Headfirst into the Next Age Bracket!

The big 3-5! Happy Birthday to me! Let's see what I have in store for the year...

Venus begins Her retrograde in earnest, today. As I covered the effects of the shadow period in my last post, I will not go into the effects She's already had on my everyday life. Though, I will say that I have recently done a little more digging and found that, considering the arrangement of planets both in my chart and their current paths and placements, Venus Retrograde is supposedly an easy time for me. This does explain why I haven't panicked or wondered why in the past when ex-lovers returned or deep inner thoughts deepened, but merely went along with the ebb of flow of energy and allowed it to move me like softly waving seaweed in a stream, it's sensual tendrils silently caressed by the currents all the while letting go of the ever-passing force. I have never fought it, but let it sweetly brush my cheek and move along; a quiet reminder of the passage of time and the constant interaction with the world that surrounds me both passively and actively. So, my heart goes out to those of you who fight the changes and need to address your pasts, while kicking and screaming. Some transits have that effect on me, too, but, considering the depth of emotion this one could potentially have on people, I feel lucky to be the Libra-Sun/Virgo-Moon/Scorpio-rising born around the 1983 Venus Rx that I am. The heart is a tricky frenemy, and outside forces working on it can truly make life difficult. I thank my stars for their cooperation in making this particular transit easy on me; especially considering the lonely past lives I've lived. A little bit of relief goes a long way, believe you me. Though it is a new aspect to me (as far as actually paying attention and being aware of what is happening), and my 3rd Eye has only been exposed to Her shadow movements thus far, I can already feel an ease of movement and, oddly, a graceful sensuality of the undulations of my soul and shifting of baggage into neat little piles of "Keep" and "Trash." The beginning of this new year of mine is laid out nicely for me to beginning a pruning followed by heady scents of new growth.

Moving on: 3+5=8; my numerology for this shiny, new year of growth. What's that mean? From Café Astrology.com:
This is the manager. Number Eight is a strong, successful, and material vibration. Ruled by Saturn.
Keywords: ambitious, business-minded, practical, leading, authoritative, successful, courageous, accomplished, organized. If expressed negatively: tense, narrow, materialistic, forceful.
This is particularly interesting, as the Venus Rx is moving through Scorpio this time around (I think? correct me if I'm wrong...) also effects financial matters. What a beautiful and serendipitous heavenly movement! This is the year I hope will move forward with greater financial stability and finally get on with getting my own place, on my own terms. This will be the year I set the groundwork for a self-sustaining life and have my own spaces to continue work on myself, and the ability to help facilitate the growth of others that find themselves seeking spiritual assistance. But, wait! What's this? 2018 itself is an 8 year itself! So, I can only assume that the last few months remaining will be especially strong in the aforementioned aspects. How providential! Okay, but, get this: my "second pinnacle" (second stage of four that help shape my life) is also an 8. Guys! This is a super organized year ahead!!! I am getting more and more excited to see and experience what is before me! Never have I ever been so thrilled for "the journey!"
To moving forward! To a beautiful new year! To assessing deep wounds (self-inflicted or otherwise) and healing! To the embrace of happiness within my own skin, and acceptance of these battle scars (and the sweet, soft salve applied to facilitate the ease of time passage.)

Me: The Modern Mindset

This blog, for me, is truly a public journal. Though I have addressed topics palatable by many, the majority of posts have been those of self-discovery and the working-through of personal experiences. I remain grateful for those of you who have contributed and shown interest over the years. Even if I never meet some of you, I genuinely appreciate all of you.

