet, i battle on a daily basis with the knowledge that i am acting contrary to the beliefs of much of my family, who are not rather concerned about me. they see a difference in me about religious matters and they worry that i am "going astray." going apostate is the term, and in many ways, i have given up much of what i don't agree with about church doctrine. i have dabbled in buddhism and wicca; i have had long (rather draining) conversations with my husband about my motivations and expectations in my quest; i have tried to explain my views on religion and spiritual matters. my understanding of them is not a problem, but trying to help loving, well-intentioned family and friends understand or appease their anxiety is hard.

i feel comfortable with my quest. i feel queasy in church.

funeral gifts

several years ago, i had a dream about julie hugging me, smile beaming with love. i woke from that dream in tears at the improbability of it. she hated me with the vicious reckless love of an aunt for her nephew too often wrecked by rotten girlfriends. i understood the purpose of her anger, her distance, her general incivility toward me, but i couldn't understand the depth of it. or her unwillingness to relinquish it. after dave and i had been married for a few years, she began to incrementally thaw toward me. it wasn't until last christmas when i realized she didn't just tolerate me - she loved me. she hugged me (and she's not the hugging type) when i needed comforting. and, just this past week, she (alone) made a point to come to gramma's funeral. unannounced. she shocked me. and, as i walked toward her to hug her, i saw that smile and recognized the dream.

it took years. this gift surpasses all others i have received this season. that smile, that warmth, that acceptance and love that i thought was impossible years ago has finally found fruition. i am in awe of it. and infinitely humbled...

year of sorrows, indeed. and it's only half over.

equanimity

the word floated across my screen saver as a reminder. well timed, i think. the next two classes will test my equanimity to the breaking point with their ignorance and childishness.

little circles everywhere

i wish i didn't have to "hide" my magick from my husband. he knows i have been doing magick, but i feel uncomfortable, constantly worried that he will walk in on my spell, break the circle, vex the energy. he still wants me to go to church with him, wants me to get "active" again. i just don't feel comfortable with it anymore. seems like i'm a stranger in familiar land. culture shock. like i've been gone so long that the little podunk town i lived in before seems mean and closed-minded. not for me. no one can quite understand that a religion might not work for everyone. it's limiting, confining, stunting. we need to see more than one little tile of the mosaic. it's a metaphor i've grappled with for almost 10 years.

so, these little circles i cast are punctured and burst. that's why i've taken to casting a perimeter around the room instead of a little circle. i can go about my business without worrying about disruptions as much.

not to mention, i've neglected my magick for a few weeks...since i last got sick. it feels good to be back in a sacred space. feels good to smell nag champa and feel the glow of the candles.

a few of the slower-to-turn trees look like their limbs are on fire. yellow and orange and red. like matches. others are still deep burgundy.

yule is next week. :)

within this sacred circle i feel peace. i think the spell is working.

living things

i killed it. it's crinkled, dried up, and gone. i suppose winter isn't a good time to attempt gardening, especially since we are particularly frost-prone this year.

i guess i'm not cut out to be a gardener.

plants have no audible voices to warn me when i neglect them.

like when i leave them in the bathroom too long.

because i didn't want them to die from frost.

i didn't want to lose it to the elements, so i took away all the elements and it still died. because it needs the elements. like the kid who can't play outside because his parents are too afraid of germs and cuts and bruises and emotional turmoil and dirt. so he lives a sterile life. in the dark, clean, uninjured. but still dead.

dried up, crinkled, gone.

the heather is outside now, watered, in the sun (gorgeous day). i hope it is forgiving. i don't expect miracles. if all else fails, the tiny leaves and the still-vibrant-purple flowers make a pretty sachet, though i'm thinking the over-all 'you killed me' vibes aren't good for home use.

and, once again, i learn that i can't keep something alive. or someone.

