Deciding what to write for H has been difficult. There were many topics I debated: humility, honor, happiness, health, honesty. I wanted to save “history” for this week’s post, in order to calm down and think rationally on the topic that is so dear to my heart. So I hemmed and I hawwed, debating what topic would best suit my blog and my mission here, but nothing came.
I had some to say on a few topics, but nothing to write a lot about. They still needed to mull, to gestate in my mind before I was ready to write about them. And nothing felt “right.” So I thought back and I looked for inspiration in the past and in the words of others.
Last year, for this post, I wrote on my personal hesitation and its connection to my own fears. In that post, I said
Hesitation is something each of us deal with, that moment where doubt settles in and we can no longer be as we were, can no longer trust that our outstretched hand won’t be burned, bit, or broken. The Fear has settled deep.
I am unsure what exactly it is I’m afraid of when it comes to my faith. Probably the idea that I will lose myself or lose my sanity or discovering that I was never sane to begin with. Whatever it is, I have been sinking deeper into a depression. It is not only my faith, though, that is doing this, but my mundane life as well. I just have little energy to do anything and don’t know how to fix it. Alcohol has become more of a siren call than I am comfortable with. For the first time in my life, I got drunk. And again a few days later. I’ve been drinking more and more, though I have not done enough to destroy myself.
I just want to lose myself. I want to unclench my tight grip on reality and just be for once. To lose control and just relax. I have a desperate stronghold on my life and I feel like, maybe, it is slowly killing me. Perhaps that is what I need. A death, of a kind. It wouldn’t surprise me.
As a student of mythology, I have read too many tales of those who desired power and were consumed by it; as a student of literature, I have read too many stories of those who were corrupted and died from their own failings. Shakespeare alone should provide enough cautionary tales to the reader to prove my point.
And yet, I desire the knowledge, the power, the truth. I call myself a “witch,” and yet my practice has faltered. How am I to dig my claws into the rich loam of the Universe if I don’t trust it and myself?
Reading over my past words, my past thoughts, I find myself saddened by how little I feel I’ve changed. As much as I reach out, I still find myself hesitating before touching what it is I’m searching for, questioning myself and my desires, wondering if I’m making the right decision. Yet, as I press on and think harder on my growth these past nine months since moving to Virginia, I see how far I’ve come. I’ve grown more connected to my gods, seeing their guiding hands in little details of my life; I’ve experienced more spirits in this place than I have in many years of my life. I’ve begun to break down the barriers of “logic” versus “instinct” and bridge the gap between the “scientific skeptic” and the “willing believer” personas that I have fought between for so long.
Perhaps this is what it means to live a spiritual life. Finding a balance between faith and reason and strengthening that balance. If so, why do I still hesitate? Why do I still pull back slightly, as if cringing away from the truth of what I seek? Why am I still lost in the Forest, despite constantly moving forward? What is it, even, that I am looking for?
There is always more growth to be hand, another inch to stretch for, yet we hold ourselves back at every turn, restrain ourselves against our wants and desires. Instead, we favor the “necessities” of life and creature comforts. We turn away from what we ache for most. Why is that?