The season is finally shifting here. I can feel it in the breeze. The fire is gone and the sun has changed from something to shun to a thing to soak in. With the changing season, I started to take stock in what has been shifting in my practice. The largest shift is the fact that I now do a whole lot of whispering. I speak softly to the Gods, the spirits I am connected to, my ancestors. At first I thought maybe it was a fear reaction. That didn’t feel right. It took me a a bit of reflection to dig it up.
I have been spending much time practicing silence. Not secret keeping silence. Not silence born of the concern of rightful anger being weaponized such as I have experienced in the past. This silence was something I practiced out of a need to hear myself, find out where I had gone, follow the tracks of the beast to find its home and learn its habits. The beast I found spoke so softly that silence was the only way to hear, and whispering was the only way it would listen.
I remember learning somewhere in my kundalini yoga practice, even though I have gone to the one reading source I have available to me right now and cannot find it (of course,) that one of the three voices used was whispering. Whispering your mantra was considered a very intimate thing. A private conversation between you and your lover intimate. A verbal exchange between you and one you adore. I adore my spirits and ancestors and Gods; why do I need to shout? I decided I didn’t.
The world is so loud. Everything screams and clamors for your attention. Most of those screaming attention hogs have about as much worth as a three dollar bill. The only answer is to fall inside oneself and listen hard. When that became a habit, I noticed that certain shifts came with it. I listen deeper to hear the real voice. The voice that walks you to the place between what is said and what is truly meant. . . that verbal crossroad, if you will.
I have yet to find a place for my crossroad workings. I have worked crossroad magic using only a crossroad I visited in trance before, but having a physical crossroad to actually go to was ever so nice. I had previously created some solar crosses, I gave some away, kept one for myself, and others have yet to find homes. They were made on the auspicious hours and days, blessed with oils and faerie folk alike. . . never did I, in the moment of creating them, understand the path that was being carved. I thought I was creating a piece of protection. And I was, as my intent would have it. But, magic and spirits are sneaky little beasties with wills and plans of their own.
Laying on my altar, my kept solar cross waited for me to become more clever. The crossroad I was looking for was right in front of me. Listening to me whisper the entire time. Maybe, when the time is right, Tucson will show me a crossroad that is perfect for my needs. But, for now, I have one. . .