Let me admit something to you all
(I say, as though I’m in my living room, rather than a public blog…)
Once upon a time as a young teenager, I dabbled in Wicca.
Mostly I wanted to be special – special knowledge, special power, special techniques to have control over my world.
I read a little, I didn’t do much, I was mostly unsatisfied with what I found.
But in the middle of this period I had an experience that I still can call up in all its vividness.
(I don’t know when exactly it happened or what I was doing when it happened)
The image of a woman was dropped into my mind. She was matronly, impossibly tall, powerful, naked, carrying a blunt and unadorned staff, striding towards me over the crest of a hill.
I am the Goddess Danu, I heard, in a resonant voice that wasn’t what I heard when I read silently, come to reclaim my people.
I drew the image I saw, as best I could – “inspiration” for art was the only way I really could make sense of it. It came out extremely high-fantasy on paper. I couldn’t convey the intensity of her eyes. It sounded more high-fantasy as time passed, anyway, what was She talking about, people? I looked up Danu (and found things too far over my head to read) but I learned she was a river – Don, Danube, Dneiper – and the mother of the Tuatha de Danaan.
How strange, I thought at the time. It was not a perception that I knew how to make sense of.
I like my practice, I like that it’s heavy on organization and light on mysticism.
But sometimes I wonder. Danu.