I’d like a potion for flu, please

Garr ,when I feel ill, I feel ILL, and no mistake.

I spent the whole of Tuesday sleeping, getting up for five minutes and staring blearily at my partner before being hustled off back to bed again, and falling asleep immediately. It was like someone had removed most of my higher brain. Useless for anything except breathing in and out. Tea appeared, piping hot and strong, at regular intervals; as did nurofen and glasses of water. Pillow plumping and shaking out of the duvet, soothing of brow and gentle bossing about to stop me doing stuff I shouldn’t. I got caught watering the geraniums in the sitting room, received a quiet ticking-off and was sent back to bed once more.

It’s lovely to be able to rely so much on another person. I don’t find this sort of thing easy to do at all. Apparently I give the impression of being generally invulnerable. Not when I’m ill, I’ll promise you.

Divergence and Laziness

There’s a very great deal to be said about the power of the urge to do nothing. It’s closely allied to the conviction that there’s no time to do x, whatever x happens to be. In some people, this could be characterised as a conscious decision. In me, I’ve seen it as simply laziness and inattention.

I was looking round my rooms the other day, and saw all the books lining the walls for the first time in a long time. In many respects, books, moveable press, are a form of interior decoration to me. Not, as I saw once, a way to add colour to a room – when I asked the owner of the house if she’d read any of the books in question she gave me an extremely funny look and said no, of course not; she’d bought two tonnes of green-spined books from a wholesaler and was using them as decoration. No, my definition of decorative goes more toward Rennie Mackintosh – both beautiful and useful.

I’ve got books in every room and some of them are unread, the bindings uncracked. Most of the books in this category are regarding pagan studies. I realised concurrently with my musing over the number of books unread that I haven’t done a really meaty book review (read: hatchet job) on anyone’s work for a good long while. And as I am going to be absent from the Ludlow Symposium this year, and therefore unable to provide a digest of the day, I should get reading and noting.

One of the downsides that we all acknowlege about practising solitary witchcraft (if we do; you might not!) is that sometimes, and sometimes for extended periods of time, life supervenes or you lose your way or your thread or your enthusiasm, even, and everything stops. I’ve had six months or more of this, feeling like there’s no energy or will in the pot for anything other than dragging myself out of bed, getting Rowan ready for nursery, keeping the house straight and trying (and mainly failing) to keep up with my friendship commitments.

One of the things I always do in this situation is believe that the false dawn of returning energy is the end of the problem. I forget every single time that it’s just a burst, a sprint for the tape, a momentary second wind. I become part of the problem, by forcing myself back into the fray. This tendency has an unfortunate side-effect – it seems to make other people doubt me when I say I’m fine (or maybe it’s the edge of hysteria on my voice. ‘I’m fine. No, I’m fine. FINE!’

I don’t think I’m fooling anyone, though; least of all me. I’m getting too old to be constantly hauling myself up right and soldiering on if I’m down. And I am down; why do women like me never give themselves credit? I’ve left and divorced my husband in less than a year, moved house, become a single parent, dealt with crises at home and at work, held down a full-time job, done a good job as a parent and haven’t actually gone insane or become emotionally incontinent in the process. That’s quite good going.

So to get irritated at myself for not continuing my observances, work, writings, visits, pilgrimages and dedications seems specious to me. None of these things are dispensible in my life, but neither is my son, earning a living or having peace of mind and heart. So, not indispensible; but slightly more dispensible than the things I kept up with.

I’m here, Goddess, I still hear You. I worship You. I think the life you’ve given me should be lived well; and so I dedicate all my efforts to You. By doing my best I give my best to You.

Green Witch Chariot Race

At the risk of coming over all Ben-Hur this morning I’m going to talk a little bit about calls to action, and what they make us do and feel. Well, what they make me do and feel, actually; I speak for no-one but myself on this topic!

What constitutes a call to action? To me, it’s an irresistable urge to do something in the face of a larger problem. When the need to act, to move, to make a difference outweighs the need to sit, to be still, to be silent, I have to act, I feel compelled to.

