Shawnee Mission Park

A couple of days ago I went to the park.

This wasn’t a casual visit. This park is a place where I had spent a lot of time as a youth, developing both magical, social, and romantic skills. And I had not been there in a great while.

See, recently, I had an experience that seemed innocuous enough, but was actually very powerful and has changed how I view and do a lot of things. It just happened to coincide with my reading of a fiction book with a depiction of wizardry that spoke very strongly to me. So I’m changing a lot of thing about myself and my practice.

And part of this has actually been reclaiming techniques and practices that I used to play with when I was younger, but I shied away from because  I was afraid to lose myself in them.

I’m not afraid anymore. (Or at least not as much.) Continue reading


There’s been some interesting discussions about water at No Unsacred Place.

Emma-Jayne Saanen writes about her experience and reaction to water. Spoiler: Does not like.

I have a primal fear of water; Loch Lomond is no exception. I find my soul being called into her inescapable depths; the dark water pulling my light inwards. I would be lost, forever. Sitting above her energy in a tiny boat made the Loch even more intimidating. She could have claimed me as her own easily enough, her song calling me to climb to the upper deck, calling me to jump into her icy embrace.

Water is unnerving.

Inspired by this tale, Lupa offered her own perspective:

I grew up near creeks and streams, and fishing in ponds, and although I didn’t go to any ocean until I was in my late twenties, the Pacific has inspired child-like joy and wonder in me every time I visit it. I’m even happy splashing around a swimming pool or soaking in a hot tub, and my daily shower is one of life’s luxuries. I’m fortunate to have lived in places with uniformly clean, good-tasting tap water, and I never developed a bottled water habit.

So I suppose my relationship to water is overall pretty positive. Maybe it’s my evolutionary inheritance; supposedly we humans are attracted to places with water because in the savannahs we evolved in, knowing where the water is was crucial to our survival. But then again, it could also just be the culmination of a lot of positive experiences with water, too.

So, as with most things, this shall be an excuse to talk about myself.

Here is all the information that anyone could ever possible want to know about me and my entire life:


That’s not the best picture, so let me summarize it a bit in the context of water as an element. I have five planets in water signs. Three of them are in Scorpio, and two of them are in Cancer. This includes the Sun and the Moon. My ascendant and midheaven are also in water signs.

Astrologically, I’m kind of a watery person.

Also of not is that the only planet I have in an Earth sign is Chiron, which many don’t consider a planet. And it’s retrograde. And if we don’t count it, the my natal Saturn is void-of-course.

Astrologers out there have just been given a tremendous insight into my personality. Non-astrologers may be a bit confuddled, so I will shorten all this. I’m not what most would consider “down to earth” or “well-grounded.” I don’t ground the way most people do, I’m empathic to the point that it can be near-crippling, and while I usually just as practical minded as most, I tend toward flights of fancy and bits of whimsey at random intervals. I emote easy, pick up on other people’s emotions easy, and am good and getting a feel of the energy of a room, whether I want to or not.

These are traits associated with water. Water permeates things. Things dissolve into it. It flows between one space and another, often with no clear boundary. It flows deep and conceals what lies beneath, and it churns things up from those depths.

Yeah, that’s me.

But perhaps I’m crossing the line between metaphor and reality. (But if you got the above you know I like to blur boundaries.) This is how I deal with water as an element. What about as an omnipresent chemical in our environment?

Like Lupa, I grew up around a lot of creeks. There are a few lakes and ponds out here, but most are artificial (as if that matters).  But the creeks are everywhere, to the point where springtime flooding is a yearly danger. (Just helped a friend clean out her flooded garage, actually.) So there is a great respect out here for flowing water and falling water.

That said, I love water. My childhood often centered around trips to the pool or playing in the bathtub. I still feel very out of sorts if I cannot have a good soak in a tub at least every couple of days. Swimming is a grand pleasure, especially if I am allowed the luxury of skinny-dipping, which is simply exquisite. Floating freely in a body of water, especially one teeming with life, is an extraordinary sensation to me. Swimming in the Atlantic Ocean was borderline ecstatic. (Have not made it to the Pacific or the Gulf yet.)

Water is cleansing and supportive. It caresses and soothes. It can cool and refresh or warm and invigorate. It restores balance. Moving in and through water is a natural, and indeed spiritual, extension of myself into the environment.

But I understand the fear of the depths of the hidden, the unseen churning deep below. I feel its siren call and know the dangers of its crushing oblivion. And I think that is part of water’s appeal, the fact that despite the ease with which it can destroy, it also supports and nurtures all life. So even as I fear it, I embrace and accept it, for its power sustains me.


Now deserts, they fucking terrify me.