When the World is Not Made for You

There has been some silence on this blog recently, and that is because I’ve been super busy with work (because I finally have regular, full time job!) and because I went to Louisiana for a week (and did absolutely nothing witchy)– both of which I will talk about in a later post. What has been occupying much of my brain time in the last week is the shooting in Charleston.

Honestly, I don’t want to talk about it. Why? Because I’m exhausted. And when I say that, I mean that I’m so tired of my people being murdered, I’m sick of having to hear racist people on TV talk about these murders as if they were accidents, or “mistakes”, made by “unstable people” when we all know that the beliefs of these people are not anomalies but are in fact integral to the system of which we are all part. I am tired of being angry and hurt and scared. I’m tired of my white friends’ silence. I’m tired of white people not caring about the lives of black people. I’m tired and frustrated because I can’t trust my own country to keep me safe. I can’t trust the people in power to give my people justice. I’m tired of having to argue with people who DEFEND VIOLENCE AGAINST BLACK PEOPLE EVERYDAY.

I’m so so tired of this bullshit.

And I’m not saying that black people are the only ones in this country who are oppressed, or that they’re the only ones who deserve justice. I am just being shone time and time again that this world is not made for me– that the systems in place do not allow for my peaceful existence or the peaceful existence of people who look like me, who share my history. It is so painful to know that you live in a world that was not made for you. To live in a country, that you love, that  you were born and raised in, that doesn’t love you back. That shows you time and time again that you’re not wanted. And I mean you as in the collective you, the black community.

And yes, there are white people out there who are allies, who care deeply about not just their own rights but the rights of others, especially the rights of communities of color. But when I see white people on facebook and cnn and fox news and on the bus and at the bank and in the newspaper defending police brutality, excusing terrorism against black bodies, excusing MURDER– it really gets you down. It makes me think, “Do white people even care? Do they give a flying fuck about anyone other than themselves?” Why do I not see more outrage? I do I not see more white people protesting the murder of innocent people? And not just the collective white community, I’m talking about people I consider to be friends, people who are my family. Why do they remain silent? Why are they not fighting with me?

Do you see why I’m frustrated? Do you see why I am so angry?

Let this be a warning to anyone reading this blog: if you are interested in sustaining white supremacy in this country, don’t bother staying. If you are white and you remain silent on the issue of violence against minorities, you are complicit in that violence and you need to go to. I’m not going to argue about it anymore. If you are not in the business of ending racism and inequality, this is not the place for you and I don’t want you here.

Impromptu Prayer for a Rainy Day

So the last week has been pretty hot here in my neck of the woods– and when I mean hot, I mean almost 80 degrees. What can I say, I live in the bay area, that’s hot here! And I’m so used to 65-70 degree weather that when it pushes 80 I’m sweating. This has made sleeping difficult because our bedroom is so stuffy, even with the window open, and we have no air conditioning in our home (and no fan, currently).

This has made me pretty grumpy for the past week.

I was anticipating the weather to continue this way for the foreseeable future. It’s the beginning of summer, we’re in the middle of a pretty intense drought here in California, so I thought this is it. This is my life now.

And then it rained.

I heard it through the night as I moved in and out of sleep, kicking covers off and then piling them on again as a shield against dangerous nighttime creatures (my dreaming self is a scaredy-cat). I heard it still as I got dressed this morning and packed up my work things. And when I opened my front door I saw puddles on the ground and the raindrops falling and thought yeeeeeeessssssss. Finally. I didn’t even bother with an umbrella– bad news for anything made of paper in my backpack– I walked down the street to the bus stop with nothing but a jacket to protect my skin, hood down, letting the drops fall on my hair and face. It felt so good. I had forgotten how much I appreciated the rain. And I thought about how badly our state needs it. I know that the amount of rain we get today won’t make a dent in our water deficiencies. It’s pretty inconsequential considering how much water we need to get back to normal. But it felt like hope. It felt like the rain was washing away some of the bad.

I made my way to the Bart station and up the escalators I went, onto the platform to wait for the train. I couldn’t help myself, I pulled my hands out from my pockets and felt the rain on my skin. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the feeling, the coolness of each drop and I began to pray.

Thank you goddess for this rain

Thank you for the sky above

Thank you for the ground below

Thank you for your nourishment

Thank you for this day

For a moment it felt like no one else was there. It was just me and the rain.

The Poor Woman’s Altar

In my last post I talked about diving in. Well since then I made the decision to buy some actual altar supplies. Now, it’s still a work in progress, but I wanted to show you what I’ve gotten so far.

imageI know, it looks a bit sparse right now, but I have a lot more on my list to buy and I’m not done decorating. It’s a work in progress, just like me.  Continue reading