A Witch and Her Garden.

The garden has been neglected for weeks. I admire the rose, the hibiscus with blooms as big as my outstretched hand, the Oregano That Ate The World, the little balloon flowers. But I haven't weeded or pruned or tended in far too long.

Husband didn't work today, due  to the ridiculous storms this morning, so the chores aren't all on me today. I do need to get a few dinner things. I do need to find out where the hell all my work-appropriate t-shirts have gone.

But.

I need to go outside, stick my hands on soil, get dirty. Remind myself that this job and the lousy commute and living in the Trailer Park of the Dammned won't last forever.

Outside, witch.

Better Pissed Off Than Pissed On, Or Why Tao Jones Is Right.

Yesterday, I was looking at where else I might be able to afford to ride, and eventually leverage that into teaching again. I realized that I was feeling less crushed and despairing and more pissed off at my summary and rather shitty dismissal.

Then I thought, fuck this. You forgot. The Good Barn wasn't supposed to be forever - you lost sight of the end goal. You forgot, when you came home grieving and broken, that this was temporary, that all this has ever really been about is you eventually running your own show. Your own barn. Your lessons, run your way. You got comfy and you forgot. Re-break your horse, or pay someone else to do it - he'd actually pay for himself with two lessons a week. Don't go back to where you were, because it is gone for a reason.

And I looked at Tao's comment again, him saying he believes in me, and thought, how? He doesn't really know me. But maybe he does. Maybe Tao is a little smarter about me than I am, right now. Maybe he's right, and the thing to do is dust off my sandals and keep moving toward where I'm really supposed to be.

I have no idea how this will happen. I need at least two schooling horses and the room and time to teach. But I managed to pull my shit together posthaste and find us a place to live, two cars, and enough work that we survived rather well after The Hasband decided to call it quits. Surely I can pull this off. To quote Uncle Aleister, if I do my Will, no other shall say nay.

And who's going to look under my saddle to see if it's got sigils all over it, anyway?

The First Rule Of Witch Club...

"Let's pretend. You're the Department of Transportation, okay? Someone informs you that this company installs front seat mounting brackets that never pass collision tests, brake linings that fail after a thousand miles and fuel injectors that explode and burn people alive. What then?" - Tyler Durden, Fight Club

Let's pretend. You're a witch, okay? Someone informs you that despite the fact that when you moved into the shared house it was with the agreement that no other housemates would be moved in without everyone agreeing, he's moving in his girlfriend and her two kids and you have no choice in the matter, and he's gotten the crazy landlady's ok even though he can't get her on the phone for anything else, like the central air that hasn't worked since April. And he's being a complete asshole about it and bothering you while you're at work. What then?

Then you take the dryer lint he's too dumb to remove to a safe location, the poor frog your cat probably smothered to death, a sigil, your own piss, and then mix it all in a freezer bag like the Devil's own marinade and bury it under said housemate's window.

I didn't set out to become North America's answer to Graveyard Dirt. But when pushed, I shove.

Wherein The Ocelot And Her Husband Converse About The Dark Arts.

After a very bad day for the ocelot and her Husband (including tomfuckery at his job, a bad day at hers, her trying to go to a coven meeting that was not happening although Trothwy had said they weren't meeting this week because she is now incapable of remembering anything, and a flat tire that couldn't be replaced because it was seven-thirty before said tire could be tended to), the following conversation was had.

ME: Um, about "Abre Camino". Y'know, the road-opening thing. Apparently this can get kinda rough.

HIM: Hm. You put that stuff on my boots, didn't you?

ME: (somewhat defensively) You watched me do it.

HIM: Yeah. That Santeria stuff doesn't fuck around. Anything else you bought at the botanica that I might want to know about?

ME: Um...John the Conqueror root. (pompously) Traditionally Hoodoo. And Voodoo. Not Santeria.

HIM: Let's confine ourselves to one magical system at a time, shall we?

ME: Pfft. It's fine. (rationalization ensues)

HIM: Yeah, how are you going to feel if your day tomorrow is like the one I had today? It's like the Universe took its bulging cock and slapped me across the face with it and said (drops voice to a dirtily seductive tone), "Hey, look at this."

ME: I am so putting this on my blog.

Wherein The Ocelot Makes With The Magic.

So.

Fundie Housemate has been moping around because Husband and I were fine with his "prayer meeting" in the communal living room (his personal one is almost as big, so the question of why it had to be out there in the first place remains unanswered) until he announced that there would probably be drumming. Electronic drumming. From 9 until 11pm. Y'know, the hours when people who are fortunate enough to have jobs are sleeping.

We have to get up at 5am even on Saturdays, so being kept up by a lot of noise didn't thrill us. We expressed this concern. At no time did we say he couldn't do this - just that we did not want to be kept awake or awakened by it. Out concerns were not addressed.

