Me? ‘Course I want somethin’. Want a buckle made outta shiny silver to fasten onto my shoes. Want a dress with lace. Want perfume, wanna be purty, wanna smell like a honeysuckle vine.
Want things I’ve heared of and never had before–a rubber t’ard buggy, a cut-glass sugar bowl. Want things I cain’t tell you about–not only things to look at and hold in yer hands. Things to happen to you. Things so nice, if they ever did happen to you, yer heart ud quit a beatin’. You’d just fall down dead.
I can remember sitting as a kid with my aunt Cathy watching the musical “Oklahoma” as Laurie fantasized about all the possibilities that the Elixir of Egypt could bring. I remember thinking to myself that one day I would make a potion like that…one that would bring all my wildest dreams to life. I could feel the excitement of all the magick that one little bottle might hold rising up inside me.
I also remember listening to stories my grandmothers told about spirits and haints and otherwordly happenings. The other grandkids would run to the other rooms to avoid hearing the tales, but even as scared as I was, I would sit and listen to every word with my head covered by a blanket. I remember the stories of the uncle who knew when things were going to happen….the cousin who knew when someone was going to die…the Cherokee cousin who would sing to make the wind blow.
I remember all those years of wishing that I was special…wishing that there was some kind of power within me. I can remember lying under the stars in my backyard begging them to imbue me with some sort of magick. I remember begging the universe to make me anything but ordinary. And so the journey began…
The little things that seemed to come so naturally to me, I didn’t think twice about. I thought everyone held conversations with goats and chickens and dogs and cats. I thought that it was normal when I would see things in the corner of my mind’s eye and then later on they would happen. I thought it was normal to have dreams in which those who had crossed over talked to you.
I guess I was fortunate in the fact that I was never told that I couldn’t do something. I lunged through life expecting to be able to accomplish everything I had ever dreamed of. Many times growing up, I was pushed toward the challenging….more by my grandmas than anyone else. It was one grandma who taught me to be as intimate as I could with nature…it was the other who pushed me toward academics, music, art. It was one grandma who talked me into working for a summer on a Lakota reservation…it was the other who talked me into majoring in Art and Music the first time through college. I grew up feeling like failure could never be an option.
Through this time, I begged the universe for magick. I needed it more than anything. My coping mechanisms were worn out. Here I was in college in a large city…there was no nature around me that I could see….no animal friends to talk to. I found myself withdrawing. I found myself….well, lost. For so long, I had wanted to do magick. I kept waiting for the sparks to fly from my fingers.
A minister friend noticed the change in my personality. He consoled the best way that ministers can, I guess…by suggesting I pray about it. I looked at him and flatly said, “I never have quite understood prayer.” He put his hand on my shoulder and said, “Prayer, my friend, is all about energy. You have the supernatural energy and you have your own energy. Prayer is where those two things meet.” Nothing more profound could have ever been said to me. My thoughts started to grind together like the gears of a watch. “If prayer does that…..and prayers start as words, then wouldn’t a magick spell do the same thing? Different dieties…different direction…but it is energy.” That is the moment when I became magick.
It took time for all of this to soak in. This epiphany that magick wasn’t necessarily some lifeless ‘thing’ to pursue was something that wrapped itself around me and through me….it is me.
As I walk my path today, I still find myself thinking that magick is some outsourced product…something that lies just within reach. Each year that I mature in the Craft, though, I realize that magick is something that I am, not something that I do. It is kind of like the words Human Being. It refers to what I am….not what I am about or what encompasses my time. If that were the case, we would be called Human Doings.
I have had to share and direct my energy quite a bit over the past two weeks. There were wands to finish crafting and ship out….as I work on them, I chant, I sing….I share my energy. There were deaths to walk through…my mom’s dog crossed over last weekend. My mom had the wonderful opportunity to sing to her with her head on her chest as she closed her eyes to sleep as she moved into that next plane. I shared my energy with my mother as she remembered the beautiful energy that little dog brought. I have shared my own energy with Friz as he recuperates from a leg sprain and the challenges of aging. Tonight in the woods, we held a type of croning ceremony for us both. We lay together in moss and grass of the woods, combining our energies…embracing the aging cycle that is unfolding before us. This doesn’t mean we are lying back waiting on death….it means that we were manifesting the energy that it is gonna take for us to go dancing and singing and running into old age. We might be slowing down a bit, but we refuse to stop.
Every challenge that I have ever faced in life has scared the shit out of me. Many of the challenges that I have walked through, folks have said at the end, “Oh, you must be terribly brave to do that.” No….I am not brave at all. I just move forward…knees shaking, sweaty palms, and shallow breaths and try to look toward the end result. I think that the biggest fear that most of us have is that fear of being insignificant…..but we are afraid to take the steps that might make us exceptional.
Had I not decided to take on that mantle of Magickal Being, those who have required my energy and the magick it holds, may have been left in despair…hurt…pain. I can buy or make every magickal tool you could think of, but without the magick within me, those tools do nothing. Without my intent, a spell is just lifeless words written on a piece of paper.
Since he hurt his leg, Friz isn’t allowed to jump up on furniture. This is especially hard for him because he wants to be as close to me as he can be. If I am sitting on the sofa, he feels the need to jump up to be there. I have been lying in the floor an awful lot this week. Friz doesn’t care why I am on the floor…the only thing he knows is that I am being with him. In that moment, nothing else matters….just being.