Because f*ck you.

Source: http://indigojester.tumblr.com/post/124153458911/socialpsychopathblr-photographer-rina

Let me tell you one of my  personality traits. One thing I don't enjoy is routine. Repetitive tasks kill my enthusiasm like nothing else. Regular spellweaving very easily becomes a chore, unless I do something different every time. The problem with magick is the same you face with exercise. If you want to see results, you need to be methodical, hard-working and mostly REGULAR at what you do. Especially if there is a small army opposing your efforts, who wants to see you in the shit, and they work constantly. You see, those who hate you don't forget you. You may be living in green la-la land, merrily watching your favourite series and reading books and so on, but they aren't as happy-go-lucky or hare-brained as you are. (Talking about myself here). I remember the anecdote about the pilgrim who asked a holy man, "if I loved God with all my heart and being, how many lifetimes would I need to become enlightened?" and the holy man replied, "five." "And how many would I need if I hated and despised Him?" the pilgrim asked. "Three," the holy man replied. "I don't understand," the pilgrim said. "If you hated Him, you would be thinking of nothing else all day long," the holy man observed. And he was right. 

So spellweaving it is. Focused and regular, otherwise the waves of negativity sweep you off course and don't allow you to resurface and take a breath. They aren't sporadic. They keep coming when you least expect it. Energy is sentient and follows the path of least resistance. As soon as you lower your guard, it slips in from the smallest crack in your defenses. As a result, last night found me on the stairs to the rooftop, considering my options. I had to do something about the new moon. I was bored as hell and didn't want to. The drill sergeant in my head told me to quit my bellyaching and get on with it, and reminded me of what happens when I don't spellwork regularly.

I opened the door, cursing under my breath. Pleasant surprise number one awaited. The sky was covered by clouds, and clouds have the fantastic ability to illuminate the night. There was a pinkish(?) light everywhere, strong enough to see clearly in spite of the dark. Second pleasant surprise: the air was damp and cool on my face, although my room had been stifling. I could see the clouds descending from the mountain like cotton candy and sense the moisture in the air. Irregular raindrops landed on my face and the cicadas were deafening. It was beautiful.

I put the MP3 headphones in my ears and took a deep breath. This is what happens every time I decide to step out of my self-imposed imprisonment in my room and go to the rooftop. On the way there I am bored and nag about leaving my familiar routine. But once out there, I feel relieved and silly for my grumbling. It is a different world, with other rules, and you can leave all your problems behind for a while. 

It wasn't long before I found myself dancing to this   https://youtu.be/WJUZHiYX0XE and also this https://youtu.be/X7gSphrz-I0?list=PL7zVxNbF_jC3ZWDGaLbixJ5FXvGfYYaq9. Both taken from this amazing youtube channel: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC_dPXkUPztbPrRF_O4BqAvA. The beauty of it is the irrationality of it. I am  a woman nearing her 40s (it still seems impossible!) and last night at 04:00 am I was dancing on my rooftop to the sounds of an Irish jig, smiling as if I was on drugs. Why? Because fuck you. Because I could, and also because the best spells are spontaneous ones that overflow with feeling. And because I was having fun, so much fun it should be illegal. Who knows, maybe if they find out they will make that illegal, too. 

We need more happiness in this world. We have too many robots as it is. We need more lunatics dancing on rooftops at 4 in the night, in the embrace of clouds and solitude. We could benefit from less up-tightness. Of course, one can argue that I am trying to present my oddity as something normal, but you know what? Fuck you. I've lived my entire life as an outcast because I speak my mind. I've spent years suffering. And I am not going to let anyone lecture me about what is right. I know. Oh hell yes, I know. Nothing is real, everything is permitted. So long as your choices don't restrict anyone's future freedom of choice (yours included) then do what thou wilt.

I am off to eat some home-made marmalade. Be naughty and happy. 

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