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The Shrine

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In my new home are two somewhat awkwardly placed cabinets, whose doors open from the inside out toward you. I’ve made them into shrines for my gods. Andred prefers, by and large, Her doors to be left open so that Her essence may seep in and act as a protective force and sort of like a home deity (though I recognize well enough She is much more than that). My mother closes the doors. She did it once when I was away, and then another time I watched her do it right in front of my face, like it was nothing.

While Andred respects that I don’t want this to happen, it points to my mother’s disrespect for sacred spaces from religions that aren’t hers. Which is to say, if it isn’t some flavor of Christian, she doesn’t agree with it. She treats it like it’s a quaint little thing that I’ve done that I might one day grow out of with the right “guidance”, or I might just…come to realize one day that I should be on the Path of Christ…or something. This isn’t the first time or way she’s mocked my practice. She mocks spells, Yule (doesn’t seem to know the other holidays exist), and so many other things, yet has made it abundantly clear to me that she still holds to Christian stances on so many things (such as homosexuality, “a sin”).

Andred seems Endlessly Patient now, but I wouldn’t be shocked to hear one day that my family’s couple acres or so is absolutely covered in rabbits. In fact, I’d laugh my ass off.

Labor Day

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I’m beginning to feel Andred again. The summer heat broke a couple of weeks ago and now it’s starting to be properly chilly. Fall is coming. It’s September, today is Labor Day, and it’s the second or third week of pre-season football (my parents are protesting this year, due to the whole hullabaloo about kneeling/”taking a knee” started by Capaernick last season). And, it has a particular order in this town: summer is tourist season (and also the heat of Ra, who gets brief mentions here where relevant), then we come into hunting season, and then, snow gods permitting, skiing, snowboarding, snow machining, and the annual sled dog race (top notch puppers right there).

In ancient times, this is about the time everyone goes back to their villages from the hills or from wherever they were fighting and raiding, to harvest things, cull the herd, and prepare for winter. It’s time to start cleaning up, regrouping, and preparing for the coming year.

And, as you might be aware, I’ve recently moved (I call it being kicked out with plausible deniability because I don’t like to sugar coat things). I’m almost completely set up, and She has her own shrine space. My mother keeps closing the door on it, but that’s a post for another time. So personally, I have to regroup, because a wrench has been thrown into my plans (to be brutally honest, it’s the latest of many wrenches, but at least the most brutally honest of the lot of them). I have to reassess and gather myself up. I don’t know what awaits in the days ahead, but this is not a season for very much action. This is a season for figuring out what I’m going to do next.

I learned within the past few years that if I move with the seasons, instead of trying to move in spite of them, then I’m a lot happier. Now I’m at least in an environment that ensures me peace and quiet, free from certain toxic persons, and I can still myself and worship the gods. Perhaps this time I’ll make choices I’ll be satisfied with, not ones I feel half-pressured into.