That said, here we find ourselves in the shadow of an impending Venus Retrograde. Not just any retrograde, though. This will be one of Her transits through Libra and Scorpio - which only occur every 8 years. This year, She comes out the Shadow Phase and moves into full Retrograde on my birthday of all days! Nevertheless, I must say that this discovery, for me, was actually quite comforting. Past relationship woes, reminders, dreams of exes, and the like were plaguing me with sudden abruptness. When I finally found out about my beautiful ruling planet's backtracking, it all began to make sense.
So, as they say, knowing is half the battle. So right they are (whomever they may be... G.I. Joe? ABC?) Armed with this information, I marched headlong into the realms of astrology to attempt to find that which I am meant to learn and experience. Thank goodness for all of my written journals (which I faithfully date at the end of each entry.) I have diaries that date all the way back to my junior high school years! Café Astrology has been an immense help in the teasing out of my lessons for growth. Additionally, Old World Witchcraft on Instragram was the source that pointed out the transit in the first place. So, I went back and did a quick search on "Café", and, low and behold, they listed previous Venus Retrograde intervals. I took these dates, cross-checked them against my journals, and found the patterns that most need work. It doesn't surprise me, but I am a sucker for homework. (I can know what I have to do, but, until someone else tells me to do it, it remains a mere acknowledgement in the back of my mind. "I'll deal with it eventually...")
I have always been, and may always be, boy crazy. Those of you that know me or have been following this blog for a few years can attest to this fact. And, you know? I'm okay with this. What I'm not okay with is my insistence on throwing myself at all of my crushes until one of them sticks, for better or worse. It's not attractive to myself, nor, after some time, to anyone else. This is the boldest theme in the entries that coincided with past Venus Retrogrades. The other glaring facet of my personality during those times? Only seeing relationships, and not the two people involved within them - I count, too. I gush on and on about the guys I've liked, even loved, but, in those heady periods I don't seem to matter to myself.
Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but, I should be the most important person in my life when I'm not with someone. Further, I shouldn't completely disappear in the pursuit of, and subsequent dating of the men I'm with. Relationships are meant to be equals. The balance may shift from time to time, but, in general, it should remain steadily even.
Back to Café Astrology, though. One can check their Birth Chart for matching degrees of Venus Retro and Direct, find the ruling House, then read up on the lessons meant to be learned at this time. Sadly, I had nothing directly matching the degrees, but I checked the closest matches, and went from there. Even so, I found pertinent information and assistance. What once seemed heavy and hopeless is now direct power in my hands that I can use to develop my soul.
This isn't in an attempt to find someone (Screw you, North Node in Gemini! I'll decide when to rejoin society!), but rather an opportunity to prove to myself that I am a worthy person. I have glimmering moments of great arrogance and vanity, so, it isn't as if I'm down on myself all of the time. However, I do find that I recede into the shadows and hide my true self when I meet men that spark my interest. Don't misunderstand; I don't lose myself. I am always here, just less so as I coo over and preen whomever my beloved may be. We all deserve that, in equal measure, if we choose to pursue companionship. But we all deserve to love ourselves fully throughout our lives, too. That is the mission Venus Retrograde has set forth for me this time around. Since she's in full power on my birthday, I simply cannot choose to ignore Her any longer.

"Know Solitude"

So reads the simple prediction for today in Llewelyn's Witches' Almanac. Truly, it is worth experiencing from time to time throughout the year, whether prompted to do so or not. Honestly, I have known solitude, and, due to a wanderlust ingrained within my very soul crippled by a Libran affectation that makes decision-making excruciatingly difficult, I have paced rooms for hours. Literally. Alone. I spent the better part of a day this past spring in a Cambridge hotel room wrestling with the choices of what to do once I hit the street if I would just grab my things and step out of the room. In the end, I walked to a local grocery store shortly before closing time, grabbed cheese, crackers, and fruit, and returned to the room, utterly defeated by my ridiculousness. I am loathe to admit that, had my travelling companion not been otherwise occupied for the day, we would have found some great way to pass the time. Instead, my demons and I walked in circles from the bed, to the window, to the luggage, and back.
It all must sound borderline psychotic to others. "Why didn't you just go? Surely, you would have found something to do once you were out?" Seems logical enough when I am not in the situation. But, within my own head, spinning my internal web of solitary activities, I was actually overwhelmed. I think, in today's instance, knowing solitude, for me, is more akin to rest. I am not going forth to experience solitude among the masses. Nor am I abandoning the crowds for the lush rejuvenation of the woods. As it is still oppressive summer, and this is my last, true day off until the end of the semester, my chosen solitude lies in quiet physical rest. My body is exhausted from a season of demanding strangers and constant early mornings at work. As such, I slept in, went to my local café for breakfast, returned home to savor my treats, and have been merely lounging with low key entertainment and dreams of travel.
There is no pacing involved, here. My wanderlust has been satisfied for the day in tandem with my Libran indecisiveness - I have done a little research on a few possibilities for next year's vacation. One option, in which I found myself interested only recently is Finland.

