Spiritual Depression

Sometimes, I don’t want to meditate. I don’t want to look at my altars or shrines. I don’t want to fast or cleanse. I don’t want to sing adorations or compose hymns. I don’t want to serve some unseen things for which I faithfully lift my heart up in offering. I don’t want to read the books or ask the questions. I don’t want to burn the things, pour the waters or anoint the body. I don’t want to listen and argue and understand others. I don’t want to travel or work in otherworlds. I don’t want to gather flowers, herbs or sweet smelling oils. I don’t want to sit on that cushion. I don’t want to acknowledge the difficulty and ordeals of my Will. I don’t want to be naked and bathed. I don’t want to wear silks and soft cottons against my skin. I don’t want to hug you. I don’t want to become intoxicated or numbed. I don’t want to walk in the woods. I don’t want to eat the good foods rich in sunshine and dark loam. I don’t want to fly with birds. I don’t want to wash the dishes or sweep the floor or vacuum the rugs. I don’t want to communicate with ancestors or deities or spirits of this land. I don’t want blue skies. I don’t want hard cement with cracks of rebelling lawn beneath my feet. I don’t want to draw cards or divine the future. I don’t want central heat in lieu of a fireplace. I don’t want to snap out of it. I don’t want to hear advice.

Sometimes, I want to Love and be enveloped by Love. I want to not hurt. I want equanimity for every being. I want the impossible and unattainable, manifested. I want to face Hekate without Fear. I want poetry written on falling autumn leaves. I want to walk in beauty. I want to give and receive compassion. I want to be the messenger of Gods. I want to shower every day without making huge efforts. I want to wash the dishes, do the laundry, go shopping and pay the bills with a dharmic attitude. I want to take my loved ones with me to the next level. I want to gather and worship under a full moon with other witches of integrity. I want to get off this couch, walk in the sunbeams with rainbow energy rays shooting out my butt. I want to bury myself in His arms, feel His fur on my face and His tears to wash away all sorrow. I want my readers to know how much they mean to me. I want to write truth into the akashic records of internet for future generations to see I didn’t know WTF I was talking about, but still dared to do ALL the things. I want clean water, air, books and food accessible for everyone. I want to stop grasping at this world and be liberated from it. Mostly, I want lactose-free pudding that tastes delicious.

Always, this is OKAY: our spiritual lives are not defined by what we do during active seasons, but how we handle our own limitations. A constant routine is a good habit to make but sometimes it needs a break. Allowing ourselves to step back and let the magick HAPPEN is what a true practitioner needs from time to time. It does not mean we are lazy, or unproductive, or any less devoted to our Gods and Spirits. We need time to rest, refresh, reorganize, re-strategize and revisit our own spirit every now and again. To come back from the depths with strength and a renewed vigor is not always a necessity either; always slow and methodical is a safer, more productive means of rejoining the ranks of powerful magicians and witches. It is not weakness, nor does it prove any superhuman strength, to wallow in the Underworld for so long that we cannot see the stairs of ascension. In our own way and patience, we will not rise like a phoenix in glory as so many books and teachers promise, but softly like a grub beneath the compost of garbage we allowed to be piled on top of us. We are part of that heap,  fertilizing the garden of transcendence. The scars thicken our skin and allows for whipped welts to unburden our spirits. Have that good cry in the shower, eat what your body craves, bathe in the piss and shit and vomit with our broken souls…because it all washes off eventually.

WytchfawnSpiritual Depression