Still here, still waiting

I woke up in the darkness of night with a funny feeling. A funny wet feeling. SHIT, I thought, I’ve started bleeding.

So I hopped up to the bathroom to check. No blood. The wetness, I don’t know what that was, something clear/white. Perhaps remnants of the pills I shove up there three times a day, hormone stuff to make things uh, better? I really don’t know what it does. The clinic never really said. They just gave pills and said here, use these. And I’m a good girl who does as she is told, at least in this context.

My lower abdomen aches as it so often does right before I start menstruating.

I don’t think I’m pregnant this time either.

 

 

On a brighter note, remember the blade I mentioned buying? I held a little ceremony last night to symbolically tie it to myself, make it mine and only mine. Even beforehand I felt energy rising, and once it was time I was just in the right mindset.

It wasn’t dramatic. But it was beautiful. Even though I was a little clumsy in certain aspects of the procedure, it went well and left me with a feeling of calm certainty and strength.

It also made it clear to me how much I have to learn. Not through books and articles, but through doing. I learn the most there, at the shrine or during meditation and ritual. Not merely trial and error in a practical sense, but in a spiritual one too. Each experience allowing for a step forward. I  am curious to see where it will lead.

What’s the point? – Ritual Tools and Stuff

Over the years I have made, found, and bought a number of items that I would classify as ritual tools and stuff. (Yes, that’s the word I’ll use, live with it!) Some can easily pass for decorative pieces, and some may even be cheap mass produced stuff found in thousands of other homes as well. Some are more expensive, and some are hand made by me or others. It varies greatly.

I might be talking about a little bowl. Or a basket. Or a knife. Or a candle. Or a jar of dirt. Or perhaps a little figurine.

Practical tools and decorative pieces, anything and everything. What they all hold in common is that they hold meaning and purpose in my own ritual sphere. It’s not about how pretty something is, or how expensive. It’s not what anyone thinks about it. In fact I often prefer to keep these things entirely out of sight to avoid anyone having an opinion about them whatsoever. Questions leave me awkward, I still do not quite know how to speak of them. Writing is easier, so here I am.

Candles, yes I have candles. One for each deity I approach. One for the ancestors. Others for specific purposes. These are perhaps the most common, and the most scoffed at. It doesn’t matter. To me the candle is a focus to guide my mind and a symbol of intent.

Bowls, plates, cups. Practical tools I use mostly for carrying offerings. There is nothing wrong in using a regular kitchen plate for this, but for me personally having special items for this purpose is valuable. Again it is not a matter of what looks cool, it is a matter or intent. Of focus. Of what meaning I give it.

Some items were unplanned. Sometimes in a shop I will spot something that stirs my mind in a certain direction, towards a certain deity most often. If I can I might then buy it both as an offering to said deity, and as a tool in future rituals – seeing how its very existence reminds me of Her, Him, or Them it becomes a strong practical symbol.

A practical symbol, hah. Sounds weird, doesn’t it?

But symbols are to me practical. They hold meaning and I use them. Sometimes the symbolism aligns with greater cultural contexts, sometimes the symbolism is only my own. Both are important, I find.

An hourglass to be the physical representation of time.

A mirror.

A knife.

A flask.

 

My collection may seem strange but for me, every piece makes sense. Every piece has its use. Don’t mistake it for vanity, it is not about buying the cool and pretty things. Don’t mistake it for meaningless mysticism either, it is in fact very meaningful. Don’t mistake it for peer pressure, I honestly don’t give a fuck what others think of it, my own ritual tools are for me. Besides, my friends are mostly the sort to just laugh at these matters anyway.

 

A jar of ashes.

A set of runes.

A wooden staff.

 

Practical tools. Symbols in physical form. Focused intent. Meaning. That’s all.

 

Dreaming

It is early morning. My body feels numb and my mind is still wrapped up in what I just saw, what I just dreamed.

 

Birds, the largest I’ve ever seen. Intensely black and blue in colour, like nothing native to this land. In fact I can not recall them being native anywhere. 

I look out the window to see them, and in amazement call out for the others. Come see! 

But looking out the other windows, looking out on the other side of the house, the others see nothing out of the ordinary. White birds, like swans or perhaps storks. Large yes, but not unusually so.

In confusion I look both ways. Through one window I see creatures of a rare beauty, black and blue. Through the other window I look up and see what everyone else sees, simple white birds, nothing out of the ordinary. Hidden, their qualities are hidden.

Water, the blue of the ocean, with a surface gently rippled by wind. I see it above, stretching over the sky. A reflection of the water below. I see it below, water covering the ground. Covering the roads and fields, covering all. A reflection of the ocean above.

“How did you become a leader?” a girl asks. 

I frown and shake my head, the question is strange. 

“It wasn’t planned,” I say. “I am no priest, just… There was no one else. No, no. I am no leader. Not like that.”

“Why do they have many arms?” the girl asks. 

“To… open many doors,” I answer. Uncertain not of the answer but of how to word what language does not cover. “To simultaneously reach for many things, ready to open many doors, many possibilities all at once.”

 

 

Chance brought them together. Two girls, friends by accident. They study different paths, come from different traditions, honour different gods. Different but the same. They welcome me as a third.

 

 

 

 

Try and try again

I have tried to write this blog post for several days now, but always ended up deleting it. Let’s see if this time is any different… Fingers crossed!

 

 

*deletes and starts over*

 

 

Fuck. Right. What am I actually trying to say?

Yeah, that’s a good question.

 

 

*deletes and starts over*

 

 

I am coming to realize certain things. About myself, about my flaws and imperfections, about my mistakes. It is not particularly pleasant.

 

At the moment I feel like a child, being told by a gentle guiding voice what to do. That voice, is it my own inner self speaking or is it from beyond me? I have no clue, and I don’t actually think it matters much.

 

Like a stubborn child I hear what is said and I know what I’m supposed to do, but I dunwanna! I kick and cry at the hand that feeds me, refusing to accept. Refusing to learn. But at the same time I know. I know.

 

It is painful to face ones own flaws. But in order to correct anything, one must first identify the mistake.

 

Pride be damned, part of me must break in order to grow.

 

 

 

 

Angry Angry Fny

Me: ANGRY!

I know.

Me: It hurts! Why did they have to be so unreasonable? Why can’t they realize how much this means to us? Means to me?

It hurts. But it has meaning. 

Me: What?

There is a reason for what happens.

Me: But no! It hurts, it hurts so badly! It is sacred ground they are denying us, they are completely unreasonable and this is not fair!

Sacred it is, but this you must learn. Ownership is an illusion. Sacred land belongs not to you, not to anyone. This you must learn. 

Me: But it fucking hurts, I want it!

And that is exactly why you can not have it. 

Me: Fucksake.

Time and soul. I am time and soul. I can not be bought or sold, nor built of destroyed. I am time and soul.

Me (grumbling): It still hurts.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Writing Weirdness

Me:  Oh but come on!

 

Also Me: What?!

 

Me: Don’t you act all innocent now, you know what I mean. What the hell are you writing?

 

Also Me: Poetry.

 

Me: Pffft.

 

Also Me: Prayers.

 

Me: But…

 

Also Me: There is magic in it as well.

 

Me: 

 

Also Me: Yes.

 

Me: WHO WOULD READ THIS?! IT IS NONSENSICAL!

 

Also Me: IT IS NOT NONSENSICAL AND YOU KNOW IT!

 

Me: Well yeah but… but…

 

Also Me: Shut up.