Roots

Some people have roots in their homeland, they hold a sense of belonging... a sense of purpose, the will, and want and need to nurture. Others, do not.

Other's take their roots with them; they harness them to the bottom of their soles and walk on, unknowing, but proud into that forethought, be it out of necessity or needlessness.

I fall somewhere in between. The gypsy in me, like all of us, was born before into once solid bodies surmised only by the existence of their faith, their paths erased but their souls forever survived by the essence of on thing: Purpose.

I'm relearning my purpose in the world, I'm recognizing my inner need and yearn to help others, and I'm slowly cultivating my outlet for that. The past year or two has been a roller coaster. I've traveled from one end of the country to the other, in a less romantic way than it may seem. I've abandoned ideas and embraced new ones, I'm learning and praying to the goddess to help me see my obstacles as opportunities, and my endings as slowly growing beginnings.

During this duration my faith in the universe and her happenings wavered. I didn't know who I was, let alone if magick truly existed outside my faerie tale mind, but just as person starts to lose their faith, that same faith seems to find it's way back to them.... should it be the right path to travel down.

I went from having a million questions, striving for a million answers, to not bothering to ask nor think a single one. I was disinterested, apathetic, and stagnant. I knew the neutrality of my thoughts were ever-present in all other aspects of myself.

And I didn't see the light. I didn't wake up anew.

I simply recognized this in myself, and chose to be happy. Chose to surround myself by the spiritual belief system that made my mind soar and love prevail so many times before... I picked up again on my pagan roots, I turned again, to Wicca.

I hid this aspect of myself for so long, both because of my unwillingness to explain myself to outsiders and the fear of resentment I was sure to face if my solitary secret leached out.

But confessing something, and professing something so intimate feels like nothing else, and soon I was sharing this secret of mine unto my very best friend, who replied with shining eyes and a face no different than it would have been if we had been talking about her beloved Johnny Depp. She asked me all sorts of questions about the craft. Do I cast spells on people? What is hexing? But it was the last question that made me feels the best about sharing my humanity with her. She looked at me simple and plain and asked "Can we go out for Chinese soon? "