not yet

i have the wreath on my door, and a garland on my bookshelf. any more would be tempting the cat beyond his capacity for resistance. i can't feel it, though. not yet. and part of me wonders if i will find it this year. multiple predictions abound for my grandmother's staying power. she personally feels it's her last christmas. she almost didn't decorate this year. i admire her - she deals with the riotous behavior of her children with dignity. always with dignity, and i think when she does in fact die, she will leave as a lady leaves. quietly and with grace. no, i will not ask that she "rage, rage against the dying of the light."

there's a space before acceptance that's more like acquiescence. even then, the reluctant soul shivers. like inching your way into cold water. or like a roux. you have to temper your soul before submitting fully. otherwise, your soul clots and clumps, or scalds and is ruined.

i think the difference this time is that i have the time to temper - to allow myself to release rather than having her wrenched from my hands suddenly. it's a different process - longer, but probably more healthier. all other deaths have slammed me, suddenly, like a massive wave when my back was turned.

the time tables keep tipping. months, maybe a year. back to months.

as good as it feels right now to have the scaffold of the medicine, i know i'm losing some of myself to it. i know the lightness isn't really a natural shift within me; rather, it's a stop-loss. ironic term. suffice it to say, i feel fake.

better than drowning, though.

namaste

he said one needs to start with a spiritual foundation and build from there. i agreed. he said to start with the atonement of Christ. I said no.

i think it startled him.

laying a spiritual foundation based solely on one religion narrows one's view too soon. it's like a historian writing a "universal history" that only deals with ancient greece and rome. what about persia? east asia? the northern germanic tribes? they exist outside of a particular idea of power, so they don't exist in the "universe." trying to build a historical foundation based solely on christianity instantly excludes other faiths from the picture before understanding them. so many beautiful and inspiring truths can be discovered from other faiths that, once integrated, amplify your understanding and experience. sincerely, why reject the wisdom of other faiths simply because they are "other?"

so no, i won't start with the atonement of Christ. i will listen, listen. gather common stones and build from those.

full moon

and we have a room mate for a while. again, it seems the year of sorrows has claimed another victim.

i don't know the particulars, and i'm not particularly curious. wish they'd had more than a few months of time together before they cracked asunder.

who knows...

i thank God for my husband...

will the shit ever stop dropping?

sifting through

i can feel tinges of a cold front and the clouds have dampened the sunlight. i realize again that i have allowed myself to slip away from my magick. seems there are too many distractions. this past thursday i tried so hard to grasp the tenebrous core of thanksgiving, but it vaporized between my fingers. i lost it to a football game and laziness and the overwhelming presence of christmas. and to traditions that have seldom held much meaning. and to stuff. lots of stuff.

yesterday i tried to decorate for the new season. i succeeded only in a garland of greens on top of the bookshelf, and the promise of a doorhanger for the wreath. i realize that without intending to, i have integrated the pentacle into my wreath through the central star. i'm finding ways to celebrate yule instead of christmas, though i cannot entirely escape christmas with a family of mormons. it's all the same, really, and i have no problem with the celebration of christmas. mother and child, new hope from the darkness. peace on earth and good will to all. there's just so much stuff. extraneous, irrelevant, unnecessary clutter. santa claus and elves and presents and so much consumer garbage. once again i am craving simplicity that i can't have this year because of the haze of christmas expectations. always the consumer rage for possessions that muddles up our ability to see the real, the integral, the consummate. and i drop headlong into it just as often - which is when i slip from my focus on magick and the essentials of human existence.

it's like my altar, right now, cluttered with the paraphernalia of allergy relief and general malaise. it's embarrassing, and i have to admit i have neglected magick because i'm so unwilling to tidy up the altar. seriously. my whole room is ashambles because i keep getting mired by my distracted attention to the periphery crap. i can't do anything of real value because i've allowed my space to become a mass of scattered intention.

my husband is getting dressed for church. though he says i make my own decisions about what i do, i know he's upset about my decision not to go. i know he wants me to decide once more in favor of the church. it's ingrained in him. it's part of the missionary mode. and for him, the missionary is the epitome of spiritual elevation. i have to agree, that a person who devotes two years to spreading a message of faith has considerable spiritual power. i just wish he wouldn't compare himself to those two years all the time. time as a way of airbrushing events into seeming perfection. and missionaries remind me of shepherds. gathering in the flocks from the various places into one determined gateway. no room or time for possible differences. missionaries are great; i honor their devotion; i just wish the border collie habits would end once the herding ends.