About a week ago, I treated myself to a Past Life Regression. The guide was my previous Middle Eastern Dance and Culture teacher, Katrina Valenzuela, who boasts an impressive number of years of this type of spiritual practice in addition to other forms of guidance. While we only uncovered two lives in the nearly three-hour session (which truly only felt like an hour from arrival to driving away), the first stuck with me. With a little extra research based on responses during the session, I have come to know that I was once a young Finnish woman with a knack for natural, herbal healing. Delving into that lifetime brought tears to my eyes in remembrance of the old woman who taught me all I knew. In her acknowledgment, and retrieval of her effect on my soul, I feel that she is always with me. This wonderful woman must be one of my guides. And, only now, as I type this sentence, have I realized that she reached out to me about five or six years ago in a reading with a medium. At the time, and until now, I shrugged that experience off as an encounter with a charlatan, and I felt as if I had been taken in. The medium tried to convince me that the woman coming through must have been some sort of grandmother, but the person I assumed it to be only barely fit the description; she was the only person that even came close. Now I know; she was my Finnish teacher.

I don't want to bore anyone with the details of my past life discoveries. I do want to bring this post back to its original point, however. Both of those lives were filled with a great deal of isolation or solitude. My current North Node is in Gemini. Both of these realizations have driven home to me that I have been an incredibly solitary soul for a great many lifetimes. This is the life when I am to bring what I have learned to the people. This is my time to rejoin society. And so, I think perhaps that, while "knowing solitude" for some (perhaps many) is a shutting oneself up away from the world and being utterly alone, for me, I can "know solitude" wherever I may be, because by simply having lived it on such a deep level, solitary is a comparison; not a sentence or escape.

Is my form of Paganism inherently Goth?

