Painting Your Hermit Crab Shell When Your Claws Hurt

On both of the last two sabbats, I have felt too bad to do any sort of proper ritual. With chronic illness(es), it's a given that you're going to miss out on things. But religious observances? The fun ones, especially? It blows.

I have crippling impostor syndrome about everything. I guess that's to be expected; I spent a decade being gaslighted on a daily basis and didn't really learn to recognize it until years later, so I'm used to doubting everything about myself and my experience. Being diagnosed with my various ailments has only made it worse. It's pretty obvious based on my blood tests and my own physical symptoms that I'm really sick, but for some reason the first thing people say when they find out is that I'd be less sick if I was more positive about it. I have one disease that will shorten my lifespan and almost certainly be the cause of my death, barring accidents, and another that is usually not fatal but could just as easily kill me tomorrow. That's not being negative. It's being aware that I need to spend however much time I have as wisely as possible.

It's my body. It's my life. So why, why do healthy dickheads' comments about how I need to cope with my health make me feel like I'm the crazy one? It awakens that slumbering beast of self-doubt, which I have never been able to kill entirely. And when I convince myself that I am just crazy and try to function like a normal person my age, I end up hurting myself really badly.

My goddesses don't like it when that happens. I've been getting a lot of directives to take as much care of myself as possible, and that includes resting when I'm tired and avoiding activities that cause me to feel worse. At least one, and I'm 90% sure I know who though She hasn't explicitly introduced Herself, really pushes pampering. I think that by encouraging me to treat myself to little things like DIY masks and a spritz of good perfume on not-so-special occasions, She is training me to view my body as sacred, and bless Her, I was so far behind that She had to start with the basics.

The self-doubt feeds a really vicious cycle of perfectionism, which too often ends in total paralysis. Going easy on myself is another of my directives. When I get frustrated over my imperfect body or an incomplete to-do list, I feel a serene presence beside me. I hear a soft voice in my head, not my own, whispering that it's okay. I am not my body or my to-do list. I am not chronic illness. I am an embodied spirit and a bright mind. I may live in a shell that grows more cumbersome and cramped over time, but this shell is a part of the natural world, and I should respect it as much as I would a tree or a river. And because my hermit crab soul will grow too big and have to move to another shell someday, I should love this one while it houses me.

I have decided, at least temporarily, that I will observe the sabbats not as a single day, but as a period of time: the section of wheel rather than the spoke itself. Until Mabon, I'll be celebrating Lammas every day, even if it's just taking a moment in my heart to thank the Earth for the first harvest. Maybe this will be a way to more fully experience the Wheel of the Year, to actively participate in each moment of the natural world rather than stopping eight days a year to fixate on it. (Not that that's what everyone else does. Most folks have fuller schedules than I do, though.)

Well, the shell needs a shower. Friends, don't let the ignorance of others cause you to hurt yourselves. Listen to yourself and your deities of choice.

Building a Better Book of Shadows

When I first started getting interested in magic and neopaganism, I did a decent job of keeping journals about my own experience, but I didn't write down the things I was learning from other sources. I read voraciously, and I drew on my own knowledge of local folklore. I just didn't take notes. Part of it was the fear of it being discovered. I think I was also worried about committing to it without a reasonable amount of study. I wanted to know what was out there before I made up my mind.

For me, longhand writing has a different power than typing. Sure, I put my blood, sweat, and tears into typed work. But writing is serious. I have to commit to using up paper and ink, to choose my words carefully, to move my hand and arm (which is fucking hard with my health issues). The level of involvement with the text is so much higher. That's why I purposely avoid handwriting text that I'm going to edit heavily: I don't want early drafts to survive.

A Book of Shadows isn't usually edited, but it does evolve over time, and organization can be an issue, so of course keeping it digital is a great choice. But I have to do things the hard way. So instead of doing the reasonable thing, I determined to write out everything I want to include in my BOS by hand and organize it in a binder, with the goal of recopying it in a suitably pretty blank book down the road.

Yeah, magic doesn't fix bullheadedness.

Why the effort? you're probably asking. Believe me, I've asked myself the same damn thing for months now. The simple answer is that my words are how I manifest magic in my life. Whether I type them or speak them they have power, but to write them out by hand gives them a soul. If I suffer (or just have more pain than usual) for my art, that gives it that much more oomph. It shows just how serious I am about what I do.