he asks if i am struggling with my faith in god. which is ironic, because i have, in reality, gained more faith. the parameters cause the trouble. the closed-minded single-vision of truth causes the trouble. it's not god i'm struggling with, it's man's depiction of god. don't stray, don't look around, keep your attention focused entirely on this view of god, because everything else is wrong and will destroy you. it strips the legitimacy away from other beliefs and causes people to fear or resent other faiths.

people are told "i could tell that the spirit wasn't there" about other churches. you go with the preconceived expectation that you will feel a recognizable lack of the spirit, rather than being open to the spirit that is there. it's the same spirit, the same god, the same intention - what lack should there be? we spend so much time segregating ourselves from others that we fail to recognize what binds us all.

we're preoccupied by rosters and attendance and income. we compare ourselves to other churches/beliefs based on how many of us there are in relation to how many of you there are. i could care less how big a church is getting. but the money is in the membership, and the prestige is in the membership, and - oddly enough - the truth is proven by the membership. all these people believe it, it must be true.

but. i am not arguing against a truth. because humans lead, the edges of truth become a little blurry. certain things must become concrete in order to maintain some semblance of order. often, the superficial solidifies into standard and the core, the unwavering reality of it, lies hidden underneath the shell. this core unites all - it is the scarlet thread weaving through every faith binding us together. the human relationship with divinity. the rituals, the names, the aspects that we use as designation change based on our needs and our circumstances. but the core reality remains.

to that core reality i cling for refuge. to the simplicity of the child to the mother, the lover to the beloved, i cling. in its various forms, aspects, names and designations, i search for its luminous presence.

digging in

6:30pm. two days ago i shuffled through my box of photos for recent pictures of family and friends. i realized with dismay that most of my pictures predate my wedding over 5 years ago. i have a few pictures of my nephews; one picture is framed and sitting on my bookshelf. somehow, the pictures i have awaken a sharp sense of loneliness. normally, my solitary evenings don't bother me; i find a great sense of peace from being alone for the first significant amount of time all day. as much as a love my students, i crave solitude by the time the last bell rings. but this is different, now, with darkness fully settled, and memories hovering over me. loved ones with placid photo-smiles who may or may not have known at the time of the click how short their lives would be. photos are always so deceiving - they lead you to trust in permanence. and i wish, sometimes, that when people die they would vanish from the pictures. somehow, the foggy blurry quality of memory hurts less acutely than visual clarity the way being punched in the chest hurts less than being stabbed.

i've decided that this is the year of sorrows. beginning with deaths and disillusionments and stretching into more deaths? worse, i think, is not the deaths, but the slow, deliberate inevitability of it. incremental and stronger than our ability to block. i think i prefer the sudden ones - i've had more experience with them, and in a way, they seem less menacing for being utterly abrupt.

mexican heather

so today, i bought a hanging pot of mexican heather at walmart. i had decided to go to walmart almost the moment i left my grandmother's house this afternoon. i had walked around her garden back yard, smelled the autumn air mingled with moist soil, fallen leaves. i have no such beauty here - anywhere actually. my grandmother has hestia blood...her house is always so neat and orderly and peaceful...a sanctuary. especially the back yard. my mom acquired that homemaker talent, with less of the compulsive cleanliness. i haven't a touch of it, and i'm lazy as hell.

right now, i think i need it.

so i bought a plant. cute purple blossoms. i don't expect it to last the month.

i'm acting on a lot of my needs and urges lately. i don't know what gives me the right. lately i've had an uncharacteristic yearning to grow something, though certainly not a baby. i think the urge is to keep something alive to compensate for my gramma's dissolving health. i can't keep her alive, but i can keep something alive. i guess this is better than my previous attempts at control or compensation. better to kill a plant than starve myself, i suppose.

my world is chaos. pure. i recognize the panic-stricken frenzy of "The Second Coming" - "things fall apart / the center cannot hold / mere chaos is loosed upon the land." and i am in the center of that widening gyre, not peacefully observing, but catatonic. empty. purposeless.

hopeless.

