This morning I didn’t go to bed straight away as I usually do. As soon as I got home, I called Dakota’s school to see if they were going to be open and found out yes, they were. I let the dogs run around a bit in the snow while I cracked up at their antics. Poor Cinnamon, blind as a bat was slipping and sliding into everything she got near, while Copper was walking on tiptoes with all of her 80 pounds. And Tiffany, bless her heart, must be more solid than she seems because she just kept falling right through the layer of ice beneath the snow and looking at me with this demonic glare that made me think it was my fault. Of course it was a nightmare getting Dakota out of bed, monster that he is. Mike is in DC and Mom had arm surgery Monday, so Sissy had to get the wild child ready for school. Luckily Mom woke up and bribed him to get dressed by promising to ride along with us.
After a quick breakfast at Panera with my mom and grandma, I came home and bundled up against the cold around 1030. I put on my trusty snow boats, four sizes too big, but at least they keep my feet warm. For about two and a half hours I tromped around in the snow, falling through like my little dog, but unlike Tiffany, it just made me laugh everytime I stumbled. I felt like a little girl, snow on my knees and my cheeks red with cold. I didn’t feel the weather at all. The only thing I could focus on was the magnificent beauty of mother nature, and the way a simple thing such as snow and ice can transform a world I see every day into something new and fantastic.
The snow crunched with every step I took, my big boots sinking above the ankles. I walked among the trees at the very edge of our property, awed by the broken trees and the ice coated in a thick layer all over the branches like a skin. I have to admit at some points I was slightly paranoid a branch was going to crack and come falling down on me, especially when I hit low hanging branches while picking my way through parts of the forest not pathed in normal life. I got sheer joy out of the fact that I could walk further into the forest than I ever had before, the layer of ice above the ground giving me an almost firm, safe place to walk on the usual sticks, weeds, and poison ivy that litter our woods.
The sun wasn’t out, but it didn’t matter. The ice twinkled anyway. Tom came out and took the Bobcat to our driveway yesterday; he has to play man of the house when Mike’s out of town or else me and Mom don’t know what to do with ourselves during heavy snows, rains, or wind storms, lol. Our American flag and Kentucky flag were frozen above the driveway, hanging limp in the non existent wind, but brightly colored all the same. Kinda like our country right now.
Towards the end of my romp in the woods, I found myself beneath three beautiful trees in the yard, two large pines and some little scrawny thing. Now three is a very magickal number, holding deep associations in Celtic Wicca throughout the ages (and thus where the Christian Trinity was derived from many eons ago). There are many reasons why it’s considered magickal or the “perfect number”, but for me, when I think of three beyond the special association to my religion through the Celts, it signifies my relationship with the god and goddes. Me, Her, and Him–three of us. Beneath those trees, looking up at branches bowed towards me as if in reverence of the earth I stood upon, I felt closer to the god and goddess than I have in a long time. The pine needles had perfectly formed icy tear drops hanging from their tips, and I tried to capture it on camera, but it just doesn’t do justice to that little piece of natural wonder. I closed my eyes and through Jamey Johnson “In Color” playing in my headphones, I could hear the creaking of the trees high above me, like it belonged with the music.
I came across two trees I had never seen before (once again due to the fact that I usually can’t go so far out into the woods), and they were slightly different shades of bark color. Their thick trunks were about a foot apart, and the further up you looked, the closer they got until they were entwined like lovers. I stood there staring, thinking then and reminded now, of how lonely it is to not have someone to hold who knows your every thought and every dream, who can share with me the emotional feeling I embrace when I step out into nature and see the faces of my Deities in every rock and tree. Chances are good that I will never meet a Pagan man, there’s so few of them, and it breaks my heart to know with an unsettling certainty I will never have a lover to share my religion with. While having friends of my religion counts deeply, it’s not the same.
I stopped for gas early this morning with my Mom, and of course I froze my ass off waiting for her million gallon Ford Explorer gas tank to decide it was full. While shivering beside the truck, I looked around the slushy Thornton’s parking lot and noticed a run down station wagon across the way. It had three bumber stickers. Now, I’m a big fan of bumper stickers, I’ve got four on my car, all of them being important to me in one way or another, so I understand the compulsion to put them on a vehicle. These bumper stickers on said station wagon were as follows “Abortion is Murder”, “You can’t be Catholic and Pro Abortion”, and “I love the Old Latin Mass”. A moral rule we follow as Wiccans is to embrace all religions who worship a postive higher power as being just as valid as ours. But I saw that car and my very first thought? Huh, damn it’d be fun to set that on fire. What kind of pagan am I??? I preach and preach about loving all people despite our differences in religion, and I get SO angry each time I see something from those crazy Right Wing Christians. How am I supposed to respect a sect of people who don’t respect me and my valid beliefs? I’m Pro Abortion, I don’t believe Jesus was the son of the christian god (although I do believe he was a great man), and I’m a tree hugging, dirt worshipping pagan with two deities instead of one. My religion sees the human body as perfect and sex as Divine. Because of all this, I get told I’m going to hell. Excuse me, but if you could get your head out of your ass long enough to study some other religions, there’s no such thing as hell in my religion, therefore I won’t be going there anytime soon.
Rant done. Temper tantrum accomplished and I’m beyond it now. I’m just tired of the prejudice and the hate. I hear things like Katie Couric calling us “nasty, bad Pagans” or Obama catching shit for even mentioning non-christian religions in his inuguration speech, and it makes me want to throw up on Southeast Christian Church’s front steps. I just hope against hope, that one day we will all be one people, one heart, and one world, just with lots of different colors, sexualities, and religions as a part of the whole.