I am a priestess nursing my baby. I am a priestess molding my clay. I am a priestess crying over unhung up dresses in my closet and how I didn’t get my own way about how the day would unfold today. It is hard this work of self-facing. It is hard to be confronted with one’s lack of serenity, empathetic failures, relationship rushes, mothering moments of impatience and snappishness, meltdowns, and minutia, bogged down in the molasses of the daily round. Where is my fluttering robe, my twinkling eyes, my beatific smile spreading graciously across my face as I serenely embrace each moment as it unfolds?
Today, I used my fifteen dissertation moments to transcribe a recording about the “everyday priestess” as well as one about initiation and growth. I also re-read this old post of mine:
In the book, West County Wicca, the shared responsibility for the Circle is identified as well: “The Circle belongs to all who are in it. I have heard people in recent times say, ‘I wouldn’t have such and such in MY circle.’ But it is not THEIR circle. It is the circle of the coven. We had no permanent leaders when I was taught” (p. 17). Ryall also explains that, “The Priestess actively involved in the ceremony is merely the key that unlocks the door, and the Goddess Power brought down into the Circle is for the benefit of all…(p. 27, emphasis mine).
I started working on my post for Feminism and Religion this month. I am unsure which direction I am going with it…perhaps addressing my mamapriestess musings, perhaps doing more development of the “palm of my hand” post from earlier this month.