Oozing Magic and Mayhap a Little Madness

I’m certain that a mischievous small god of time is stealing my hours. I’ve read the works of Terry Pratchett enough to know that small gods delight in making people look over their shoulders with suspicion, wondering if an event they can’t quite pinpoint actually took place… unlike big gods, whose deeds are always involving things like brimstone, fire pits with eternal non-solar energy, and whatever might be going on inside people’s bedrooms.

You are probably wondering what I’m talking about, huh? Well, my days have been shortened. Seriously, it seems that I wake up, do a few things, and then I’m getting ready for bed again… and I’m really happy for it. What? You thought I was going to complain? Not even one bit.

Time seems to be running away from me because I’m doing so much. And when the body and mind are doing so much, sleeping like a semi-insomniac cat is a must. I’ve spent the last couple of weeks creating the best writing, running, blogging… schedule for me. I almost have it down. I suspect that another day or three working on it will provide me with some stability. For as much as I seem to run around like a Mad Hatter chicken with its head cutoff, I actually have a system. In fact, I can’t function without it… even if I’m the only one who understands it… perhaps because I’m the only one who understands it.

The last few days (couple of weeks?) have been for writing fiction and poetry, making delicious pineapple meatballs, mending clothes that had been in a box for ages, staring at wee animals in the woods, sniffing flowers, witnessing a bumblebee/wasp massacre (the wasps lost), running some miles, walking even more miles, going to see the doctor and without getting mad about it… and did I mention that I ran? Slower than a turtle carrying four elephants and a world on her back, but I’ve ran! And yes, that glow you read oozing happily out of my words is pure magic… and mayhap a little madness… and that’s quite all right.

So, my Wicked Luvs, what have you been doing?

Oozing Magic and Mayhap a Little MadnessThis wee fellow (I named him Quest) is part of a box of treasures I received from my friend Mary… He was walking when I took this picture. Quest doesn’t move very fast, and I must wind him up often to get him to move at all, but he always looks gloriously happy when he gets there. Thank you, Mary!

Unbreakable Chain of Chosen Blood

She sat in semidarkness in the middle of her living room, rubbing columbine leaves on the back of her hands. The salt, clove and sandalwood used to cast the circle around her made her soul feel protected; the rosemary sprigs, weaved into her loose braid, infused her mind with thoughts of banishment and healing.

It was probably wrong to use this sort of magic against a man who still breathed. But she had tried everything else and nothing worked. Maybe he has been dead for the last decade and I haven’t noticed.

“You’ll learn to never lock me out, woman.” His overused tone oozed through the glass of the balcony doors, and tried to wrap tightly around her neck.

The gun in front of her looked colder and more menacing in the living room, than it had seemed when it was out in the street. She was still staring at the weapon, thinking, I might not be able to do this, when he shattered the glass that stood between them and followed the destruction into her space.

She stood up to face him, but he had turned around seeming to sense what approached from behind.

Her best friend, Ivy—uniformed and armed—plus the entire Women’s Circle, stepped slowly towards him, their hands clasped together in an unbreakable chain of chosen blood.

“I’ve never been afraid of a cunt. Or a dozen of you.” He grinned.

The Women’s Circle continued closing in, now baring their teeth.

He tried to speak again.

The Women’s Circle hissed and growled.

She took two steps towards him, ready to roar in his face like she had practiced for weeks while standing on that same spot. But before pain, rage and disappointment rumbled out of her chest, his right fist struck her left eye.

She stumbled, but didn’t fall.

He raised his fist to throw another punch, but Ivy had him on the floor, handcuffing him and reading him his rights, before he could hit again.

She stared into his startled eyes and roared before Ivy’s partner dragged him out of the room.

Once her legs and her soul stopped shaking, she and the Women’s Circle cleaned and cleansed her old apartment. They helped her put her already packed suitcases into the car she had traded for her old one, and she drove to the hotel she had booked three weeks earlier. After a night of safe rest, she would start the 1,328-mile ride towards the beginning of her life.

Process Note: I wrote this bit of story for a friend a few weeks ago. She had been in a terrible relationship for a decade, and after a lot of help from a lot of people was able to leave safely. She gave me permission to share the tale right after I wrote it, but I just couldn’t find the right image to go with it—nothing felt right. Then, a couple of days ago, I received a parcel containing a purchase I made from Touch of the Goddess (I will show you soon). Sharon included a couple of surprises. The moment I saw the red and black “Heart Sister”, I knew it belonged with this story: a person can accomplish way more than “six impossible things before breakfast”, when she or he has an “Unbreakable Chain of Chosen Blood” standing by to offer a hand… or a heart.

linked to Prompt Nights (Guérison par la foi—Faith, healing)

Unbreakable Chain of Chosen Blood

Bits from My Pagan Culture

Time does incredible things to a mind… Particularly when said mind is a malleable book open to the complex touches of change. So imagine what it can do to a title… to the content of what the title in question names. “A Tale of Mythology and Paganism” is the first post I ever published. I reposted the entry two years later, renamed “A Witch Brewing among Catholics”. If I had written the same story today, I might’ve called it “A Magaly Tale…”

The story would relate the same events, attempt to convey the same emotions, but the words would be different; they would show growth. And the same would be true of its writer. At least, I hope it would. For you know I’ve always said that stagnation is the scum of the universe.

Sometime this month, I will start sharing bits from my Pagan Culture blog. I will take some of the most significant posts (starting from May 2009), and repost them here. Perhaps “repost” is not the best term for it, since I’m not just going to copy and paste the original post. I want to analyze what I said years ago; try to figure out how my opinions (and I) have evolved. It will be a bit of rereading into the past, with the experience of today’s eyes.

Before I share the first post, I would like to ask something of you: Which would you find more interesting or satisfying, 1) the exact wording of the original post, with some commentary; or, 2) a full retelling of the events described in the original post, crafted by an older (and sexier *cough*) witchy writer? The latter, of course, will include some sort of process note.

Magaly Guerrero, Apr 2009I typed my first post sitting on that recliner, while living in Upstate New York. Yes, sitting…