Growing in place

I spend a good deal of time thinking on how I want these articles to go. I take notes, argue with myself back and forth, etc. No matter what I decide on though, I never want these to sound sterile. They need to be accessible, for myself and anyone reading them. No one needs another tome, self-aggrandizing diatribe or witty quip. We need to have something to reach out, hold, and feel steadied. Something to connect with. Pagan or not, disconnection is our greatest fear. Torn from a place, time or person leaves most of us with inconsolable grief. Death is terrifying for that reason.

To me, writing about the sacred and our connection to it needs to be accessible. It’s easy to list off historical details, precedents and traditions in an almost sterile way. Almost like Neo-Antiquarianism, that puts the subject matter in danger of being placed in a spiritual mausoleum. I don’t want to sound like a polished tombstone. I would rather be the lichen speckled one, off in the corner by the rotting split rail fence. It doesn’t matter if you can’t read the name anymore, because that’s not relatable. It’s decay and apparent ‘life’ cycle reminds us of our own, and that we can sit with for hours. Silent marble doesn’t do that. We relate to experience, vulnerability and uncertainty.

Monoliths withstand time because they are beyond life. The inverse is a better example. Why are there almost no more great wines from La Belle Epoque? Because there have been too many great afternoons in the sunshine since then. Too many reunions, too many births, and too many poignant hours. I don’t want anything that I write to sound like monoliths. I want them to read like a hammock by a well loved but neglected lawn. That’s what I feel lacking.

It’s so easy to remain separated from moments. We drink too much, spend too much time on our devices, go from car to building to car, etc. When we do find ourselves unplugged, often the haze clings to our minds eye. While that is toxic to anyone, to Pagans it is literally like having the doors and windows to every church barred shut. The easiest part of our faith is that it can be reinforced anywhere, if we are there. The most difficult, is having to connect to that space yourself. There aren’t any signs saying, “Sacred wisdom behind that rock.”  

I feel poignantly alone without a good deal of effort. It is a testament to the routine of modern life how easy, and even normal, it is to remain in an unhealthy cycle. It’s sorely lacking though. Making connections to space and others does take work, and it can feel pointless until the moment when it comes together, but until we do, we are only part human. We aren’t monoliths and living like them makes us ill. For me, writing like one is even worse. Besides, my thoughts are better left unpolished.