Mysticism
I have this really strong inclination towards mysticism. I have since I was a little kid. There were creatures inhabiting my world with me, going on walks with me through snow shrouded pine forests, climbing trees with me, hiding in swamps with me... My world was populated with every manner of imaginary creature, and some not so imaginary. I had no doubts or questions, though I did often wish that I didn't see so much. Sadly, because of the religion I was raised in, everything I saw was evil. I knew it wasn't angels, I never once thought my world was populated with angels. Everything I saw was earthy and mischievous, sometimes very dark, sometimes very light, but never from God. Which I was taught meant that it had to be from the Devil. There was no room for anything else. Light was good, dark was bad. Even worse, since it would have been very inconvenient to this religions hold on its people if God still manifested himself in some way to individuals OTHER than the Governing Body, anything you saw that was light was actually just the darkness masquerading as light. Basically anything out of the norm was from the Devil. Growing up as a mystical little kid in a haunted house on a plot of extremely active land, this belief made me fear my sight intensely. And fear attracts more fear, attracts things to fear. I can not tell you how much a whirling morass of fear my childhood was, surrounded by things I wasn't supposed to see and convinced by those who loved me that I was one small step away from losing Gods love forever because of it.
When I left that religion behind, I also left my trust and love of mysticism behind. I embraced atheism enthusiastically, and gobbled up social, theoretical, and physical science books. Then I met a woman who claimed to be a witch, and she did a number of my mind, convincing me of her own power while making me feel guilty for not really believing her. She re-introduced me to a love of mysticism, though, a love of ritual. She introduced me to Tarot, and sex magic, and the power of intimidation. Long after she and I were no longer friends, I was throwing herbs into my cauldrons and breathing in the smoke while invoking my will on my world. Not spells, not formalized. Just... a little bit of ritual and a lot of magic. Spells felt like claptrap, like the trappings of religion, required to create order around a belief system but not required to understand and utilize. That's what most peoples belief in mysticism feels like to me. Just... clothing. A way to not feel so naked in the face of something much larger than you, whether that larger something be God, the Universe, Magic, or something else.
When I hit a wall, when I found that my will wasn't strong enough to craft magic to get me out of a bad situation, I fell right back into my old mindset of eschewing anything mystical. I didn't trust myself, didn't trust my beliefs, and certainly didn't trust my abilities. I used to be able to connect deeply to the world around me, close my eyes and touch the energy of the universe that sings in every bit of matter we can see, and everything we can't see. It wasn't magic in the sense that I believed in a system of energy outside the laws of physics. It was just trust that I didn't know everything there was to know about physics, but something in my body did. Something inside me could connect to far more than my external shell was capable of. That's still how I view it. When I read Tarot, and the messages I'm getting are remarkably accurate, I see it as my minds ability to grasp and interpret symbols and ques too small for my forebrain to reach. If there is something external pushing my hands, something else vibrating the cards to encourage me to pick one over the other... so be it. That's not something I've ever seen or thought about. I just trust in the power of symbolism, and enjoy the use of tools that help me interpret those symbols.
This farm, though. This farm is encouraging me to open my arms wide and fall right back into a childhood knowledge of the world around me. Walking through the swampy forest yesterday, looking for a stubborn dog, I found myself laughing while slipping and almost falling on a slick part of a tiny bridge. Twice. Because there was a creature there hoping I'd fall into the stream. Mischievous energy, wild energy, something I can talk to without fear of what I'll hear back. Walking through the garden feels like walking into a conservatory. Protected and warm, regardless of the weather. Looking out the windows at night, I feel things looking back at me. Not all friendly, but none frightening. The dogs and cats who make their home here already feel like familiars. We go walking the grounds in the morning, and we all stop together and watch a corner of the world where we know something is happening. Maybe they can see it more clearly than I can, but I can definitely sense it. And being able to see it doesn't feel so farfetched anymore. Being on this farm feels like being in the middle of a busy village while blindfolded. You can sense the air currents moving around you, hear the rustle and murmur of people around you doing their thing, and every now and then someone walks by so close that their shadow obscures the light from the sun in your eyes. Nobody means you harm. They're living their lives, though curious about you. Maybe some of them will try and fuck with you while your eyes are blindfolded, but not maliciously.
