It’s around this time of year that I pass a significant anniversary in my life. I always find myself looking back and wondering. I get that sense that my life went off the rails somewhere, and I’m spending my time now trying to get back on track. When actually this is my life.
So I’ve been pondering deeply, about paths and journeys, trackways and meanderings.
I’m a bookworm, an info geek. Whenever I start anything new, any new project or path I gather all the words. The books, the articles, the blogs, the websites, the YouTube vids. How do they do it? What’s the wisdom out there? Who has the skinny on this? I’ve been doing this the past eighteen months as my path has shifted towards the sacred feminine and away from mainstream religions, as I’ve begun allowing my witchy self out of the broom closet. I have bought books, taken online courses, engaged with circles, studied cards, laid out crystals, connected with spirit guides, created rituals, set intentions. I’ve found gurus and teachers, thrown my towel in with them. Retrieved it a couple of times.
There is, of course, absolutely nothing wrong with this. But there are days when I wonder if I’m not missing the point. I’m like a tourist so busy snapping pics with my camera and sharing them on Instagram that I miss the place I’m in, miss the actual, concrete, dusty, crowded, beautiful, strange, mysterious experience of the moment. In glorious 4D technicolour.
So I’m thinking that sometimes I’m so busy looking for the path, that I miss the fact its under my feet. This path. My path. I imagined it would be more glamourous and exciting, full of beautiful backdrops and thrilling meetings. Like most people I have my photo album days, meetings with friends, picnics, beautiful walks, theatre trips and vacations. But most of the time its just normal. Just real. Just earthy and happening. The cat throws up on the carpet. The boys need help with an online form. I run out of milk. I need to book an eye test. It’s someone’s birthday next week and I want to remember to get a card.
So when I’m witching, priestessing, it’s in the middle of that. What I want to look for is the magic every day. The magic everyday. I don’t know what that would look like for you. For me it’s the shared smile with a stranger. The chance to give an unexpected gift. Allowing another car out in traffic. Baking a cake and stirring in my intention for the well-being of those who will eat it. Feeding the birds and watching the fledglings hopping on the grass discovering the seeds I’ve left. It means being where I am. Starting with who I am. In this skin.
Witching, magic, then becomes both mundane, ordinary, and also completely otherwise, each day, each moment, woven through with a thread of silver and enchanted.