Looking for the Labyrinth

This weekend, I attended my first Gnostic Catholic Mass with the local chapter of the OTO.  Because my timing is sometimes awesome, there was a group in from Omaha to see three of their number baptized, which really elevated the initiatory current of the rite.  I could get into a detailed analysis, but that’s not why I’m here today.

The ritual was beautiful and powerful.  I definitely enjoyed the power-up.  I’m glad I went.  There were good people there.  I will almost certainly go again.

But it’s not home.

I spent half the ritual itching to go home and do witchcraft.  To light candles and beat a drum and chong out my altar room with incense and oil smoke.  To pour libations and swill wine with the gods.  To leap the hedge and descend the World Tree and seek once more the realms beneath the Earth.  I want to walk the winding paths of the labyrinth.

Instead, though, I struggle to meditate.  My dreams elude me.

I stand before my altars and stare, futile, even as I stare at the blank page.  Should I draw or write?  What project needs my attention first?  How do I even?  How do?  What do?

I want to burn the world.  I have to tools.  And yet my hands shake.  The circle trembles.  My heart hammers in my chest.  Where do I begin to begin again?  I am paralyzed by indecision.

I cannot find my voice.  I cannot find my way back to the labyrinth.

 

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