My community collapsed like a house of cards late last week. The last of my “nice” neighbours joined the angry mob and lodged an axe into my back. She was aiming for my integrity.
She missed. And took with her the last of my remaining fucks.
So here’s the deal. When I move back into my newly-renovated home, I no longer have neighbours. I have my sanctuary. And then, when I step out of my front door, I am surrounded by vague approximations of humans who hold zero interest for me. They may as well be zombies. I have seen through them all. They are now dead to me.
Yep. I am one bitter bruja. I am hurting. I am furious. And I am exhausted.
I fully acknowledge that this is not helpful. It is not a sustainable way to live and, like all things, it will pass.
But right now, I AM IN IT, BITCHES.
It feels freaking uncomfortable and I sincerely do not like it. So this is what’s getting me through:
- Music. Loud. As loud as possible. Accompanied by even louder singing and dancing so wild it threatens to topple my bookshelves. Anything by Jill Scott and Mary J. Blige. The House of Mercy’s Devil Music. The soundtrack to Only Lovers Left Alive by Jim Jarmusch. The Fairfield Four. Joan As Police Woman’s latest offering. The soundtrack to the original anime Ghost in the Shell, if I’m feeling particularly antagonistic. Songs of pain and redemption. Songs that help me own it.
- Anne Zouroudi‘s Messenger of Athens series. My friend Deborah Weber mentioned these in a blog post and, inspired, I ordered the entire series. It ended up being the perfect Summer reading (even if earlier episodes were somewhat on the dour side). I can only pray that Hermes Diaktoros will visit my home town and mete out some good old fashioned justice. Because I no longer have any faith that democratic processes will do the job.
- Fresh peaches from my mum’s garden. Love. Sunshine. Goodness.
- Larimar. This exquisite piece called to me one morning when I had had hardly any sleep and felt particularly low. It has had me gazing wistfully into the depths of the ocean ever since. And exhaling deeply. I swear it changes every day, there seems to be a richness and nuance that emerges the more I wear it.
- Body oil. French Girl Lumière for a coat of shimmery armour when I step out the door. Mugwort and yarrow to ground and nourish my weary womb when I get home. Which reminds me: a soak in a long hot bath would be a good idea. Even if it is over 30 degrees Celsius outside.
- Bitching with baristas. And the kind souls at my green grocers. As well as the generous fellows at the post office. And friends, of course. My people. In all the nooks and crannies that I find them.
- My new Self-Love Queen sigil. I’ve been so fascinated with sovereignty since embarking on the Sacred Contracts journey earlier last year. Then I got so much out of journeying with Susannah Conway through her In Our Element course and considering how and when to embody each Queen of the Tarot. Now I see how a symbol no less powerful is required to force me to take seriously the job of looking after myself. And sigils always. Obviously.
- Amy Taylor-Kabbaz. In any form, really. But specifically, her membership group The Circle. I feel privileged to be a foundation member and am savouring the insights she creates space for each month. This month, the focus is…
- SANCTUARY. I mean. How perfect is that? And this has brought me into the orbit of Helen Joy Butler, who has made sanctuary the foundation of her thriving business. I’ve just started the free Five Days to Sanctuary challenge and while, to be honest, I am struggling to stay present due to my own anger and frustration, I know it will be the perfect place to land once all that red hot energy has washed out of my system.
- Lilith. Sorrynotsorry but you are going to be hearing a lot more about HER over these coming days/weeks/months. Because if the inhabitants of my neighbourhood insist on projecting their mommy issues onto me… they better believe I get to chose what kind of mama I’m going to be. #booyah