The Black Box

I wanted to perfect the craft
Nature had given me;
I sought to rise to heights
that none had reached before
I wanted to lift my besmirched name
from the mire of history
and cast my glance back in shame
nevermore

Time is fleeting as the fume
released by a cooling brew
and I have fallen and I have failed
never to life restore;
But I have known triumph, joy and flight
love of the kind most true
and another like me none can say
there will be
any more.

As a friend of mine struggles with the sudden loss of her very best friend, I am reminded of the precious brevity of life. What, I think, am I doing working another night in this humble beer factory, feeling bump-into-the-doorpost tired, while my own amazing gifts are on hold, ungifted to the world? My potions training incomplete? (Not that it ever ends.) And is this pain in my chest due to those bottled dreams under pressure, or merely too many of those jalapeno chips? Is it too late to resurrect the passions of youth, and with them fly? Embrace me, Divine Ones, for my eyes prickle with tears, and I feel weak.

My friend's universal plea on February 9th is almost poetic in its drifting grief:

"I have the house to myself today. I need solitude, I feel.
I find myself questioning a lot of things. I hate to be one of those "why me" people.
But nothing makes sense.
I am strong, but shit, how much can a person take? I'm trying so hard to be thankful for the time I shared with Noah, instead of mo(u)rning the time I never got.
I just think how amazing our herb store could be, how many people we could have helped.
Yes I am determined it will still happen, but it won't be as soon as it would have if he was here to help. He already had huge plans.
I guess I should give myself permission to be sad. I just want to make sure I utilize all the lessons we learned together."

The sense of dreams locked in a pressurized box, in a womb waiting to be born; of fleeting time; of wanting to craft our lives to the finest, despite setbacks, touches my eyes with its poignancy. I didn't know this guy, Amie, but I think he'd want you to fly with his blessing, just as my mother likely does me, though I wander still amid my self-discovery and daily mortal pain of loneliness.

February means Valentines Day and Imbolc, and this year, my coven's Brigid ritual and my rendevous with a friend at a cafe where a duo played live tunes a la Francais were both pleasant and happy. But in my family, this is also The Month That Sucks. (Some of my friends are actually of the opinion that Valentine's Day, with all its nauseating sentiment and crushing cultural expectation, is likewise The Holiday That Sucks.) We lost Granddad and Mom in February, you've got fewer days to conjure up rent money, and as winter drags into spring, I think, "Well, what can I make of this year, never mind my last couple months of being X years old? Will this be another shit year when nothing seems to happen?....!"

Mom loved life, every heartbeat of it, wholeheartedly. We said she lived in a permanent state of Kairos, or divine time, even as the pressure of Kronos or mortal clock-time weighed ever more on her heart, literally. When she passed on Feb. 20, a void opened in my own life, and a nasty little black box was installed in my chest, full of pain and regret. One of 2009's saving graces for me was latching onto a new inspiration, a fresh impetus to explore, to learn, to play, and, even as I dealt with bitterness and loss, to be youthfully enthusiastic again. I threw myself into herbs and potions --- a sort of scientific and magickal childhood, reloaded --- and that impetus was Severus.

I suppose in my own ways, I had the weird brilliance of a kid like Severus, who played well with others only rarely, preferred to be alone, and didn't shy from the lure of the dark or squishy as do some kids. Wise ones know that "love" is a lot bigger than bitsy-pookums rubbish, and I fell in love, not with people, but with dreams, crafts, archetypes, exemplified by teacher-lover Animus figures like Snape himself. Severus knows pain, regret, hate and loss like no other, yet he also knows love like no other --- a perfect Saturnian Animus (he is a Capricorn, after all) who guided me through Saturn's Return, and guides me still.

May we all be so fortunate as to allow what grief and pain we each suffer to refine our souls from the limited, leaden boxes of mortal Kronos into the gold of Kairos, the eternal consciousness, where all is possible and we are all. May that spirit of discovery and life passion never be crushed, but percolate upward to transform us through the alchemy of wholeness and completion.

Dedicated in part to Devin. This sweet boy, so in looks like Severus or Isaac, is actually my friend Lira's nephew who was struck by a car, leaving this world at 26 years old. I never knew him, but what might he have become, and what dreams brewed in the warm cauldron of his heart? His pink cheeks may be gone from life, and yet! he lived, lives on in spirit, and other lives have been blessed by his having lived.

I didn't plan for this post to be so long. I should have known Severus would have plenty to discuss through me, once I dared open his black box of time and mystery. Remember that in The Merchant of Venice, it is in the leaden box where the greatest treasure is found.