So yes, I may be making a very impractical choice, but I honestly feel that it is the best choice for me. However you go about keeping a Book of Shadows, or whether you keep one at all, is up to you. What matters is that you put your heart into what you're doing.

The Scent of a Witchy Woman

Think about which of your senses you use most. Maybe you're a visual person. Or maybe you're like me and you focus on sounds more than sights. And of course touch is a huge source of information for our brains to process.

Unlike sight, hearing, touch, and taste, smell is subtle. If you're breathing through your nose, you're smelling something. Thing is, you don't always consciously think about what you're smelling, but even then, smell is having a subconscious effect on your mood. This subtlety makes scent a neat component to use in workings.

I'm not saying that you can't do magic without incense or candles or oils. Not even close. But I will say that not having control over the scent of your work area makes it very hard to focus. If you don't believe me, try working in a small room with a gassy dog.

I've found that meditating on a perfume and charging it with the trait I want it to enhance is a simple but powerful way to put a little magic in my day. For example, I have one perfume that reminds me of a wedding bouquet. I charged it with thoughts of sweetness and serenity. I use it for family gatherings and any time someone needs comfort or encouragement.

In theory, it'd be stronger if I mixed the scents myself, but I much prefer to let designers do the work for me. Good perfume isn't just a few scents splashed together. That shit is complicated. Rollerball containers are the way to go: a dab'll do you, so even though they're small, you're getting enough to last you for a while, especially if you aren't wearing it every day. And honestly, don't worry about traditional correspondences. What matters is what emotions and associations the scent has for you.

So go forth and let your nose add some magic to your life.

Friendly Neighborhood Murder

My spirit animal is, without doubt, the crow.

That sounds so faux hippie: spirit animal. But "totem" makes me think of totem poles, which are cool but so far removed from my experience that I feel weird using the word. "Spirit" fills the abandoned barns of my world, thick as the humidity, stubborn as kudzu.

Crows aren't very popular. They can be regarded as a bad omen. Their cawing isn't very pleasant. And on a more practical note, they will tear up a garden. All the farmers around here hate them.

Our produce has been safe from crows, even though there's a murder of seven who live here. I see them pestering hawks in flight over the fields. They congregate outside my bedroom window, six on the ground and one standing guard in a dead pine tree. I love to watch them hop and strut, feathers shining in the sun. I listen to their calls and pay attention to the meanings.

I didn't choose them myself. The crows chose me. At 22, I began to dream of them. One morning a murder of at least twenty roosted on the roof of a building I was walking past. As I grew closer, they began to caw. When I was on the sidewalk beside them, they all began to carry on. It was so loud. As I walked further away, they grew quiet. At first I thought they were angry, afraid that I was a threat, but as I learned their calls, I realized that they were greeting me. I've heard the same lazy squawk each time a member of my local murder lands next to another.

As a witch, it's important to be able to get to the truth without popular opinion clouding my judgment. Crows have a shitty reputation, but the more I study them, the more I see just how incredible they are. Crows are intelligent. Their language is complex. They have impressive problem-solving skills. The fact that they are smart enough to trick other creatures causes them to be labeled as cunning, which has a negative connotation. To me, this cunning is creative survival. The crow works with what it has.

If you have crows near you, take some time to observe their behavior. Even if you don't have a connection to them, you can learn to interpret their calls. Let them alert you to changes in the environment. Their watchfulness can benefit you as much as the rest of the murder. Also, let the crow inspire you to try unconventional methods of problem solving.

Blessed be!

The Black Side of Gray

I don't buy into the all positivity, all the time hype. Yeah, positive thinking is great, but it's unrealistic. Besides, I wasted two decades of my life trying to banish all negative thoughts and actions, and my life kind of sucked, so now I'm doing things the gray way. Love and ultimate good is still my aim. That said, sometimes folks deserve instant karma. When protection spells for myself or my loved ones aren't enough, a lesson needs to be taught.

What about the Threefold Law? you ask. Well, let's just say I never specified that I'm Wiccan. Honestly, I don't want to go medieval on anyone's ass, but this has been a long time coming. Even the kindest people have breaking points. Christ himself went on a table-flipping rampage. And we all know I'm not particularly Christlike in spite of all the effort I put in.

