When The Wind Stops Whispering

I have lost a lot of people in my life. Usually old people, though, recently a lot of young people. When I was 17, I lost a friend to a drunk driving accident (he was walking home from the store when he was hit by a drunk driver who was also high on marijuana). When I was 23, I lost a beautiful and dear friend to “mysterious” circumstances, though domestic violence was factor. I’ve lost family to age and disease. But more recently, I have begun losing people to suicide.

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I believe in free will–along with fate. I believe its fate that you sit next to a particular person on a bus, but free will with what you do in that moment. But, to me, suicide has nothing to do with fate (unless you have no choice, like those who jumped out of the Twin Towers during 9/11-but does that even count as suicide when you know you are going to die?). Suicide is your choice — your choice to check out early.

And it does nothing but leave emotional scars to those left behind. In 2011, a co-worker decided to end it all. It was a beautiful sunny day in April. He seemed fine when he came to work in the morning. Three hours later he shot himself.   The trying to wrap my head around why never ended. It wouldn’t stop. What was the point? He had the answers-and he was dead.

Today I learned my cousin shot himself at my grandmothers grave–life seemingly to unbearable to endure. To much to struggle. A sad soul. A troubled soul. A soul who decided to kill himself was the only way to end his suffering and the suffering of those around him. In the end, it only lead to more suffering. 

The odd thing with today, and maybe it was because it was my family, I woke up so overwhelmed with grief. I hadn’t learned of my cousins death until today. He lived in NY. I woke up feeling this terrible feeling of sadness…and it wasn’t my sadness. It was like someone else had over taken my soul. I was feeling  despondent and at a loss. I couldn’t pin down what was wrong. Just that I was sad. I couldn’t stop crying. It was all consuming–and the sadness-wasn’t mine. It was like something had overcome my soul and was weeping.

My mom called me to tell me the news, and that they hadn’t found his body for a few days…and the funeral was this morning-right around the time I started feeling the overwhelming sense of grief and loss..

Was it his spirit coming through me?

What is it the collective familial energy of the sadness of loss? I will never know. 

Life is difficult. There are moments when you feel like you cant breathe. There are times when you question what the point of moving on is. That there is no end in site to the pain, the hurt, the suffering. There is no end for what seems like nothing but a deep hole. Life, ultimately is suffering. But its how you deal with the suffering that determines you as a person. You either let it consume you….let it win….Or you stare it in the face and push it aside and realize no matter how bottom of the barrel you are–there is always up. You can always move up. The Universe is forgiving and boundless. It only goes up. We are always going to ride the waves of the tides–up and down. There is never a constant. Today’s struggles are tomorrows battle scars. We learn from our mistakes–make more mistakes–learn again. There is nothing you can’t change. Even for troubled minds, there is always a way to find solace. To surrender to yourself entirely–and if you believe in a Higher Power, then to surrender to that. To release and let go and understand that tomorrow is another day. Despite feeling like things are endless….the sun will always set and the moon will always rise. Life goes on. Why let it go on without you?

There is nothing nor anyone in this world that is worth ending your own life. 

Death is in all of cards. Every day is one day closer to death. Its how we live those days before the winds stops whispering.

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The Weaving Serpent Rises

weave

   [weev]   weaved; wo·ven or wove; weav·ing; noun, verb (used with object)

-to form by combining various elements or details into aconnected whole
-to introduce as an element or detail into a connected whole(usually followed by in  or into )
The word “weave” has started to become more of a personal term to me. I am a weaver-in all I do. I am eclectic soul who finds passion and love in all things around me. My spirit can not be pegged down to one thing. I find all things amazing, with their own purpose.
But being eclectic doesnt mean I don’t need some solidarity. I need to know who I am and where I come from. Why, besides life circumstances and Universal energy, I am the way I am. We all come from somewhere.
A few weeks ago, I decided to research my genealogy on my fathers side. I know a lot about my maternal family, but not my paternal family as they lived in upstate NY and I grew up with my maternal grandmother. So my paternal grandparents have always been quite an elusive mystery to me. I started the research partially because I wanted to learn more about the Blackfoot Indian blood that runs through my veins.
Everything I thought I knew was flipped upside. Everything I learned so far has changed me and led me into a completely different direction.
For starters, I was told my grandmother was the Blackfoot Indian. That was wrong. It was my grandfather (and there is more to the story). My grandmother, actually was English. Her mother, my great grandmother, was Eva Sprague and she married Charles Ulysses Newman. The Sprague family first came to American from Kent, England–and actually participated in the first Thanksgiving. The Sprague’s also became the first to settle into Bridgewater, MA and became the founders of Charlestown, MA. Thanks to a fabulous genealogist, I have been able to trace my paternal grandmothers history all the way to 1552. Its very interesting history. When I see images of these family members–I think to myself, “wow, that’s my family-they are apart of me.”

