[Wishcasting] Wishes for the World

This week’s Wishcasting Wednesday prompt is “What do you wish for the world?”

Heh. I am amused by this week’s Wishcasting prompt — it ties in so heavily with what I wished for last week. In a lot of ways, what I wished for last week is exactly what I’d wish for this week: joy, compassion, love and peace for all. And yet, now I am sitting here writing this I am drawn to wish for something else, something that we all need for time to time. Comfort.

See, the way I look at it is, all the praying and hoping and loving that is surfacing in the world isn’t going to change the world overnight. Yes, we need all love — it has the power to change the world, after all — but I’d wager we also need some comfort, too. Because, as I say, things are not going to change overnight. There’s still going to be pain, heartbreak, sorrow. There’s still going to be people being killed, raped, tortured, abused, the world over. Some of these terrible things will be done out of hatred, or fear; some may be done in the name of the Divine; some may even be done because others don’t know any better. These facts are not going to go away easily.

And then there will be pain and anguish born from acts of love — such as the grief at the death of a loved one, or the need to make difficult healthcare choices for ourselves or for others, or the agony of a failed love affair. There is illness, and with illness comes pain and fear and doubt. There’s all these circumstances, and much more besides. All of these things mean that we are in a place of discontent, dis-ease — a place where, even if we only admit it deep inside to ourselves, we yearn for someone to come along and wrap us up in a hug, and tell us everything will be all right.

On some level, we all yearn for this comfort. And because of that, regardless of our country or our creed or our gender or our lifestyle choices, we are all the same. And so this week I wish for comfort for the world, whether that’s for the person digging for water in less wealthy countries; or the person sitting in a cubicle at work, trying to cope; or the person holding the hand of a hospitalised loved one… Or the person who’s waking up this morning to find their world forever changed. For you all, and everyone else, I wish comfort.

Whether this comfort comes from the actions of another, or from the smile of a stranger, or the touch of the Divine, I do not know. But all I know is, I wish that it embraces you. I wish that it reaches out and holds you, and gives you that moment of peace and sanctuary and love, even if that moment is fleeting.

As I wish for myself, so I also wish for you…

Every December Sky

Sometimes, just when you’ve got it all figured out — or dare to think you do — there is an upwelling, an overspilling, from within your soul. And you realise: I don’t have it figured out at all. In fact, I don’t have a clue. And that realisation, that knowledge, is enough to bring you to your knees and question everything you know or thought you knew.

This is how I’ve been for the last week or so. A caving-in, a dissolution, of what I thought I knew. What I thought I understood. Where I thought I was going, what I thought the next steps were. And now — nothing. I don’t understand. I don’t know. And as to the next steps — right now, there aren’t any.

Grief takes you this way. Unseen. Unknown, until you’re in the middle of it. A numbness. A fog. And there are moments, in the middle of it, that I want to rail and fight and get out of it — and yet, I cannot. I don’t have the energy. And then comes the moments when I know that not having the energy is okay. That sitting with grief, being its friend, letting it be yours… That’s a tremendous gift. A tremendous sacrifice. A tremendous lesson. All of these things, and more.

I’m still struggling with grief. I lost my mother when I was a child. I have no surviving grandparents. I have lost friends and family to illness, to terrorism; through stupid actions and stupid misunderstandings. In 2011, I lost one of my best friends, a heart-sister to me, to cancer. This most recent bereavement has stripped my soul naked to the sky.

There are days when I think I am making it. There are days when I think I’ll be okay. And then there’s weeks, like this one, when I realise that I’m not. My heart has broken open. And in doing so, it’s feeling like never before. I am pure emotion. I am simply tears. And yet, in amongst the tears, I breathe.

I don’t know if I will be okay. I don’t know what the answers are, or where I’ll go from here. All I do know is, my faith will see me through. I am comfortable with this unknowing, despite the frisson of fear at the edges. Sometimes I have to trust what I can’t know.

[Wishcasting] Attraction

This week’s Wishcasting Wednesday prompt is “What do you wish to attract?”

Attraction is a funny thing — it changes from one moment to the next; can be trivial and mundane or can be souldeep and heartpure. I could be very flippant with my response to this week’s Wishcasting Wednesday, but instead I’ll just simply say this: I wish for peace, for love, for compassion, for joy, for us all. That’s what I wish to attract. Goddess knows, I need it. Goddess knows, the rest of life does too.

I first came across the following prayer when working with William Bloom in 2008. William uses it occasionally to end his courses and when I first experienced it — sitting in my own stillness, my own heart silence, it had a profound emotional and spiritual effect on me.

Please, take a moment now to just sit in silence as you read this prayer. Let it permeate your entire being. I think it fits my wish for attraction with regard to this Wishcasting Wednesday’s theme.

As I wish for myself, so I also wish for you…

It’s not Imbolg, yet

Snow on our beech tree, February 2012

A week ago, everywhere I looked online, I saw northern-hemisphere Pagans wishing each other a blessed Imbolg. I did it too, via Facebook, saying “Happy Imbolg (observed) or Lughnasadh (if you’re in the southern hemisphere) to all who celebrate. Blessed be! :)”

Notice, though, how I said “observed”.

