Notes from the Mound
Magic and Rest
This post is a bit off the cuff, but I've had a drink or three and decided to go through with it nonetheless… Or it decided to come through me.
I currently find myself sitting at my local watering hole, drinking my usual drink of Apple Crown and diet Sprite. The bar is full of tourists who have stumbled in from the fine art show taking place in the park less than a block away. A kindly elder woman along with her husband, showing clear signs of being from out-of-town, are seated beside me. The wife occasionally asks me questions about life in the town while she and her husband wait for their food order to arrive.
Despite being surrounded by all these people, I cannot help but to be utterly isolated, caught in the torrent of my own psyche–a feature common to those who dabble in magic and the occult. A cursed life of introspection, or a blessing if you're not pessimistic.
As the Heretical heathen, I tend to focus on the runes, that is, the Elder Futhark, as this is my bread and butter. While this is fine and dandy, I have a deep desire to be better about writing on the actual experience of a magician. Those subtle things that go unnoticed by the average person in this niche of a niche. And I hope this is a step in that misdirection.
I tend to be an extremely consistent person. Whether it's hitting the gym after a ten hour overnight shift or waking up early to seek the mysteries behind the runes. However, this last week has been different. A subtle change has come on the eastern winds, bringing with it the spirit of sloth. I haven't been able to crawl myself out of my bed much less engage in my occult work. My alarm would sound, I would leave my bed, walk across the room, silence my phone, and go back to bed.
To some this may sound like symptoms of depression, and in most circumstances you would be correct. Yet, I felt no depression looming over me. Quite the opposite. I am of the highest spirits. Sol is shining upon Midgard, and I could not be more thrilled.
These downturns are a phenomenon that magicians and occultists alike (is there really a difference?) go through from time to time. There are weeks when practice comes so naturally that we can spend all our free time in pursuit of the mystery. Carving runes, performing rituals, crafting sigils, and fasting for long hours is comfortably within our grasp. Then, quite suddenly, Hagalaz sweeps through the land and the walls of the innangard are breached by an army of Jotnar. These things happen. They are natural. They are normal. As seekers, we must learn to navigate these waters.
Some people have enough luck to have proper teachers along the path. There's someone one can go through to prepare you for every misstep. I am in no such position, and this is a growing trend for a lot of people. All of my work is extremely solitary. Sure, I have a few people from different paths–Buddhism to Chaos Magic–whom I can reach out to if I have any inquiries, but the heathen path is filled with thorns, fire, and rodents of extraordinary size. We don't have a proper support system in place to guide young runar, and the few that exist, are slandered as new age, racist, gay, or satanic.
What are we to do when we hit these pitfalls? Some suggest, like missing days at the gym, that you start small and keep the momentum going. Something as simple as stretching can point one in the right direction, keeping one on the fitness path. While this is certainly true of fitness , I often wonder if this is true of the more than human world as well.
Magic doesn't always seem to work like a fitness regiment. Nor does it seem to operate on the theory of time that we've been handed via enlightenment materialism. With a fitness regiment, assuming one isn't training too hard, one can gradually increase stress placed on the body and progressively adapt. Yet, magic is different. One can practice a craft daily for years without signs of progress, then suddenly, in an instant, what ought to be several years worth of Odin's wisdom can come pouring in. So, when silence falls, one can be sure there's a good reason–even if it's just out of sight.
Even as magic folk, we tend to approach the work as lone wolves in an infinite cosmos, as if we are super strong magi who make the universe bend to our will. Despite how many pelts we dawn, and how many trances we enter, this will never be the case. The cosmos is a crowded place, and we're in relation to more than we know. When silence falls don't think it has something to do with you personally. There's a myriad of forces acting upon you. Take it as a necessary deload, a potential for initiation, or a sign that rest is required for integration.
I hope y'all few lovely readers enjoyed this. I know it was haphazardly thrown together but It needed to be expressed through me.