This doesn’t necessarily come down to one felt emotion, one strand of reasoning either. It could be guilt. It could be the feeling of a job left undone. It could be anger, pity, empathy. It could be the realisation of a major injustice. It could be as petty as minor irritation. And in the end, it could be the fact that for me at least, action is always preferable to inaction, no matter if inaction would have proved the safer or more prudent route.

There’s nothing more draining or disempowering than chosing to do nothing in a situation of adversity. None of us think the close-the-eyes approach to problem solving makes situations any better; Churchill said that all that is needed for evil to flourish is that good men do nothing. How right he was.

I’ve a number of situations on hand just now that require action; they require me to be brave and take a stand and make executive decisions without the benefit of foresight. How I wish at times for a clear eye to the future! When I was young I used to play Fighting Fantasy rolegames; particularly the ones in book form where you read the sections and govern your choices though judgement and rolls of the dice. I always used to cheat, mildly; looking ahead to outcomes but preserving the ability to backtrack to the last safe point and select another route if things didn’t go so well. Clearly, this ability would benefit me greatly now; bitter, actually, to look around at some witches of my acquaintence who blithely claim the ability to see forward; can they? Would it benefit me to be able to do so? Who knows. I have a sneaking feeling not, actually.

Musings on Prop 8

California has voted to ban the provision of LGBT marriage, 52 to 48 percent, with Florida and Arizona passing similar propositions. It seems that the Evangelical Right, among other powerful pressure groups, has still enough sway to dominate. In Arkansas, singles, unmarried couples and LGBT couples were banned from adopting children.

If we relate these political facts to Brian at House of Inanna’s recent post about the dominance of the patriarchy over our sexuality, things begin to look quite grim for the free-thinkers out there. And given my recent rantings on the subject of encroachment by the Evangelical right even on our assumed freedom of speech over here on WordPress, I think there’s a larger problem extant; ignoring them and waiting for them to go away might not cut the mustard.

I feel the need to maintain a moderate stance and measured tone – hectoring isn’t going to get any of us anywhere. And perhaps unusually among my pagan brethren, I am all for interfaith discussion. I want that dialogue. I want any attempt at understanding and shared experience to be fully undertaken and experienced by all sides. It may not be useful in the short term, or even very pleasant – it may not be wanted or welcomed. I liked this post by mistyg over at Riverwood Wanderings, which shows willing to connect and to talk… this is what’s needed.

However, there’s no enlightenment in maintaining a rigid position in isolation. One of my interlocutors over the Samhain period accused me of being secretly attracted to Christianity and therefore afraid to hear any more about it in case I somehow got converted without meaning to! I was able to tell her that I had previously been Christian and had chosen to ‘turn my face away’, which is how they term it; a measured decision taken in a reasonable understanding of the subject matter.

It’s a pretty sad day when people of faith, whatever their stripe, are chucking vituperation at each other over the Net; it’s the same prickly and distrusting attitude that, when mixed with a dollop of absolute power and a military machine gets you ‘Holy’ wars and religious genocide.

Prop 8 is a sad day for the West – if we can’t deal with equality on something as fundamental to all of us as sexual enjoyment, if we can’t give it legal protection, then we haven’t really got a hope with religion. Faith and spiritual matters polarise more than sex, if this is possible; the vast majority have some sort of sex, but only a small majority have faith. So the Do’s and Don’ts collide, and then all the Do’s collide with each other as some Do more than others, differently to others…. a proper tangle. 

The way the legislation was framed, by the way, didn’t ban LGBT marriage; it sought to protect heterosexual marriage. Are we that scared that ‘our’ rights are going to be undermined? Aren’t they people too? Don’t LGBT citizens, taxpayers and responsible adults deserve the gravitas of a legally binding union? Simplistic questions, but with all the policial manoeuvring, they easily get lost. These are the questions that matter to me here, protecting my corner of my world in which I hold my faith and my sexuality.