"gaze no more in the bitter glass..."

so...mexican heather.

drawing

the circles are deepening under my eyes. on sundays i am grateful for the half-hour drive home from my grandmother's house. there's a weight to the afternoon as we all make mental slashes through another week's time with her. the adults and grandchildren - most with children of their own, are making the holiday visits - apprehensive that this might be the last holiday season with her. and we look to each other - recognizing perhaps for the first time in ages that we have all grown. internally. and recognizing that the times of mass convergence upon gramma's house are over - and with them, the sense of intertwined destinies. the family tapestry is unraveling with her.

some of them are whirlwinds - descending upon the scene with gyring energy to swirl everyone into hugs and laughter and hope for a little while; and when they pass off to the next afternoon activity, we all settle back to earth with sighs. ron and dee are like that. roiling with energy and cheer. but even they can't be wellsprings eternal - even they have to pull it from somewhere.

what do i say? sundays feel like black holes. the every day dissolution of this present reality saps us more as we attempt to maintain some semblance of the untenable past. nothing is stable, nothing is expectible, nothing is certain. except decline. by degrees and inches, slips and gaps.

so we draw in. breaths, space, together, for support, for protection, for acceptance. i don't know how to ground myself for it. i don't know if its at all possible. but i try.

too personal

he asked why i gave up my most recent faith for wicca. what strikes me is the "either/or" as though i cannot be both. as though my world is locked into compartments.

first of all, he doesn't know me well enough to take the liberty of asking such questions. second, i don't know him well enough to feel required to answer him. third, what business is it of his? fourth, why does this upset me?

part of it might be that i know he has some rather extreme views, and that he is himself rather constrained. that's part of the package of christianity, and this church in particular. to reach roots into other soils is tantamount to total abandonment. a person's spiritual self is lockstepped with others - or so it seems. and so i can understand his "concern" and curiosity about my actions. only from a person who until this point has had no contact with me outside of the post or two on facebook, his concern and curiosity rubs irritatingly like a busybody. not to mention the scathing connotation of the word "abandon." there's judgment inherent in his curiosity, and that irks me.

i'm thinking about writing him back and being perfectly honest. no abandonment here - only a reaching beyond borders. an attempt to see more of the big picture, not just the corner marked "christianity" and the segment in it labeled "mormonism." it's genesis is heavenly mother (the goddess and co-creator), and from there, tendrils shoot out in all directions. think of it as a study in comparative religions. this is me. i don't settle well.

to abandon means to leave everything behind. the intention is never to return. to me, i'm not abandoning anything. i'm "connecting the spheres" so to speak.

what is the draw? perhaps the recognition of the power of a woman that is hinted at in the church, but only vaguely and as a concession. heavenly mother is like a shadow, or a infinitesimal glimpse. she is brought forth only to hide her away again in the folds of "sacredness." she's too sacred to be mentioned or considered - never to be consulted or studied. a co-creator with god should be able to stand for herself, for the inherent and divine strength and power of woman. she's not a fainting shy violet or a wallflower. she is a goddess! so why does the church hide her? that's why she seems like a concession to me. a theological loophole that happens to satiate the questions of the sisters. my goddess, my celestial mother is not a second-thought. i want to learn what i can about her. and from her. she is sophia, wisdom.

i also have this inescapable draw to the earth, to life. to cycles. to experience. and to symbolism. i see it everywhere, and i cannot ignore it. i recognize and elevate the power of symbolism in prayer, which is all spells really are. symbol-laden prayers. there's nothing evil in it. god created the earth, all that he created is holy, so my use of it for positive, soul-enriching things is not evil.

