So, tonight is the Pagan Soc Samhain ritual. Been prepping for it for ages and there’s some reasonably heavy duty magic in there tonight, so I’m a bit nervous. Well, a lot nervous to be honest, I’m about to be ridden by a Goddess and the last time I tried this at Pagan Soc it didn’t work. Now, we’ve got a pretty good back-up plan if it doesn’t work so I shouldn’t be worrying, also, been prepping for this for weeks…but still… nervous.
Hopefully giving the correspondance class this evening will chill my nerves at least a bit.
Magic. It’s weird (maybe that should by ‘wyrd’) and tonight brings me slap up against where the spider-lights meet the knots, or the nexuses…nope thats wrong, not what I mean, where they meet the glowing balls that are at once spider-lights and spider-lights that glow the same way and are a dozen hanging threads netted together.
Similar people grouping together until a single subculture emits enough of a pulse to maintain a spider-light almost independantly of the people. Yet that doesn’t describe the ‘thingness’ of it, it renders it unknowable. When the people begin to converse with the spider-light, forgetting that they themselves are spider-lights, or not forgetting but adding their own light to that one until it glows and moves and changes and pulses all along the web. Am I talking about the creation of gods? No, I’m talking about the creation of souls again, and, more importantly to me, the beginnings of a glimmer of my own understanding of immortality.
I am my actions, they define me.
And why is it that whenever people ask me ‘so what have I done with magic?’ the only things that pop into my head are the failures or the things that I’d rather not admit to having done?
On into the spider-lights and in accepting that I will dissolve and spread out and become what is am I denying my own immortality or rather furthering it? What is it that I want to be immortal?
Who am I to decide to live forever?
Myself. There’s nothing stopping anyone making that decision.
I know where my magic is. Just, sometimes I get a bit lost and forget.
Ceridwen, keeper of the Cauldron of Inspiration, she who was once woman, she who was once witch, she who kept pigs. Mother of the ugliest man to ever live, Mother of the cleverest bard to ever live, keeper of the cave, keeper of the Cauldron, lady who greeted me when first I dared this way, White Goddess, skull and beauty, death and life, whom inspired the bards and led the chase that birthed Taliesin. Who was once woman, who was once witch, pig-keeper. I am now woman, I am now witch, I am called pig-keeper, I call thee, to me, tonight.