Blog Action Day 2008

Today, on Blog Action Day, bloggers the world over will band together to discuss poverty. I could speak about monetary poverty, the poverty of things; but, inspired by the delicious prose poetry of African Alchemy, I want to talk about the poverty of food, here, today in the United Kingdom.

We are all horrified and upset when we see children or adults misused, abused, terrorised. There are, however, quieter forms of violence and neglect. One of the worst in my view is the neglect that comes when we do not feed our young – or ourselves- either properly or well.

If we don’t allow ourselves to eat properly, our bodies rebel, we feel unwell, and our concentration and tempers suffer. We say we can’t afford decent food. Is this really the case?

I’ll recount here a couple of vignettes from the local scene here in the Welsh borders.

There’s a sprightly looking lad of about 7 who I see every morning while going to work; I can see him pedalling his bicycle. What tugs at my heart is that he’s about three stone too heavy. He spills over his bike, he’s puffing, sweaty and red on a flat, half-mile cycle to school, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he gets bullied and picked on by his classmates. Already, at 7, segregated, different, odd. What sort of a start to have in life, a life that’s already difficult enough?

There’s a child at my son’s nursery who has crisps and sweets for her breakfast. Given her by her parents. She’s pale, unhealthy looking and her teeth are in a state. She’s four.

There was an article in the press yesterday which said that four out of ten young adults in Britain today cannot cook a potato. Can’t bung a spud in the microwave and add butter and cheese and a side salad for a healthy filling meal.

With the credit crunch, spiralling inflation and the increase in bills and the cost of living, the first principles should be coming back into play. Instead, people are simply buying cheaper (and therefore less well-made, less nutritious) ready meals. We’re all a little poorer, all feeling the pinch. We should remember that food isn’t simply fuel. It’s love, it’s care, it’s family time, it’s warmth and regard and respect.

The Potato Marketing Board reminded shoppers yesterday of the value of the humble spud. Cheap, versatile, fat-free, nutritious, calorific. Grown here, in the UK. And what of all the other native vegetables we overlook in favour of that Asda Madras (made who knows where, and with what)?. Leeks. Carrots. Onions. Caulis. The list is endless. And so is the list of healthy, nutritious, warming, solid and cheap meals you can get out of them.

As the world gets crueller and people care less and less, I’m going to be remembering my family needs feeding; and feeding as well as my thin purse can manage, with local and wonderful produce, cooked with a good heart. Just one of the ways I can tell my family that I love them.

Thelemic Symposium – Thoughts

Now I’ve got something, no matter how basic, down about the talks I wanted to discuss the feelings a bit – there were plenty. 

Despite being very much a fish out of water, and somewhat on my mettle, I left the event feeling pretty comfortable. Granted, we didn’t stay for the Mass, let alone the disco, but we put in a good long day and got a lot out of it. 

Seshat sat rapt the whole day; she was clearly absolutely involved and taken with the proceedings. I can see the draw, frankly; there’s a level of energy and purpose, academic direction and pure spiritual effort that I find lacking in much similar work in Wicca, for example. 

The whole day energised me and exhausted me at the same time – I found I’d sat still so long my bum had completely dropped off to sleep but I was utterly enthralled by the talks and the hours flew by. I can’t actually remember a time I was that engrossed in speeches for a whole day – I don’t think I ever have been.

The personalities were fascinating. I found I could tune out to a certain extent and ‘get’ who were readers and who were doers. Seshat, ever more capable that me in this department, got several quite difficult characters identified in the throng. The people are more vital, more dangerous, more interesting in this line of work.

I wish Boleskine and Naufragio had been able to attend; they’d've got so much more out of it that I did, and I got loads!

Directed Rage

Anger as a positive emotion is not something we normally associate with successful witchcraft, but I’m starting to think it’s an untapped resource. Recently, a number of themes have been coalescing; and one seems to be anger; pure, white-hot, constructive, righteous, organised, intelligent, open-eyed fury.

