What to Wear for the Apocalypse
As you may recall, I went on a Spiritual Shopping Walkabout recently. I ritually consecrated my items, tranced and did my thing – made new spirit friends, tried new mind altering substances, the usual for 2012. It’s been a slippery year for me. It’s been a lot of dizzying merry-go-round ups and downs and if I try to look at them too closely I feel like throwing up. When I try to imagine what I’ll be doing in five years, it’s a cloudy “outcome unclear, try again later” sort of vision. You know why? Because the five year plan is dead. Viva la resistance.
And it should be if I’m doing this right. My old life is dead and frankly so is everyone else’s. I was supposed to stay in my safe, stable little job with my safe, stable little company and when my boss was ready to retire or semi-retire, I would take over her position for her. Except the industry crashed along with most industries.
The world is not the same as it was even three years ago. It’s highly unlikely it will ever be the same. But it’s also pretty unlikely we’ll be living Neo-Pagan Amish lives too.
So what? Our grandparents got used to television just fine. Our parents didn’t have iPods or computers or cellphones and they’ve adapted. The smart ones have, at least. I mean, one of my tiny charges who is all of a year and a half can open and close programs on the iPad with terrifying efficiency. She scrolls, she makes things bigger and smaller and she cannot walk unassisted yet. The future is happening, kids.
Is it scary not knowing what job I’ll have in two or three years? Hell yeah it is. There are days where my mantra is, Find a Fortune 500, become a secretary again. Find a Fortune 500, become a secretary again. Because the lizardy non adaptive part of my brain believes that this will give me security.
Gordon keeps reminding me a la Linchpin (which is way less terrifying when you are riding the tiger and the tiger is not you – i.e. when you are employed in some fashion and have some modicum of control over your life) that there is no map. As a planner and someone who has made her living planning things, these are terrifying words. How will I know if I’m doing things right? Who will tell me? Total panic responses! Outside of my day job(s), I don’t really have bosses and have minimal supervision at best. I’ve realized I’ve chosen primarily jobs based on minimal supervision subconsciously even in my day jobs. Most days it’s freeing – I am the person in charge of telling me if something’s working or not, I know if something is working or not based on the response to what I’m doing. Some days it’s suffocating – I want someone to tell me what to do.
2012 is not a year for the fearful. I say that as someone with a panic disorder (shut up, brain). It’s a year to be quick, to be cunning and to be riding your tiger and not letting it ride you. Durga’s in charge of her tiger, the tiger is not in charge of Durga. It would behoove you to keep that in mind.
So you’re grinding. You’re doing the things you said you would do (aren’t you?), you’re crushing it (which apparently looks terrifying to moms. Even my mom has wanted me to back it up some and she’s a fucking Ferengi, son), you’re a linchpin, whatever. When does the magic happen? How do you crush it magically? When do you get to give the Universe the memo that you’re making Her your bitch?
Oh, Occultists. That would be ever so nice, wouldn’t it? It doesn’t work that way, kittens. If it did, so many of our brethren wouldn’t end up dying sick, broke and alone, would they?
You can’t use a sledgehammer here. 2012 is not a year to slap your cock on the table like that. It’s gauche for one thing and it only gets you so far anyway.
I did it this weekend. My friend went to the Upper East Side to buy an antique sofa from a private party and I went along with, wearing my new clothes. I sat in an apartment there on a chair far older than me talking politics with an older gentleman who kept winking at me. I went to the jewelry store in the Waldorf=Astoria and tried on the bracelet in the picture, my eyes caught on the aquamarines and diamonds, my ears caught by the smooth sales approach as my friend exclaimed how it would be perfect for my wedding. I took his card. I drank a dirty martini at the Bull and Bear at the Waldorf and I came home confident that this is now a part of my life.
We started this year as an Experiment. This Experiment has not magically vanished because the prompts ended and it’s July. It’s still happening. You’re still making your own luck.
Is it what you wanted it to be?
About the author
Deborah Castellano is a frequent contributor to Occult/Pagan sources such as Witchvox, PaganSquare and Witches & Pagans magazine. She writes about her magical adventures here at Charmed, I'm Sure. Deborah's book, The Arte of Glamour is available for purchase on Amazon in paperback and Kindle. Her craft shop, La Sirene et Le Corbeau specializes in handspun yarn and other goodies. Her Craft shop, The Glamoury Apothecary specializes in handcrafted items for your magical/occult practice. In previous lives, Deborah spent seven years as an Executive Assistant and founded the first Neo-Victorian/Steampunk convention, SalonCon which received rave reviews from con-goers and interviews from the New York Times and MTV. She resides in New Jersey with her husband, Jow and two cats. She has a terrible reality television habit she can't shake and likes St. Germain liquor, record players and typewriters. Deborah is a social media dork and can be found wasting far too much time on Twitter, Facebook, G+, Instagram and Tumblr.