i'm not fettered anymore. i suffered under the fetters for too long - neglecting the largest part of me that craves expansion and exploration. i tried for years to relegate my thoughts to the accepted limits. i tried to mold my spirit and my thoughts to what others say is correct. i think, though, that my methods, my approach, my freedom and exploration does more to connect me with god than anything else i have found. i'm free to recognize the validity of personal revelation in spite of whether it comports with church doctrine.

sister athene i am weakening
my wisdom is shreds
my hope empty

fill me,
teach me,
guard me,
guide me.

i need your shield
and power.

bless me, sister goddess

walked out to the empty lot across the street a little while ago. overgrown and slightly rain-slick. grey grey sky. i needed grounding. still need grounding. don't think it took. think i might need to bury myself up to my neck to get enough energy to drag me out of this.

it's been a wonderful day. went to my gramma's house and played dominoes with ron and dee and mom and gramma. it was fun. wonderful energy. ron and dee carry that with them. mom and i are not quite so stressed. i know she's still disappointed in me, but i think she understands that i've been avoiding it. avoiding the fact that gramma's dying. hospice will probably start pretty soon. she's in almost constant pain. today was a good day. how many of those are left? i've jumped in too late. i'm just afraid.

i'm not good with connections. i avoid them. i'm intentionally a bad friend, i think, because i'm afraid of becoming connected with someone. it's part of the nonattachment bullshit, i think. it's easier to deal with from a distance. love people and that love shreds you in the end. and from a purely logical standpoint, relationships don't make sense.

but.

whatever vulcan bs i spout, i can't escape the reality that she's dying, and i've been ignoring her so it won't hurt me so badly when she's gone. i'm thrashing her and my mom by my selfishness, but i'm not hurting. good for me. at least i'm an honest bitch.

i love her. she's spunky, anal, old-fashioned, generous, gracious, warm, stubborn, independent, and vivacious. she's wise. perhaps a little ocd. she's the domino queen of the family. she makes the best chicken and noodles in the world.

and she may not be here for my next birthday.

and i'm crying because i've figured myself out. i'm not lazy about my friends, my family. i'm afraid. i'm the same way about my students. make a connection and it hurts like hell when they hurt, fail. but can i imagine my life without alexis? miranda? even jojo? megan? hell, even vicente. i can't. i can't imagine my life without having had any of my students. or my friends, or family. and yes, i guess it would be easier on the emotions if i could remain detached. but that leaves me with myself, and what kind of company am i? pretty sucky.

so. i will be with my gramma as many sundays as i can. i will master the art of chicken and noodles that won't ever taste as good as hers. i will pry open this rusted shut heart of mine and feel, damn it!

and i will be in agony all too soon. bitter, but blessed.

worthwhile?

what does it say when only 11 weeks into school, i want to give it all up? forget teaching, forget it all. i was at this point last year during christmas, but not just after halloween. and my classes last year were infinitely more challenging. this year there are only two that sting, and only one that has made my cry. already. twice. in front of them. and today in spite of the negativity banishing charm. i guess life even gets through a witch's defenses.

i think the pain comes from the binding cords. i'm bound. bound by the state that requires skills at the cost of connection to literature. at the cost of learning. bound by my desire to plant some kind of love of literature in these kids. to help them see how much it DOES impact their lives. somehow.

sometimes it feels - not worthless, but hopeless.

core

after posting the broom closet entry to the mother-accessible blog, nothing has been said. this is also after the friday night dinner that felt more like japanese theater than a visit. masks on, parts played. and i can feel a rift cracking between us like never before. i don't know exactly how to handle it. how much of it was induced by the intense urge to get home to beer is unknown. she plays roles, fakes, lies. and she teases me because i'm too damned transparent. but neither of us was happy to see the other. we've cracked apart, i'm afraid, and i'm not sure if i want to mend it.

i guess i could work a spell for reconciliation. a more open and responsive heart. maybe i should start the desire to forgive her.

