(^8) A Wiccan Bible
despite opinions on the war itself, folks would realize combatants do not determine
politics, and that in the United States military our soldiers follow the orders of the
Commander In Chief without respect to political parties or leanings.
I was wrong. In trying to extend the lives of Fred and Thumper, I extended their
suffering. In assuring my mother that Americans would all rally and show support for
their soldiers, I set her up for a fall. Now there is no more Fred to meditate with, there
is no more Thumper to run around and make me laugh, and there is no more O’Reilly
at 11 p.m.; he has been pre-empted for reports on the war. We all make mistakes and
those mistakes are part of the people that we are. We make mistakes, we learn from
them, and we move forward. We manage this because we cling to the good things in
life. Even when we might not see those good things in the moment, we know that they
are just right around the corner. I can deal with this because I still have my morning
Mountain Dew.
But it isn’t just soda that starts my day; it is the smiling face of the young lady who
sells me that soda. It is all part of the ritual. We never really talk much, but one can
begin to see the nature of someone’s soul, even from the smallest of exchanges. One
day after I asked her how she was, she told me she was in pain because she thought her
foot was broken. She laughed as she told me she called her father and he said if it was
still broken when she got off work, that he would take her to the hospital. The next
morning I asked her if her foot was still ‘broken’ and she said no. I told her that her
father loves her a great deal. She said, “I know.”
I think my morning breath of optimism is a high school student. If she is in college,
I imagine she hasn’t been there long. I hate to admit it, but I have become old and
jaded. So this last ritual—my morning Mountain Dew—does my heart good. It re-
minds me of when I was young, before I became as jaded as I am. It is a good thing
because if you believe in magick, then you know that this morning ritual marked me
younger and less jaded. It reminds me that there is hope and that some children do
continue to love their parents, even though it sometimes seems as if none do.
Recently, she asked me what I do for a living. I refused to say. So what was origi-
nally asked the way one might ask “How ya doing” has turned into a game. I am afraid
that if I answer, I might not have that last daily ritual anymore, and right now I need it
more than ever. I need the youthful optimism. I need something, anything, to tell me
there is hope for this world. It doesn’t take much, just a cheerful face now and then,
just one person who still loves the world no matter how ugly it seems at the moment. If
I were to answer her question and end the game, she might misunderstand my answer.
It is so easy to misunderstand and so hard to find the words that appropriately express
my job. Should I tell her what I do for a living?
In a broader sense of the question, should I tell you what I do for a living? If I tell
her, she might think I am insane. Maybe she would rebuke me in the name of her god.
It has happened so often that I have come to expect the occasional rebuking. If I tell
you, you might also think I am a bit loopy. Pagan leaders might come out and say I am
dangerous and ask the gods to protect the community from the likes of me. That, too,
has happened.
d WB Preface.p65 8 7/11/2003, 5:45 PM
barré
(Barré)
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