Spell for letting go that which no longer serves you. Good for releasing emotions, thoughts, habits, etc. taking up space in your life.
Last year I wrote how Autumn is for mending. This year, as I’ve been doing a lot of introspection and work on my emotional and mental health, I am approaching Autumn with an added perspective. Autumn is the time of the harvest, and once some farmers have brought in their crops they set fire to the stubble to clear it for the next season. I’ve found my thoughts turn to the idea of clearing the landscape as the temperature has dropped.
One insight that I’ve been mulling over this year is that I need to release the bitterness that fuels obsessive thoughts. I can often fall into a pattern of dwelling on past events, replaying memories over and over again with new commentary or coming up with new responses. The exercise is pointless. I can’t go back in time to change things, and more importantly I am not going to get an apology or closure from those who harmed me. Fixating on those past instances only keeps me stuck, unable to let go.
I’ve come to recognize my reluctance to let go of my bitterness because doing so might be construed as exonerating those who harmed me. It has taken me several months to get comfortable with the idea that releasing that rancor doesn’t deny or forgive the harm done to me in the past. It clears the way for more useful thoughts and emotions to grow.
All of these realizations, brought about by introspection and therapy, have been key to discerning the ways I can bring witchcraft into my healing.
“I like your computer,” she said. “It looks like it was made by Indians or something.” Chia looked down at her sandbenders. Turned off the red switch. “Coral,” she said. “These are turquoise. The ones that look like ivory are the inside of a kind of nut. Renewable.” “The rest is silver?” “Aluminum,” Chia said.…
I’ve made so many moves over the years it’s hard to keep track of them all. Besides the physical moves I’ve made—from Wyoming to Chicago and various suburbs thereof—I’ve made personal, emotional and relationship changes. It is surprising how much distance one can cover without ever having to take a step.
Through all these moves I’ve carried a trunk with me. It was a high school graduation present from my grandparents. The trunk has been a bench, a footstool, and a table, as well as being the holder of those things I couldn’t bear to toss, but had no need to be out in the open. Journals, letters, cards, old ids, and other ephemera. For the past couple of years it has sat under my desk, home to the garbage can and a laptop that I don’t use any more. I haven’t opened it, partly because I haven’t had anything to squirrel away (e-mail, Facebook and WordPress has digitized much of my correspondence and thoughts); but also because it is full.