Opossum Magick

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Dear Grandma,

This morning on the drive to work, I saw an opossum sitting on a chain-link fence circling a construction site, impassively watching the traffic on Six Forks Rd.  I drew the opossum card from my animal spirit/medicine deck the other morning (the one from New Mexico you found at Goodwill) and had been sitting on that message, letting it digest these past few days.  The accompanying book spoke on opossum teaching us to strategize, but when I think on the opossum, it is on a more patient, taciturn creature.  I remember that early morning at the newly-wed bungalow, before the sun had risen, after setting food on the back porch for the cats, finding an opossum helping him or herself to the feast.  But in particular, I think of that moment when I opened the door and knelt down to the creature's level, how it looked me in the eyes when I asked, "Hey, what are you doing?" and then turned and waddled away, in no hurry whatsoever, utterly unruffled.  I almost expected to hear it say laconically as it left, "yeah, yeah..."  The image of today's plump, wiry critter sitting on a fence sandwiched between two scenes of human noise and manipulation only solidifies the definitions I’d been drawing vaguely myself. 

I’ve begun reading Birthing from Within, which I think a nice palate cleanser after witnessing, and being a little frightened by (I’ll be honest) Sierra’s birthing of Ella.  Birthing from Within instructs to purge pre-conceived notions and fears, all these anxieties surrounding pregnancies and birth which build over a woman’s life time, and turn inward.  Turn off the mind, trust the body.  Acknowledge that complications occur, that birth is not in your control, and become unflappable in the face of that.  Just do as your body instructs and let go.  Maybe this is all connected?  The opossum watching that which it cannot change and adapting, finding a good spot on a man-made observation post before shuffling to its day-time hiding place?  

The one truth that, paradoxically, gives me more comfort than anything else is that I can't do anything about this now, right?  I mean, this baby is coming out whether I worry over it, dread it, plan it to death, or not.  I might as well relax a little and let my body do its work.  The first women knew nothing of cervix dilation or calorie counting.  They just surrendered to their bodies.  They ate what felt right to eat, they breathed when they needed to breathe, they squatted and pushed when their bodies gave the green light.  And here we are, the human race.  And also, the opossum race.

an excerpt from a letter to my Grandma I began scribbling this morning

Thankful Thursday, no. 2

I am thankful for signs of Spring.

I am thankful for my hat of many colors, which kept my ears warm on a blustery, cold day.  

I am thankful that my new medicine cards (more on these later) fit perfectly in the old pouch I bought (with my own money!) at a Spring Daze back when I was in middle school.  

Lastly, our boy Lunchbox injured himself weekend before last after accidentally jumping into the car door (instead of jumping into the car; he was off to see his girlfriend, my Grandma's dog Sioux Bea, and he was terribly excited).  After a couple days of hobbling about pathetically and needing to be carried in and out of the house, Wolfman took him to the vet for some happy pills (an anti-inflammatory and a pain medication).  I am thankful that after a couple days on his medicine, he seemed to have done all the healing he needed and didn't even finish the bottles.  I am thankful that his injury wasn't more serious.  And I am thankful that this little, muscly dude is in our life and will be for some years go come.  We do love that dog.

This Moment | this creep right here

The Magician (or, in the Wildwood, the Shaman), peering out at me on Sunday's card draw.  A lot on my mind lately. Doing a lot of examination and journaling and day dreaming, and coming across a lot of synchronicities that are so precise, and yet so vague, and don't often reveal themselves as such until days later.  I'm writing here to say I have not forgotten this blog, my plans for it, nor have I abandoned my to-do lists.  I just needed a dark moon intermission.  Watch this space.

Wolfpeople Library, no. 5 | Witchy Book Haul

Laura Perry's The Wiccan Wellness Book

The Magical Household by Scott Cunningham & David Harrington

DJ Conway's Moon Magick



Photo Journal, no. 39 | Nine Realms

Rumination, no. 8 | Good Omens

You get what you give, right.  Karma and all that.  But, also, I've said this before, and as time passes, I believe it more and more, we are our religions.  We are our spirituality.  If there are creatures in the air and sky, spirits and gods, it's because we put them there.  Tinkerbell's existence depended on the children of the world believing in her, yes?  The same goes for Allah, for the Marrigan, for Ganesh, whichever entity appeals to you, personally.  We have to be the answers to our own prayers. 

So, one afternoon, I am taking a walk and thinking about omens.  I'm trying to make a list of all the bad omens I taught myself, things I trained myself as a child to recognize as signs of some things wicked or sad on the horizon.  And I thought of poor child me as if she were a different person, and wondered, why didn't she have any good omens?  While I respect that without dark there can be no light, as a person who has suffered from bouts of depression in the past, I'm less interested these days in "embracing the dark."  The left-hand path holds no interest for me.  One day, I'll balance out.  But for the time being, manifesting positivity is my goal in meditation, prayer, magicks, whatever you want to call it (whatever I want to call it).  As I walked through the historic neighborhood behind my office building and considered good omens and contemplated our tight wallets this year and various concerns, there on the ground before me rested two crumpled up bills.  Aha!  Good Omen!  I'll take it! 

I wanted to put the bills in a jar along with my found pennies and nickels and save them, but alas, I am nothing if not practical.  They became the next morning's bus fare.  But, because I wanted them to be a good omen, they were.  And now, truly, things are looking up--in so many ways--in part because I made it so.

Photo Journal, no. 34 | Coffee at Grandma's