Belief is a powerful thing. I've read and heard countless times that it's essential for magick, for self-transformation. That's even more so when belief shifts into knowing. While a 'belief' can be disproved, ignored, ridiculed, abandoned, 'knowledge' holds more weight.
(Yes, it's all perception anyway, but what else is there when it comes to personal experience?)
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Thursday, March 24, 2011
in waves and spirals and arcs..
Some days ago, I stumbled upon a raccoon in my yard. It was just passing through, moseying along on the fence, apparently in no hurry and without any particular destination. It paused to look at me before descending into the neighbor's yard; I watched as it ambled through and eventually disappeared into the darkness of the night.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
I'm a college graduate. I have a Bachelor of Science in Zoology, which tends to make people say "wow." Yeah, I guess it's impressive. But I'm also unemployed right now. It's my third bout of extended unemployment. Which makes people go, "Hmm.. what's her deal? Smart girl like that - why doesn't she have a job?" Even though I'll argue about how "smart" I really am, it's true, I'm not dumb. I'm a good worker, if I'm into it. I have skills. I know some things. So what's going on? Part of me could be lazy, but that's not the whole picture and it wouldn't be a sustainable excuse. I don't just want a J-O-B, another gig, just some thing I'm doing to make money. I need meaning, purpose. But what meaning, what purpose? What am I all about really? I went to that interview at the Institute for Integrative Nutrition and fell apart because I have no cohesive sense of myself. I don't know who I am, or even who I want to be. I'm stuck in this strange place of uncertain-being. Not non-being, because even in the midst of indecision or boredom, there is BEing-ness. But it's an amoeboid being. I don't really have a specific / geometric shape. Like water, I take the shape of whatever container I'm put in. Maybe. Sometimes I contract, I shrivel up in a corner and hope no one notices me. I shrivel up and lose myself. Shriveling up is completely against this desire I have to expand. I don't really *want* to be small, and part of me believes that I'm not, rather that I'm LARGE and just need to claim that reality. But size is not the core issue here. You can be a whole big pile of nothing, or a sack of hot air, or full of shit. This is not what I want, obviously. And, in a way, it's not really about shape either. The issue is substance. SUBSTANCE. What is the substance of me? ...Part of me thinks - and this is a recent realization - that I started to lose my substance, or sight of it anyway, when I stopped journaling about the "mundane." I used to just write about my days and what was going on in my head, regularly, and this was my basis for memory and figuring things out and building upon the STUFF of my own life. My substance was catalogued and preserved with pen & paper. When did I stop? December 2009. And the following year, I decided to keep a "spiritual" journal. Thus did "spirituality" take over my life. And "spirituality" is largely ineffable, though I managed to put a lot of my journey into words. Ah, maybe that isn't it, the root of the problem, though I still think it's involved. Then there's being out of school and back at home - that is, out of my familiar field of success and back in a state of childhood dependence and comfort. I still see myself as a kid, the same kid I've always been, taken care of by Mommy, except now no one is telling me what to do so I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT TO DO. Or I have ideas, but I don't have the confidence or ambition to make them real. I am scared of failing or that I'm not good enough, don't know enough, will never be like the others, all those others with their fast / happy / exciting / creative / interesting lives. I'm boring, and I know part of that is because I'm bored, and another because I don't tell stories, and more because I don't DO much, and that because I don't know what to do half the time or I resort to doing the same things that mean nothing to anyone but me (and sometimes not even that). And I'm trying to filter out everyone's noise, except I'm afraid there's nothing left without it. I'm afraid that maybe I really am empty. Why am I always needing to regather the bones of myself? Why does everything slip out so easily? I draw these incredibly huge blanks that I just don't understand. A person should be more put-together, no?
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Always moving in cycles, she
has circled back to ensnare me
once again. I am caught in her
lasso, braided beams of silver,
pulled ever closer; or mounted
by some lunar spirit, filled with
thoughts of Moon, seeking
Moon in every dark corner,
thirsty for Moon's milk,
loving the mystique of Moon,
by the cool touch of but
a sliver of Moon...
Oh, yes, she sings to me,
a Siren in the night sky,
And I am not resisting; I am
throwing caution and my hat to the wind,
letting my hair down, giving in to flights of fancy
- my wings have rested too long anyhow -
d r i f t i n g
to Seas of Tranquility and Clouds and Nectar,
to Bays of Rainbows and Heats,
to Lake of Dreamers and Ocean of Storms.
As she dances
in light and in shadow,
across the bodies of star creatures,
through her twenty-eight mansions,
I pick up a step here and there,