When I see photos or videos of other people’s witchy spaces and shrine spaces, when they are wall to wall bookshelves with shrine spaces tucked into shelves, I envy both their abundance of books and their abundance of bookshelves. We are currently not set up to have that, and I go back and forth anyway, with whether I want more table top shrine spaces or spaces tucked into shelves. The only downside to having them in shelves, far as I can see, is it limits one’s candle-burning options. If the upper shelf is to close to the open flame, bad things happen. I’m comtemplating a book purge anyway, because there are books I haven’t touched in ages and I have a strict “if I don’t reread it/am not sentimentally attached to it/if I don’t reference it for a number of years, it must go,” rule. There are books that will never go, even if I don’t read them again, but then there are books that could be given away to make room for new books.
Yesterday I rearranged the shelves that hold our beloved animal dead. I’m thinking about additional spacing for shrines in general mostly due to realizing that, with the next few passings, we are going to need more room. Since our last move, the remains had been sitting on the top shelf of one of our taller book cases, with our beautiful statue of Bast on the top of the actual bookcase, presiding over the whole room. We liked the feel of that statue being up there, above all of us — it touched nicely upon the position our four legged companions have in our household and our hearts. It also, unfortunately, meant climbing upon a chair every time I wanted to leave Her an offering. Between that and Angel making general unsettled/unhappy comments and impressions, I figured it was time to change things a bit. So I flipped the shelf of books that is at about eye level with the shelf that had the remains, and I pulled the Bast statue down to reside on that shelf. The result is a better feel over all, but also heartbreaking. It brings them — Sassy and Orion, Princess and Angel and Amadeus — more obviously into our living quarters, and reminds us both of the loss of their physical presence and of their continued presences and influence in our lives. It’s a good heartbreak, if that makes sense.
I rearranged the Poseidon shrine a few days ago, and I keep trying to make a video of that so I can share, but our lighting sucks in our house, and the shrine is against a dark wall, and it’s impossible to see. I’m going to try again, because I want to share, because I want there to be Poseidon-specific content videos up on my channel, damn it, but I just need to figure out some lighting options.
In other news — August is the month that I typically hold my Poseidon of the Ponds ritual. I also typically aim to have that happen somewhere around the 8th of the month. This year, instead, there was back issues. It’s been a weird August here in that there has been rain. Not a lot, but there’ve been days when I’ve woken up to wet ground outside, so that’s been both neat and a tad unsettling. Funny, how we get used to specific patterns and when they’re broken, we’re all, “Buh?” I’m planning on heading over to Delta Ponds (my original site for this ritual, though I’ve been sticking closer to home the last few years) next Sunday or Monday, providing that my back continues to heal as it’s been doing. There may even be pictures! (From my phone. Let’s not get too excited.)
Writing is happening, on a consistent basis. I haven’t really stopped writing since I started last year. The one story I’ve been working on since April is a few hundred words from being finished. It should end up around 45k. I have three stories planned to follow. My writing is paying a bill, right now. I’m not living off it, I can’t quit my day job to stay home to write, but it’s paying a bill. Consistently. That’s sort of surreal to me, still. What’s annoying about this is I am finally, finally able to, unapologetically, put a priority on my writing when it comes to other, outside commitments, without feeling guilty. This is annoying, because why was that so hard to do before? Writing has always been this important to me. Why does outside, objective –albeit small — success lend credibility? It should be enough that what I want to do with my free time is usually write. Why are we so silly sometimes?