Tuesday, April 23, 2019

Familiar vs Pet

About a month ago, my dog passed away. I always referred to her as my familiar because she was so dear to me, and so sensitive to the spiritual world. But I never included her in my craft practices. I don't entirely know why, I just never felt like I needed her there for them. Perhaps she wasn't my familiar. I know animals are more sensitive to the spiritual world than humans.

Perhaps that is what confused my view of her.

During her final years, she developed senility. At age 17 and a half, it's understandable. It became a struggle to tell whether she was sensing the spiritual, or if her brain was just warping her senses. If she was younger, I'd have no question that she was sensing the spiritual. But getting stuck in corners, staring into space, and going berserk over nothing is all signs of senility as well. She would sleep so soundly that she would often times forget to breathe. I found myself questioning if she was slipping into the spiritual realm herself, even if for just a brief moment until my touch startled her back earthbound.

Sometimes I humor myself and believe it was true.

Three days ago, I found myself  bringing home a sweet-hearted, eight-month old hound dog. Sawyer has definitely been a blessing in our house. My son has taken to him, so have my parents. He needs some training; he lacks leash manners, and is quickly learning that counters and tables are not for doggy noses. He has some separation anxiety; scared that we will leave him like his former family. But he's trainable, and smart, and learning quickly. We have been blessed to find such a perfect match for our family.

But he is not my familiar.

I don't know how I know this. I just do. I can tell just by looking at him that he is just a companion pet. He is here just to make my family's lives that much more enjoyable. We need his love and he needs ours. There's nothing wrong with that.

I don't have a familiar.

I'm not even sure if I need one. I've never needed help in my craft. I've always done it alone. It seems  like a lonely reality, but to me it makes sense. I'm so empathetic that I would never want another entity to assist me in my craft, and risk them being affected negatively. That's the risk a familiar takes, and I could never ask that of anyone, let alone an innocent animal who wants nothing more than to love and be loved in return.

That's the thing about familiars though.

They don't need you to allow them into your craft. If they want to be a part of it, they will. No matter how much I would avoid allowing someone into my craft, if a familiar entity was supposed to be there, they would be. Is it possible I've just not come to a point in my spiritual path where I need a familiar? Possibly. Honestly, I'm not surprised. I've always been a solitary practitioner. Why would it be any different with familiars?

It is a little annoying.

So many modern witches talk about having familiars, and confusing familiars and pets. Not every pet is a familiar, and I don't understand why a person would even want their beloved pet to be such. Familiars aren't pets. They're free entities, blending into our modern world. They're our partners in craft, willing to suffer the repercussions of our work. Do you want your pet to risk negative suffering because of your craft? I don't know, it just seems strange...

Thursday, April 18, 2019

Dismantled

Dismantle:
/dis’man(t)l/
verb: to take to pieces

I dismantled my alter. It seemed necessary. It had sat untouched for years.

I removed every individual piece, cleaned it, and tucked it away for storage. I’ve been a neglectful witch; forgetting the “craft” part of “witchcraft.” It happens. I hate to say it, but it does.

I’ve been wanting to repaint and redecorate my bedroom. I’ve evolved a lot over the years, and I no longer feel that hoarding things from 13 years ago is something I need to do. Sentiment has faded quite a bit in so many years. I felt like Marie Kondō, tossing anything that no longer brought back blissful memories. As weird as I find some of her meth, she might be onto something. Some things brought back no memories at all. Some things only sparked a longing for the potential of what they could mean. I was holding onto the idea of them, not the sentiment.

Toss.

My room is in a state of disheveled. It looks like I’m in the middle of moving, which I guess I kind of am. Moving out clutter, making room for new evolutions of my being.

It’s a physical act; an act that seems to require me to sweat and sneeze and grumble, and mindless dance and hum to whatever noise comes out of my speakers. But it’s also a mental act, requiring my mind to flash back to years past, and sometimes rack my brain for answers.

Dismantling the altar wasn’t too physically taxing, outside of running handfuls of things downstairs. Dismantling is however, always mentally taxing. It was the last thing I did before calling it quits for the day.

I spent most of my early years on my pagan path, longing for an altar of my own. It wasn’t until the end of my college career that I finally got the chance to create one. That was about the time I started this blog, come to think of it. Now it’s just the top of my dresser, where I’ve stacked a handful of books.

In a sense, I’m not just dismantling my altar, I’m dismantling myself.