I don't know. I don't know how I feel about a lot of woowoo shit, and I hate how I sound when I talk about it. But I love how I feel when I acknowledge how little I know, and how much potential there is out there for more than is immediately obvious. And I love the warm rush of power I feel when I tap into that potential. Even if that warm rush of power is purely placebo.
When I left that religion behind, I also left my trust and love of mysticism behind. I embraced atheism enthusiastically, and gobbled up social, theoretical, and physical science books. Then I met a woman who claimed to be a witch, and she did a number of my mind, convincing me of her own power while making me feel guilty for not really believing her. She re-introduced me to a love of mysticism, though, a love of ritual. She introduced me to Tarot, and sex magic, and the power of intimidation. Long after she and I were no longer friends, I was throwing herbs into my cauldrons and breathing in the smoke while invoking my will on my world. Not spells, not formalized. Just... a little bit of ritual and a lot of magic. Spells felt like claptrap, like the trappings of religion, required to create order around a belief system but not required to understand and utilize. That's what most peoples belief in mysticism feels like to me. Just... clothing. A way to not feel so naked in the face of something much larger than you, whether that larger something be God, the Universe, Magic, or something else.
When I hit a wall, when I found that my will wasn't strong enough to craft magic to get me out of a bad situation, I fell right back into my old mindset of eschewing anything mystical. I didn't trust myself, didn't trust my beliefs, and certainly didn't trust my abilities. I used to be able to connect deeply to the world around me, close my eyes and touch the energy of the universe that sings in every bit of matter we can see, and everything we can't see. It wasn't magic in the sense that I believed in a system of energy outside the laws of physics. It was just trust that I didn't know everything there was to know about physics, but something in my body did. Something inside me could connect to far more than my external shell was capable of. That's still how I view it. When I read Tarot, and the messages I'm getting are remarkably accurate, I see it as my minds ability to grasp and interpret symbols and ques too small for my forebrain to reach. If there is something external pushing my hands, something else vibrating the cards to encourage me to pick one over the other... so be it. That's not something I've ever seen or thought about. I just trust in the power of symbolism, and enjoy the use of tools that help me interpret those symbols.
This farm, though. This farm is encouraging me to open my arms wide and fall right back into a childhood knowledge of the world around me. Walking through the swampy forest yesterday, looking for a stubborn dog, I found myself laughing while slipping and almost falling on a slick part of a tiny bridge. Twice. Because there was a creature there hoping I'd fall into the stream. Mischievous energy, wild energy, something I can talk to without fear of what I'll hear back. Walking through the garden feels like walking into a conservatory. Protected and warm, regardless of the weather. Looking out the windows at night, I feel things looking back at me. Not all friendly, but none frightening. The dogs and cats who make their home here already feel like familiars. We go walking the grounds in the morning, and we all stop together and watch a corner of the world where we know something is happening. Maybe they can see it more clearly than I can, but I can definitely sense it. And being able to see it doesn't feel so farfetched anymore. Being on this farm feels like being in the middle of a busy village while blindfolded. You can sense the air currents moving around you, hear the rustle and murmur of people around you doing their thing, and every now and then someone walks by so close that their shadow obscures the light from the sun in your eyes. Nobody means you harm. They're living their lives, though curious about you. Maybe some of them will try and fuck with you while your eyes are blindfolded, but not maliciously.
I don't know. I don't know how I feel about a lot of woowoo shit, and I hate how I sound when I talk about it. But I love how I feel when I acknowledge how little I know, and how much potential there is out there for more than is immediately obvious. And I love the warm rush of power I feel when I tap into that potential. Even if that warm rush of power is purely placebo.
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