So that’s me, last Saturday, having a good time playing disc golf with Nathan and a couple of friends of ours. It was unseasonably warm, and despite not having enough sleep, and still not having nailed the dosage of NDT, actually enjoying myself for a little while. These days, it seems a rare occurrence for me- not by choice, but because of brain/body chemistry and life experiences making it very difficult to find some happy.
Nathan has made me quotable on many occasions, but the one that speaks to this most is: “I feel like I’m 33 levels (my age) into a 100 level game (most people don’t live past that age). I have no idea what I’m doing, what the point of the game is, and I’m loosing, except that I seem to have an infinite number of ‘lives’ just to prolong the torture, because I want nothing more than for the game to be over.”
I was born into a blended faith family. Mom was Catholic, Dad was Mormon. By the time I was a freshman in High School I knew neither was for me. Ridiculous rules, boring services, and things that I just couldn’t fathom intelligent people believing. At that point I’d been to a Methodist church, a Pentecostal church, a Quaker church, and Lutheran church. Baptists scared me too much to even bother, and the others didn’t seem different enough to investigate. I’d started reading Buddhist texts, and in school we were covering mythology, and honestly there were elements of both that resonated with me, and the rest wasn’t any worse than the christian options. I didn’t really label myself though.
By sophomore year I’d made new friends (we’d moved into that school the year before) and one of them claimed she was pagan- a witch. I asked her how she came to that decision, and she said she’d been reading books and found one she felt fit. I said cool- can I read some of them. I just wanted to see what it was about. I got into the 3rd book, and there were many elements that started to feel right. It was a woman discussing a her journey and how pieces of religions felt right, but the whole of any didn’t. She started discussing Wicca and it’s history, and how it was pieced together by its founders based on just that premise. Putting the right pieces together to make a religious puzzle fit the practitioner. That really resonated.
After much reading and a couple years contemplation, I decided I was what was termed an eclectic-solitary-pagan. Simply, my beliefs tend toward the pagan spectrum because I don’t agree with the Singular-God-Head, and I eclectically pull from several religions to make my solitary puzzle fit.
That worked for years. Worked- being the operative word. It doesn’t really anymore.
I’ve seen and met others that have had miracles in their lives. So those must exist right- and some deity must be responsible for miracles- right?! There are stories all over the globe in many different religions with many different deity structures- of Miracles- yet I’ve never experienced one. And OH, I’ve asked, and begged, and pleaded, and prayed hundreds of thousands of times over.
I’ve done Magic a few times for sure, and a few others on a maybe level.
“Magic is the art and science of creating change in conformity with will.”
– Aleister Crowley
By that description of Magic, the Law of Attraction is Magic, and I know I’ve managed to attract myself a few things. Though, I seem to be great at attracting more of the same, like the time I replaced a dead van with a battered and beaten but running van- out of thin air. I’ve also done pagan style magic that worked, like the time I spun enough energy in High School to encourage a job offer for my Dad out of nowhere. He was so surprised when the company he thought was a flop called 2 days later to offer him a job with wages he couldn’t refuse. But, that is not how everything works.
If so, why can’t I make bigger, more important changes in my life. Why haven’t I been able to break 30 grand a year despite numerous attempts in 3 separate fields of work, 2 with educations behind them. Why haven’t I been able to manifest a beautiful home and nice cars- I’ve done numerous things to invite those into my life. Vision Boards, Prosperity Journals, Gratitude Journals, Meditations, Mojo Bags, Candle Magic, chanted with prayer beads, drumming circles, energy work, I’ve even painted and drawn pictures with my own hands of the things I would most definitely love to have. Nothing, Nada, Zip, Zilch, None.
Yet, I’ve had psychic experiences that tell me the spirit world is real. I know for certain that I have communicated with people/spirits/energies that were either deceased people I knew of, or were at least referencing those people. It’s hard not to believe that, when you have tingles flood your awareness driving home from an event, and you see your husband’s ex’s deceased farther clear as day in your mind’s eye. It was like a dude I barely knew jabbing me all over trying to get my attention, I knew it had to do with the Ex, but wasn’t sure what. A month later she told us she had cancer. She’s now deceased, and there’s been twice now I new she was trying to tell me something- what I have no idea. I just knew she was nagging me from the dead. How in the hell do you tell a dead person that you never liked them when they were alive, and please go the F- away?! Then there was Sarah- I thought for certain that name belonged to my unborn baby, and she was trying to help me figure out the blood sugar-allergy puzzle when I was pregnant. Surprise- baby was a boy, I named him Ian. So who the hell was Sarah?
Yet, my life still -generally speaking- sucks. Meditations help, but only briefly. They simply bring enough calm to endure the miserable circumstances of daily life a bit longer, and make it to another meditation. Without them though, I’m certain I’d have truly lost my battle with depression long ago.
So, despite knowing that there is a spirit side of our Universe, and knowing that Law of Attraction/Magic can help sometimes, I’m left with a sinking feeling that whatever is out there doesn’t really care about me. If he/she/it/they did care about me and my miserable existence, there would have been a miracle or several miracles at this point. You’d think that if I mattered I’d at least have my health and mental facilities restored. Heavens know I have prayed at least a million times for help, knowing that in those moments I was crazy and my brain wasn’t working right. Knowing that I was on the brink of loosing myself for good. In those moments I didn’t want a million dollars, a new home, or a shiny car. In those moments, I only wanted sanity, mental health, physical health. Do I have that yet? NO, not truly- what baby steps I have taken in that direction were all my efforts, all my research, all of my educated guessing, all my own actions.
So, at the end of the day, I don’t really know what that makes me, or what classification my beliefs currently fall under. All I know is that whatever divine is out there, most likely has written me off, and that the only good in my life literally has come from what my own two hands have done. So in my life- My Hands Are God.