Reflections On The Solstice.
I took the last three days off, one to get a pay meter fitted (which of course they couldn’t do unless I have some plumbing work done to the meter cupboard). The other two to cover the solstice.
OK I sit here again having performed the usual hotchpotch of ritual and farce that goes hand in hand with my attempts at some religious practice in line with my Pagan beliefs.
Farce as I attempt to light a candle, having read somewhere that previous (historical) Pagans would capture the last light of the setting sun using some polished crystal. Keeping the flame over night to be extinguished with the rising of the sun the next dawn. Using the light from that (the new dawn) to ignite the temple flame for the next six months. Farce As I stand in my back door attempting to light a candle with a magnifying glass and only succeeding in burning the wick away to nothing. I even attempt to light a lighter from the suns focused rays, which of course doesn’t work as well. I get more and more frustrated with myself and end up just lighting the candle in the rays of the setting sun. Farce again as I can’t help but fiddle with the burning candle and can’t leave it alone. Of course my intervention causes the flame to go out. So have I not only failed to light the alter flame (candle) from the sun but also managed to extinguish the same by pissing around with it. Well long ago I realised my only purpose in existence was to provide amusement for the gods, which I succeed at in all quarters.
Well forensic evidence, post three bottles of rather pleasant Rosé (alcohol for the reverence of Baccus), suggest that Eris made her presence known as well (Eris Discordia do look up the Principia Discordia). Even to the extent of some burnt offerings and the liberal anointment of the kitchen (It looks as if I cooked something and then tried to get the cooking oil back into the bottle, spilling it liberally over the washing, the kitchen surface, and anything that stood there on). Also the candle has burnt (slightly) some of the area around where I left it to stand (putting it out this morning with the first light of dawn). Though I must say that the oil has actually lubricated the cooker ignition switch that was sticking. This now fixed, I can leave the cooker actually turned on at the electric switch. Though completely failed to notice this evening that the oven was actually turned on, only noticing that the kitchen was warmer than usual, for an hour or two, before realising and turning the thing off.
My understanding of the solstice is as the reflection (and opposite) of the winter solstice. Here the Holly King regains the thrown by defeating the Oak King. The days become shorter and we begin to think of winter again.
Enough of the pantomime. So there you find me. Deep in my post alcoholic depression, having only nearly set fire to the house twice in the last two days, completely unable to find my suit trousers, finding most of the rest of my clothes infested with moths, or fungus, or both, deep in reflection as to what the last six to twelve months has brought. My life still the blueprint for some sitcom as at yet unwritten.
So where am I then?
Scared shitless that the job I’m doing at the moment is the final destination. The rest of my working life doing a job for half the money I was getting to do the exact same job (mostly databases and spreadsheet manipulation) for half the money, but generously allowed to work myself to death by doing twice the hours. At a creative low because I have no energy, or time (once I’ve finished my thirteen hour days), or inkling left to create anything. Feeling both used, and abused, and ignored.
My only options being much of the same with another company, merely changing location and employer not solving the problem. I spent many months going to interviews and just seemed to be going round in little circles (no one wishing to employ me until this firm. Circles, ever decreasing, ever reducing, the time I have to create and destroying the very impetus to create itself.
Frightened that this is “it” I will no longer do the things I enjoy. No one will let me play with computers the way I enjoy (and am so good at). Twenty years left to work. Twenty years finally to trudge through the work-a-day drudgery of soul destroying boredom.
Spent all the last few days trying not to watch daytime TV as it only depresses me even more. The continuous repetition of the same programs. Not meeting the demographic, continuously bombarded with debt management and loan adverts. Does ever one who watches daytime TV have money problems or do I just watch the same programmes as the needy.
Scared shitless that this is actually it. This is all. This is as far as I’m going to get, a bi-monthly rant on the web on some obscure blog. Left moaning about the fact I thought of certain concepts first but had neither the money nor opportunity to pursue the ideas and publish them.
I haven’t written any poetry for ages.
Has the joy really gone? Is this it finally? Too qualified to do most jobs, not qualified enough to the ones I want to do. Are my whites really that grey?
If only I could just slip back into academia and disappear into study and not have to face the real world on a day to day basis.
OK I sit here again having performed the usual hotchpotch of ritual and farce that goes hand in hand with my attempts at some religious practice in line with my Pagan beliefs.