As a child, I honored the shadows of my imagination far more than my playmates, it seemed. We would take turns coming up with games, as children do. When it came to me, my games had storylines that often ended with players' characters turning evil or "dark" in some way when boundaries were crossed or when someone was tagged "it." Then again, I often saw things that adults told me weren't there. Such is the burden of most children and animals. Innocence and the absence of a thought process that numbs senses allows the natural human (and base animal) psyche to observe the things that go bump in the night without restraint. As we grow and "evolve," the ability to connect with these forces are stripped from our minds. Perhaps it is all through the necessity to fit in, or the brainwashing of the thinking masses that abducts our souls from the primal. Regardless, that darkness lingered in the back of my mind as I aged.
My treasured drawings featured the lighter side of the ethereal all throughout elementary and middle school, even if my games and silent personal musings dwelled on the possibilities of those hidden from view. The creatures there certainly made sure I never forgot their existence. Even now, I feel someone looking over my shoulder as I type this. Could be my dad. (Ever since he passed, he turns up randomly and irritates me until I chase him away again.) Could be someone I never knew. Could just be another energy I grew up fearing but have accepted as I have accepted the lighter side energies. The point is the acknowledgment of the eternal, and the eventual embrace if the whole. High school, as it is with many people, due to puberty and its nasty hormonal surges, opened the gate for all manner of expression and all muses that cared to step forward.
My faerie and otherwise cheery characters took on more emaciated and sickly inspirations. Creatures grew fangs drenched in blood (my fascination with vampires deepened), ribs became more pronounced and cheekbones began a subtle protrusion, nails were now claws and talons. Nothing was safe from my shadows' gaze. The more I carved those deep lines, the more intrigued I was by "ugly" nature. Insects and decay were in direct opposition to the giggling prisms of rainbow light in which I dressed myself.
My sister closest in age to me and I have often been mistaken for twins, but we are nearly two years apart in age. Further, in high school, she was, essentially, everything I hid of myself from the world. While I painted my bedroom blue with murals of unicorns, faeries, jesters, and flowers, and danced around to oldies, boy and girl bands, and spoke only of hope and uplifting cheer, she hid away in her dark grey room, shielded from sunlight by heavy red velvet curtains, listening to Korn, Marilyn Manson, Rob Zombie, and Static X. I maintained throughout those early years that I detested the darkness of her room, drama of her crazy hair and makeup, and angry tunes that emanated from her very being. (Though, I must point out that we would listen to The Cure, Cruxshadows, and Voltaire together.) Yet, out and about, and as I became more comfortable with myself, these protestations began to fall away.
Fully realizing my Path, death and decay were finally openly accepted for their beauty in the natural progression of all things. The shadows, creatures, insects, and sadness that I continually pushed away or inwardly repressed were brought out to meet the light. A balance was struck. As we all know here, balance is required for all things to work in harmony. The color black was acknowledged as much as those of the rainbow, the bleached bones of beasts were appreciated for the structure they once provided, shells of previous crawling critters discarded by the mini souls once trapped within were collected for both decoration and magical aid.
Since my recent appreciation of the Goth culture, I am seeing all of these things (and so much more) that have been parts of me since the very beginning turning up time and again in Goth references. Yet, they all just make sense both within the practice of my faith and the parts of my soul that would leave me half of a person if they ever dissolved from my soul.
Am I merely a born Goth, and have fought it for so long? Are any of you Goth? Have you always been? Were you raised Goth? Perhaps you are a "baby bat" like me, but are seeing parallels from throughout your life that have lead you to the same conclusion I have drawn here? If you are experiencing the culture as I am, do you feel a bit like an outsider? (I still wear colors and listen to much of the same music I've always enjoyed. However, I have been returning to Goth artists I used to listen to and sampling other albums previously not heard.) I realize this is an incredibly rambling post, but it is exciting to me. Having come to this realization, I feel as though a part of me, long-rejected, has come home. It is a warm sweetness, and a calm I have not felt since I first came to The Path. As such, I feel a deeper pocket of power now available to me.

Perfect Day for Spirit Boarding!

Surfing around YouTube, looking for "spooky" content to watch while I eat breakfast on this overcast morning (which promises thunderstorms later! Yea!!), a WatchMojo video on the Ouija board caught my attention. It was as disappointing as most of their videos, but a quick look into the comments revealed a user who posted this:
"I'm so curious about the ouija board, but I don't want to risk myself."
Responses ranged from insults on the poster's intelligence to casual warnings to downright forbidding the use of a spirit board for fear of all of the terrible things that will happen! Being the bottomless pit of random facts and experiences that I am, and the ever helpful Pagan I find myself to be, I responded with the following:

