Walking new paths.
I went back to Seattle, following an inner call that pulled at me with urgency: don't waste anymore time. I grabbed my things and eagerly hit the road again. And being in the city was exciting at first, but it turned into a very dark winter for me there. After only two months, I gave up and made a retreat.
Candlemas found me snowed in and without electricity here in rural Kentucky. Winter wasn't ready to let go of me without having the last word it seemed, but it was too late -- my hope was coming back, returning just like the spring energy rising invisibly in the world. I started to feel it again as soon as I decided to return to Kentucky, as soon as I didn't have to worry about where to sleep. I started to feel it again as soon as I turned my back on the wall that the city had become, and looked to new directions.
Even though giving up my independence to live under my parents' roof again felt like a mistake, the darkness let go and I began to feel the excitement of spring and new beginnings. Candlemas day started with an icy bath, but my reflection in the candlelit mirror was grinning out at me. I was climbing out of the underworld. I walked out to the woods -- made new with fallen trees and broken branches, the destruction of the ice storm creating bowers of white crystal and silence -- and stood in a tiny clearing. It was a celebration much like my autumn equinox one, a ritual without circle or altar or tools, just me and the elements and my gods, but as I stood there on the threshold of a new year, I felt anticipation.
It doesn't matter where you are, you see. Location is immaterial, adventure can be found everywhere. All you need is an unmapped path.
Going back to Seattle was a necessary mistake. I love that city, but too much of my old life was spent there. The ghosts of my married life were everywhere. I thought I had to be there in order to become my true self, but the place had already been explored by the old me, and there was no room to begin.
It was a hard winter, and it hasn't exactly been idyllic being back here, but things are bright, and growing brighter. Candlemas truly was a beginning for me, after the chaos last year's road trip wrought on me and my plans. I haven't settled in Kentucky permanently (a pagan living on the buckle of the Bible belt for the rest of her life? No thanks!), but it's a good place to start.
Life is short. Make mistakes, give up, start over. Don't waste time trying to get it right. Just live. Keep going forward.
Candlemas found me snowed in and without electricity here in rural Kentucky. Winter wasn't ready to let go of me without having the last word it seemed, but it was too late -- my hope was coming back, returning just like the spring energy rising invisibly in the world. I started to feel it again as soon as I decided to return to Kentucky, as soon as I didn't have to worry about where to sleep. I started to feel it again as soon as I turned my back on the wall that the city had become, and looked to new directions.
Even though giving up my independence to live under my parents' roof again felt like a mistake, the darkness let go and I began to feel the excitement of spring and new beginnings. Candlemas day started with an icy bath, but my reflection in the candlelit mirror was grinning out at me. I was climbing out of the underworld. I walked out to the woods -- made new with fallen trees and broken branches, the destruction of the ice storm creating bowers of white crystal and silence -- and stood in a tiny clearing. It was a celebration much like my autumn equinox one, a ritual without circle or altar or tools, just me and the elements and my gods, but as I stood there on the threshold of a new year, I felt anticipation.
It doesn't matter where you are, you see. Location is immaterial, adventure can be found everywhere. All you need is an unmapped path.
Going back to Seattle was a necessary mistake. I love that city, but too much of my old life was spent there. The ghosts of my married life were everywhere. I thought I had to be there in order to become my true self, but the place had already been explored by the old me, and there was no room to begin.
It was a hard winter, and it hasn't exactly been idyllic being back here, but things are bright, and growing brighter. Candlemas truly was a beginning for me, after the chaos last year's road trip wrought on me and my plans. I haven't settled in Kentucky permanently (a pagan living on the buckle of the Bible belt for the rest of her life? No thanks!), but it's a good place to start.
Life is short. Make mistakes, give up, start over. Don't waste time trying to get it right. Just live. Keep going forward.