i had a dream the other night that a snake bit me, and i crushed its head in retaliation. i've been wondering about it ever since, and i think it's about my mom. yes, she bit me. she hurt me pretty badly. and the past year has been a measured attempt at retaliation by silence. gods, yes, she hurt me. but i have to remember what i told her when Ed broke off their engagement. as shredded as i feel about her alcoholism and all that accompanies it, the bigger pain is hers. and i can continue to milk this anger and seek retribution and convince myself that she deserves it, but that only makes the situation worse. i need to find the strength to lay aside my pain and help her.

the more i think about that dream, the more i recognize it. yeah, that's it. i think i've finally touched the core of the problem. now, what the hell do i do about it?

broom closet?

i bought a book on natural witchery last night at ren faire. yes, this is likely another "fad" as my mother puts it. i can't seem to stick to one religion for long. and that's very true. i hop spiritual pathways like a quantum particle. but the more i learn about other paths, the more i realize that i'm still home. religions are man-made structures for understanding divinity. a church built on a point of view. but that kind of understanding of the divine is limiting - one path, one frame of reference, one outcome. it's also dangerous. we fight viciously for the unique and absolute truth of our religion. in many cases, we kill for it. but in the end we all die. and i don't think my destination will depend on whether i was strictly methodist or baptist or mormon or buddhist. or whatever i happen to be at the time. :) who cares except for me and however divinity is manifested? i'm learning as much as possible so i can see as much of the total picture as i can.

so i might be a witch. for a little while at least before i flitter off to something else.

but i'm staying true to myself and my vision of divinity. i am who i am and i think the god and goddess can understand that.

life script

no reason to fight. something liberating about it. move on and write my life. not bound by past mistakes. i'm free to make my own path. freedom somehow is a necessity for me. i can't be bound by parameters or expectations. i draw my own path, straying or following or resting. not worried anymore. accepting. i am water. flowing. i am wave in water. eternal. i am moving constantly changing constantly strengthening deepening peacepeacepeace. i am searching, lapping new shores, tasting new soil, seeing new and glorious light.

i love the way the sun slanted this evening...golden and basking and glorious. the slant of autumn. the glow of tinted leaves flittering to the ground in sparkles, the crowning, saturating colors of change. the berries orange in dripping clusters. the clouds swollen and swift and bearing warmth along the wind. the light creeps away to rest. winter is not death, winter is rest and dreaming. winter is the sleep of the year and we mistake rest with her sister death. but death is only rest and reincorporation. death is life eternal, death is the chance to be everything at once split into atoms and elements scattered to the winds. death is only the pause between the breaths. death is nothing to fear.

i am not worried. i am not afraid. i am, of course, far from death's embrace, but even here i do not tremble. no, my soul or my flesh will continue to breathe and pause, continue to crest and sink like the waves. i am water i am air and earth and fire and spirit i am goddess incarnate or the spark of her kiss to the earth. i am sister and lover and mother and daughter. i am free and wild and wind-swept. i am ashes in the river, ashes in the wind. i am tears and tumbling laughter. i am the moon full radiance in my eyes. i am falcon. i am empty. i am peace.

i breathe. i feel. i open myself. i feel the light within expand and course my veins and set alight my eyelids. i feel my soul expand within. I become all that ever is. i see the petals drift down stream i feel the wind. i am alive. eternally.

limits

when i moved into my dorm in college, i created a divergent life from my mother. i wanted to keep myself separate for a reason. no mother should know all the details of her child's life. and there's some liberating element in the certainty of mother not knowing.

so when my mom finds my facebook page, because i've naively neglected to set those limits to keep her from finding it, she slips through the keyhole. she finds things i don't want her to find. and though nothing she finds is necessarily damaging, i can't stand the idea of her reading what i write. i started a new blog because she found my old one. i use fake names to keep her from tracing me. though i love her, she doesn't need to have unlimited access to my life. even what i put on the internet falls under the parameters of privacy.

i have limits. and i need her to stay well outside of them.

consideration

i know nothing for certain. and though it chafes, i'm slowing down to learn instead of rushing. i do not know what i will learn, or where i am going, but the process brings armfuls of joy. blessed be.

