For the first time in a long time; this New Moon felt like a chore. Almost everyone around me seemed to be suffering with a form of shaman sickness; manifesting their shadow through their physical selves, whilst technology seemed to fail entirely, and the general atmosphere of the world seemed toxic beyond all measure.
It’s not always a popular move to point out when the spiritual ecosystem feels funky, but to deny that areas need addressing is a head in the sand style move that leads us back to the problems of spiritual stagnation.
In the build up towards the Winter Solstice which is now approximately a month away, there has been a weird pausing of energy that has brought forth all that which is causing us to feel poisoned within the self and giving it physical symptom so that we can not ignore or deny that aspect of ourselves any longer.
Furthermore, the manifestation has seemed to linger particularly on a physical symptom relative to an aspect of ourselves that we ought to be engaging with, but for whatever reason we have pulled away from doing so.
For myself, this was wrist pain.
And whilst I titter to myself on one level about the meaning, I knew what this New Moons poisonous tail was actually stabbing at; the message was to write.
Everyone around me seemed to experience something similar, experiencing pain and sickness with a body part that was directly correlated to a talent or calling that they had ignored or feared on some level; to notice the pain and the absence of being able to engage with that emphasized the notion of “what if you lost the ability to do this completely? Then get on with it.”
This seemed to tie into another thread which echoes throughout; the necessary and needed f*ck up.
Throughout November and going into December the call to #breakthemold has been at the foremost of my attention; asking Witches (and non witches alike) to smash the conventions that are being laid on us like tar; the over sanitization of Witchcraft into pretty little boxes that presents a fashionable and ultimately uniform public face to modern witches.
I cannot abide the idea that there is one “right” way to be; and moreover this overly polished and filtered image negates the discussion of the necessity of getting it wrong.
The fear of being judged, of being not enough, of leading, of making ourselves heard, is a light shadow – that with an audience we will be deemed as a failure. Which is reinforced in a society that punishes the idea of the mistake.
I find the idea of the necessary f*ck up to be incredibly enlightening; we as human beings are continuously learning by trial and error, and there should be no shame attached to this; it is embracing the sensory exploration of the world around us; from the child learning that something hot should not merit naked fingers, to the social etiquette of considering others feelings and boundaries; a process which is individual and constantly evolving for how we approach relationships with others (and ourselves) is a process of trial and error – we learn what we find pleasant and agreeable, what is not to our tastes, what we really dislike… and then we begin to question why that is so, and allow for our preferences to change and adapt as we grow.
So why is it that when it comes to spirituality, there is frequently an onus on the concept of the “right” way to practice? Why do we not celebrate when things go hideously wrong? At best we talk about the “silver lining” of a lesson – which also denies the premise that some situations do not have to teach us anything positive; sometimes the f*ck up is exactly the point.
It strengthens our ability to be able to just say “no,” to another circumstance which feels the same way without having to justify our every decision.
I recently happened across a toxic form of what I am dubbing “anti-sisterhood” in which women throw the actions of other women under the bus. The apparent lamentation that women are “pretending” to be strong by exhibiting cautiousness in the progression of personal interactions with possible sexual partners. This for me had devolved into the actually f*cked up; a poisonous symptom of a sick society that exhibits behaviours relative to the conditioning that has been swallowed for so long that it leads some to feel entitled to their agenda without the consideration for the emotions or boundaries of others.
Like the systematic attack on the animal kingdom that offers animals up as (supposedly) non-sentient play things for blood sport, or the poisoning of the land by oil spill which was caused by the refusal of those in government to listen to the very real concerns of the people of the land.
As we approach the Winter Solstice, there is a shadow purging. We cannot hide from our shadow any longer, with that which poisons both us and society being dragged into the spotlight, ready or not. How we react to the ongoing reveal of all that which has been purposefully concealed is our test.
It won’t be easy. It will likely be painful. But it is necessary.
The dinosaurs are dying out.
Stay Fluxxy, Starlets
Many blessings, Joey
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