Reading the Pagan blogosphere reminds me of the ocean at times, the waves of thoughts crashing together. The salty taste of ideas that are beautiful or strident. The sting of overexposure, of feeling adrift in a flood of moving molecules. The irony of being thirsty in the midst of so much water.
The image reminds me of a line from the original story of the Little Mermaid. In the fairy tale, sea foam is all that remains of dead mermaids. Their bodies, their passion, their struggles, all melt and become one with the sea to wash back and forth, kissing the shore forever, forgotten. I wonder sometimes if what we create with this digital power of media will become something enduring, or if all of these revelations, petty or profound, will float on? Will it become foam, or blow away like sea spray?
Words have power. Anyone living on the coast knows how devastating the constant kiss of salty air can have on the strongest metal or stone. I am reminded of this every time I say something unworthy. Somehow, the words I say in haste and without thought are the ones that travel farthest. I regret this, but have come to accept this as part of being human, and a challenge I am unpacking in this incarnation. My stray thoughts have unintended consequences, just as others’ have on me. This got me thinking about circles, patterns, and portals.
I have traveled very far this past year, in my mind as well as in the kinetic realm. My divorce rocked me, and the dissolution of my magickal partnership, finances, and family tested me brutally. Much of my time has been devoted to bailing out buckets of nonsense to keep my ship afloat. My ability to swim has been a boon. Useless anchors have been abandoned, and tonight I drift and contemplate the constellation of things at this moment.
The wake is calm. It affords me time to review the patterns that have led to this time, and somehow, beyond the hectic burning sun, the full moon rises. She moves out of the stark grasp of apocalyptic Pluto and into the loving scales of Libra. Relationships, balance, harmony or at least adjustment are on the rise. My feet kick gently in the surf, and I feel the underlying currents of the cycles and circles that I have sailed beyond. I have often wondered over these past few years if there is a benevolent design to the universe, or if are we all caught up like flotsam in random chaos? At the end of the day we all make a choice in answer to this question. For some, devotion gives them strength, a purpose, a feeling of connection. For others, chaos is a comfort, for it is easier to believe in randomness than constant cruelty. I go back and forth on this, though I have been blessed with divine intervention that reorients me when my compass goes awry.Recently, I went to an event and participated in an open circle called the White Goddess ritual. This was the second time I have been surprised this year. It is not common for me to feel so moved in public ritual. I take this as a positive sign of personal healing. The rite was simple, but long. We chanted for what seemed like hours. When I approached the Lady, She told me that she noticed that I carried a great sorrow. She embraced me, and lifted it from me. She told me that it is time to let go of these things, for I am made for joy. I am made to shine, to laugh, and to manifest joy. This is my gift, and I can teach others through my song. I wept. This message was so powerful, so personal for me. This is not the first time I have been told these things, specifically the message to “Manifest Joy.” I heard those words, many years ago, transcribed and read back to me from those who heard this message from my own lips as She spoke through me. To hear it again, so unexpectedly, was both amusing and humbling. The universe is both random and shows evidence of a design. One that is purposeful, regardless of how I choose to relate to it.
With these thoughts swirling in mind, I look down at the currents in this vast sea of experience below me. I have suffered. Sacrificed. Looked down into the abyss to try and ascertain the pattern. Wondered for years why these things are happening, what possible good could come of these events? I remember my children’s tears falling into this ocean when they realize that their father is moving out of state. That this is permanent. I taste the sweat I have lost in this constant battle to keep us afloat. I look up at the constellation of the sky and realize that there is an inverse pattern in the currents below. A Qlippothic version of my ideals is revealed. Just below the surface I see the real dysfunction of a family dynamic that has been generations in the making. A dark system around a dying sun. The Golden Child, the Scapegoat, the Lost Child, and the Mascot all spin on their orbits, locked into a pattern that will know no comfort or release. There is nothing I can do to change it. I am just a comet passing alongside a supernova. How could I have missed this? I was preoccupied. My eyes were on the heavens, moving through the day. Some patterns cannot be changed from the inside, they just circle around like a maelstrom, sucking everything down. We were drowning. So we broke it. The circle became a portal, and everyone was swept away by the tide.
I am still. The night breeze is gentle, but constant. It feels good to breath easy, instead of sucking air. The sea is calm, the deep currents have receded, but are still there. I am grateful to have this knowledge. This experience has given me the tools I need to navigate these waters. The waves gently rock us, and the little deckhands are tucked into their bunks. I go to my bed and settle in, to dream of dawn.