Some people get results (planchette movement, answers to questions whether true or not, etc), and some people don't. I used it profusely when I was a teenager, even tried a couple of times by myself. I am still alive. Nothing terrible ever happened to my friends or me. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't. There are reports that show discoveries of the use of spirit boards as far back as Ancient Egypt. Regardless, if you are interested in trying, I suggest finding a couple of friends who are truly honest with you, and won't try to screw with you, before attempting on your own - only for the facts that you will have a basis of what to expect and how to respond if/when you do try it alone, and participants will remain respectful (aka: safe). Create a safe space. Some people freak out if it's in a house, but you're not in danger of inviting rude entities if you follow a few simple safety precautions. Never leave the planchette flipped up (as you would when using it) on the board without hands on it; turn it upside down if you must keep it with the board when not in use. Place four white candles at the four directions surrounding yourselves (North/South/East/West.) (Make doubly sure they are placed on fire safe holders/dishes on balanced surfaces so they can't fall over, and far enough away from everyone that a sudden silliness or response doesn't inadvertently knock them over. Be smart.) Once lit, and every one is sitting comfortably and safely inside the "circle," call on any past loved ones (truly call them - remember them fondly, the feeling you had when they were with you in the physical world, and visualize them as perfectly as you can to avoid spiritual confusion.) Their presence will also help protect you. Get something that is pure silver before you begin (not plated) and place it on the board after creating the circle and calling loved ones. Obviously, it will get pushed away if you begin speaking with anyone, but as long as it starts on the board, and stays in your "circle" you should be fine. Anything silver will work, by the way, regardless of size. When everyone is ready, flip the planchette to its upright position. Finally, just be respectful of all entities involved. If you don't get cocky, presumptuous, overly silly (especially with honest, kind, and serious energies), you and your friends will be perfectly fine. Definitely say goodbye and push the planchette to "Goodbye" when you feel uncomfortable, or when ending contact or use of the board, though. It's respectful and provides enough closure to keep unwanted contact down to a minimal. Feel free to contact me if you have any questions, and I will be glad to elaborate or point you in the right direction if I don't have answers. :) Be safe and have fun.

I feel truly pleased with this response, and that I covered the same exact knowledge my friends and I had going into our own Ouija board use as young teenagers. I haven't had the opportunity to use one since, but, as stated, I never had any adverse effects or experiences using these precautions. And I adore, seemingly more than anything, introducing folks of all ages to the use of this endless spiritual knowledge that is available to all if we simply open the door with perfect love and perfect trust.

Well, I'm off to flip through my books and see what magicks I can conjure on what promises to be a strikingly energectic power day!

Let's Geek Out for a Minute

Any Pagan worth his salt knows that JK Rowling must have done even a little research into the ancient properties of magickal herbs, stones, and equipment. To the non-Pagan reader, the references she chose to use in her novels may smack of original invention by the lush imagination of such a fine authoress. However, for those of us in the know, Rowling used a fair bit of practices and tools once used (and, in some cases, still utilized) to affect the outcomes of events in the physical world. Perhaps, for this reason, Bible-thumping teachers, parents, and clergy have a fair argument for not allowing children to read the series. (Not that I feel any book should ever be banned from anyone. We should all be allowed to think and decide for ourselves. How else can discoveries be made and proper problem solving techniques develop?) Nevertheless, this is not the point of this post. Those of you that follow this blog and know me know my stance in this debate. No, the point of this post is actually as the title implies: letting your geek flag fly!

Twice I have signed up on Pottermore. The first was years ago, when it was still set up as an online Hogwarts presence with classes, extra-curriculars, and House points intact. When I answered my House Sorting Quiz as truthfully as I could, Ravenclaw welcomed me with open wings. I wasn't the best student at first, but with determination, my Potions grade moved up to what I felt it should be. It was such fun, and a perfect stress reliever for me. Ah! but life marches on, and I frequented the site less as social interactions, work, and other priorities took over.

