In less then three weeks, I’ll be leaving the incredibly warm and beautiful hearth of my family in central Florida and heading to the forests of the northwest again.
I’m both excited and a bit sorrowful, happy-sad, I think. I’ve been so busy with writing and work that I’ve had very little time to think on this matter, and though packing for the trip will mostly involve fitting stuff into my rucksack and throwing books (including my OBOD gwersu, which have begun to comprise a significant collection) and tapestries into a box, I haven’t really spent much time preparing yet. Leaving Seattle for my pilgrimage was an epic act of extraction, extricating not just my physical affects but my heart from a place I’d lived for more than a decade. Weeks of planning, researching sites and crash courses on magic and communicating with spirits while trying to see friends I wasn’t certain I’d see again was a lot more difficult than leaving a temporary home to return to areas I know.
I’m gonna miss my family, though. It occurs to me that my youngest nephew might not be the little punk beard-tugging infant the next time I see him, and who knows what the older one will have become next time I see him? And, well, though four months with my sisters has been much more than what I’ve had with them the last 16 years combined, it still seems too short.
If all goes to plan, I’m moving to Eugene, Oregon, after a few days visiting Seattle (and seeing FAUN! I’m fucking excited about this), then a few days in Portland to go see a man who’s come to mean lots and lots to me, and then finally to Eugene. Also, I’ll be having Pagan Tea with Niki Whiting and PSVL and a few others while up that way (which is awesome, as screens are alright, but real life is pretty damn awesome).
I’m quite excited about traveling again. There’s this brilliant feeling of something more than independence when it’s just you and your rucksack. Because you’re not actually independent when you travel. You make decisions for yourself, yes, but you throw yourself into the arms of strangers and far-flung friends. You’re dependent upon the idea that each place you go will be understandable enough that you can negotiate it with the knowledge you already have of other places. Dependent on transit, on coffeeshops with internet access, on neighborhoods friendly to strangers. In foreign lands, you’re dependent on others understanding your attempts to speak to them, and if your mastery of language isn’t good enough, you become dependent upon their knowledge of a language you speak better.
In the meantime
I probably won’t be writing nearly as much the next month, though I always tell myself this and yet keep writing anyway. It’s sort of like I cannot stop, or don’t know how to, and it’s been rather damn cool that you’ve all been rather tolerant of my addiction to fumbling attempts as self-expression. So, who knows?
But at the very least, a few interesting things will happen this next month.
I’ll be writing a piece for Imbolc, as I’ve committed to do for each of the eight stations of the year.
I’ll be on Wyrd Ways the fifth of February, probably talking Sannion and Galina’s ears off about Capitalism and Bretagne.
I’ve got a review of Christine Kraemer’s recent book that I’ll be posting here in the next week or two.
And my writing on Arianrhod for the 30 Days of Devotion project will be posted on the Polytheism Without Borders blog, once I’ve cleaned ’em up a little bit.
Also, if anyone else wants to do Pagan Tea Time with me, I’m utter game. I’ve a few more coming up (and also the ones in person), and would be happy to do more, particularly if they’re before I go journeying again (the 18th of February).
Be well, all of you!