baku:
the worst memories of being bullied is when ppl would pretend not to be bullying you and ask you questions and u thought they were just asking u stuff but they were actually laughing at you the entire time and u had no idea bcos you were young and you didnt understand why people would be mean to you when you didnt do anything wrong.
I spent a lot of my childhood in a constant state of “this is a trap but I don’t know how”
This stayed with me. Sometimes when people are nice to me, I still think they have bad intentions.



Me realizing Yule is tomorrow
if you think nature and the natural world is all ferociousness and teeth and claws and survival of the fittest, you must be really…..how you say….fucking boring, and you are guilty of the exact same reduction your boring ass is trying to call other people out on
just because ugliness and cruelty exist does not make them the most “realistic” nature. roses are real and small fawns are real and breezes are real too
There’s a shop near me, owned by an older woman with deep, practical knowledge of herbal medicine.
The front portion of her shop sells cooking supplies and spices, cards, little artsy things, and local goods like soaps and crocheted blankets. But the back was, at one point, my nightmare and laughing stock all at once.
An entire section dedicated to ‘flower fairies’ and ‘light fairies’. Little glittery kits of herbs and stones, with guides so even the mundane-est person could get money, or love, or good luck, with the power of magic. The ‘fluffiest’ of fluffy witchcraft, as I used to think of it. And that’s not even counting the ‘angel spirit classes’, or the rune casting lessons by White Mother of Three, pseudonym, “Cleopatra”.
And yet…
Her classes are never rained out. Her little altar area, dedicated (as far as I could tell) to the Gods-of-Resin-Collectable-Dragons and a Barbie doll, always has fresh flowers and cookies. Her shop prospers through every local and country-wide economic disaster, and has paved the way for other similar shops to open in her area.
And she has power. When she speaks, people listen, though her voice is gentle and matter of fact. If my power, at one point, was laid out next to hers…no doubt it would appear as a small, angry spark next to an ocean of gentle light.
With that said…I guess the moral of this little story is such:
Don’t mock the gentle witches, the Fairy believers and the candle-wishers. Don’t laugh at their books, or their collections of angel statues. Their ‘healing light’ or happiness spells of sprinkles and joy.
You don’t know their power, their Powers, their Gods. Don’t be like me, and laugh up your sleeve at their songs, or their paintings of beautiful ladies holding butterflies.
Let them be. Or better yet, learn from them. Don’t make my mistakes.
Look at how much time I lost that I could have been friends with her, and could have traded secrets!
And try a little gentleness yourself.

I am sorry.
I cannot share myself
with you.
I’ve learned to mourn
the parts of myself
I had given away.
At twenty-five
my life is my own to live.
For the first time in my existence
I deserve to be selfish
for my own happiness.
Post Notes:
Please do not remove the captions.
Title: My Apologies
Copyright: © Ivan Ambrose 2017
Deck: The Wildwood Tarot
Safe Space Tags: Skulls
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There are thoughts which are prayers. There are moments when, whatever the posture of the body, the soul is on its knees.

