Tipsy Confessional.

So, I’m tipsy. I thought I should let you know in case the quality of this post goes downhill. Because I’m most likely going to post it.

Three margaritas on a Wednesday leads me to realize this:

That even on my blog, I feel like I censor myself.

Isn’t that…silly?

I created this blog to have a place to collect my various interests. It has the Pagan label because, in broad spiritual terms, I am a Pagan. I love so much about the community: the thought, the curiosity, the introspection, adaptability, creativity. I feel compelled to say that yes, I know the downsides too: the petty behavior, the bickering, the fixating on people who disagree with you.

But you know what? That’s par for the course in any community. The curiosity? Creativity? Courage? Not so much. The Pagan community has taught me so much those aspects.

This post comes about  because the last post–about sugar–has been nagging at my mind. That I shouldn’t have posted it. That it didn’t have to do with Paganism, that it was too complain-y, etc. That it was…well…a bit vulnerable. And maybe off-topic. But my other mind said–hey, fuck you!It was real. It was what I was dealing with at the time. I got it off my chest. Whatever.

Finally, after three margaritas I thought–or I realized–that I do censor this blog. I don’t post my inner most feelings/thoughts/dreams about the gods and goddesses. I don’t post things I do magically/intentionally. Even here I bring the attitude of being in hiding, being in the Pagan-closet.

And that, my friends, is heresy. It’s sad. It tells me that even in my private spaces, I’m not real and honest with myself. I can’t let the people who know this address–mostly people I’ve met in real life who are incredibly accepting of me–know the real me.

Again, it’s sad. And it’s time for a change.

I’m not going to live my life in hiding. Frankly, I’m sick of it. And I start with  you–reader and friend. I start with being real with you.

Yes. I believe in magic. Ghosts. The supernatural. Faeries. Gods, goddesses, phenomena we can’t explain. I believe in intention. I believe in ritual. I believe that when I raise and direct energy something happens. I believe that, out there, is a coven or circle or grove, ready for me to join when I’m ready to find them.

(I am also scared of many of those things.)

I believe in compassion, friendship, companionship, hedonism, sensuality, grey-areas, kindness, sexual fluidity, commitment. I believe in the shadow you see in the corner of your eye, the love you feel for the world on a perfect Sunday, the sensual feeling of sliding into cool sheets for a stolen nap and suddenly ____ god/goddess pops into your mind and you say: thanks, dude(tte).

That’s it. That’s my tipsy confessional. I might read this tomorrow and wince (maybe from the tequila, too), but this is an oath. Time to be real. Time to be honest.



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