Look in the vast majority of books on Paganism and Wicca, and where there’s mention of the holy festivals of the wheel of the year, it’ll tell you that Imbolg is February 2nd in the northern hemisphere. It’s there, in black and white. Therefore, it’s true, right?

Um… No.

If you read on, you’ll probably find out that Imbolg is all about the new spring lambs being born, the emergence of fresh new growth in the trees and plants. It’s a time to celebrate fresh beginnings, new things, awakenings, an end to hibernation.

I go outside, to the countryside around my home. There’s a lot of farms around here. A lot of sheep. And no lambs. No new growth, either. What there is, however, is snow. A lot of snow. It still feels like winter — that dead crispness in the air, that heavy blanket of stillness and silence that means inner time, wombspace, quiet rest. There’s no sign of the quickening of the seasons yet.

And yet, we’re celebrating Imbolg!

Huh?!

For a bunch of nature-worshipping Pagans, isn’t that a bit odd? Shouldn’t we be in tune with the natural environment around us, rather than the words of hundreds of Wicca 101 books? Our ancestors celebrated events such as the birthing of new lambs because they were happening. They lived with the land, and with the land they moved in cycles, celebrated in cycles. Momma Nature works at Her own pace, not the pace dictated to Her by some modern-day Pagans inspired by the writings of a bunch of other modern-day Pagans.

Throughout the rest of the month, we gather when the moon is full (or new, or dark, or…) and act in relation to the lunar phases. So why not the same for the sabbats (holy festivals)? Why celebrate Imbolg at the start of February if you haven’t seen lambs on the hills yet, or haven’t felt that quickening in the air? For Beltaine, do you celebrate on the date given in the literature, or do you wait for that first moment you see/smell the May blossoms?

Ask yourself honestly: do you truly live in rhythm with the earth, as you claim? Or could you open your senses to Nature, and feel when the time is right?

Just some food for thought.

A Female God

Comfort Goddess statue, from embervincent on etsy.com

I have always had the sense that God is female.

Now I’m not saying this as a blanket statement for the rest of the world to follow — not at all. What is one person’s truth is another’s lie, after all, and the most important thing is what you, yourself, believe in. Rather, I am stating what I feel to be true for myself — both for the present moment, and for the previous moments in my life. To me, God is female. Or rather, part of God is female — I do, after all, accept the concept of balance and therefore recognise both a male God and female Goddess. But it’s the Goddess I want to talk about today (and I’m sure the God will feature here at some point too).

Looking back, I have no clear sense of when I came to this realisation — it’s something that I have instinctively felt all my life, right from being a little girl. I remember drawing images of God in school or church — and sometimes those drawings would be complete with long hair and breasts. Of course, this was not acceptable and I was told that God was male. But hearing that didn’t ring true for me — in the same way that just acknowledging a female God doesn’t quite “click”. When I discovered the concept of Paganism, I remember feeling such relief that I wasn’t a freak after all, that there are others like me who feel this way about the Divine.

I remember lying in the grass as a young girl, one summer’s day while my mother was pegging out laundry on the washing line in the garden. If I close my eyes and look back, I can feel the earth beneath the palms of my hands, the bare soles of my feet, the grasses around my fingers and toes. The sturdy support of the ground against my spine. I breathe in, soft and long and low, deep into my belly. I let my consciousness just float, becoming one with the earth. I feel whole and connected to everything, everyone. And enveloping me in that connection, that sacred vibration, is a sensation that is fearlessly female.

A few years later. Malta. A statue of a sleeping lady. A sense of serenity, optimism, power.

Another memory now, another experience. Lying alone in bed, tears coursing silently down my cheeks. I’m a little older here, just about to enter my teenage years. I am caught in a tangle of emotions I don’t fully understand — misunderstanding and self-doubt, from the way my peers have been bullying me at school; grief and an aching loss, from the recent death of my mother; uncertainty and helplessness, about how all this is affecting my family. I miss her. I miss how my life used to be. Suddenly what has gone before all seems like someone else’s life. I no longer feel like a child. I am birthed into something new, something bigger than I know how to be. I am scared. I am alone. I don’t know how to express this to my older siblings, my father, the adults around me. And so I lie with it all inside me, and simply cry.

Arms.

They draw around me in the darkness; lips press a kiss into my hair. A scent of woodlands and the ocean. An overwhelming feeling that this too shall pass. All will be okay. I am loved. This moment is perfect in all its raw anguish and pain. There’s wisdom here. There’s comfort. It feels female, and warm, and calming. And yet when I roll over, there’s no one there.

Standing in church, years later, feeling awkward and out of place — not quite out of the broom closet, but close enough. Wandering aimlessly around, not in the mood to try and connect with the architecture, the beauty of this devotional space, the years of service and grace that have occurred within these walls. I meander around, and find a statue: Mary, Mother of God. I stop short, look into Her face. Something big and warm and real spreads throughout my chest.

Today. Now. Writing this blog post, a cup of strawberry and mango tea at my elbow. Sitting at my desk, with my candles lit and music playing. Alone save for my eldest kitty. I feel tired, emotionally drained, vulnerable. Around me are images of the Divine Feminine — statuettes, photographs, artwork, jewellery. They inspire me. I focus on my breath, ground and centre, and I am kept whole. I smile. I am not alone.

God is. Goddess is. I am. There’s comfort in that, no matter what the day brings.