Two days later - Thursday - FH told me rather glumly that he wouldn't be having his "prayer meeting". So we wouldn't be disturbed after all. "Oh,", I replied, and turned to a far more satisfying conversation with my cacti. He has been more-or-less ignoring me ever since, and I have been rather content with this.

Last night, he apparently decided that being a pain in my ass was far more fun. I was minding my own business and cooking, I-Pod Shuffle firmly on collar and headphones in ears. Rob Zombie was serenading me and I was fairly relaxed. Enter FH. Who starts babbling at me, despite the aforementioned headphones. I took them out to see what was going on now.

He asks if I have an issue with him, in tones that do not indicate any desire to return to a more friendly state of affairs. This peeves me, and I say that no, I do not*, and does he have one with me? He doesn't, he insists, but it certainly seems like I have one with him, and my attempts to explain that his perception is not my problem goes unheeded. He continues making mouth noises at me. I announce that I am cooking, I have been enjoying this Shuffle thing, and that I'm going back to what I was doing, now.

This is when he Makes A Mistake. Because over Mr. Zombie, I hear, "You're the rudest person who's ever lived here" and "I've tried to be nice."

OH NO YOU DID NOT JUST SAY THAT SHIT TO ME.**

Out go the earbuds. The Death Stare gets locked on. I intone, "OK. I AM BEGINNING TO FEEL THREATENED."

Suddenly he protests, far less forcefully, that he's not making threats, he's not being threatening. Earbuds back in, and Ignore gets set to 10. Then the freaksomeness sets in, because when Husband appears a few minutes later, FH acts like there is nothing. going. on.

I explain, when FH exits, that I am seriously over this shit, and if this dude thinks he's going to throw tantrums at me every time he doesn't get his way (eating entire sticks of my butter without asking, letting his guests come in and use whatever they like, not keeping us awake, using my sugar without asking, etc.), he is in for a full-force Bringing Down The Fiery Shit Right On His Head.

But then I think, after a fitful night's sleep. What do I really want? If he leaves, there might be someone even worse. I like the yard and even The Land, and don't really want to move. I really just want him to leave me alone, to not speak to me beyond "excuse me" or "good morning/evening", to keep his guests out of my things, and to generally behave as though I don't exist. How to go about it? I need quick and dirty. This is when I recall these things called "freezer spells". Off to Rune Soup (link) I go, and take a trip to Kroger and the local botanica.

So the ocelot's To Do list looks like this:
1. Bind FH.
2. Open roads for new, improved job and new, improved housing.
3. Try to find clothes for a 6pm wedding that aren't black.
4. Try to stem the tide of laundry by actually putting the clean clothes away.

Wish me luck - and safety. This guy's obviously got problems, and I want to be left out of them.


*Yes, I know I do, indeed, have issues with him. Hypocritical and bad. But as these are issues unlikely to be resolved by anything short of me converting or him learning the basic lesson of "don't touch what isn't yours, up to and including someone's belief system", neither of which is likely, I see no point in addressing this.

**When someone says this when you're obviously trying to ignore them, it's a threat in my book. There's the implication that you're going to start being unpleasant, and when you're already being unpleasant, well, what's next? Especially when other women who have rented here have called the cops on you for being threatening, if not violent. Other Housemate discounted that incident, but I'm starting to think I should have dug a little deeper about it before moving in.

Wherein The Ocelot Accomplishes A Bunch Of Stuff.

Work done: 8 hours.

Horse fed twice.

Dinner made, if somewhat disappointing.

Laundry done: two loads, including folding.

Sigil making explained to the Husband.

A divinatory spread and personal symbols made and explained: one.

Maybe the immediate, almost spontaneous creation of the last is due to the owls I heard this morning while out with the dog. They are not barred owls. I am hoping they stick around and that I can see them, but hearing them is still good. I've missed owls.

And now, to a well-earned rest while "The Wicker Man" plays in the background.

When Life Gets In The Way, Part 9,364.

Due to working at the Big Orange Store, the walking/running thing has been put by the wayside. Though I suppose I do it as part of my jobs, since neither Big Orange Store or the barn involve sitting down. Helpful fitness tip - running through sand arenas for fours hours a week will give you glutes that can crack walnuts, even if they don't look like it.

The not-smoking thing is not working. At all. I require a more tranquil period in which to start this. And maybe some horse tranquilizers.

I am experiencing low-grade terror over the following: getting a new job, not getting a new job, being fired from the Big Orange Store for not being fast enough, getting a new place to live, not getting a new place to live that is safe and affordable, my age making me less employable, unforseeable and unfixable car troubles, and general financial ruin.

I'm trying to live in each moment. I really am. I can put everything that's chasing me when I'm at the barn or at Trothwy's, even if it doesn't seem like it. I tell myself to enjoy each good moment, because that is all anyone has. It's harder to do it. It's hard for me to let go, to worry about all the things which need to be worried about later on, and just focus on being present.

