The *Real* Proof Is In The Practice.

The *Real* Proof Is In The Practice.

I never did structured rituals in any way until last year, unless it was a magick-related task. “Got the candles? Check. Fancy-pants smelling oils from Ye Olde Wicca Shoppe? Check. A problem? Yup. A playlist that will make that awesome display of WILL with a capital W come blasting out? Done. LET’S DO THIS DAMN THING! LET’S GIT ER’ DONE! HOOOOAHHHHH!”. That’s nice, and well and good. It’s fun to play with fire, and I’d advocate candle magick as a nice blast to the GUNG-HO WILL-DRIVEN AWESOMENESS of the SACRAL CHAKRA! WAHHHHHHHHH!!!! FIRE GOOOD! Enjoyable? Most certainly. Fire magick taxes me a great deal. To make what you already naturally have in Leonine and Wandy abundance burn that much brighter can have ill-received results. Yes, it usually works pretty well for me. I mean… I even bought a sweet-ass Ganesha zippo at the head shop, just for such purposes. It breaks all the time though. Maybe I should have just cut the shit and gotten the Bob Marley on instead? Hmmmmmpppphhhh. I keed… I keed… I mean, yes I do like me some Sir Robert of Marley on occasion, but I have to watch reruns of the Bong Show too many times for that to happen. Too much fire on fire leads to energy and adrenal overload. I seriously crash, and generally get rather ill. Nausea, exhaustion, unable to focus. The shift from Altered States of Awesomeness back to MunDanish is brutal.

You see, Miss Fire often forgets to ground or center when there is something fun to do. LOOK AT THESE BAD ASS RED CANDLES!!! SWEET! LET’S GET THIS PARTY STARTED, BITCHES! BAM! IT’S LIKE THIS, and LIKE THAT, and LIKE THIS… And… THIS IS HOW WE THROW IT DOWN IN ERISIAN TOWN!

Which leads to the inevitable… Ooops… I did it again. It’s such a noob mistake to make, but my fiery enthusiasm and Hiero-pants love of creative problem solving trips me up again. And again. Sure, I’ve dappled in sigil magick, knot magick, petitions, tarot spells, and all of the usual things. They’re okay. Fire is just more… fun. Beavis, burning stuff is… cool!

Ritual for rituals sake is very different for me. It’s not about making fireworks or explosions. It’s not Avatar, in a bright blaze of GLORIOUS 3-D SPECTACULAR-SPECTACULAR EXTRAGANZA STARRING TONY DANZA fuckery. It’s more like a quirky sleeper-hit indie dramedy. 500 Days of Saraswati! (Dudes… my Saraswati phase is still going on. She keeps giving me more awesome. She must like music nerds). I used to go full-out balls to the walls Erisian on the notion of ritual. Sure, if it feels like a good idea… slap it together. Why not? It will be fun. Yet the sad truth is that it never really was. I never enjoyed doing it. I felt like there wasn’t a purpose for it. As if I was doing it because I felt like I had to. This is the poison apple for me. This is anti-ERIS! I fight with my need for Random Acts of Awesome From The Cavernous Chaos of the Elegant Universe and my need for Structure, Order, and Pattern. Ritual fell somewhere in between. Over the last year, I’ve found where it fits for me. I don’t make a big production of it. I keep it loose enough to keep my inner Sacred Chaos from mooing too loudly, but structured enough to have a plan like when I am interrupted by a skunk (like last month) or a deer (like a couple of months ago). Full Moon Fever is the only time where I’m fairly consistent, but Persephone-related rituals in Fall and Spring have been good as well. Except that I forgot when I was going to do spring this year. Oops… Note to self… You got Ostara and Easter mixed up again… You are such a naughty-naughty pagan!

Still… For the Full Moon, the basics are more or less the same. I kept it loose for a while, but it’s made it’s own structure without much work for me. I make a playlist. I do a reading, just to see where I’m at. I let all my crystals and rocks and junk hang out in the window to soak up some moon beams. They dig it. I meditate on all that moony energy for a bit. I snap into trance-pants. I focus on the HP from the Thoth deck. If evocation is going to happen, it happens then. Drawing down the moon? I suppose, not that I am all wicce-wacky about it. I petition all the shit I could gladly do without or am releasing. I give a shout out to whoever seems to be surfing the lunar wave that month. I make some offerings to my gods, guides, and ancestors. Usually some food, and a few other things. Maybe some pretty rocks. Maybe a lawn gnome? It’s all about keepin’ it loose. Sometimes I make stuff. It depends. Then, I sort of do a Cone of Power like thing. Then I just hang out and listen to some music. That’s when Our Lady of Chaos invariably takes over. I keep some Lady GaGa in the playlist just in case. BAM! Done. Sure, some preparation needs to take place, but I don’t mind that so much.

The act of doing it each time, even if I change it up, seems to build upon the last. I’ve found that Carla Bruni is the perfect music to listen to while making an offering. I’ve found that the gods really dig food offerings. Especially Ganesha. I’ve found that things have unexpectedly opened up in other areas, that I never could have imagined. The Shamanic Fuckery? Well… it didn’t happen as profoundly or as often. I seem to be more comfortable about where I am at spiritually. I get more signs and synchronicity.

Totally worth it. I’ve rearranged my priorities a bit. While it’s not for everyone, it’s the only way I can cut cleanly through the fire, and get to the Water. I need that water. Water is… life. I spent a lot of my childhood and adulthood trying to “feel” what everyone else was feeling when they went to church or did some kind of spiritual practice. I had zero connection. Total radio silence. Whatever they were feeling, I was not able to feel it. I was cut off. Barred entry. Persona non grata. But that’s why there are many paths up the mountain. It’s why I had to put my boots on, regardless of the strength of my bootstraps. I am far from knowing, but I am getting there. I feel something. Something is enough.

Water? I get it. Keep it flowin’, low and slow. Check.


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