Passages

Back in January, drummer Neil Peart of the band Rush died, and in the wake of that, I started binge-listening; I'd always liked the band, but in the aftermath of Mr. Peart's death, I came to love them. And out of all those songs, one in particular grabbed and held me, to the point that I found myself listening to it multiple times a day, even hearing it in my mind upon waking and sleeping. The song is called "Time Stand Still."

Turns out it was a prophetic song, as the world I knew was about to be changed, in ways both temporary and permanent. The pandemic, of course, has brought some of those changes; another change is in progress now, as one of my beloved cats transitions from this life into whatever comes next. At the moment, I'm feeling the helpless dumb disbelief that is rather preferable to the other state, which is a panoply of wretched emotions held together by bitter weeping. Being a witch and understanding the cycles of life and death doesn't make the pain any lighter, or the loss less acute. In days to come, my spiritual life will (I hope) be a source of renewed strength and comfort as I grapple with the space his absence leaves in my life; but for this moment, I can't summon the strength to so much as light a candle. I will, in time. Right now, I wait, and I grieve.

"Freeze this moment a little bit longer," says the song; "make each impression a little bit stronger. Experience slips away." Please do, if you can. Because of the song, I remembered to do so, a little.

We're All Solitary Witches

And just like that, the world changed.

Not long after my last post, we started hearing about an emerging virus causing first localized, then more widespread infections in China. Fast-forward four months and we're now in a global pandemic, a situation of a magnitude never before seen in our lifetime (well, save that of a handful of centenarians who lived through the 1918 Spanish Flu outbreak). Regular life has changed--schools, businesses, restaurants, nearly all forms of outward public life are closed indefinitely--and with that, our spiritual lives have changed as well. However active we might have been even a month ago with coven or grove or meetup or moot, today we're all solitaries again, even as we strive to turn social media platforms into ways to keep in contact with our chosen spiritual families.

Both the Wiccan trads I am connected to have provisions for the individual practicing alone. I personally have the added advantage of living with/being married to my magickal partner, so we have the option of working together as well as separately during this indefinite period of social isolation. Most everyone has access to books and the internet to guide them into developing a personal praxis (which you should already have done anyway, pandemic or not). We've all got a lot more time on our hands now thanks to COVID-19, so what are you waiting for?

These are weird times--wyrd times. Paganfolk like to talk about liminal states, but this is what it feels like when the whole world we know slips sideways into one. The earth is changing because of this. People are changing because of this. I can think of no better time than now to get grounded in your practice, reconnect (or connect for the first time) with the spirits of the land you're on, get in touch with the ancestors, get in touch with your gods. Develop a simple daily rite, if you don't have one already, even if it's something as simple as just pulling a Tarot card. Magick won't make the virus go away, but it can strengthen you and shape the ways you respond to the situation in which we now collectively find ourselves. Being grounded, being rooted, spiritually makes a profound impact on our ability to contend with what mundane life throws at us. We need that right now in ways that would have seemed impossible just a few weeks ago.

Following John Beckett's suggestion, I've started keeping a plague diary, a handwritten personal memoir of life during the pandemic, and it's a discipline I highly recommend. Not only is it helpful to write out what you're feeling and experiencing, but it gives you something to look back upon later, and something for those who come after to look to and learn from. I've found myself looking into personal accounts of life during the flu epidemic in 1918 to see what we can learn from them. All of us have ancestors who lived through that--we wouldn't be here otherwise--and now is a good time to try making contact with them. Some day we ourselves will be those ancestors that our descendants, physical or spiritual, will turn to when their worlds erupt.

Above all else, stay home, stay well, stay sane. Wash your hands. Wear a mask (you can easily make your own with a bandanna and two hair ties). Social distance of 6 feet when you must go out. As the governor of my state tells us in his daily briefing, we will get through this together. I believe that. Stay strong, my friends.