I tell myself that The Gods are present wherever I am and no matter what else is going on. That They are truly something that can never be taken away. That I just need to let myself talk to Them, and that They will answer in some way.

I am terrible at all of this. But I'm trying.

Status Update.

So after deliberation and a chat with his grandma, who assured him that she will not insist we find Jesus (why these people think I lost him somewhere is beyond me, but whatever), the Husband and I will probably be moving to his grandmother's land and renovating an outbuilding into a home for us. I'll have my furchildren again, some room to garden, and maybe Grandma and I can stick to safe topics like sewing and crocheting. She'd like to keep goats for wool and milk, but I think perhaps she has not considered the trouble with the milk aspect, i.e., the keeping-them-lactating thing.

My car's "SERVICE ENGINE" light is still on, and after an estimate to replace the thermostat (which is what's likely wrong with it), Husband declared "Fuck that", and decided he'd just do it ourselves.

Lessons at the Good Barn continue to be good. The owner brooks very little client nonsense, and it's easy to hide behind her when tomfuckery is afoot, which is not often.

I finished Phase II of Frater R.O.'s Gates Rites. I have yet to experience enlightenment, but then again, the house didn't burn to the ground due to my miscalculations of the planetary hours. I'm thinking of what a real daily practice would look like for me. I've been greeting the Ancestors each day, and taking a moment to give thanks for the rising of the sun, but I feel like there's something else I should be doing. Time to sit at the altar and ask what that might be, I think.

Ceremonial Magic Afoot.

I'm doing Frater R.O.'s Seven Spheres In Seven Days. So far, it's...interesting.

I started last Thursday, just as I got hit with the double whammy of the Sinus Crud and a sudden firing from the Bad Barn*. By Saturday, I was asking the good Frater if this stuff ought to be left alone by a newbie like me if she was pretty damn sick.  Based on his response, I soldiered through. I'm still sick, but I really have to wonder if I wouldn't be bedridden by now if I weren't doing this; I'm better for a while after each Rite, and have at least been able to go to work at the Good Barn.

I also joined the FB group he's set up to discuss results, though with my normal tendency not to discuss Work until it's done, I'm probably not contributing much. But I'm doing it - maybe not perfectly, maybe reading from cue cards, maybe in a way that would give any real magician fits, but sticking with this nonetheless.

Now it's off to feed the horse, get some groceries, and buy a piece of wood for a proper Table Of Practice.


*Via email, no less. The Bad Barn has apparently done this kind of thing before, or so goes horse community scuttlebutt. Considering that they apparently wanted the remaining trainer to use a horse with blood-spurting wounds in her lessons, I think this was a straight-up blessing, no disguise needed. And I think a call to the ASPCA may be in order. A little "heads-up" to Epona will happen at the very least.

Weather Report.

Temperature: chilly. Hooray!

Time: 8:32am.

Six-hour forecast: continuation of Rufus Opus's Seven Gates in Seven Days Rites, with today's being Venus. Riding lesson after the Rite. Pumpkin-picking and Samhain dinner with Housemates, Husband, and friends.

Advisory: go take the stew meat out of the fridge before you forget.

When Life Gets In The Way.

Despite my best intentions to Demand Some Answers this Sunday, life got in the way.

First, a lesson at the New Barn, which was fabulous. My students were adorable and pretty darn talented. Next was meeting The Ex to get my dog for a walk in the state forest. Then home and chatting with Housemate #1. After that, off to the store for foodstuffs. Cooking of the foodstuffs followed. Husband was in bed and dead to the world by 9pm after a grueling day spent disposing of The Jeep That Would Not Run, (aka Remind Me To Curse Hell Out Of The Asshole Who Sold Us This Thing).

And then I went to bed, as Husband has overtime this week. Despite it being "overtime", this actually means that he has to be at work at 4am. Which meant we had to be up by 2:10am at the latest in order to feed him and pack his lunch and whatnot. Ugh. Money good. Schedule bad.

I've got five hours before I have to be at the New Barn again for more lessons, and I fully intend to get some time in front of the altar before then.

The Land, Redux.

Husband and I will be looking for our own place in a few months - say, around March. We will probably not get a place with land.

The idea of moving into some just-off-the-highway rent-a-box with no woods around or near it makes me grieve. For years, now, I've lived in actual houses, mostly suburbs with a decent amount of flora and fauna. But I suspect that wherever we end up, there will be no raccoons in the yard, no owls in the trees, no Land. No more watching the stars fade out after sending the Husband off to work.

I keep praying for a trailer on some land where I can keep the horse and my dog; a little patch that we can rent from decent landlords where I can garden and engage in the kind of outdoor witchery that I'm accustomed to, i.e., the kind that isn't well-suited to a little patio in full view of the neighbors. Maybe a rent-to-own.