Farce as I attempt to light a candle, having read somewhere that previous (historical) Pagans would capture the last light of the setting sun using some polished crystal. Keeping the flame over night to be extinguished with the rising of the sun the next dawn. Using the light from that (the new dawn) to ignite the temple flame for the next six months. Farce As I stand in my back door attempting to light a candle with a magnifying glass and only succeeding in burning the wick away to nothing. I even attempt to light a lighter from the suns focused rays, which of course doesn’t work as well. I get more and more frustrated with myself and end up just lighting the candle in the rays of the setting sun. Farce again as I can’t help but fiddle with the burning candle and can’t leave it alone. Of course my intervention causes the flame to go out. So have I not only failed to light the alter flame (candle) from the sun but also managed to extinguish the same by pissing around with it. Well long ago I realised my only purpose in existence was to provide amusement for the gods, which I succeed at in all quarters.
Well forensic evidence, post three bottles of rather pleasant Rosé (alcohol for the reverence of Baccus), suggest that Eris made her presence known as well (Eris Discordia do look up the Principia Discordia). Even to the extent of some burnt offerings and the liberal anointment of the kitchen (It looks as if I cooked something and then tried to get the cooking oil back into the bottle, spilling it liberally over the washing, the kitchen surface, and anything that stood there on). Also the candle has burnt (slightly) some of the area around where I left it to stand (putting it out this morning with the first light of dawn). Though I must say that the oil has actually lubricated the cooker ignition switch that was sticking. This now fixed, I can leave the cooker actually turned on at the electric switch. Though completely failed to notice this evening that the oven was actually turned on, only noticing that the kitchen was warmer than usual, for an hour or two, before realising and turning the thing off.
My understanding of the solstice is as the reflection (and opposite) of the winter solstice. Here the Holly King regains the thrown by defeating the Oak King. The days become shorter and we begin to think of winter again.
Enough of the pantomime. So there you find me. Deep in my post alcoholic depression, having only nearly set fire to the house twice in the last two days, completely unable to find my suit trousers, finding most of the rest of my clothes infested with moths, or fungus, or both, deep in reflection as to what the last six to twelve months has brought. My life still the blueprint for some sitcom as at yet unwritten.
So where am I then?
Scared shitless that the job I’m doing at the moment is the final destination. The rest of my working life doing a job for half the money I was getting to do the exact same job (mostly databases and spreadsheet manipulation) for half the money, but generously allowed to work myself to death by doing twice the hours. At a creative low because I have no energy, or time (once I’ve finished my thirteen hour days), or inkling left to create anything. Feeling both used, and abused, and ignored.
My only options being much of the same with another company, merely changing location and employer not solving the problem. I spent many months going to interviews and just seemed to be going round in little circles (no one wishing to employ me until this firm. Circles, ever decreasing, ever reducing, the time I have to create and destroying the very impetus to create itself.
Frightened that this is “it” I will no longer do the things I enjoy. No one will let me play with computers the way I enjoy (and am so good at). Twenty years left to work. Twenty years finally to trudge through the work-a-day drudgery of soul destroying boredom.
Spent all the last few days trying not to watch daytime TV as it only depresses me even more. The continuous repetition of the same programs. Not meeting the demographic, continuously bombarded with debt management and loan adverts. Does ever one who watches daytime TV have money problems or do I just watch the same programmes as the needy.
Scared shitless that this is actually it. This is all. This is as far as I’m going to get, a bi-monthly rant on the web on some obscure blog. Left moaning about the fact I thought of certain concepts first but had neither the money nor opportunity to pursue the ideas and publish them.
I haven’t written any poetry for ages.
Has the joy really gone? Is this it finally? Too qualified to do most jobs, not qualified enough to the ones I want to do. Are my whites really that grey?
If only I could just slip back into academia and disappear into study and not have to face the real world on a day to day basis.
Technorati Tag: Conversation, Humour, meekon5, Discordia, Depression, Religion, Subculture.
Labels: Depression, Discordia, Pagan, Religion, Subculture
posted by meekon5 at 21:09
2 Comments:
I get the same way sometimes, and wonder if this is as good as it gets.
Times like that I usually rent a movie, order a pizza, and have a good cry.
Feel better babe.
Thanks rob
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