My bed is my sanctuary. My altar is my domain. My books are my muse’s infinite realms. As it might be expected, I do what I love, way better, when I do it in bed, while facing my altar and my books.
I write in bed.
Letting my stories scream to life in the place where I sleep, was not a conscious decision. I used to write on an awesome recliner I got from my Dad… then my hip and shoulder injuries worsened. Fast. I went from handwriting 10 to 15 pages in one sitting, to not being capable of producing more than a page. I write fast, so that translates to a sad number of minutes.
I hurt my shoulder a long time ago, and for a reason I can’t understand (I wonder if my body is entertaining a delusion that suggests it is getting old) I’m not sure what is going on, but writing by hand leaves me in pain. I can’t write at a desk either. My shoulder can’t bare it, and my messed up hip shakes at the thought of butt on chair. I must sit in bed with my legs fully extended, my back against the wall (propped up on 2 pillows) and my monkey arms as parallel to my legs as possible. If I happen to betray any of the above requirements, my shoulder droops slightly, my lower back develops a nasty knot, my hip swells up and the trio throbs… constantly… for a long time… It pisses me off… I want to hurt it back.
It upsets me to think about it. “Um, then why this post, silly Witch?” asks the Wicked Darling who lives in my head. Well, because the topic has come up at lot lately—in school, at home, even in the freaking subway!
Yesterday, I was really sad when I got home. I had one of those terrible days… I needed serious feel-better time. There are only two things that always make it all better: writing and sexy parties ;-) I was ready for a nice writing session; my Piano Man wasn’t home. I walked into the house and found a package in the entryway. I opened it and burst into girly giggles at the sight of an extra handsome Horned God. The Mother was even happier when I placed him next to her, on my altar. Then my Piano Man called me on the phone, to say he had found my favorite coffee. If you are not a coffee drinker, you might not understand the happiness this brought to my day. We’ve been out of my delicious kind of vice for too many days.
I got off the phone after telling my Piano Man he was my hero. I sat in bed, in front of my altar and my books, and wrote this post. I glanced at the Mother and the Horned God, and every once in a while I smiled at the shiny couple. My eyes lingered on their shapes whenever daylight sneaked through the bedroom windows just to kiss sparkles on them. I beamed at the sun clock my Piano Man gave me for All Hallow’s Eve, and at the first cover I ever wore (camouflaged hat for the non-Marine folks), at my boonie cover sitting on the grenade box I got from one of my Combat Training students, at the Pagan Culture inspired art I’ve gotten from friends, at the quilt my Piano Man’s mother made for the man I love, I smiled at my life… then I wondered, if the day I decided to write in bed, facing my altar and my books, my soul already knew this would be the perfect physically and psychologically relaxing space for my witchy heart.
Have a blissful Summer Solstice, my Wicked Darlings;
may the glory of the Sun shine its brightest rays
whenever you need to glow with happiness!