Ritual

There is comfort in ritual. 

My introduction to formal rigamarole was church. File in, adults get coffee and an old book, kids try to stay quiet. On a stage there are people with instruments, singing worship songs to these beings called ‘god,’ sometimes god’s son, Jesus, and sometimes a ghost with a bunch of holes in it. Then someone in robes speaks about this god, reading from an even older book. Sometimes we eat bites of bread and sip grape juice, pretending that it is the body and the blood of the son of this god. As a kid, I didn’t think to question the peculiarity of engaging in cannibalism with all my friends and family. It’s kinda metal, now that I think about it. 

We moved churches three separate times, each with their own set of rituals. More or less the same as the previous church, with their own flavor. I had an epiphany when I left for college; I can make my own rituals! I studied up on witchcraft, thoroughly enjoyed my world religions classes, and asked people what they believed. I landed a spot in the Secular Humanist Alliance on campus, and we held an interfaith panel that I found diverting. With all this shared faith within me, I decided to make my own rituals, prayers, and holy days. I love using the earth’s natural phenomena as a basis for my rituals, as well as numerology, astrology, sex, colors, candles, scents, plants, and animals. I can play with Baphomet as much as I want! I love their symbolism, and they are a great energy to work with. I do yoga every morning and stare at their face on my altar as the sun shines on the brass statue. They fill me with desire.