Still, I'm not going to completely destroy someone's life. I know people who deserve it, but they're (hopefully) not a threat anymore. Right now I just need something along the lines of... hell, I don't know. What's the protocol for verbal and emotional abuse? It's bad, but I found physical and sexual abuse plus the former two to be much worse. So how do I treat someone who's only doing half as bad, but still bad enough to really fuck up my life?

The other issue here is keeping it quiet. I would love nothing more than to get my hex on with all the drama of a Hollywood movie, but when you live with the person causing all the trouble and they don't necessarily know that you practice, it's kind of stupid to make lights flicker and sacrifice a chicken.

I know that the practitioner's will is the most powerful part of a spell, and that if you put enough effort and energy into your work, you don't necessarily need to worry about the moon phase or how many ounces of x herb to grind. That said, I like having some tools to focus my mind. Sigils are kind of my go-to thing right now. The creative energy charges them, and if you carve them on a candle or burn the paper you drew them on, there are no traces left. If I combine this with offerings to and an invocation of a goddess who protects and/or avenges women, I'm thinking that might pack the extra punch I need. And of course I'm going to bind it. I don't know why returning the favor to someone who's victimizing me would ever need to come back to haunt me, and I'm pretty sure the consequences are worth it at this point, but I still need to make sure it only affects the individual.

Any thoughts or recommendations? I know magic is a last resort, but believe me, I'm out of other options.

Muggle Dating is Hard!

It's easy to see why Secrecy is included in the Witch's Pyramid. Practitioners of magic have not always been very popular among their peers. Hell, persecution is still a problem around the world. Thus most witches keep mum about their, shall we say, extracurricular activities in muggle company.

This is becoming a problem for me.

I have been trying to find a magic-friendly fellow to date. Okay, not necessarily to date--I'm a hopeless romantic, so finding someone to stay with the rest of my life, or at least a significant part of it, is pretty high on my priorities list. And because I am both insistent on open communication and horrible at lying, I cannot start seeing someone who isn't at least magic-friendly. I can come right out and say I'm Pagan, at this point. But a witch?  Goddess have mercy on me if I say that to the wrong person!

In my corner of the world, magic is pretty actively discouraged by a significant portion of the community. How's a witch to find a nice, Pagan guy in a place where they're all so deep in the broom closet one can't find them? Spells haven't been able to draw them out yet, but based on the inbox of the Internet dating service I'm using and the blatant staring on the streets, Aphrodite has been listening to at least part of my petition. (Thanks, Aphrodite!) And no, I haven't been harming others. No mind control in my magic! But apparently I need to be a little more specific.

I suppose I just have to keep my head down, keep reworking my spells, and go about my business as usual. It's not like I don't have plenty of other shit to deal with in the meantime. But hopefully I'm getting closer to my goal of meeting a great partner, and until then, I'll just have to find clever ways to gauge a potential match's opinions on magic without giving myself away.

The Reason for the Sneezin'

I love spring. Really, I do. The trees come back to life overnight. Flowers blossom everywhere: in yards, in fields, in the cracks in the pavement. Frogs croak all night and birds sing all day. It's cool enough to be refreshing, warm enough to be soothing, and the wind bears the scent of honeysuckle. All of nature is celebrating Ostara and the Spring itself...

...by fucking.

The baby bunnies darting across the yard are the product of rabbits, who are known for--what else?--screwing like rabbits. The chicks at the store hatched from an egg, that ancient fertility symbol that is found in every nest, coop, and birdhouse this time of year. And that golden powder dusting the hearts of flowers (and your car)? Pollen, which is basically plant sperm. 

It's hard to worship nature when nature is basically blowing its load on you. 

You'd think I'd be having Shitty Pagan Syndrome again, worrying that I'm failing by not toughing out my allergies and communing with nature. Surprisingly, no. I can tolerate low pollen levels, but when all the world seems to be reproducing at the same time, I feel completely justified in staying inside and popping benadryl like M&Ms. I do venture out, though. Pretty flowers sometimes overcome my dislike of breathing plant sperm. 

Enjoy this season of renewal and rebirth. Just don't cast when you're in an antihistamine-induced haze.