I am very bored
In this bright and shiny cube
Pandas make good pets

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?

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately. About a whole bunch of things. One of these things, perhaps the most important of these things, revolves around my gifts. I’m not, of course, referring to the presents I got this past holiday season. I’m thinking about the gifts of my personality, the gifts that make me the person I am, that define my life and spirituality.

The core of what I’m thinking about here, comes down to taking, or not taking, our gifts for granted. It’s easy to do that. To be born with an ability, or have it come upon you quickly and with great force, is something that we can easily allow to make us arrogant. And when we become arrogant and take our gifts for granted, we abuse ourselves, others, and the gifts themselves.

Take for instance the gift of intelligence. I’m a smart guy. I know this because people have been telling me how smart I am from the time I was a very small child. For a long time, I believed that being smart made me better than other people. A great deal better. And In the years since I’ve seen how that belief has harmed me. I have turned away from people who would have been my friends, who could have helped me along when I needed it. I have, without intending too, condescended and damaged dozens of people through my arrogance.

I was for a long time, the person who held his knowledge and experience far over the heads of those around him. Instead of teaching you I would do it for you. Instead of guiding you when you needed help, I would show you how to do it. I’ve been that guy, the one who you know has the answer, but you don’t want to ask because he’s an ass about it.

I’m not that guy today. Every once in a while he tries to come around and I have to slam the door in this face. It’s not easy. Superiority is a comforting feeling. It’s much harder to look around and know that I’m no better or worse than everyone around me. Looking at the homeless guy on the street, wondering why he’s homeless, it’s hard to feel special. There is a part of me, that contemplates the choices he’s made, continues to make, the keep him in his place. The homeless man has no one to blame but himself.

But another part of me knows that it’s not about blame. It is about compassion. It is about suffering. Making it about blame cheapens it for everyone. It devalues his life to blame him for his circumstances. I don’t pity him, huddled in the cold, trying to keep warm. But I don’t scorn him either. His life isn’t worth less than mine, expect perhaps in what he’s chosen to do with it, or not do with it. I have no pity, and I have no hope. But I have compassion. I look in his eyes, and I see a soul looking back.

I’m immensely lucky to have the life I have. I’ve had my share of suffering. I’ve been near to suicide at least three times. I’ve questioned my beliefs, my lifestyle, my career. I’ve found myself wondering “Am I worthy of the gifts I’ve been given?” I never like the answer, because it’s always, “no.”

There is nothing I’ve done, nothing I can do, that will make me worthy of the gifts I posses. I’m smart and compassionate. I’m patient, enduring, and intuitive. I’m a synesthete, a sybriant, and I can observe and interact with subtle realities as easily as I breathe. I’m gifted with my language, it is words infused by spirit, and the words pass through me like the wind through the trees. Nothing I’ve done makes me worthy of these gifts. How could I possibly be worthy? No sacrifice, No work of art, No effort to change the world can make me worthy of carrying these gifts.

So I am humbled. I am living my life in reverence. I am waking in adoration and thanks for those gifts. And more, I am driven to share them. I am called to use these gifts, to change the world around me. I see those around me suffering, and my heart reaches out to them. I must use my gifts to their fullest, with careful discernment and application. How can I do anything less? How can I give proper thanks in any other way?

It’s been about a month since I’ve posted anything here. Far longer than I wanted. I would like to write at least a few times a week, but that clearly wasn’t meant to be.

Lest you think I simply neglected this, I will give some small reason for my absence. I have been incredibly depressed lately. There are a lot of reasons for this, and many of them I’m all but recovered from, but suffice to say that depression is not easy for me to deal with. It shuts me down.

Expect some good things in the next few days. I have lots of new stories to share.