My Tower Crumbled

In a not so spectacular way either.

Two days before Valentine’s Day the boss came into the office while I was doing some work.  She waited until another coworker left the office and closed the door.  It was time for something serious.  Really serious.  The store was closing.  Not only that but the store was closing in three days.  I was the only one to know for most of a day, thanks to my status of store manager(whee).  Then it began to trickle down through the ranks.

Our household of three employed people was suddenly down to one.  We have had our home for only 3 months and the shit hit the fan in a major way.

I remember sitting in a stunned state up front, trying to go through the motions and trying to remain chipper with a coworker who had yet been informed.  I remember calling out to the gods in my head.  Weeping in my mind and hoping that something positive would happen.

I spent Valentine’s Day filling out applications for a job that would pull more in then the job that Grendal helped me get.  For the time being I am a bus assistant at a local school district.  It is something new.  It is interesting.  It helps us, barely, pay our bills.  Most of all, it keeps me from slipping into depression.  Grendal fretted over me and I finally cried a week after I was first told that the store would be no more.

I am employed.  Divo is employed.  For the moment we are safe, but not comfortable.

Grendal pushed for us to find a table for our altar. We found one and it is up. We placed the items on it. We placed offerings out.

Even my mother told me to pray and place offerings out for the gods.

I am seeing things. More like little signs. A book I read. Seeing a bottle of wine I associate with Odin (Ravenswood) at a restaurant where it is an atypical brand.

It seems like I need to listen. Someone is trying to reach out and I have to accept the aid.

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When I Was Young

Are you sensing a theme here? Last one for a while, I swear.

I mentioned in my previous post about roughly when I began to wander down the Pagan path but, to be honest, it started earlier than middle school.

Religion wasn’t really part of our lifestyle when I was growing up. I vaguely remember my older sister going to a bible study group and there being a Precious Moments bible with her name in it. When ever we visited my grandparents (before we moved up here) for Christmas we would go to the midnight service and sing.

On the other hand my mother told me about a few practices still held in Hawai’i. Offerings were and are still given to Pele. Fish were cleansed with blocks of salt so nothing would steal away with it to your home while the fishermen still asked Kanaloa, the Sea God, for permission to fish.  It had struck me as strange that a large catholic community was paying homage to old gods.  Ones deemed unreal by the prominent faith.

Yet it the idea of multiple gods wasn’t strange to me.  Even at a young age I didn’t believe that one being could take care of everything and answer everyone.  I went to a few churches through my friends.  I loved the singing, didn’t like sunday school, and thought the church with the potluck lunch was amazing(I still think church food is the best food).  The biblical stories never resonated with me.  I didn’t gravitate to them.  I knew them, though.  I knew of the Flood.  I knew of the Jews and their Moses.  Jesus and his doings.  After that, not much else.  It all seemed so dry.  The Old Testament was more interesting than the New Testament.  I read through my mother’s old catholic bible.

I gravitated to the Greek/Roman mythologies.  While being Hawai’ian and having a mother who still partially believed in the Gods of the islands, she never told me their stories.  I would have loved them when I was younger.  I devoured the stories left over from the old times.  I knew the gods names and who correlated with who when you compared the Greeks and the Romans.  Hercules was my favorite television show for a while because I knew the characters.

But those gods never spoke to me.  I did try to connect with them.  I may have tried to force it, but you can’t really force a god to do something they don’t want.

I tried connecting with God’s. Different ones. Hawai’ian deities, Greek gods, Japanese gods, and Celtic ones. I spoke to the faeries and spirits. They answered but the gods were always quiet. I tried speaking through meditation and tarot but nothing happened.

Grendal is the one I can thank for bringing me close to the Norse gods. He has ways had an affinity towards Thor. Hindsight is always 50/50. Looking back on it I should have known that they were close. Things were shifting. I was seeing more. The Norse gods found me.

I thought I could pick who was my main deity to work with. I read about the gods and couldn’t wait to choose. Odin made it clear that I was to contact him first. Slowly I felt Loki, dancing at the edge of it all. Things go missing or misplaced for an hour. Thor is there, peripherally, with Grendal. I have sensed Frigga as well as Frey and Freya. Then Skadi came to me, in the midst of last year’s frigid northern winter. Bow making and hunting has become a widely talked about subject.

I am sad that the Hawai’ian deities didn’t take an interest in me but my father’s side had been ignored for so long. Leave it to the black sheep to be the one They reach out to.

Yet, I was waiting.

Oh, to Be Young Again

Please note the sarcasm.

Imbolc happened over the weekend. I saw people on various social sites wishing each other the best and showing pictures of their celebrations, no matter how small.  While I am no longer some semblance of Wiccan I remember the holy days and have a few friends who still practice in some form.
Despite all that I saw none of my local pagans wishing each other a happy Imbolc.

Then again it might have had something to do with the fact we had blizzard conditions that day.

When I started on my pagan path, nearly 18 years ago (I was one of those girls who got interested thanks to The Craft[only one to stick with it]), all I had were dated books and random websites with MySpace like glittery banners. I would sneak some reading time at the local library and eventually worked up the courage in asking to buy one. My mother said no and her long lost catholic childhood reared it’s ugly head. I printed up information on Wicca to calm her worries and it seemed to help.  For the most part my family was accepting (I had gotten in trouble a year earlier for having one of the books and passing ‘evil’ notes with a fellow girl). I got my books in time.

One of the big things I wanted to do was celebrate the holidays within the Wiccan belief. I wrote down the names and the dates, learned what they were about. I was so excited but always confused. The dates made no sense. A good example is Imbolc. How could I celebrate the coming of spring when the air is frigid, the world still sleeping, and everything dusted in snow?

It wasn’t until many years later, honestly a few years ago, that I found people who were of the thought and opinion to shift things around so it fits your locale. The idea seemed so foreign, full of hearsay, and too damn good. I went with it, slowly fixing things to suit the northern lifestyle. This was also around the time where my beliefs were shifting once more. I was being pulled towards heathenry/asatru/what ever it is I try to call it. Past experiences were finally making sense. No more confusion and worry. Three years later it hasn’t changed.

My holidays now rotate how the world outside my door is happening. Spring hasn’t occurred. There is no specific day for the changing of the seasons now. I see sprouts and buds, spring is coming. The world is hot and in full bloom, summer is there. The cicadas are singing, fall is about to happen. And, for me, it is never truely winter until snow is falling, though the frigid temperatures do help.

If I could go back to the new pagan me, I would tell her to go with what seems right, but keep reading. Explore Wicca until you are done. Your gods have been waiting but know you will find them when the time is right.