I am feeling the need to apologize to my four readers. I haven’t been writing as much lately and, at this time, don’t think I will be anytime soon. I understand  there are those who enjoy my blog and other similar sites- the writings give them a sense of connection to deity and others, the writings help them evaluate their own experiences so they may judge their own and have a better understanding, the writings let them experience the views and realities of others. But at this moment my work being the spring board for another’s experience just creates an acid taste in my mouth and my reply  to this is, ‘Stop reading the damn blogs! Get out there on your own knees and pray to your own Gods, pound the rocks to your own ancestors, pour the cream and whiskey to your own land vaetter and have your own experiences; stop living vicariously through mine!’

But that’s just the grump in me talking here. I’ve been biting my tongue harder and harder lately, I’m told patience is needed, people open at their own rates, yet at the same time I think ‘but sometimes we all just need a kick in the ass’ as I ice my own bruised bum.

I do feel kicked though I actually haven’t been. I’m in an odd space right now hence my declaration of closed shop for a time. You see, I was given some boots a few weeks ago and told, ‘You can wear them when you are ready to walk in them.’ Problem here is I’m not sure where I’m to walk, I’m not even sure I know what ‘to walk’ means. So I have the boots tucked away waiting for when I decide, like an infant, to grab onto the couch and rise up and take a few tentative steps. That’s called walking, isn’t it?

I don’t really see a couch to grab onto though. Loki and Heimdallr, my usual go tos, are distant right now. They often play bad cop good cop and right now Loki is the harsher. At this point, other than the rare nudge lasting only a second, I can only tap into either in front of the altars. Loki, hackles up standing straight and demanding more ritual so there I am on my knees being firmly told, ‘Why is it that anytime I ask you to do what you don’t want you decide you didn’t hear me right? You’ve heard me. You know what you are to do. No go on.’ I won’t say I don’t do that, I won’t say I don’t deserve the chiding.

Then there is Heimdallr, He’s good cop right now but still distant. ‘It will be fine. You just need to focus on these other things for a while. Now go on, you know what you need to do.’ At least His lines are with a smile. So I go on and try to focus on my other things for now feeling out of sorts and off kilter.

For now I’m to focus on my ancestors and a new guide. I won’t say I’m not learning nor that there amazing wonders and joys- it’s just all a bit sideways right now. Either everything is swirling into a confused mess in my mind or its all crystal clear and just hard to accept. I’m not sure which and what’s truly pathetic here is I’m not sure which I want the truth to be. So until I decide or know I’ll just go with this seemingly random flow of synchronicity… but isn’t synchronicity just a nice way of saying, ‘You’ve been set up?’ Probably. I was grumping about being set up to Loki last week (hence His chiding) and then found that very line in a book the other night. Synchronicity again.

Yeah- right- let’s just call it what it is.

During all this I read about Z Budhapest and her latest adventures and am forced to giggle. I find her ideas so infuriating that it becomes funny. I note that one of her students lives near me and is co-holding an open Beltane ritual. I think to myself I could go, may be interesting to hear her views; she proudly announces on her web profile she is a student of Z’s which in this day is a sheer invitation for commentary. We’ll see, it isn’t a priority for me, I don’t define my womanhood on the fact that I take the intermittent ride on the cotton pony* nor do I wish to get into any verbal bouts over the concept.

But anyway, so until things are clearer I feel the need to strip some burdens. I touched base last night with Hela, the Northern Death Goddess. Not a bad thing to do when dealing with ancestral lines. She was kind in Her cool way but did grumble a bit about my having too many obligations. “It’s unreasonable to expect you to do all of this,” She commented almost to Herself. So for now I’ll not worry about this blog. I’ll write when the time comes whether it be tomorrow or three months from now. At this moment I don’t care if I ever write again but I’m sure I will.

I’ll wake up some morning with that soft, strangling pressure inside my skull knowing there is something that needs pen to paper or fingers to keyboard. At that time I won’t be able to ease that anxiety till the words have been formed and sent into the world. That pressure is like the need to take a piss with no bathroom, or the feeling one gets during those slow, languid, afternoon lovemaking sessions when for some reason you just can’t orgasm but you know you can’t stop till you do. Finally I’ll have my creative rush and write, I have a ton of ideas, but till the time comes they will sit in their little cocoons and just have to wait.

So until then I’m slipping into a routine of multiple meditations a day, reading, and looking at Wyrd through various lenses. I’ll honor my Gods, ancestors, and land wights, and think on the passage of life. I’ll dance, laugh with my children, and drum to the dawn.

Maybe that’s what we all should be doing.

I stood on the plain before the ancient Disir. She’s from so long ago in the past she has nut brown lined skin and stands before me in a coarse weave of blanketed wrap, her head covered as befits her status. She is elevated, near deity herself, other ancient disirs extend her the highest of honors.

As she steadily looks within me, a tendon strong man of worn face approaches wearing but a shaggy loin cloth. His skin is also nut brown and he has peppered hair and beard. He holds a wooden bowl and without looking she reaches out and it is placed in her hand.

She holds the bowl before her. It is full of crisp dried, brown leaves. She takes a few and with the slightest of nods from her I extend my arm and she places them on my hand. She then swirls the other leaves in the bowl and all of them, including the ones in my hand, turn to birds. They rise up in swirling flight with a wild grace and beauty that only nature and magic provides.

As they disappear into the sky she looks at me and says, ‘It is time for you to fly.’

* See the I'm a Woman! post