There are many great works we do in the course of a
lifetime—education, marriage, parenting, career building, etc.—and many that
are just as important even if their time-frame is somewhat smaller. As a bit of a writer, I feel the same way in
beginning a new manuscript that I did at the beginning of any one of the big
enterprises of my life. It’s no wonder
so many authors speak of “giving birth” to a book.
So that’s the big projects and the small ones. But there’s an even greater work that is
always at stake, always in process, and yet it can be overlooked as stagnant or
inevitable—our very lives. When
something bad comes along, it’s easy to think that it has ruined everything and
that all plans for the future have been dashed.
But you don’t abandon a baby incorrectly positioned for birth, you don’t
scrap sixth grade because of a harsh teacher, and you won’t turn your back on
what could be just because of what
is.
That is the essence of magic. A witch is always looking at what could be,
never at what is (unless it is pleasing, at which point s/he should smile and
nod approvingly). There is no work that
can be completed without many steps, some of which may, at first, appear to be
going in the wrong direction. It’s not
failure to take a step or two extra. So
long as the goal is always clearly sighted, you will never become lost.
As an example, right now I’m working on a very challenging
project. Sure, it’s not something of
immense importance (outside of my home), but doing well means a great deal to
me, and that’s the best reason I have ever had to do my very best. My husband and I are traveling to Salem again
this year for the Witches Ball and again I’m making our costumes from
scratch. That’s not the hard part. The real
work comes in where I see how it is possible to make these costumes, but not
necessarily whether I have the skills needed for the job. Yes, I know just how it would be done…if I
were watching it on a documentary of costume-making full of time-elapse photography,
cut-aways, and a warehouse workspace with teams of experts. They, and some suitably peppy music to speed
things along, would show a smooth, flawless process from start to finish. But that’s not the reality. Instead you’ve got me, sitting cross-legged
on our living room floor, making wearable sculpture from chicken-wire. My fingers are bloody, my knees are sore,
I’ve got a stomachache from far too much coffee, and I still have hours to go
until I can get the kids off to school and take myself to bed. My next step—plaster wrap. Having never broken a bone (thank goodness),
I had no idea how unwieldy this cast stuff was.
Luckily I covered every available surface with newspaper because soon
after starting I had every available surface covered in plaster dust and
splatters of plaster water. Not quite as
glamorous as my documentary.
In short, I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. But I keep doing it because I only have to
get this one step right in order for
the whole thing to work out. My great
big wire/plaster/papier-mâché conglomeration sits on the living room coffee
table now like an odd faceless gargoyle.
As I work, I see my one current step; when it’s done, I stand back and
see what it will become. At every turn,
I’m doing something I’ve never done before, working with materials wholly unfamiliar
to me, and flying by the seat of my pants.
But I can’t think about that now.
There’s work to be done and it won’t happen unless I get in there and do
it—one step at a time.
Our lives run in a similar way. Each step is the most important one, and
that’s the one that needs the most help we can give it. Ever since I began as a witch 15 years ago,
I’ve called upon magic not as a last resort, but as a first. I use it to direct my future, set the steps
to take, and smooth out the wrinkles along the way. I know that this is vastly different from
much of the current thought in the magical community, but it has kept me always
in sight of my goals and because of that has served me well.
It keeps me going to see the finished product even if it’s
currently just as a drawing on paper. I
know it will work out, no matter what it takes, because I have willed it. We
create with our wills and our imagination.
This is magical thinking—you make it come to life with the same power
you hold inside you to dream, to wish, to believe in something more than
tangible reality. Have your goal firmly
set in your mind the whole time and it will slowly take that shape. Your magic can work to direct the steps you
take in meeting that goal at the end. And
meet it you will.
I’m sure this costume will be a bit different from my idea of it—just as one’s vision of marriage
or childbirth can easily differ from the reality—but that will not mean it’s
imperfect, only that a static image will never be as wonderfully alive and
unpredictable as the real thing. Maybe it
will be better than I planned. Maybe not
so grand. But in either case, it will be
everything I could give it. That is what
we owe to ourselves to give in our lives—everything we’ve got. And that’s not something we give away. It’s what we carry with us, mold into our
personal histories, and use to create the mountain upon which we can someday
stand and see distant horizons.
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