Paint Me a Spell

 

In my life simplicity is a necessity and often times, magickal practice is far from simple.  We buy herbs and candles and books like they are the keys that make spells work.  Then we have to store them.  Sometimes we forget that the power is all around us waiting for us to be the key.  In implementing this truth into my practice, I gravitated toward sigil magick which has since turned into art magick. 

It all started with a blank canvas stashed in the back of the closet.  Then I started having an intense feeling of disconnect with my four older children.  Its a long story, but as a single mom I allowed them to go to my mothers for the summer and never got them back.  I felt that no matter how often I told them or tried to demonstrate my love, the energy was getting lost before it reached them.  I wanted to create a spell powerful enough to bridge the miles and follow them through out their daily lives.  I wanted them to know that I was always holding them in my heart.  Then on one of my walks, I was inspired to paint my love.

Everyday for a month, I worked on the painting. While I painted, I focused love toward my children, letting the canvas take on a life of it's own.    I painted a large soft mother Superman calls her "mustard woman" because of her color  holding her children to her heart.  I made each child figure in the painting as unique as my own living children and painted a binding love seal over the mother's womb.  Then I started the background in aboriginal designs.  When the month was over, I knew that the painting was not even near being finished.  The painting will never be finished. 

Whenever I feel the need coming from one of my children, I add to the canvas.  When I feel the energy of the painting starting to ebb, I douse it with strong coffee and allow it to dry in the sunshine.  Between times, it hangs in our hall. 

Since the time I started the painting, my communication with the older children has improved significantly.  They have started initiating phone calls and email conversations again and I find we never run out of things to discuss.  I have also finally been able to accept our separation without intense, unwarranted guilt.  If it is possible, I almost feel as if the magick has allowed me to love each of them even more than before. 

A Dangerous Mind

It is a generally accepted fact that thoughts, negative or positive, contain power.  Since witches frequently work with and rely on this power to make changes in the world around them, nobody should be more familiar with this fact than a witch.  One night last week I forgot and learned a valuable lesson. 

Maybe it all started because I don't get angry very often...or because I was tired...or because I am enormously pregnant...what ever it was, it was completely uncalled for.  In many ways, I hate to even admit that it happened because I did inflict harm on someone.  Someone I love very much and who would never consider harming me: Superman. 

Sleep has been a difficult issue at our house lately.  As my girth has grown immensely with this pregnancy, I have developed as serious case of insomnia.  That, combined with the fact that our bed is has a miniature version of the Grand Canyon running down the center of it, some times makes nights insufferably long.  I toss and turn trying to find a comfortable position and when I finally settle into something semi-suitable poor circulation causes my legs and feet to start twitching madly.  As bad as this is for me, I at least have the option of attempting to nap the following day.  My poor husband just drags his exhausted self through the day with the hopes of getting a few hours of sleep the following night in the same defunct bed with the same crazy, tossing, turning, twitching wife.  On the night in question, it just got to be too much for him to bare.

It was a particularly hot evening and I have to admit we were both already feeling a little off.  I had found a semi comfortable position and was starting to drift off when the twitching started.   Fatigue had me that evening and my body was determined to sleep, so I proceeded to head toward la-la land not noticing that the equally exhausted man beside me was about to bubble over.  Just before I was about to doze he nearly vaulted out of the bed, snatched up his pillow, and stormed to the couch muttering about his lack of sleep, the fact that I did have a nap option where he did not, and maybe that I took excessive advantage of those naps. 

A bit taken back and hurt by the mutterings, I followed him to the living room to try and make things right. When it was apparent that he did not want to return to bed and that he simply did not even want to talk to me, I returned to our bedroom wide awake.  Sleep was no longer an option so I decided to try and read, but found myself struggling with the comfort issue once again.  Sitting on the bed made my back hurt and it seemed like I had to reposition myself after every paragraph. 

I longed for the slightly elevated level of comfort the couch would have offered my awkwardly shaped figure. 

I struggled to focus on my book and instead dwelled on the comments he had made on his way out of the bedroom. 

I wished he were in the bed and I in the living room so I at least had to option of finding some dull show on Hulu to lull me to sleep. 

I imagined him sleeping blissfully. 

I got angry. 

Book open and forgotten in my lap, I begin to simmer.  Soon I was sending pointedly hostile thoughts in his direction.  I didn't think his attitude was fair and I wanted it gone.  Specifically, I wanted him to know just how uncomfortable I was...how uncomfortable I had been for weeks.  After all, it was his baby too and missing a little sleep was minor compared to all the discomforts that had seemed to pile up on me during this pregnancy.  Unkind and negative thoughts erupted from my mind and when I had exhausted my list of grievances, I started all over at the beginning.  Of course, they were petty grievances, but with the state I was in they grew like mushrooms in manure. It was a vicious cycle and who knows how long it would have continued had my overly pregnant self not had to make a bathroom run. 

On my way through the living room, I noticed that Superman instead of blissfully lounging in sleep, was laying in a somewhat contorted position on the couch.  He was also grumbling incoherently and moaning.  Urged by my stressed bladder, I continued on to the bathroom, but when his condition hadn't changed on the way back through I knew I had to wake him.  Physically distancing myself from the negativity I had created in the bedroom had caused my anger to dissipate and I sat on the edge of the couch and woke him as a nice, sane wife should.  I gently spoke to him and asked what was wrong.  His answer caused my stomach to heave.  Soon after moving to the couch he had developed a terrible headache and what sleep he had managed to get had been plagued by nightmares. 