Now, having returned, wondering if any of my grades were still available, or if I had to start from square one, I found the site had changed. It was no longer the Hogwarts experience, but a compilation of information all-encompassing both UK and US magickal schools, movie and character data for all of Rowling's stories, and scads of articles and behind-the-story tidbits. For a Potterhead, this is still a perfectly reasonable way to enjoy a little time on the interwebs, but for a part-time gamer, it certainly isn't as much fun as it was once. House sorting is still a thing, though. One is still required to answer a quiz. I like to think that I am at least a slightly different person than I was when first joining Hogwarts. Certainly, my heart and outlook on life in general has changed. Fundamentally, though, the depth of my personality hasn't deviated much. I'm proud to say that I am still a Ravenclaw. Ravenclaw for life, it seems. This new site has two other quizzes a student can take - Ilvermorny House sorting and Patronus discovery. Amazingly, I have been sorted into the Horned Serpent House; the US equivalent to Ravenclaw. My patronus is a Black Swan. For a bird lover (who is also a secret goth), this continues to tickle me! Seems it took longer to figure it out, too, as the quiz kept slowing down, like it was about to discover my patronus, only to speed back up and need more answers.

Have any of you joined Pottermore? Had you done so in the past, and find yourself required to re-join when the site changed? Did your House assignment change (was there a space of time when you feel you changed as a real, living human in the real world?) What's your patronus? Did it take a while to emerge? Geek out with me!

Beyond Here

Posting recent poetry to the largely faceless masses is something that would surprise my past self. While I am no stranger to acting out for fun and attention, my prose has always been relatively private. (Well, mostly. My Snape fan fiction in high school was a big hit amongst my friends...I never did finish that... And I always loved a good writing assignment in my English classes.) I was urged by my seventh grade Reading teacher, Mrs. Hanson (I had to take Reading because I refused to take a language) to submit a piece or two (or three) to a regional poetry contest. While I was not fond of the one she chose to submit without my knowledge, I ended up winning a place in my age category! Somewhere out there I am a published poet. I was made to go to a local assembly at another school, get up in front of a massive crowd, and read my poem aloud. Public speaking has never triggered any sort of visceral response in me, being a theater kid from the start (I had a Charlie McCarthy doll, and can still do a little ventriloquy...if you ask nicely...) It was the baring of my heart and soul for the consumption of strangers, then the growing fear as I neared the end of the reading, wondering if I will also gain their approval as I had the judges. I did, or they were just being kind. Either way, sharing such private memories and feelings in this format, full of similes and metaphors, as a child of 13 was harrowing to say the least.

Now, though, my need for approval is less than my need for attention. (Haha! I kid...kind of...) Honestly, my poetry could be real crap. Honestly, I don't care if that's the impression others get, now. This public journal may be the modern seeking of attention, but it is also merely a public diary. I am an open book; I always have been. When I start a new job, the intention to keep some cards close to my chest flies straight out the window as soon as one or two people seem to accept me as one of them. And that's okay for the most part. It certainly means I can be crushed more easily than if I could keep my armor on, but it also gives me fodder for writing, drawing, singing, etc.

I digress. The point of this post is buried deep within the introduction of the reading teacher. When I won the spot in the poetry competition, she went to the assembly and sat with my parents. After the recitations of my age group, I met up with the three of them in the intermission. Mrs. Hanson gifted me a beautiful journal (my first in a very long line, if memory serves), which I vowed to only use for my poetry. Flipping through the pages, I came across a mostly blank page. Apparently, I had been about to write a new piece, but only got as far as the title and "By: Renee Wozniak." That title, which seems rather poignant floating at the top of a blank page in my bitter and jaded middle age, is simply "Beyond Here." I guess I was deeper than anyone knew, including myself.

Abyss of my Psyche

Here is another of my recent poetic birthings.

For Love of Money
by Renee C. Wozniak

I recall the nights
so sweet and still
when all the world would sleep
and we would join until
our breath we could no longer catch
and side by side we'd sigh.

You gave me everything you had
and claimed you had no more
but never did I ask at all
for anything but you.
Yet months drew on and you persisted
thinking that you had resisted
giving me all that I wanted
when all I'd want was you.

But maybe I was your excuse.
You couldn't face the truth.
It was not me that made us lonely
but your incessant love of money.

So maybe you found happiness
among your toys and gadgets.
Perhaps within the gold you found
your perfect love in silence.

