Palms of Our Hands

A Polytheist's Blog


1 Comment

Don’t look under the flower pot, please.

This is exactly what I feel like right now.

This is exactly what I feel like right now.

(It’s been awhile since I’ve posted here. If I could find my notebook I’d be writing it there instead. But all my things have been moved and this is literally the last place I can write it in peace. So this post will ramble. Better for me to put it down than let it eat away my self-esteem faster than my meds can keep up.)

I didn’t get to sleep till 4 am yesterday, so I was already low on both energy and will power. And just before the sun went down today, I got a mental shakedown that left me both exposed and maybe this time, poised to make changes in myself.

In hindsight, there HAD been a sign of the impending shakedown. My parents had come over to help me clean up some space for the electric company inspectors to do their electric jobs. And while we were making smoothies to cool off, the glass bowl we were using to break smaller chunks of ice shattered. The bowl ended up looking like a jagged, terrifying glass doughnut. No way could we salvage the ice to make any more smoothies–glass shards in clear ice? That would have probably cut someone while swallowing.

The crazy thing was, I thought absolutely nothing of it. Me, who gets tied up in knots over other countries’ superstitions when I have never followed their spirituality or poked into their patheons. Who overthinks whether to get an iced mocha on a day that I actually scheduled myself to buy one. Glass broke, a consistent sign that something’s about to go down? Oh well, couldn’t mean anything…

Just before they were about to leave, my father saw the state of my room. He did the fatherly thing and Got Shit Done. We all started cleaning under his direction, whether I wanted him to or not. (Seriously, I didn’t.)  Part of me, the side that sees the long game, says it was absolutely the right thing to do. I’ve been stagnating in my own junk for most of the year! That practical side knew I wasn’t going to do it, despite my inner promises, so here’s some movers and shakers to bypass the bullshit on script and get things moving again.

The other side of me, the one who likes routines and being comfy and safe, felt incredibly violated.  Just like those little potato bugs scurrying for dear life when their flower pot gets moved, the stuff I’d accumulated, used, lost, or forgot came to cringing light. I was simultaneously six again, getting scolded for being so sloppy and yet now old enough to know I had no answer to rhetorical questions like “Just like before, you couldn’t keep things clean. Every time…” Thirty-something years of life has not yet cured me of being a clutter bug.

They were also getting too close for comfort to my paganism/polytheism materials. Pieces of me, of my interests and joys, overturned and clinically examined and tossed into a bag for the garbage bin. It was junk, but it was MY junk. I cleaned in a distant daze, and my parents were kind enough not to go for my jugular and didn’t start with “You’re always so…(quality that is disappointing)” At least not out loud.

In the solitude, I ask myself why I didn’t want them in my room. Words continue throwing themselves at me: failure, scolding, you are bad, they are always right, they don’t care what you think, weakling, emotions are weak, stop being all this emotional tear ball, disappointment, huh, it’s …you.

pill-bug-rollie-pollie-doodle-bug

I see now why they tell the clutterer to not be present during the actual clean-up. The things that comforted me, that gave me a positive feeling for a time, even since I don’t use them anymore, are picked up. They’re examined (What the hell is so special about X?). They’re tossed somewhere, to keep or not keep made by their whim, no longer quite mine. The stuff tells a story about me as a person, to have collected all this stuff. They are the ultimate disinterested readers, out to find what’s exactly wrong with me in order to build some structure.

It showed me one of my fundamental faults, stagnation. It replayed one of the scripts I’d built into my head so early in life that I followed the directions long after the words were spoken. Now it’s played loud enough for my mind to hear the negative, self-criticism. I’ve been alive long enough to finally have the mental space to say, “I’m not…just this.”

To cap that emotional shanking, the coincidental timeliness of posts on the gifts of Loki and Disciplina tell me that this is something to gain from this all. I should be happy about this. If I say I’m happy about this, can we move on and I never make a mistake again? 😦

Advertisements


2 Comments

O is for — Overthinking things into the ground

I find hard to write blog posts, even for the Pagan Blog Project.  This week I’ve been troubled with how to approach the Deities. It turned out that I was trying to tackle so many things at once, and cursing myself for not being superhuman.

But, I realized I was over thinking things.  And this clip from Coming to America (ignore the ad at the end of the scene), captured my situation perfectly:

How badly was I overthinking things? I was feeling guilty because a meditation on raising energy was outside the (Canaanite) Way of Doing Things. I wanted to make and practice a divinatory rune set, but was going to ‘Canaanize’ it so that it would be pleasing to the Deities.  And I felt badly for still having a good relationship with Uriel and the other Archangels.

And because I wanted things to be Done Right, I was avoiding talking to the Gracious Gods I was working so hard to change for.

This reminds me of born-again Christians swearing off everything they were before, in order to become clean, good Christians for Jesus.

Or maybe that Significant Other than, in the honeymoon phase, does everything together and do whatever the SO wants. I’ll eat only what the Deities’ peoples ate. I’ll listen only to the kind of music the Deities would be familiar with.  I’ll do magick and prayer only the way it was done in the Late Bronze Age…

No wonder I was so wrecked. I wasn’t just trying to change a whole life in a week, I was trying to erase anything about me that wasn’t reconstructionist for the pantheon. All the while desperately hoping that They would be pleased, that a mistake wouldn’t draw disfavor…All the while, They are not getting to know me because I’m not talking to Them, but about Them…

No, no no NO NO.

I started getting the message when I would pick up the books or visit random websites (pagan and otherwise) and open to the sections that encouraged a sincere, if clumsy, heart-felt devotion more than by-the-book ritual.  Also, I did get help from the Deities, not because I had the ritual well, but because I asked for help, and They answered.

(I am not singling out the Canaanite gods or Natib Qadish.  It just happens to be mentioned here because it is the reconstruction path I have started on. )

I don’t need to change my friends (other Guardians/Deities). I don’t need to suppress the interests and things that are outside the reconstructed path.  I don’t have to do things in the Reconstructed Way.

For now, I’ll keep things simple–a candle, maybe some incense, and time to sit and talk with Them.