Chasing Ghosts

It's been a rough few weeks.

And a weird, busy summer.

I've been holding off writing (for too long) waiting to find the inspiration to talk about what's been going on with me, spiritually, but I'm having a hell of a time putting it into words.

Autumn is the season of the Pagan New Year. Of Samhain, of the growing dark, becoming introverted and introspective as the sky darkens, the air cools, our schedules start to wind down.

My practice has not been as active this summer as I would like - it happens every year, and I always feel like I am "missing out" on the season when everything is most vibrant, most alive, most buzzing with energy. But I haven't been, really. I have been vibrant, and alive, and buzzing with energy - albeit frequently exhausted. I suppose in some ways it does mimic patterns of the older ways of living - summer would be a haze of activity, planting, tending crops, working on house and homestead in fair weather,  the first work of the early harvest.  When the first whispers of winter wind around us, the days have come when we can settle and turn inward until the coming of the spring again.

I have felt a fair and odd amount of discord these days. Things are shaking loose, shaking up, stirred around. I am standing firm in some ways, and standing aside in others that I thought I would not. Miscommunication has been a bastard dog at my heel, and I am learning to separate things I must own as my doing from things that are not.

I once apologized for everything. And then, headstrong and mighty, apologized for nothing. Now I learn the hard lessons, that sometimes I must apologize for some things, but sometimes I should not - will not - will never - apologize. Learning to intuit the difference makes me mightier still.

I suppose it shouldn't shock me - a certain deity who likes dramatic change and transformation and kicking rocks at hornet nests approached me, and I have tentatively agreed to work with him. His energy is interesting to me - warmer and friendlier-seeming than the Alfather, but bouncing and giddy and a bit mad, and tugging at the corners of your mouth into a wry grin but you're not quite sure what's so gods-damned funny. I don't trust him any more than I trust Odin - but oddly have come to determine I also don't trust him any less, either. I'm still working out my thoughts on the matter.

I finished reading RitualCraft - such an easy read for such a massively thick, heavy, fine-print book. I was pleasantly surprised. I learned a lot (including that I love high drama and formal language in ritual...) I'm not a fan of the tendency to list gods by what they can be summoned for - a "correspondence" chart listing deities alongside herbs and crystals for specific wants or problems, rituals where every god fitting a certain archetype is called.... But I think (correct if I am wrong) that that is a pretty Wiccan thing, and it is a Wiccan book, so...  I guess I'm a "firm" polytheist - the gods may ultimately draw from shared wellsprings of human history and consciousness, and so overlap somewhat, but they are not merely symbols that can be interchanged with one another and called on for everything when there has been no working relationship established.

Once things settle down, since I finished my first year's worth of post-initiation reading for IDGAF, my next "learning project" will be taking time to really devote and properly commune with my gods. Most of my work I've done with Odin - I would like to take the time to learn the others who have approached me, or that I've made entreaties to (with proper thanks and agreed payment given after) , and form proper relationships with those who plan to stick around.

I have more to share, so much more, but I have not the words for it all. But change has been wrought, and is being wrought, and I cannot wait to tell about it.

Welcome to the new blog.

Welcome to the new me.

Hail and farewell for now. 

What is witch?

What is witch?

What is witchcraft?

What is magic? 

 The warmth of the new sun at 7 o'clock on a July morning.

The silence, the din, the stillness, of the birds and the insects rising at dawn.

The smell of newly-thawed earth in spring.

The first bud on the tree. 

The curl of the fiddlehead spiraling open.

The morning fog glimmering on the strands of the spider's web.

-

The pitch and toss of the sea when the wind howls wild. 

The blue-grey and white foam and the smell of salt stirring in the air.

The rumble of distant thunder and the pale yellow glow in the sky as the storm closes in.

The exact moment the gathering shadow breaks open, and it starts to pour rain.

-

The play of moonlight piercing the pitch-black of the forest at night.

The heady smell of dew-damp earth.

The close comfort of the darkness wrapped around you like a shroud.

The sweet tingle of instinctive apprehension, when you hear the rustle-crack of wildlife stirring in the black around you. 

The feel of watchful eyes from the shadow, out of sight.

Soft earth, sharp stone, and cool grass beneath bare feet.

-

The flicker and play of flame licking hungry at the air.

The heat rushing over you like water as you stand in a circle around the bonfire.

Sweat on your brow and a chill at your spine. 

The fluttering sashay of robe and gown in the dance of candlelight. 

The silhouette of a figure outlined against the firelight, surrounded by velvet night.

Life force tingling in your fingertips and toes.

-

The thud of footfalls against the ground in steadily quickening rhythm.

The bite of exhaustion in your muscles as you swing your arms over your head with the dance.

Letting your wild soul take form around you, feathers and fur and claws. 

Howling at the moon as her light casts pale silver light amidst the murky blue-black.

-

The quiet thrill of old, forbidden knowledge and long-forgotten secrets.

The small spark of mischief in you, the quirk of your lips in a small grin. 

-

Feeling the pulse of blood, thick and dark and sacred in your veins.

Feeling it change. Feeling it slow to match the cadence of the drums.

Beat.

Beat.

Beat.

-