So, I’m on the fringe of Feri. Just in deeply enough to have a friend basically say holy shit there is so much going on right now it’s *crazy* and people are acting *super crazy* to each other. I neatly filed it away in my gossip folder but didn’t really venture further in until just now when I read T. Thorne Coyle’s article The Sundering of Feri. While I don’t really feel much more confident on the specifics of what happened and was surprised to learn Thorne isn’t teaching Feri anymore ( . . .again, see fringe), this part was really meaningful for me:
It has been said that we are moving from the Piscean to the Aquarian Age. Pisces wants to hold things close and in reclusion, within existing structures, striving for a beautiful purity. Aquarius wants to open up the windows of the Witch’s hut—or sometimes bust down the walls – and let in some fresh air, while figuring out how to build something new. While I have great sympathy for the Pisceans, and think that likely there will always be those needed to hold that polarity, my work is firmly on the side of the non-conforming Aquarians, even when we vehemently disagree. The world needs us.
This, this, a thousand times this. If ever there was a full mission statement on my feelings about Paganism and Witchery, it would be this. As an actual Aquarian, I am always doing that, sometimes to the chagrin of those around me. I always want to bust down the walls and see the inside of your hut, I want to show you mine. I want us to build something together and when it doesn’t work anymore, go down to the river and throw it in and start again.
It’s also my deepest fear. That I’m not . . .whatever enough to be an expert in my own right as a hearth witch. That I lack children and a full time job with no duties of a traditional soccer mom, that I’m not witch in the woods enough as I only have a vague connection to the land and don’t take awesome midnight journeys for wood and roadkill. And there are women I admire greatly who fit reasonably in either of those categories and sometimes I start to feel lost because I’m in this weird in between place. I feel sometimes not enough like anyone else I know in this blogosphere until Jow reminds me of my darling PEH, Gordon who keeps me grouned by just being him across the pond, thinking some of the same random stuff I do about magic and other things, putting things together in a way that makes sense and travels and drinks too much wine and I think, there is still a place for me. (Sister will you follow me/Sister will you dance with me/ like a flame you must be wild . . .)
I’m always going to want to bust down the walls, even models have limits, as Jason reminds us. So whenever a tradition breaks, I can’t help but be excited in a weird way. Because . . .then the walls are busted down, we can rethink *everything* and *anything* and what really works and what doesn’t work and when we can put aside our egos enough and show each other our soft squishy bits, our broken bits, the bits that made mistakes, that’s when shit gets real in the best possible sense. We’re not united in one shaky illusion, we’re a dozen nations, strong in our sense of self and our vision. At the end of the day, more than anything, that’s what we are as hearth witches, dozens of tiny nations threaded together by our hearths however big or small, permentant and temporary and we get to be woven together here on the world wide web, whispering our secrets and magic and joys and sorrows to each other here in the ether. And I’m honored to be part of that, our bouquet of nations that florish here. When I am restless and fretful, I forget about that, the beauty in being bound together by words. I’m honored by all of you who visit here and there will always be a place for you in my nation. Always.