This night--every night--seems to wrap warm, soothing arms
around me. Holding me safe like the inside of the Mother's womb. But we're not
supposed to love the night. We humans are supposed to be creatures of the day.
And so I try. I try to sleep at night and get up to take care of the business
of the day. I try to look "normal." But I'm not normal. I'm a witch
and that fact alone excludes me from what most people consider
"normal."
I don't mind my not-normalness, my uncommonness, though it confounds the once borns who share my life through blood ties and history. They don't understand me at all. They deny my spiritual choice and, in their ignorance, in their refusal to let me educate them about who I am and what I believe, they "pray" for me. They pray to their angry Judeo-Christian God that I will come to my senses and fall to my knees in supplication. They pray that I will never be financially well off so that I will remain humble. I do not speculate about these things, my family has confessed them to me. I think about it often in the dark, when the Mother shines down on me as I watch her from the porch of my little house in the valley, barefoot, shivering. I think about it in the dark of my room while I listen to the clock on the wall tick away the seconds of the nights. The warm embrace of the darkness holds me, is my only defense against the sorrow and fear of it all. Here in the still of the night I can pretend none of it is real, I can find the hope and store some of it to get me through another day.
I am often awake at dawn since I do not sleep well. I go back out on the porch at the same place that I communed with the Goddess a few hours previously and I watch the Sun, symbol of Her consort the God peek over my eastern horizon and set the sky on fire with his love. I try to welcome each day. Do the LBRP, welcome Deity into my next 24 hours but try as He may to burn hope and love into my heart, the days are when I am burdened most by my unnaturalness, by the price I am paying for my choice to live an uncommon life.
I am, along with my adult son, walking the tightrope of life without a net. And it is a very, very long fall if I make a misstep. We have no family to turn to for help--they made that clear. They'll pray for me but I must figure out how to coax the manna from Heaven if I want to eat. I doubt seriously this is what my mother meant when she prayed her poverty prayer for me. But I believe that everyone does magick...they just don't know it. What are prayers but spells by another name? If energy and genuine desire is in prayer, it works just like a spell works under the same conditions. After all, any witch who has studied at all knows the only things you really need for a spell are the witch and her will.
I am responsible for my own life. I made choices that put me in an uncomfortable place in my uncommon life but it does seem as though my efforts to improve my lot in life, magickal and mundane, have been blocked. As crazy as it sounds in the light of day, I think the people who were supposed to love me the most have been putting serious effort into keeping me down. And though those words might sound crazy in the light of day, at night when I submit to the uncommon insomnia, it sounds like perfect sense to me. All that remains is to figure out how to fix it, how to turn the bus around, how to stop the train wreck that is already in progress.
If any of you read this blog post and have advice, I would so appreciate it. I may be a crone (a young crone, mind you) but I know there is so much that I do not know, so much that might help me. Even just knowing that someone else cares enough to read this post is so important because in my uncommon insomnia it's easy to believe I am utterly alone in this world.
I don't mind my not-normalness, my uncommonness, though it confounds the once borns who share my life through blood ties and history. They don't understand me at all. They deny my spiritual choice and, in their ignorance, in their refusal to let me educate them about who I am and what I believe, they "pray" for me. They pray to their angry Judeo-Christian God that I will come to my senses and fall to my knees in supplication. They pray that I will never be financially well off so that I will remain humble. I do not speculate about these things, my family has confessed them to me. I think about it often in the dark, when the Mother shines down on me as I watch her from the porch of my little house in the valley, barefoot, shivering. I think about it in the dark of my room while I listen to the clock on the wall tick away the seconds of the nights. The warm embrace of the darkness holds me, is my only defense against the sorrow and fear of it all. Here in the still of the night I can pretend none of it is real, I can find the hope and store some of it to get me through another day.
I am often awake at dawn since I do not sleep well. I go back out on the porch at the same place that I communed with the Goddess a few hours previously and I watch the Sun, symbol of Her consort the God peek over my eastern horizon and set the sky on fire with his love. I try to welcome each day. Do the LBRP, welcome Deity into my next 24 hours but try as He may to burn hope and love into my heart, the days are when I am burdened most by my unnaturalness, by the price I am paying for my choice to live an uncommon life.
I am, along with my adult son, walking the tightrope of life without a net. And it is a very, very long fall if I make a misstep. We have no family to turn to for help--they made that clear. They'll pray for me but I must figure out how to coax the manna from Heaven if I want to eat. I doubt seriously this is what my mother meant when she prayed her poverty prayer for me. But I believe that everyone does magick...they just don't know it. What are prayers but spells by another name? If energy and genuine desire is in prayer, it works just like a spell works under the same conditions. After all, any witch who has studied at all knows the only things you really need for a spell are the witch and her will.
I am responsible for my own life. I made choices that put me in an uncomfortable place in my uncommon life but it does seem as though my efforts to improve my lot in life, magickal and mundane, have been blocked. As crazy as it sounds in the light of day, I think the people who were supposed to love me the most have been putting serious effort into keeping me down. And though those words might sound crazy in the light of day, at night when I submit to the uncommon insomnia, it sounds like perfect sense to me. All that remains is to figure out how to fix it, how to turn the bus around, how to stop the train wreck that is already in progress.
If any of you read this blog post and have advice, I would so appreciate it. I may be a crone (a young crone, mind you) but I know there is so much that I do not know, so much that might help me. Even just knowing that someone else cares enough to read this post is so important because in my uncommon insomnia it's easy to believe I am utterly alone in this world.
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