I'm in a palce that can only be solved by writing. I am not i na dteachign palce or an explaining palce, but a palce where i muast write down everything that has been going on.Today is so much, the beginning of the second week of Extraordinary Time and Father's Day as well, I find out--and this makes me feel all sorts of guilt for not knowing it--that it is the Soltice. I get my ass up to see a beautiful sunrise but there is just no sleep this day, not until so much sleep in the afternoon when I wake up nearly at nine, not till I spent until almsot eleven feeling groggy and feeling frigtenend and epressed about the unemployment money coming to an end, about the possiblity of never workign agian, enver find good work again, being poor, all the little worries. When I am fianlly able to sit down and do the last meditation, the oen that brings on the magic, I think too mch, think what am I longing for when I say I'm longing for peace? What am i doing here, what do I want, how can I get out of my own mind and into the magic, jhow can I get ot what must be. My thoughs my worries, all the diretions I am growing in, but that I think I am going in, are filling my head. I can;t get away from myself.
I am in love with Mass. Maybe I ought to stop. It doesn't pyschologically seem to help anything when I do one. I say they're good, but they aren't much. Maybe i'm growing away from them. Maybe i need to let myself grow in the direction my Self is growing. Maybe I do violence to myself by going back to things. Maybe i need to go back to them to learn how much violence I do.
I wish I could alwyas be visiting people, always be getting away from my mind. I think what a silly thing that mind is, how prone to worry it is, how prone to concentrating on the walls in front of it.
I get afraid at Alban Heflin, the beginning of the shortening of days. Days have gotten longer and longer and now they grow toward winter, which is a bit of a lie because summer cannot begin until this time, the hottest days are still to come, a luxurious stretch of summer is before us much the same way that winter will not come, not the terrors of winter monts until AFTEr the solstice. The soltice is misleading. Thinking of this as the last day that I will have unemployment insurance I become afraid of an insecure future. I become, flally, afraid. I am afraid that not only will I not find work, but that I will fail to even look with any wisdom or actual skill and desire.
I am no a new path. I am trying to honor it. I am amazed by it. It is clear to me that I am becoming a druid, have been doing so for a while. I am growing up from witchcraft into this, which is to say, for me this is an evolution, not for all. Some may go the other way. This is who I am and that is exceiting. I want to tell so many people, but who to tell. And how to celebrate it. I feel like my celebrations are so lacking, so undone. I hardly know what I am doing. i put so much pressure on myself, but as I settle down to sleep at eleven or so I realize, I am the little child. I am the ultimate little child just beginning, and you are midwife, mother, high priest, teacher. It is time to decrease, to decease, to turn over. To trust.
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