For all the times I had sent him positive energy to calm a rough day or ease an illness, it had never occurred to me that my anger and it's negative energy would effect him on equal footing.   Of course, I wanted to right the wrong I had done and immediately set about surrounding him with healing power while easing him back toward sleep after bringing him back to bed.  Luckily, it was a lesson learned with minimal damage done.  He forgave me and all is well, but it is a lesson I will not soon forget. 

Thoughts On Motherhood

A Recent Photo of Miss Busy and I

There is a lot to be said for the stages of a woman's life.  Unfortunately, in our society the Maiden stage is idolized and moving on to the more mature and productive stages life is often feared or shunned.  Oh, being a Maiden is beautiful!  I love to hear the joy and optimism in my young Maiden's voice, but I also have no desire to be fourteen again.  A Maiden has troves of wonder and untouched beauty, but she also has a lot of learning to do and much of it will be painful. 

As a Mother, I feel I have come into my own.  I am currently carrying my sixth child and find myself to be more beautiful and confident than ever.  When I hold one of my children some of whom are now bigger than I am, I see how powerful and yet how small I can be at the same time.  I am the one who will provide the love that they need to grow and meet their potential, I am the measure by which they will gauge good and bad, and I am the one who's strength they will draw on.  Yet, with in all that power, I will still be unable to give them a perfect life and I am far from capable of  being  the perfect Mama I feel they deserve.  In my children I find both my honor and my humility.

As a Mother, I have learned that my body is amazing.  Before having babies, I had a body I was very proud of.  I was tall and lean, nothing except legs and boobs.  I never felt very beautiful, but I loved my figure.  When things didn't bounce right back after my first child, I felt somewhat like a failure and worked hard to get my shape back, but the babies just kept coming.  Then about the time my oldest was four he asked me, "Mama, why is your tummy so ugly."  I told him that the saggy skin and stretch marks were just the natural results of having children and he started to cry.  As he clung to me and apologized with his little heart absolutely broken over the damage he had done, I suddenly knew it didn't matter one bit.  I told him that he and his siblings were worth every single stretch mark  and I would not trade even a moment with one for them for my pretty tummy back.  That was the day I begin to make friends with my body.  Sometimes I still have a moment of insecurity, but then I remember that creating life is no easy task.  My body has worked hard and never failed to nurture and protect those I love the most.  My figure isn't perfect, but my body is. 

As a Mother, I learned to pick my battles.  My children are not here to be little reflections of me, make me look good, or to define my success as a human being.  My children are here to grow and learn and become the individuals they are meant to be.  It is very easy for many parents to view their offspring as little accessories and want to position them in whatever manner they will be the most flattering.  Sorry, but being a parent is not flattering.  It is often tiring and messy, but so very rewarding.  As long as my children are not behaving in a harmful way or being immoral, I see no reason to control their choices.  So what if Sassafras prefers camo to lace or Mr. Man chooses to wear long johns under swimming trunks to kindergarten?  They might not be following the status quo, but they are following their hearts.  By respecting them as individuals, I keep their hearts and minds open to my influence in the areas that really matter. 

I guess, over all it just boils down to...I love being a Mama.  Yet, as much as I love being the center of my children's world, I know the day is coming when they will move on.  G.I Joe keeps reminding me that he will be enlisted in a scant two years.  Then I will move on.  I will be the grandmother, the wise one, the crone.  It is a phase of life, I look forward to.  All in due time. 

Love Reflected

The Stone Charged with Love and Sunshine

This morning, I found a "new" stone sitting with my art supplies on the kitchen counter.  Since Superman is constantly bringing me stones I knew it had been left there for me to find,  but from the moment I picked it up I knew this one was special.  It isn't the most beautiful or unique stone he has brought me and like many others in my collection it emits a low steady pulse of energy, along with something else I couldn't identify right away. 

By the time my husband had emerged from the shower, I knew that this stone wasn't going to be added to the collection on the shrine.  I wanted it near me.  I envisioned wrapping it in wire and wearing it around my neck, but the truth was I was already becoming addicted to the feel of it in my hand.  I needed to know more about this stone that I had so quickly become fascinated with, so I asked Superman about it.  Then I understood. 

This past weekend, he and Miss Busy had been outside playing while I fixed a snack in the kitchen.  When I emerged from the apartment, I found her toddling around his Harley and he very patiently telling her the names of all the parts and explaining what they did.  At some point during their time together, Miss Busy had latched on to this particular rock and had been very reluctant to let it go (she is still in the stage where she mouths everything, so letting her keep it wasn't an option).  When he had finally convinced her to relinquish it, he had slipped it in his pocket then promptly forgot about it for a day or two. 

Somehow, the magic of love and sunshine had become infused in this stone.  It holds the memory of a beautiful daddy/daughter moment that was so generously shared with me.  I have always known that one can attach certain emotions to an item associated with an event, but this is the first time I have experienced being "given" a moment that I did not share in.  What a wonderful way to experience love this Beltane week.