A witchy soul’s most valuable power is the ability (and willingness) to twist energy. This is what lives at the heart of magic: determination and skill that allows a Witch to push her or his will into feelings, drive and intentions, and turn raw energy into something useful. I’ve become quite adept at turning rage into speed. Nothing decreases my run time as much as recalling a moment when someone really pissed me off.
While in the Marine Corps, at the beginning of my physical training tests, I would bring to mind every idiot who had ever cut me off and then gave me the finger. The fury would set my adrenaline on fire and my brain would fail to tell my lungs just how much the running burned. I was only able to fool my lungs and legs for about 2.75 miles, so I needed something else to reach the end at a good speed: I would picture my favorite person in the world waiting for me at the finish line… holding a cold beer and a mango.
Today, I’m grieving. And I know I’ll be down in the dumps for a while. As energies go, fury is hot and it runs out fast. Grief, on the other hand, is thick… dark… slow… and capable of consuming the soul until it leaves behind something unrecognizable.
I refuse to be eaten or changed without my consent. However, I understand that grief must be allowed to run through my heart, naturally. I can’t fuel my runs with tears; neither am I able to twist this kind of sobbing into something welcoming or pretty. But I can turn the pain into a balanced story (or three).
So… to those of you who have wondered what I’ll do to move on after my brother’s death, I say that I will accept my grief, I will digest it, I will treasure the time I spent with my brother, I will live, I will write…
I first saw this image in What Dreams May Come, one of my favorite movies EVER,
it reminds me that grief doesn’t always have to stay ugly, dark, or consuming.