Or does your pleasure lay in pity
bestowed upon you by your friends
who tried to tell you love was found
inside the girl you left behind?

No matter what you tell yourself
to help you sleep at night
I hope you know how deeply hurt
I was when you thrust that knife.
For even now I think that love
is after all a fairy tale.
And time may heal all gaping wounds
but thus far it has failed.

Written 5/30/2018 at 11:15PM

Easy Unease

As it does every year, Summer has arrived on hazy wings of gold lifted by the soft breezes of birdsong, lighting upon the plethora of greenery that had exploded overnight in Spring. Birds are fledging, if they have not already, and young squirrels are making their ways in the new world as they play the days away.
Outwardly, I am still. I greet the mornings before the dawn, and bid Apollo goodnight as He ties up loose ends on His everlong journey through the skies. Inwardly, my heart is a hummingbird, my blood dangerous rapids. My outer appearance hides the juxtaposition of the swirling storm within. A confused restlessness (akin to a constant pacing with a tiny room that offers many comforts, but where one simply cannot sit) stirs and offers no solution. I can imagine only one cause.

Wanderlust.

I have been here for too long, and have gathered moss. My skin itches for adventure and newness. However, financially, this is just not possible right now. As such, I turn to my books and drawings and poetry and music.

Do you ever feel this easy unease? How do you approach this animal?

A Bit of Poetry

For You
by Renee C. Wozniak

If I close my eyes
keep them shut
will your beauty still blind my senses?
All that you are
and all you hide
bewitches the deepest parts of my mind
refusing rest.
Yet you persist in existence
in ignorance
of me and your haphazard effect
on my senses.

If you close your eyes
keep them dark
will your pain still maim
your nerves?
All that you are
and try to hide
causes you the deepest anguish
refusing silence.
Yet you persist in existence
in ignorance
of the balm of the sweetness I wish to apply
to your nerves.

As you keep your secrets sealed,
so, too, are my dreams.
They do not meet as they did
in that trancelike moment
when flesh met flesh.
A moment is enough time
to ignite a spark.
That tiny, short-lived light
burns fierce in my breast.
I keep it burning
for you.
It blinds me
and may singe your nerves.

Fire is cleansing
as it wipes out old growth.
Allow the vines to
take you over
as they have me.


Written May 28, 2018 7:30PM

Random Verbose Morning Thoughts

It is the cusp of Summer, and here, as I listen to VNV Nation's "Chrome" and "Futureperfect," I have put my inner musings into organized letters and broken sentences for your ethereal pleasure. Enjoy.


Soft verdure hues in the early morning haze of infant summer caress my gaze with a velvet allure.

The ambient energy vibrates with an anticipatory eagerness matched only by the restless longing of my caffeinated heartbeat.

A storm of yearning to sink beneath the surface in the moment while retaining the ability to freely sail away on serene waters rages in perpetuity.

Calm is illusory in the real chaos of internal human clockwork.
The whitecaps are smoothed out of public vision by refusal to open our eyes to others' mirrored struggles.
We are alone in our connectedness.

Music Saves the Day

When I find myself lost inside the façade this world pushes upon me, music brings me back. In fact, years ago a friend was lamenting her creative blockage. For those of you who do not count yourself as "artistic," imagination/creation block is exactly as it sounds; it is another form of that damn writers' block that has plagued thinking types for centuries. I wouldn't be surprised if this exists in every vocation and hobby. This friend of mine sounded so lost, and, having been there time and again, I offered the temporary cure I often use to get the juices flowing.

Music.

It's seems like such a trite suggestion, doesn't it? So cliché. Try it the next time you are caught up in your own vine-like thoughts. The music will soothe the tendrils' grips and you may slide to freedom of expression. What's the secret? Actually, there is a trick...and a caveat. The trick? The initial music you listen to can't just be anything, and it can't be what you've been listening to recently. Hop into your own personal time machine. Think back to when you were doing your favorite work. Barring that, go back to the most recent time your were creating. What did you have on repeat in your Walkman/diskman/mp3 player? (WHATEVER, I'M OLD!) That is the key to reclaiming your passion.

