I sit with a feeling I have missed, a feeling I’ve barely felt in over a year. It had come in hints, wisps, little blips on my spiritual radar… but now, the door is open, and I can hear it. I can smell the wind through the woods. I can feel the sunset, the sunrise. The moon’s many silvered faces are no longer strangers. The clouds are a daily miracle of art.
I can feel my gods, my spirituality, calling.
And this feeling stretches beyond Kemeticism, beyond the burning sun and the painted sky, beyond the touch of light on stone and sand and silt. I can feel streams in loam under shadowing trees. I can feel moss and ferns and fallen leaves turning to wet mulch. I can feel cool breezes through a willow’s young boughs.
I have been pagan for longer than I often realize, and this sense of the world – this ability to sense the world – runs deep now. And as depression starts to lift, as I feel a little more human and a little more me, I can stretch out and remember what the rest of the world feels like.
It’s all an echo chamber, a familiar song that I have very much missed, and I find myself humming along. Sometimes off-key, sometimes forgetting the melody, but this lullaby will never be fully alien to me.