The abs class fitness instructor at the gym likes to remind us that in order to get a strong core, eventually you have to do crunches. You can do lots of other things too, but, eventually, you have to contract those muscles, and that means crunching. You have to do the work, and you have to do the right work.
I feel you, Niki: I'm also not doing the work I need to be doing.
I'm reading other people's inspirational and thought-provoking posts and thinking about their opinions instead of working on my own. I'm making new Pagan memes: seeking out quotes, matching them with photos, playing with fonts and frames. I'm also going to the gym and doing my crunches. What I'm not doing is authentic prayer.
Part of my current spiritual practices is praying prior to meals and sleep, but the prayers I've been using are the same as the ones I've been using for more than a decade and they no longer match my beliefs. They've become almost superstitions. Since I think best in writing, I've been telling myself to write it out – here or in my journal – and start revising my daily rituals, but the right time to do that never seems to be now.
This isn't the right time either. We have "House of Cards" on, which hardly sets the right atmosphere for deep introspection or real spiritual work, and I've got a sleeping cat in my lap that I don't want to disturb by getting up. But I need to start this work... one day.
It is like a physical exercise routine: you know it is good for you; you know you'll feel better when you do it; you know that once you build a new habit, it will be relatively easy to maintain; but, somehow, it is still just easier to keep finding excuses and keep putting it off. Maybe, like with exercise, I need a real motivation to go from excuses to actions. I had reasons - reasons that were very specific and deeply important to me - for starting to go to the gym, and I had measurable results to keep me motivated. To do the spiritual work I feel I need to do, I need a calling. A calling won't come from my gods, for they don't speak, so I must find it within, and I must find in that calling both reason and reward.
My new washing machine arrived today. It is a thing of beauty, and so quiet compared to my old one that I actually watched it for several minutes before I reluctantly came to believe that it was actually running correctly. The clothing came out free of soap residue without an extra rinse cycle and were spun so completely that they will probably dry overnight on my basement line. A huge improvement over the machine that I've been using for the last eight years, which was a second hand machine that had served a family of four for many years before we got it. The very nice delivery men took away our grubby old washer and the matching dryer we've never used, leaving behind a gleaming new machine with led lights and pleasant chiming noises.
"Superstition is to religion what astrology is to astronomy; the mad daughter of a wise mother." ‒ Voltaire (1694-1778).
Imbolc can be a tough ritual to write, especially for a group that doesn't follow any Celtic deities, so we can't just call on Brighid, and in Vancouver, which doesn't have reliable seasonal weather to draw on. Elsewhere, there are first signs of Spring to celebrate or the depths of winter to endure, but nothing is really interesting about Vancouver's weather at the beginning of February. We're just in a perpetual state of grey drizzle; sometimes a little warmer with a few early cherry blossoms and sometimes a little colder with a little frost in the mornings, but without a true winter, much of Imbolc's importance is lost.
