Undiluted Type

Priestess. Writer. Geek.

tag-icon-set-1098659-mFor a pagan community who despise labels, there is sure a lot of labeling going on.

Calling myself Wiccan is equivalent to trying to fit into a size 8 little black dress.  I’ve expanded to where it does not fit my needs anymore and the size 12 version does not interest me.  Neither does Pagan, but I suppose it’s the closest one of the bunch.  Mystic is probably more accurate, but why do we care?  Why do we care so much about what label we identify ourselves with?  Blame society I suppose, but on some level we see ourselves as a Product and Products need labels.  Because to be complete as human beings, we must offer a service.  Simply Being will not do.  One can BE creative or BE spiritual or BE wise but if you don’t put an action behind that Being then you are a half empty container.  DO something creative, DO spiritual action, DO wise counsel.  Become your Service.

I have a thousand labels and not a single one defines Me.  Am I nutty and wise?  Am I inspiration and destruction?  Am I woman and soul?  Am I stubborn and complex?  Am I fierce and undiluted?  Yeah.  Uh-huh. Absolutely.

When people in the pagan community ask who I am and what my calling is, I falter.  I feel like they are asking for my Pagan Approved Credentials.  Thoughts of insecurity and wanting to “measure up” within the community flood my mind.  Then I wish I could embrace the simplicity of one traveling Time Lord.

“I’m the Doctor.”

“Sorry?”

“I’m the Doctor.”

“Doctor of what?”

“That’s right.”

“You are a Doctor?”

“The Doctor.”

“But what precisely do you DO, Doctor?”

“Exactly!,” I say as I go bounding off with a grin on my face and sonic screwdriver in hand.  The Doctor is all encompassing.  He cannot be defined; neither can any human being.  He does not tell people what he does or who he is, he’s not obligated to.  Instead, he shows them.  When strangers ask his companions who he is, they falter because no single label can fit him perfectly except for one; one he has given himself.  One that empowers him.  “He’s the Doctor,” they say with an impish shrug.

I am singularly neither Pagan nor Mystic nor Healer nor Shaman.  What do I do?  I search.  I search for a Word.  Not The Word because there are so many out there, to restrict myself to just one would be silly and unproductive.  I search for a Word, a Word that can be shared and in turn have it inspire or awaken or shaken when it is given form.

I deliver messages.  I am one of thousands.  One of hundreds of thousands who write and say what they are compelled to say in that perfect tick-tock moment in time.  You can label me a Writer, but as we’ve mentioned before labels can be limiting if we overuse them.  Labels can also be empowering, but they should never be definitive.

So the next time I’m asked, should I explain I’m a Priestess, Mystic, Scribe, Messenger, Geek, Redhead, Cis-Woman, Pagan, Wiccan, Magician, Truth Seeker, Dancer, Mutant, Poker of Finger?

No.

Hello.  I’m The Ember.

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