In the Broom Closet

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Witchcraft is a funny thing.  People are amazed and scared by it at the same time.  I have several friends who by their own admission would not be caught dead associating with a witch, yet two things occur to me; one, bwahahaha – they are!  And two, more than likely these are the same people that would come to me for help with love, money or a job if they knew.  They would never tell anyone, but they would.  Funny, a witchling and already needed.

I started a new job a few weeks ago and I had to make a decision.  My previous position was a front-line supervisory position, so I was not really scrutinized and we front-line supervisors are expected to be a little ‘off’, it’s what keeps us from day drinking.  But this position has actual and supposed authority and I made the decision I would not engage in Facebook friendships with those that are my peers and employees.  This was a hard decision, because I love the people I work with.  Well, mostly.  And in today’s society unless you are friends on Facebook, you aren’t really friends.

As some of you know, I run a Facebook page and my profile is completely out of the broom closet.  I am open on Facebook with my devotion if not applause of the craft, paganism and even Baphomet.  My previous co-workers knew this, I was the odd man, but it was all in fun.  They knew I had a mini cauldron on my desk and they knew why I cared what phase of moon it was and why I was burning a blue candle at my desk even if my handbook said not to.  I had worked there long enough to know that there would not be repercussions.  I had earned that right through my kindness and acceptance of their faith, the hard work I put in and my fairness as their boss.  That and I didn’t walk around the office asking if anyone had a moment to discuss the blessings of the light mother.

But maybe I was wrong.  I was passed over for a promotion I had earned.  I was not ever even fucking considered for the promotion that was so rightfully mine.  I had always kind of thought that those in the broom closet were missing out, wearing their faith on their arm (or neck, or finger or skin); I was so lucky that I could wear my craft with pride, not bluntness, but pride.  Sure, I kept my Wiccan jeweler inside the clothes but as mentioned, I had my cauldron and I had a set of runes at my desk and even the second part of the charge on my wall, “Keep pure your highest ideal…”  How is that for an amazing motivational poster?

Perhaps my boss who was of a faith different than mine knew this about me and maybe it made him uncomfortable to have me as his right hand man.  When I left the company, there still hadn’t been a decision for the position.  They had talked to two others that had my position years ago who turned them down (let’s just say I survived my time), and spoke to two others without ever even acknowledging that I had applied and was the rightful heir apparent.

Why is that do you think?  I would have never guessed it was a bit of bias, but I am starting to look back at some of the things that occurred while I was there blinded with hope and the whispers of those I worked with.  Maybe a lot more of my peers were not as happy as I was with me being a witch and having the mysteries in their workplace.  I will NEVER know the struggle that gender, gender  fluidity, race or sexual orientation have caused people because, well, my own touch on being labeled is so small compared to the continual struggle but it has really opened my eyes and made me more compassionate.

Lady Atheona always has said that we will not be fired for being a witch but rather we would be fired for performance issues or some other bullshit that pops-up.  I always took that for tongue in cheek a bit, but there is also a flip-side to that coin.  You may not be fired, but you also may never rise up or be promoted.  You can also be left to languish until you quit.

I can count on one hand, with fingers to spare, the times that this middle aged white male has been discriminated against.  It just doesn’t happen.  Twice were for things well within my control and of those one was just embarassing and the other was legitimitely an issue where I had recourse.  The only other time was when I was young, living with a single alcoholic mom who was recovering from drugs.  Art Alexakis of Everclear said it best…

Get it Art
“It wasn’t easy for me to be a scared white boy in a black neighborhood…”

Yes, white man problems.  I was Kid Rock and Eminem before Robert and Marshall knew what that meant.  Back to my post.

I am fortunate that I was able to be recruited into a position that puts me back career wise where I should be; with a company that respects me and the skills I bring.  But they also do not know that I am working hard at becoming an initiated witch and every Sunday I spend time with some very fine witchlings, and that every six weeks or so I dance, chant, raise power, feast, sing, laugh and praise with a  group of like minded individuals that are called witch.

I think for now, and for the best reasons, keep that world outside of my work for awhile.  For now, the mini starfish a good friend and witch gave me will be my pentacle.  My aromatherapy oils in my drawer will be brought out when my office door is closed and locked, the blinds drawn and the lights off because in that moment, I need a little strength, and by the glow of my computer monitor I become aware of my intentions; I have prepared with the starfish, the door and the oil; Invoke the Lord and Lady; I mentally cast and consecrate my office circle and purify it with thought and oil and I give thanks.

Yes, they don’t need to know that I do that on my lunch hour.  Not yet anyway.

All of that being said, my lesson and compassionate moment for today is really trite, but well, isn’t there enough hatred, shame, bigotry, deceit, anger and isolationism in this world already?  I don’t need to take away from someones place of self-worth by being Mayor McDouche.  I don’t want that from them, I don’t deserve it back.  I will honestly try harder.

Blessed be.

Welcome Back II!

Conversation this morning on the drive in to work…

Me: Hon?   Do you think I was a saint in a previous life?
Wife: Why would you think that
  (Currently I am commenting on the car next to me and the parentage of the driver, or lack thereof a solid father figure in his life, or what I would do to him if I was left to my own devices)
Me: Well, I think I can be a real bag of dicks sometimes.  A real twat.  And you know, I believe in reincarnation.  So maybe I chose to live this life as a jackass, because I needed to learn the lessons of what it’s like to create misery on Earth.
Wife: What the fuck?
Me: Well, what makes you so certain that in my past life, or in fact, all of them I wasn’t just the golden piece of humanity we all want to be?  I was fucking Dr. Salk, Ghandi, and Richard the Lionhearted all rolled up into one sexy individuality?  Who is to say I was a shit in a previous life so I am supposed to be pious or divine or some other ever loving kindness in this one?
Wife: That’s really fucked up
Me: No, I am serious – OK, so the idea is not to come out the other end of this ride with all the “GOOD” Karma that is bullshit anyway.  No such thing, karma just is, it’s the cosmic balance of our actions, and so since nature needs and craves and will do anything to restore polarity, why is it so hard to believe that my bad actions in this life are a direct result of my need to balance the good actions of a previous life?
Wife: Wow, really?  This is how you really feel.
Me: Nah, you are probably right, this is how I get without my coffee.  I will be cool.

Thank you Janet and Stewart Farrar for really making me think on this one…