autumn twilight

Amatheon, in his round-about way, taught me something a couple weeks ago. Something that’s been on my mind a lot. I’ve studied energy, magic, and pagan religion for over a decade now. I’ve practiced magic just as long. Through that time I’ve acquired a great deal of knowledge. Likewise, I’ve built up a great deal of skill in the practice of my art.

But I have for some time now, felt something was lacking. I should elaborate. Swap “some time now” for “several years now.”

I knew, with a certainty born of brilliance that I lacked the discipline needed to truly live up to my expectations of self (and they can be daunting even in my most optimistic moments). I’ve never been able to discipline myself for consistent periods of time. Hell, I have difficulty going more than a few days without jerking off, yet I expect myself to have the discipline to create large, stable structures in my life.

I realized recently that I was going at it backwards. Discipline is meaningless to me. — Let me back up briefly, to how Amatheon taught me this lesson.

I know the Lesser Banishing Ritual of the Pentagram. I know it well, having learned it a few different times, and practiced it regularly. I am skilled at it. Each piece of it, and in it’s holism. When I perform the LBRP I can feel myself and the space around me vibrate.

Yet one evening a few weeks ago, I saw my mentor Amatheon perform this same ritual. I’ve only ever seen him do it when he was doing it in concert with students. Watching him brought tears to my eyes, in perfect honestly. It’s not that he knows it that much better than I do, or that his skill surpasses mine so greatly (although in honesty, it does). What impressed me, what hit me hard, was not his speed or grace, not his control, not the focus, nor the quick and strong response of the spirits, but was the vigor and absolute commitment with which he did it.

In that moment I understood what it means to commit to something. We talk about commitment as something long term. A concept of a committed relationship. A commitment to a career. A commitment to a vocation, a school, a debt. These are spurious outgrowths of the true meaning of commitment. To commit, is to apply your entire being to the work of your Will. It may be only for an instant, or the time it takes to do the LBRP, but it is singular. More important to me, your action ceases to be an exercise and becomes an act of changing the world.

So I’m trying to commit more frequently. I started by attempting to perform the LBRP with the sense of commitment which I saw Amatheon perform it. It felt different. I have always felt the forces around me when I perform this rite. I have always felt their response. This wasn’t the same. It’s hard to define the difference, except to say there was enthusiasm in the response of the universe.

No longer was the ritual composed of principles and elements that respond to gestures and patterns of action. It became a partnership, a kind of dance. The steps were prescribed, and needed to be followed precisely, but there was music, where previously I had been rehearsing the steps with only my own humming.

I have this sense of presence when I’m committing to something. When I committ to writing, or to magic. Or even to an instant of focusing on one person or thing. I feel as though I am congruent. Wholly congruent with myself, my universe, and my actions.

And in the end, isn’t that what it comes down to?