Mama Magick

Some days, with the inherent business of mothering two little people, I feel like my life has lost all of it's magickal aspects.  Although I make a point to light my altar a few times a week, it has been months since I've done any spell work or meditated.  There just isn't a moment where I can take my eyes off Miss Busy that long and, when her naptime rolls around, I fall asleep every time I sit down to meditate.  Rituals are hit and miss too since, by the time the moon is up, the only place I want to be is in my bed.  It's enough to become discouraging at times, but then I remember that "mother" is one of the magickal phases of a women's life.

Mothering is not just a chore like washing the dishes or filing paperwork.  The very act of being Mama is magick.  If you're feeling skeptical, consider breast milk.  Everyday, all day, my body and the body of every breastfeeding mama produces a very special magickal elixir.  It is far more than nutrition.  It is comfort and love and security.  It is healing tonic and soothing salve.  It is the start to a life time of good physical and emotional health. 

Just like knowingly casting a spell takes huge quantities of energy, the bodies automatic act of creating breast milk and nursing can be physically taxing.  When I choose to nourish my children with my own body, I choose not just to fill their stomachs with the healthiest substance known to man, I also choose to give them large blocks of time to soak in my love and affection unhindered.  Love is the intent of all I do for my children and intent is at the base of all magickal working. 

 

 

At this stage in my life, magick looks a little different than it did before.  I cannot let the spiritual side of myself go, but I do have to recognize that being a mama and a witch are not two different things.  I am both and as of this moment, my intent is focused mainly on two very small people.  Although I sometimes want to follow modern society and demand more of myself, in my heart I know that this is the natural order of things.  I may be doing the greatest magick of my life right now. 

The Proverbial Woodpile

Years ago, when my oldest four were small, I had a homestead not the house pictured.  Although the house was modern, it was heated solely with wood.  Usually the job of bringing in firewood belonged to G.I. Joe and I, but one fall afternoon I decided to expedite the task by including the younger three as well.  The girls took to the task quickly, but Mr. Man had other ideas.  While the rest of us were heading out the door, that little rascal disappeared.  On my second trip back into the house with an armload of wood, I decided to investigate his disappearance I had assumed that he was looking for his chronically missing shoes and found him crouched behind his bed testing the "out of sight, out of mind" theory.  Unwilling to be punked by a four year old, I hustled him outside while he howled about the cruelty of forcing such a delicate individual out into the cold. 

By this time the wood box was nearly full, so I informed Mr. Man that the last two armloads of wood were his responsibility.  He continued to howl about the frigid temperature in the 40's while the rest of us filtered back into the house.  For the next ten minutes, I watched from the kitchen window as he stomped back and forth in front of the woodpile, kicking at the ground as he went.  With out any prompting from me, his brother went out and offered to help him, but was answered with a screamed, "Go away!"  About fifteen minutes into the saga, I went to stoke the fire and returned to the kitchen to see that Mr. Man was laying on top of the wood pile with his arms crossed defiantly, muttering under his breath.  Cracking open the kitchen door I heard his mantra, "I'm cold.  I'm cold.  I'm cold."  Returning to the wood pile, I explained the lack of logic in his protest.  If he would just bring in two arm loads of wood he could stay in the nice warm house for the rest of the day.  In response he added kicking  feet to the crossed arm, muttering pose. 



Hamming it up for the camera: Mr. Man (13) and G.I Joe (16)

 

Eventually, I did get my two arm loads of wood and Mr. Man was allowed shelter from the sub-Artic temperatures found in central North Carolina.  As cute and funny as this story is, as adults we really aren't any different than my stubborn son.  Human nature is to be  addicted to comfort.  Each of us has a well defined comfort zone.  When forced out of this zone we are often stubborn and defiant, unwilling to do the work required to get back to the place we feel safe in.

Those of us on a Pagan life path would probably all agree that peace and enlightenment of some form are major goals in our lives. We have an idea image of what we long to become, but we drag our feet when it comes to study and meditation. When life is busy or stressful we seem to balk at self improvement more than ever and that is when we need centering the most.  That is how we get stuck out on the wood pile when we would rather be snuggled up near the fire. 

Read a article about chakras or alternative medicine, take a quiet nature walk, spend a few moments breathing deeply and visualizing the person you want to be...Thirty minutes of focused "me" time every day will make a noticeable difference now and a life changing difference in the long run.  Every beautiful bird starts out as a humble egg.