I write for my living. Boring stuff, mostly, but things that make money and allow me to be a traveling priestess and teacher.
Lately, I’ve had the chance to write books, books about witchcraft and magick, contracted books. In my everyday writing, I am methodical and concise. I have so much space and certain goals to achieve.
This writing is different, vulnerable, and my heart’s desire coming into sight.
With this new venture, I’ve turned to the godds, to my altars, and to my practices to bring me fully into the delicious liminal space of creation. I call out to those who might aid me, support me, and guide me.
I make offerings in reverence, offerings to conjure the words that belong on the page.
Meeting in the Vulnerable Places
I find the practice of grounding myself to be of the greatest importance. I need to connect into the earth and to the stars to find the center from which I can birth sentences. I align my souls and cleanse my space, or maybe the reverse, depending on the moment.
Igniting vulnerability can be ruthless in the way that it aches and travels to the space of my greatest fears — will I say something that matters? Will I reach the one person who needs to hear what I’ve said? Will what I do mean anything?So, I ground. I release into the earth the fears and the anxiety. I let go of the expectation and the what-comes-next. I drive my roots down and my consciousness up into the vastness of stars. To the place where the destruction becomes creation.
Protection & Inspiration
And there is more to words than hoping they’ll come. I know they are new and they are delicate. Even though they might be words written in a different way at another time, they need protection. I set altars and candles to hold a boundary between what is arriving and what will become of them.
Let them be protected. Let them be safe enough until they grow stronger and fortified and ready for the place of uncovering.
I keep things quiet or talk circumspectly. I only let in those who are gentle and loving. I say little until the book bursts out, fully formed.
And because of this sacred container, this safe container, inspiration flows. It knows it can ride the angles of my hands. It can move along the tightness of my neck and soothe the desire to hold back.
Let it flow. It is safe here. Let all of its forming belong to the world. Let the tendrils of inspiration weave together the culmination of whisper to word to page to presence.
And let this be a spell of becoming.