Working the Magick of the Heart Anyway

My heart hurts. And I haven’t really known what to write in the midst of this pandemic / world burning / who can I touch / ugh time.

Time has been swimmy. Before I know it, it’s Thursday and I’m back to the weekend where I’m not really resting, but I’m not really working.

Sure, I’m planning classes and writing books, but it all seems so strange in the places we are right now. Like it matters more.

Like it doesn’t matter at all.

These are strange times that have tested the mettle of my heart, of my hope, and of my trust.

The Capacity of Brokenness

It’s just true — the world has been breaking my heart. And I’ve seen so many beloveds say the same thing. Sometimes for similar reasons. Sometimes not.

There are times when I just want to give into the urge to shut it all off, go back into a cave of my own making and hide from it all. There are days when I am not hopeful and I am not sure about anything I thought I believed to be true about people.

I think I’ve broken, more than a few times. And instead of picking up all the pieces, I’ve really taken time to look at what landed on the floor.

The sharpness of a boundary I didn’t speak.

The smoothness of times I took the easier way.

The small pieces of promises I didn’t keep for myself.

The dust of relationships I failed to tend.

Pieces of everything, pieces of me, pieces of you too.

But in the breaking, in the shattering, I also see space. I try to look beyond what is broken to see where I could learn to mend.

That is the work of this heart.

Different Pieces and These Heart Materials

My magick has been subtle and more fluid. Dependent on the weather, my mood, and the intuition I’m able to hear more clearly in the wide stretches of silence.

My heartbeat has not been steady. My breath has not been even. I have woken up racing and I have fallen asleep sobbing and terrified.

I am not alone.

I am not unequipped.

I just need to look at the tools I have and ask how they might be used differently.

(At least, that’s the question I’m pondering.)

My practices made sense in the space of preparation. They made sense in terms of resilience building and grounding through less intense times.

But now? They seem less than adequate. Or maybe I just need more than I realized I would.

(Probably both.)

So I’ve looked at different ways to make room for my heart today.

• Clear away the extra altar items.
• Remove altars that I’m not actively feeding.
• Sing more.
• Lay on the ground and feel the weight of my body held by Earth.
• Follow the signs.
• Treasure this breath. Welcome the next.
• Quiet the need to know. Invite the unknowing of surrender.

Really, for me, it’s all about surrender. I’m not going to get it right. I’m going to feel behind. I’m going to feel less than and too much, all in the same hour somedays.

At the core is the heart. Showing up for what it wants and needs. Asking it how I can care for it, even as the world is burning. Even as ash falls from the sky and I wear a mask every time I’m outside. Even as I don’t know what tomorrow will bring. Even as silence echoes along the walls where witches once gathered in their perfect imperfection.

What does your heart need? Do that.

What does your heart need to hear? Say that. 

What does your heart ask? Listen.