I keep telling myself that the Husband said, just a few days ago, that I have proven myself to be very resourceful. If I am, then surely the Gods are even moreso, and They see what I do not.

I keep going, no matter how much I want to jump up and down, shaking my fists at the sky, yelling, "WHAT EXACTLY AM I SUPPOSED TO LEARN BY BEING 41, IMPOVERISHED, DRAGGING THE POOR HUSBAND WITH ME THROUGH ALL THIS, AND GETTING THE SLATS KNOCKED BACK OUT FROM UNDER ME EVERY TIME I THINK IT'S FINALLY OK TO RELAX AND FEEL SAFE? HUH? I WANT ANSWERS, DAMMNIT!!!"

Time to spend some of this weekend at the altar, I think. There are answers, and I need to find out what they are.

Weather Report.

Time: Very early or very late. Otherwise known as 6:30am.

Conditions: Cool, humid. Expect passing bugs and occasional Samahin preparation-frenzy.

Music: The daytime birds woke and sang just as Orion faded away in the creeping daylight, while a barred owl hooted its goodnight/goodmorning.

Forecast: Riding lesson, cleaning, horse tending, Samhain preparations, employer-enspelling*, vegan chili-making.

In other news, the wren seems to have gone elsewhere. I've checked its roost on the front porch, and it hasn't been there for several days. I do miss seeing that little ball of feathers. I wish it well, and am pondering whether it gave me something or came to take away something I didn't need. Maybe it did both. Maybe it was just a bird.

Yeah, right.


*One of my employers isn't really treating one of its horses terribly well. While I can't afford to lose my job over it by saying too much directly, I sure as hell can bring it to the attention of those who are In Charge Of Such Things and toss some heavy witchery at the situation.

The Land.

"...'Traditional Pagans' will often feel connected to a place on the land through which they experience the sacred, become attached to that place and assume the roles of guardians of it. They try to stay warm and close to it. This is a common tendency, and an ancient one." - Robin Artisson, Becoming A Traditional Witch

I miss The Land.

The Land here at the new place is very welcoming. The Front Meadow, the backyard, the star jasmine and the gardenia hedge up the walk, the azalea and the heirloom ivy all welcome me. I don't think I've felt such oneness with a piece of land in years. When I introduced myself to it more formally a weekend or so ago, a feeling of familial love came from it.  I/we know you, and you know me/us. We will care for one another. And thanks for leaving those salmon skins out for the raccoons, it said. 

I still miss the land I was forced to leave. I miss my willow tree (I rescued & replanted it from an inappropriately dry patch of the front yard, and it rewarded me by turning from a foot-high sapling to a 20-foot giant in four years), my turk's-cap, my lemon bush (which was actually bearing fruit this year), my tiny rosemary (who will water you now?), and my clematis. I miss the spirits of the Land that I didn't even have time to say goodbye to.

I know this Land and I will be together for at least a year, and that I will be back here to visit and cat-sit after the Husband and I move out. I will grow new plants and give offerings to the animals and spirits. I love it, and it loves me. The more I spend time with it, the sooner I'll heal from the loss of the other Land.

Wren and Toad

Last night, after dinner was made and the kitchen cleaned, I started gathering up my things to go cleanse my and the Husband's room. Well, cleanse and make mine/ours, since Big Brother Housemate has this place so spiritually sparkly that it's like a magical fallout shelter.

I couldn't find my cauldron. I realized I had no charcoal. I was rooting through boxes like a crazed squirrel and getting more frustrated by the moment. Husband suggested that I put it off until the next day. But I was driven to do what I'd set out to, and nothing short of having all the damn boxes fall out of the closet on top of me was going to stop me. So I found Big Brother and got the necessary supplies, then stepped out on the front porch to smoke, listen to the rain, and get in the right headspace.

The wren was there again.

See, the front porch has these square, slender columns, and this wren has been sleeping up at the top of one of them, on a ledge just big enough for it, for a few weeks now. When we go out to smoke, it doesn't wake and fly away. I was worried at first that it was a stranded fledgling, but it leaves during the day and then comes back. It is clearly able to fly. And it keeps coming back, making a little puffball of feathers up there until morning.

That little bird makes me happy, roosting up there, obviously feeling safe enough to sleep through us coming in and out. I sat down in the chair I've dragged outside, and leaned over to sit my drink down next to me. I startled hell out of a Gulf Coast Toad, but he didn't hop off. So I moved my drink a little, and shared space peacefully with bird and toad.

When the five minutes before ritual is full of soft rain and wild creatures, you know it's going to be good. Maybe not special-effects-like-in-"The Craft" good, definitely not can't-get-grounded-for-hours good, but a deep, soul-restoring kind of good that hums along in the background.

I slept like a baby. Or maybe like a wren.