34. Eating Worms

Hello, you are listening to Musing Interruptus. What would the wicked witch of the story do on a Sunday evening?  Mirror, mirror on the wall, who is the fairest of them all… I say them because I am a whole other can of worms. Emphasis on the worms. Squirmy, slimy worms. Protein-filled worms. Transformative little buggers. Aren’t we all what we eat? I’d like to be an eagle, soar through the air, or a cheetah, faster than a speeding bullet. Oh wait, that is mighty mouse. I could do that too. Here he comes to save the day. Wait, that is a middle-aged woman. I wouldn’t eat an eagle, a cheetah, nor mighty mouse. Worms, I might. Worm tacos, worm, ice cream. Worm baguettes.-- du dump dum! I’d like to be a great many different things, but I would also like to be, just who I am. Couldn’t I just be? Undefined by you or me? Could I just breathe who I am, not worried if you think I am wrong or right? Is there a breath so free? I used to race the rain until gravity put me in proper submission. From the onset, I knew I could not beat it, but I did it anyway, until the cold cut my reddened cheeks. Yes, witching around can be exhausting. You see, it is not only the physical exertion, it is so much more than that. It is dealing with neighbors and a community that would prefer not see the likes me. Worried for their youth, I might absorb it up with my magic. But let me tell you, that doesn’t happen. I don’t know how to do that and my Tuesday’s witches circle hasn’t spoken of it either. Let us remember, this is for you, non-witches, if we could harness youth, witches would be a more aspirational thing to be. I mean, in this youth-centered society, it would simply be the thing to be. No, it is fatiguing, going around, wearing the wrong fitting skin, just to avoid disruption or intrusion. Getting into that skin every day is exhausting. More than that, its walking around in that skin, convinced that it is willingly. Until one day, you no longer have the strength to convince yourself.  You can see it in the mirror. It is plain to see. A duller reflection. If I didn’t have my Tuesday witchery time, I might go mad. Do you know what witches do on Sunday evenings?- While everyone is eagerly postponing Monday morning schlepping around the city. We drink sweet liquids and paint the sky. Sunday evenings are the best moments of the week, as long as you shred past the denseness of the air, polluted with heavy hearts, soar into the night air, wind blowing in your hair, cold cheeks and speed. Nobody looks into the night sky anymore, I wonder what they do with all the hope that isn’t had… No, no eager eyes to the night sky, not on Sunday evenings. What a pity. But it’s great for us. That is when we witches can be the freest, what seems like the most dismal day of the week, leaves an opportunity to just be, in plain sight. Continue reading