Spiritual Identity Crisis

I am having a spiritual identity crisis.

All I believed or thought I “knew” is sloughing away.  The immensity of what is being revealed makes me drop to my knees.  Yet it is so simple.

Love.

Love from God to us.  Love from us to God.  Love from Us to Us, to raise each other up, every single one of Us, to finally reach back to God.

I say “God,” but the concept doesn’t come shrouded under the pretense of any formal religion, not Christian, not Hindu, not Muslim, not Pagan.  Not Witch.  There are no labels.

There is only Love.

From the One Source of All That Is.

What a twisted path to get here!  Raised Catholic.  Rejected Catholicism.  Embraced Atheism.  Discovered Wicca, and felt like I was coming home.  Romped down the path of Pagan spirituality, formulating my own special blend.  Then angel mediations, in which I was told [and felt] what a ‘much loved Child of God’ I am, and I believed, instantly.  Workshops.  Books — Doreen Virtue, Wayne Dyer, Louise Hay, Gary Zukav, now A Course in Miracles.  Super corny, but Oprah’s Super Soul Sunday.  Meditations, prayers, chakra balancing, healing circles.  And I have marched myself right back to God.

Or maybe I have allowed myself to slip into my own heart.

My reawakening is happening.  I feel newly born.  A newborn.  I know that there is Love.  I know my purpose now is to be loving, compassionate, gentle, peaceful, and reverent to all life.  How?  How do I do that everyday, all day, my whole life?  Especially with little children of my own?  I have no idea.  I will learn as I start crawling in Love.  Then toddling.  Walking.  Growing.  Spreading.  Sharing.  In Love.

So I probably shouldn’t be calling it a crisis.  It’s not a crisis in the least, but a moment of sheer beauty and truth.  Truth beauty.

Actually, the pettiest part of it all is me fretting about what to do with my blog!  I am mildly shocked by how quickly I am shedding my Witch skin, as it defined me for a decade.  I have great fondness for all things Witchy still, but I don’t BELIEVE much about them as a faith system anymore.  Although I think the purpose of my blog was to live as authentically Me.  Never would I have guessed that I would be led to                  the end.

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Flash Fiction – Fata

(Inspired by my friend, Selena Wolff:  “Every Friday, I will offer three Solitary Words and a genre as inspiration for your flash fiction stories! Find a way to work the word into your Flash Friday Fiction, keep it at 500 words, and be as outrageous as you can. Stretch your imagination, think outside the box, and go beyond your comfort zone.” 

Today’s genre – Fantasy

Solitary Words – Asphodel   Scramble   Fey

I couldn’t pass this one up…)

Fata

by hazelharker

Fata finished placing the last water drop on the asphodel petal, and fluttered back to admire her work.  She was honored to be a dew fairy, entrusted by Titania herself, with the task of sprinkling liquid pearls on the flora in the forest each dawn.  Fata felt like a treasure-gifter, watching the way the dew glinted in the sunlight and reflected the hues of the flowers, like teensy gems – rubies for Red Rose, emeralds for Fern, sapphires for Iris.  She loved when her own wings accidentally brushed the tall grass, becoming studded with amethyst bubbles.  Now that all was jewel-wet, it was time to fly back to the Fairy Queen.

Flitting through the trees, Fata noticed that the forest was full of strange people – two young couples, and a band of silly men.  Fata had an uneasy feeling that the day would not bode well.  Her hunches were confirmed when she floated into the clearing, only to see Oberon and Titania storming towards each other.

“Ill met by moonlight, proud Titania,” said Oberon.

“What, jealous Oberon!  Fairies, skip hence:  I have forsworn his bed and company,” Titania replied.

The fairies surrounding Titania immediately scrambled into the nearby shrubbery, thankful to not have to bear witness to the couple’s arguing.  Again.  Fata was especially grateful to be sent away.  Anger made her vibrate in a most unpleasant manner.  She was content to be weaving her way through the oak trees instead.  Oak leaves were fascinating to her, the way their ‘fingers’ reached for her, tickling her feet.  Fata giggled.  She lighted on a branch to examine a chunky, chartreuse acorn.  Fata spied Puck in the distance, clutching a mysterious flower, rushing towards Oberon.  Her brows furrowed.

Then, Titania’s voice, carried by the wind, “Come, now a roundel and a fairy song…”  It was time for Titania’s mid-day nap!  Fata’s favorite past-time was singing to the Queen, another sweet part of her delicious days.  She flew quickly to join the circle of her Fey friends, who had already begun their song:  “…Philomel, with melody, sing in our sweet lullaby; lulla, lulla, lullaby, lulla, lulla, lullaby…”  Fata watched, enraptured, as the Queen’s lids slowly dipped lower and lower.  Titania was as gorgeous as a gardenia glowing under a cream moon, and Fata never grew tired of tucking her in.  With the last note, Fata found a comfy mushroom top on which to rest and wait for the Queen to awake from her midsummer dream.


[in Just-]

(a post by my favorite poet, in honor of Beltane…)

 [in Just-]

in Just-

spring     when the world is mud-

luscious the little

lame balloonman

whistles     far     and wee

and eddieandbill come

running from marbles and

piracies and it’s

spring

when the world is puddle-wonderful

the queer

old balloonman whistles

far     and     wee

and bettyandisbel come dancing

from hop-scotch and jump-rope and
it’s

spring

and

the

goat-footed

balloonMan     whistles

far

and

wee

by e. e. cummings