Spring is just burgeoning, the last of the snows are falling away and the bright colors of the early blooms peek out from the winter ground. Thoughts of new growth, of seeds and soil replace the dreary seclusion of the dark cold turn of the year.
The ramblings of everyday life are pushed back as the vibrant green of Spring takes it first steps onto the wasteland of winter's keep. My mind wanders away from the ravaged topics that flood the paper and the TV box and meanders into the colorful pages of possibility, of what could be. The garden, small as it is, will be grand as a forest and as fruitful as an orchard.
Time to grow.
There was a time, not that long ago when I would be preparing to usher in the bright of the year with pomp and ceremony, Mystic pagan rituals, gatherings of high priestesses and druid mages to welcome the Gods and Goddesses to our world once again. Those days are not gone but set aside to allow the immediate, the mundane world to traipse in and foul the air and spoil the ground. There will be a time for magick. Soon.
Labrys, at
Walk of the Fallen, has a wonderfully magickal post on a pleasant Heathen morning. It gave me pause to reconsider something that I have neglected for far too long.
I am Pagan. I walk within Gaia's influence, seek knowledge from Her wards and treasure troves. The politics of the last eight years have given rise to the mundane, the mendacity of humanity and its never ending quest to send itself spiraling into history. At first, I fought back as a Pagan, with the tools that I acquired through years of study and meditation. This was not enough. I had to fight the Beast within its own lair, on its home soil.
As a consequence, I fell away from my faith. I walked with the devil and now can only see what the devil has left for me. Until the spring...
Allow me this moment to pull back a bit to a time when I stood in circle and called the corners of the wind. When friends and family would gather and bring forth magick that hadn't been seen in hundreds of years. When the Universe itself would heed our call and cast out the fear and ignorance that had been given life by desperate men playing childish games. A time when fable met fact and the fabric of Nature would conform to our humble request.
Magick rules the Universe. It is the brick and mortar of Creation and the Will of the Gods. It isn't reserved for priests or pastors, mages or wizards; it is reserved for all of us. We use it to bring Life to our life, to set the stage for the next great advance, to herald in a new Age. Magick is the stuff of Dreams.
My Christian friends will not agree and that's how it should be. There should always be dissent, challenges to the status quo. Even something as natural as Pagan Magick should be spurned by the bulk of humanity. Most people have neither the heart nor the soul to chase a Dragon into its lair, but only there is the treasure.
Throughout history, the difficult road kept most of humankind within sight of their own house. We did not tempt fate, did not venture into places we could not run from. Yet in every generation were born those who could not be held captive by ignorance. To them, the horizon was just the first stepping stone, the prize was on the other side of the mountain, just beyond the edge of the world. We see these men and women as pioneers but when they lived, they were outcasts, malcontents who could not be bound by deserts and oceans. They tasted the Magick and wanted more. The established order imprisoned them, burned them, locked them away in lofty towers of stone and fear. Still they came and still they ventured into the unknown. Against the armies of God, they touched the whole world with their magick.
For two thousand years we've been told that only God can be a god. But we are of the same star stuff as any deity, there is no reason why we can't dabble in godhood once in a while. Being a god isn't throwing thunderbolts at your enemies, it's giving your enemies reason to throw them at each other. It isn't bringing a dead lover back to life, it's breathing life into the legacy of that person so all may see the joy of their time on Earth. This is godhood.
The snows of February are dwindling and the blooms of March are breaking ground beneath. We cringe from the cold and the dark of winter and may not notice the dawn of Spring. But the dark of winter is receding and the time has come to climb out of the shadows, shake off the cold and with shovel, soil, and seed, break ground for new growth.
The darkness is as deep and cold as it has ever been, for some there seems no respite, no sign that the light is returning. Despair and anguish have taken root. Perhaps, as a service to one's family and friends, we can help these people with their garden. The first seeds will be the seeds of hope.
So Mote It Be,
Shaman David Aquarius
of Clan Avalon