The aforementioned caveat? You will be inspired to recreate the style of that particular time period. It may be short-lived, and you may flow into a new style. Then again, you may end up following it into a new series of that same style that might never have occurred to you back then. Either way, you're creating again!

Of course, this post reveals the rearing of the monster blockage with whom I seem to struggle fairly regularly. Odd, though. This past semester (yes, I am still working on my degree...It's changed a couple of times...Take off your judgy pants and stay a while.) saw me drawing in charcoal and some ink. You would think that this would free up my mundanity-bound hands for freedom of luscious artistic expression. Well, unbeknownst to me, doing art from life and trying to capture real life images wasn't inspiring me to create as I once did. In fact, it was exhausting! I recall telling my mom over the phone that (*shudder*), "I hate drawing, now."

Whoa.
...
Whoa.

Then, last weekend, my sister and I went to Cambridge to see Aurelio Voltaire.

All of a sudden, I'm drawing new creatures, adjusting and finishing old pieces, and writing poetry, again. Poetry! I haven't written poetry seriously for, well, I really don't know when the last time I wrote like that. The beauty of this change, though, is that I didn't work to make it happen. Voltaire's music brought me back to a time when art was my everything. We hadn't seen him live for 15 years! (Though, it's funny, I have the picture of my sister and I with him at that past show framed on my wall. I've seen it every day for the past three years. She gave it to me as a part of a Christmas gift.) As for other creative outlets of mine, car-aoke will always be a thing; I belt at the light with the best of them! But, after some time, I have my eye on a couple of Voltaire songs I would love to cover for my YouTube channel if I can find instrumentals (and obtain permission. Though, I know not to old my breath. Everyone has their own lives and agendas, and I certainly don't delude myself into thinking I factor into any part of his.)

The point, though, is that, in dribs and drabs, my creativity and imagination are coming back. And it's all thanks, once again, to music.

A Call to (Magickal) Arms

Jack Frost is taken by the sweetness of Spring. This time of year, here and there he let's her shake her shining locks, the fresh scents of emerging green wafting before us, just out of reach. She makes him want to dance, and he shakes free the flurries of snow that had gathered on his shoulders while he was enchanted by her movements, her laughter, her smile. Spring is Jack's undoing, and he loves it. His laugh bellows out a crisp gust of wintry air, and she is gone again.

Imbolg sneaks up on me every year, much like the hide and seek Spring begs of sweet Jack. I have my own memories and private thoughts attached to the celebration of purity and newness, yet constantly watch it pass. Perhaps my mind and body are simply mirroring the sentiments of the holiday: safely tucked inside, awaiting rebirth. Here in Massachusetts, February has been the coldest, snowiest month of the year for the past four years, at least. Though it is merely beginning, we are experiencing a small break from this new norm; there are only a few, small piles of snow leftover from the last fall of fluffy white stuff. Well, at least along the lower South Shore, anyway. The spring breezes and sunrises have enticed and enchanted us along with Jack. I can't help thinking that Mother Earth is restless in her hibernation, this year.

Regardless of my physical indifference to Imbolg, my recent endeavors to settle back into a regular practice and appreciation of the magick that surrounds us have been a little fruitful. Since Lammas of last year, I have been into cross-stitch, and have made one from each holiday since (aside from Imbolg...which I have yet to begin...) Working on my little decorations have helped bring me into the moment, and think on the seasons, their bounties, the life for which I am utterly grateful, and how I may continue to work on myself. For, truly, the voices that called me to this Path spoke to the pieces of me that wanted changing.

And coming home always makes my heart glow with a warmth akin to Spring's promised sunlight on Jack's chilly visage.