I’ve seen this manifesting itself recently around the blogosphere – boleskine93 discusses it here while drawing a line in the sand, directing a ‘thus far and no further’ to himself and those who would seek to bring him down, an attitude I heartily agree with and second him on.

Seshat and I worked with it at the Autumn Equinox yesterday, and I think that a great part of the motive power behind the success of the ritual was anger. Beweaver thinks it through in this post about the terrible wrongs being done to the ecology of Alaska, now coming to light through scrutiny of the Palin woman’s dash for the White House.  Others I know use anger to great effect in their mundane and spiritual lives.

I myself have been making much use of anger in the last few months. It has got me up and out of the door many times beyond counting. It has helped me re-establish parameters on some of my most complex and difficult interpersonal relationships. It has kept my heart out of the doldrums. It has meant I have power and strength enough to support others who need me.

This is not corrosive, betraying, undermining, murderous anger; it’s fruitful, clean, bright, sharp, decisive and dispassionate. Directed, not emotionally directed. Calm and wide-eyed with knowledge and understanding, therefore effective.

Anger is an emotion much shied-away from by humans. We are frightened of hurting others with it, as well as ourselves; we turn it inwards and it manifests itself as illness, headaches, futility, depression, hopelessness and disempowerment. If only we could build with it, grow with it, understand and use it for positivity and good. It’s one of the most dynamic emotions, one of the most potent in power, one of the liveliest. If anger is the Achilles’ Heel of the human emotional range, wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could transmogrify it into rocket fuel, a means by which we fly?

Well, what’s to say I haven’t done so already?

Back to the Ford

The Green Witch is home, refreshed and invigorated, from her course.

I got in, weary, but delighted with myself for aceing the exam and really kicking ass in the continual assessment part of the tutoring. Corporate courses are much of a muchness, usually – but we had some superlative trainers and we all learned so much in such a short space that it’s a wonder our heads haven’t split open completely. I have been offered a fast-track through the recruitment process for the company training us – amazing. Scary money and good fun to boot!!

A lot has happened for me this week – some distance has allowed a great many things to become clear. Like my dear friend Marya at African Alchemy, distance has a magnifying effect, sometimes; it brings the things that are far removed from us into specific relief. I have learned what I needed to about myself and my needs and where I want to go this week; some utterly astounding confluences of events, coincidences and synchronicities have meant that the windows have all lined up and I’ve seen to the other side of the galaxy. They do things differently there!

My son threw himself into my arms and said, ‘I have missed me!!!’ which I agreed with. Odd, and oddly apt for the situation. I have missed me. I’ve missed him too – and I’m glad to see both of us again.

Seshat and I

My dears, send up a prayer for Seshat – she is not well, and will be away from us for some time. She says to tell you all that you are not to worry, but she will not be blogging or responding to emails for a little while. She sends her fondest love and best wishes.

… and as for me, I’m good! I’m on a course this week, five days at nine hours a day, so it’s not without its pressures, but the people are lovely and the course material extremely interesting. My Rowan is safe and happy, and getting on well, and being his boisterous and energetic self, and so I’m happy and fulfilled. I’m calm, energised, entertained, challenged and diverted. Who can ask for more than that?

I will be coming back to the regularly scheduled programming from next week – but till then, I’m on the equivalent of a holiday – so you’ll forgive me for playing hooky, I’m sure.

Life Supervenes

As you run along, doing what you can, thinking about things that are sometimes fairly far from home, you can lay yourself open to getting blown up, metaphorically speaking - the most unlikely things can happen without any warning.

Amazingly, this has happened to me this week; utterly affirming the belief I hold that life won’t let you get complacent. Time to think like my life depended on it – watch me up my game!

I’m just glad for the Mercian Gathering coming up – a chance to unwind and centre myself, do my affirmations, dance, pray, sleep, talk with my friends, all in the protection of the circle.

I’d wish this feeling on all I know – pulse racing, heart thumping, adrenaline, brighter vision, the whole nine yards. Blessings!