I may be crazy, but it’s a good kind of crazy.
I am not afraid of things I should be afraid of.
I don’t understand why there are certain things that I cannot do in life, out of conditioning or tradition, that seem so simple. Yet at the same time, I can rip down other far less imposing barriers with my barehands and not a thought at all as to the consequences. Magick was like that for me. Sure, I struggled with the philosophical parts and the technical parts. I still do. Yet, for such a strange thing that seems to make no rational sense to appeal so easily, without so much as a glance back… Shouldn’t that be difficult? It was as if I went from being a skeptic, until I stumbled on the magick key, and it all seemed to fit. There was never any fear or hesitation. It felt natural. “Oh, magick you say? Sounds interesting. Please, tell me more!”.
It wasn’t easy for me to turn my back on Christianity, yet it was very simple at the same time. I grew up in a church family feeling like an outcast, although I was never treated like one. I felt like an outcast from God. I was outside his circle or Sphere of Influence. Whatever all these people around me saw or felt, I simply didn’t have the dots to connect it all. I had faulty wiring. I sat through church, measuring out the time as we progressed through the hymnal. Lutherans are very hierophanty-panty when it comes to sticking with a schedule that works. My brain went on autopilot, not angry, but distant. I’ve always been an interloper in some way, I just hide it very well. I’ve learned that I am just not made to fit, and that there is no need to push it. I don’t have to try. Erisianism makes it really easy sometimes… Look! Toast! Yay!
Where it fits, the Queen of Wands takes over with glee. She’s not coming in if the spark isn’t there, and where it is… BAM! If it’s easy, and feels like it comes naturally, instinctively, effortlessly… She is there. Yet my fears are all Princess of Cups. They are all emotionally rooted. I don’t want people to realize that I am as weird as I am. Yes. I am weird. I am okay with this to a point, but for a very carefully selected audience. I have this awful fear of people being on to me. I’ve worked really hard to look like I know what I’m doing, or that I belonged. I never felt like I belonged anywhere as a kid. Fake it till you make it? I’m pretty good at that. What has been hard for me through the process of Spiritual Junk in the Mystical Trunk has been about disclosure. I can’t tell my mom I am what I am… I still think it would make a difference. I still think she’d be disappointed in me. I am utterly broomcloseted, and I am not coming out! My sister would probably never talk to me again.
Poor lamb… As an adult she once asked me “So… wait a minute… Jewish people don’t believe in Jesus?”
I had to explain a bit about the Big 3 Abrahamic Faiths, and how they were the same, but different. Judaism… Same God, messiah’s not here yet. Christians… Same God, but Jesus is the Messiah. Jesus, if he existed, was Jewish as some of his followers might have been. Islam… Same God, but Jesus is a prophet and isn’t really as big a deal as their main prophet Mohammed.
“Oh. I don’t get it. I don’t really know that much about religion”.
I have no problem embracing the practice, but it’s the talking about it, being open about it that has been my greatest struggle. I need to be able to, and I’ve come a long way over the last few years. I never could have worked out the bugs in my Ginormous Net of Eclectic Spiritual Philosophuckery without talking to other people. The internal stops that keep me from talking too much are rooted in earth, but water is at the heart of it. I don’t want to be revealed for what I’ve not chosen to readily show people. I don’t want to hurt. It’s a sad and silly thing, but I see it very clearly. What throws me is that I can be so open and enthusiastic on some notes, but miss the mark on others.
The hard parts are harder than they should be. Fundies find their Jesus, and then won’t shut up about it. They’ve fully embraced the TALKING ABOUT IT part. I don’t want to be that guy. Yet, to probe, to search, to uncover, to find, to discover, to unravel, to re-weave the pieces and parts to see what lovely shapes they might make? Dogmatic paths don’t do that. Thus the draw of mysticism. Eclecticism. Erisianism… although, we just leave the parts in a heap on the floor or stick em’ in the fridge.
I am not afraid of what I will find. I only fear how to put it into words, and still keep myself safe from judgement. We all feel that. I believe for some, there is safety in talking. I need to do my share, but carefully. Carefully.
I have more to find, and I have decided that I am done being afraid. The cheerful branch of pragmatism that colors my material existence works well in that realm. EARTH! FUCKING EARTH! AHHHH!! It does not work well in spiritual matters. It is simply not enough. Fire isn’t enough either… “OMG… THIS IS FREAKING AWESOME! YEAAAHHHH! WHOOHOOO!!” has it’s place. I know the water is there, but a wall of Earth & Fire are a tough barrier to overcome. I don’t want it to evaporate. I don’t have much to spare. Words escaping out seem to bring a little bit more water in.
But, I am talking now and it doesn’t feel bad. In fact, it feels right.
I am thirsty.