I’m pulling myself apart and analyzing who I am. I’m tossing out the parts of me that don’t bring me joy; the parts too intertwined with my abuser. I’m analyzing what really makes me who I am. For so long I thought I was one way or another, but I’m recognizing how influenced those thoughts were.

Am I a pagan? Sure, and I always will be. But I’m not the pagan I thought I was. I’m not really the pagan I want to be either. I've realized though, that I've forgotten to put the work into my spirituality. I recently read an article about how mundane witchcraft is, and how easy it is to forget the "craft" in "witchcraft." I read this article, and I found myself sitting there going, "holy s*** it's me!"

For so long, I wanted to be that edgy chick who wasn't afraid of anything, who could scare anyone with just a look, who was rumored to be a "witch" like it was a bad thing. I wanted to have that beautiful altar that I kept neat and up to date. I wanted books and a thick book of shadows. I wanted there to be no question about who I was.

I tried my best, but I never became that person. And it's probably for the better. I recognize now that I just wanted to hide under a tough facade. It was never who I was or who I would be. It was really just a coping mechanism I wished I'd had at my disposal.

When it comes to witchcraft, the craft aspect vastly differs from person to person. It's not as cut and dry as it seems. I admire those who can practice their craft daily, who keep their altars and blogs and knowledge up to date. I may even envy them a bit. But that routine doesn't fit my lifestyle, and that's ok. I'm figuring it out.

The first step in dismantling myself, is to dismantle my way of thinking. It is to take all the things I thought I was, thought I wanted and needed, and throwing them out. If any of it was truly a part of the real me, the me I am discovering, it will come back. It it's meant to be, it'll be.

Dismantling the masquerade of my self image was simply expressed through the physical dismantling of my altar, and my whole bedroom to an extent. The bare bones of my room is there, the space for an altar still exists, but right now, an altar isn't part of my craft. Just as blue and silver flames and trinkets aren't a part of me. At least, not right now.

Friday, April 5, 2019

Seasons of Life

"The tiny seed know that in order to grow, it needed to be dropped in dirt, 
covered with darkness, and struggle to reach the light." - Sandra Kring

I have this vivid memory. It is early spring, and I am walking along the empty beach of Lake Michigan. I’ve rolled up my pants and in my hand are my shoes. The icy cold water rushes up to glide across my feet, and the sand beneath me sinks to embrace my toes, which by now are numb. The wind is blowing, and my hair is whipping across my face. It’s cold for spring time, and my hoodie barely keeps the cold air out. The fingers of winter can still be felt in the air and water, grasping for any form that it can lace itself around. The chill as warded off most everyone, and the surrounding beach is empty, save my parents and I. The sun, bright and high in the sky serves as nothing but a facade for this winter disguised as spring.

I often visit this memory. I come to it when I need peace and balance in life; when the hectic schedule of daily activity draws old and tiresome, and I need a quick escape. A meditative moment.

Through recent reflection, I’ve come to recognize my existence in life’s seasons, and how very necessary it is to slowly transition between one season and another.

Winter has been long a hard for me. This season has seemed to last forever, and quite frankly, it has. A seven year winter; one with a quick and abrupt transition. One moment it was fall, then BAM! I woke up to the dead of winter.

I seemed to have grown so used to the cold, so used to the quiet inside. I kept thoughts to myself, made “someday” plans, played “what if” games late at night. I fell into habitual routine that required no thought, no reflection, and little effort. After seven years of cold and silence and hibernation, I  can finally feel a cold spring.

It started with some sun; a ray of hope disguised as news I had never wished for, but somehow needed. It sparked some serious reflection and in turn, growth. That sliver of sun as fueling me to grow and develop into someone new and bright.

A new life season calls for new chances and opportunities. And it certainly deserves acknowledgement on a spiritual level.

My spring time will be time for me. Time to grow spiritually; to really develop my beliefs and practices. It will be a time to put into action the habits of my craft and spiritual work. To prepare for summer.

By summer, I want my actions to be habitual. I want meditation and craft-work to be a regular and reoccurring process. I want to have made positive and progressive steps in my life’s direction, so I can really solidify my spiritual self.

Fall will allow me to slow down the habitual processes, and give me room to try new craft-work. It will allow me find what works best for me, and perhaps find methods that are suited more for my life and goals.

Only then will I allow myself to drift back into winter. This time, not to sit in silence, but rather in reflection. I don’t want to fall into robotics and be “stuck” in winter again. I know winter is a very necessary part of life and growth, but it is not beneficial if one dwells in the cold too long. Just as I have to allow myself to drift into winter, I have to know how to drift out of it.