Tears; they cleanse. In the allowing of them, the offering, we show what matters.

Dear Friends,

Sacred Well. There is always an image and a word each theme. And then there is the unfolding. The secrets of the words and initial ideas that we have invoked in our windows begin to show themselves. Our hidden in plain sight ritual works it magick on us, on those who come in, on those who read these words, on those who just walk by.

We have relied on wells for life sustaining water since the beginning of civilization. They have been a meeting place, a social space, a place for secret wishes, and secret midnight rendezvous. So much of their lore is wound up in us in ways we don't even remember. Then there is the well which we are. In this wintertime we are called to tend our own wells. We are called to heal the broken places, nourish our deep selves, replenish our waters.

Ladies, we are so much more attuned to this practice, what is now called "self-care", than our male counterparts. And yet, more men than I can say have come to our modest space and sat by the well. More men have blessed themselves in the waters of the well. More men have lit a candle. More conversations with male friends and strangers have been around healing, around being a man in a world does not welcome the masculine, and attempts at assertion of self is met with disdain, and emasculation. Conversations where men are seeking, and yet cannot find a guiding light as they try to find what masculine looks like in its Divine form.

I appreciate so much the men who are working toward their healing. Who are recognizing there is work to be done (and that it may never be "done"). Who have stopped apologizing for being born as men in this world. Who are sorry that some men are disgusting, and are struggling to be seen as they are rather than as a stereotype. Men, who are also doing the best they can with the wounding they received about being a boy, or being a man, or not being man enough. I appreciate my guy, who got into it with one regular-ish girl (me 8 years ago), and finds himself with another almost unrecognizable woman altogether.

Today, I shed my tears for them. For my grandfathers and their incredible talents and their debilitating weaknesses. Today I let my tears cleanse the past of my father and my step-fathers and the ways they could and couldn't be there for me. Today I let my tears cleanse the men of my past relationships. I ask that my tears cleanse my body and soul and the bodies and souls of the men that have transgressed against me. I offer my tears and my used tissues on the altar of my Ancestors. I burn them in the purple flame of my cauldron.

I let the tears come and come and come. I learned from my good friend Oscar Perez, that grief is a lost art. That if we are able to, we must share our grief so that others may also grieve. He shared with me the teachings of Martin Prechtel, and that grief and praise are two sides of the coin of life. Watch this series of videos to hear the beauty of what is nearly lost.

And with a tear in my hand, and spent tissues in my pocket, I bid you adieu.
Always with love,
Ginger {aka Rachel Lazarus}
January 26, 2018, Cult of Gemini Newsletter