Susan Seddon Boulet

Now back to the Native American blood.
There is not a whole lot I can post here due to family privacy and some points that can be upsetting. My grandfather was the Blackfoot Indian. Peigan tribe to be precise from Canada. I was fortunate enough to find a member of the Blackfoot Nation that helps research Indian ancestry and I am anxiously awaiting a reply with information that I am seeking-though it may take months. But knowing I am closer to answers, and finding more family-its moving my soul beyond words.
There is something very primal and primitive about ancestry. Finding your “roots” means finding a connection to your past. To who you are as a person. I find my wings spreading. My Universe opening wider.
I am ready for this new journey to begin.

Reclaiming My Spirituality

Growing up, I was always an imaginative and creative child. I believed in Dragons and Fairies. I was entranced with the occult, ghosts, spirits, fortune tellers, and magick. My perception and view of the world was different than most. I felt a shimmering glow permeating in the world. There is and was more than what we could rationalize with our normal consciousness. 

When I was 13 I got my first tarot deck. It was the usual Rider-Wait Tarot. I was infatuated with the idea that cards could tell your future. My grandmother had taught me how to read a regular deck of cards (among other things she taught me-she’s a witch to but will never say it out loud!)….but the Tarot had something more mystical about it. I naturally, however, had a weird sense of familiarity and really was curious about that symbol that was a repeated over and over again–the pentagram.

I was taught with most non-nonsensical stereotypical jargon, that the pentagram was a symbol of evil. Satan’s symbol. My cousin’s wife, who was a practicing Wiccan (a what!?) explained to me over Thanksgiving dinner–what the pentagram REALLY was….and from that point my life changed.

When I was 14 my family moved to Brockton and I knew no one. I felt lonely and out of place. I turned to books and read a lot–but found that I was craving that something more…That something to fill that void and loneliness I felt. I began exploring religion. I was raised Orthodox. My family was never religious, but we were expected to go to church on Easter Sunday and celebrate the holidays, believe in God and Jesus, and the idea that Hell was something real. I struggled with the concepts found in Christianity. At that point I began reading books on various religions and at some point–bought Scott Cunningham’s “Wicca: A Guide for the Solitary Practioner.” It was something that resonated deep inside. At that moment, things clicked. Reading about the idea of a duality–and the idea of “perfect love and perfect trust”-that things never cease to exist, only transform. Life, Death, Rebirth. The celebration of Earth…life and the cyclical nature of existence. It was like coming home.

Choosing to be pagan at 14 is hard-especially when your family doesn’t practice, you don’t have many friends who do (I was lucky enough at the time to have had one friend who practiced) and most people who do practice are still in the broom closet. Its like having this amazing secret to share-but no one to share it with. I remember going to school with my books on magick, witchcraft and Deities neatly covered in a paper bag. Those who did find out what I was doing made fun of me, called me names or ostracized me. It was a continuous test. I never faltered. I always felt l had a spiritual home to return to. Despite being alone–I never was alone. 

As I got older, it became easier, but I found myself not liking the word “WICCA”…I found the word itself invoked the idea of kids playing witch. I just found it hard to use the word. Eventually, I just started calling myself Pagan.

And I was open. I had my car keyed and nasty letters left on my car window because of my pagan bumper stickers. I never told people what I did…what I believed. 

Then I was visited by my totem animal…A Great White Serpent. It was at that point that my Native American ancestry began to seep into my life. My grandmother was Black Foot Indian…She lived in New York and I only saw her a few times a year. She died when I was 11…Its times like this that I feel like while I wasn’t close to her in life, she has guided me in death. I found myself finding a deeper connection to the world around me. A closeness…a oneness… a purity. Rather than just saying “God and Goddess” all the time (I still do believe and acknowledge both). I found the words “Great Spirit” coming from my mouth.Everything and All is part of it. Its never dying, never living. Its neither male nor female. It just is. Its what has been and will always be. All Gods and Goddess, elements, spirit beings…humanity–comes from this Great Spirit. 

I found my paganism begin to flourish. I took more pride in examining different pagan traditions. Met and worked with many different Deities (anyone who has visited my home knows the many altars). Its a peacefulness I haven’t felt in a long time.

And because of it, I find new people entering my life. New ideas flourishing from my mind. My creativity has blossomed and I have learned when and where to speak openly about my spiritual beliefs….

I feel grounded. 

This blog is about my journey….my past, present and future….