My Path · Personal Practice · The Gods

My Path Part 1

The number one question pagans and witches get asked is why they “chose” those beliefs. Most witches and pagans will reply that it was not a choice. It wasn’t for me. I was Theirs long before I understood what that meant, or the responsibilities that come with being chosen by the Gods.

 

I was about four years old when I first became aware of the Gods. I was just a child laying on the grass of our backyard in California. I remember watching the grey clouds floating past and being aware of a male entity shaping them. I would name the animals that shaped – sometimes before they appeared. It was a game W/we played together often.

 

Later that morning my mother took me with her to run errands and heard me giggling. Like any mother would, she asked me what I was laughing about. I told her about the man in the sky that was playing with me, shaping the clouds for me. She told me that this was God. That He shaped the clouds, made flowers grow, created the earth.

 

As any impertinent child would, I told her she was wrong. That the man who shaped the clouds was not the same person that made the flowers grow. Because that was the truth I knew. She tried to tell me that God was capable of doing it all. I told her there were many beings all with different jobs that did everything. She didn’t argue, likely because she was never quite convinced of the Judeo-Christian God’s existence in the first place.

 

I can’t tell you how or why I was so certain that this was how the divine worked at such a young age. All I can say, is that that certainty has always remained with me. The things I experienced in the following years of my life proved to me that this was the truth. It wasn’t until I was 12 that I was exposed to the necessary information that helped me realize that my beliefs were real, that I was a pagan, and later, that I was a witch.

 

My father comes from a family of devout Catholics, he was raised a proper Catholic. He was baptized, confirmed and married in the church. My mother accepted his request for my sister and I to be raised as Catholics. Unfortunately, after we were baptized, there was a fiasco involving “reformed” prisoners leading sermons and molesting children within the church.

 

My father promptly removed his family from the church and slowly lost his faith.

 

Even though my sister and I were not raised as devout Catholics, we were expected to identify as such and learn the basic tenets and beliefs. We went to church once a year with our grandmother, and aside from my years of searching for a religious identity, we were taught very little about Catholicism.
For as long as I can remember my parents questioned the validity of God and Jesus as the savior. In spite of their own missing faith, my sister and I were expected to uphold the beliefs they themselves cast away. Unfortunately, they had one daughter who was called to spirituality of a different sort.


Find part two here!

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