cute

he thinks my rebellion is "cute." i don't know how to take that. mostly because it's not an attempt to be "cute," but to assert my independence of mind. it's central to me, but it's "cute" to him. on the other hand, perhaps "cute" is his way of saying he supports me. he finds my actions attractive. perhaps he doesn't recognize the demeaning connotation of "cute."

to me, "cute" implies that i'm not serious. that i'm only rebelling to attract attention. frivolity. how adorable! you're speaking your mind! i'll just humor you - it's so like playing dress up and going to the store to show off. get it out of your system, and then you can go back to being normal. he ascribes my actions to the influence of high schoolers, to my rather innocuous adolescence. so "rage, rage" amounts to a temper tantrum.

i have to allow him some leeway, though; he's trying to navigate blind.

i don't want to be "cute." i don't want to be humored and coddled. i want him to recognize the struggle that has led to these decisions. he's brushing it aside like all my actions are a phase i'm going through. because i'm reading all that feminism stuff. this is, for me, the core of myself, and he's LAUGHING at it! belittling it.

i guess all he can do is hang on and hope. i'm not who i was 6 years ago. or, at least i've adequately subverted myself enough for 6 years to make this change pretty startling. he doesn't understand me, not the way he needs to, and given the nature of his influences, i'm sure he won't. his dad likes his mom because she's a spitfire, but that's also "cute," not to be taken seriously all the time. so damn smug. i don't think he intends to come across that way. i know he respects and loves rosie. but as a person to be preserved and protected, not truly as an equal. and we allow ourselves to be treated this way. so the "cuteness" of it still comes across, not the seriousness.

he demeans it. strips me of my uniqueness. so "rage, rage" becomes a demonstration of futility. like those mice. maybe i'll stop fighting if i realize it's just not worth it. i won't be taken seriously.

new moon

new moon, new beginnings, new horizons. stepping into the shadows with a candle flame flickering. there's something tingling beneath my fingertips aching to be embraced; a realization that has lingered outside of my reach for years because i have been too afraid to step toward it. afraid to enter a place unfamiliar. but now it brushes my skin like breezes with kisses of autumn. the promise of cool and change and rest.

beliefs, faiths, religions, myths all spiral around each other. some rarely accept the truth that they are created of the same material - the human yearning for commune with divinity. with the trust of a child i naively accepted for years the primacy of one religion above all others. i struggled to force my experiences and aches within the confines of that religion since that was what was expected of me. but every few years i would begin to writhe in my skin; it never felt right. the most agonizing process was accepting and moving out of the comfort of my childhood religion. i began to search, to learn as much as i could about other religions, myths, faiths - and realized i had been blind. the threads of divinity weave a fabric so complex, so intricate that no one path can complete it.

i am irresistibly drawn to the night, to the moon, to the stars. my spirit is intertwined with the seasons and the sunlight. my soul breathes life. in the spring i long to grow wild with the tender and dauntless green. in summer i bask in sunlight flickering through breeze-tossed leaves. in autumn i crave change and marvel at the slanting golden light, the harvested fields seeming to revel in rest, the gradual and glorious colors blazing in the trees, the gift of chill so tantalizing to the skin. in the winter i drink the frigid air and dance among the snowflakes. the earth sleeps and gathers strength.

these i understand. these miracles garner my praise.

i'm not interested in the might of a warrior God, or the vicious spite of a rule-laden headmaster. i'm not interested in piety. or perfection. i rejoice instead in a living God - a God who teaches through experiences and not through rules; a God who is not a man's man alone, but unified in creation with his lover; a God who understands beyond human perspectives; a God who understands the power of a woman and doesn't silence her; a God who delights in me and my search for truth; a God who doesn't judge.

who needs a judgmental God when humans are judgmental enough?

so i am setting ablaze all i used to know. my old churches and the parametered god they pretend to know. the rules and the well-intentioned proscriptions. i am a solitary, a priestess, a rogue mystic. an earth child.

who i am depends entirely on these preconceptions. in the blaze, i'm burning myself away.