In the, “Do I or don’t I” write this piece sense. It took me a few days to finally decide that, Yep, this one’s kind of out there, but it’s true so I’m going for it. I’ve been honest about my life and my journey from self-loathing to self-respect in so many ways. But, I’ve never shared this part largely because it’s easier to speak about abuse than it is to speak about “Spiritual” or “Supernatural” beliefs some of which seem foolish with hindsight. Not foolish that I believed certain things on my spiritual journey. That’s what a “Seeker” does. Foolish because I let my beliefs control me when I believed I was controlling my beliefs.
I’ve also debated opening up about this aspect of my life because it’s not only out there; but incredibly long. More than one blog long. Probably a two or three-parter. However, I’ve made allusions to “my journey” in terms of my spirituality and stated outright that I came by my Christian beliefs the hard way. However, I’ve never shared that much about how I went from practicing a form of “Christopaganism” to my current belief system. I think it’s time to weave that story with the same candor I’ve tried to exhibit in all of my posts.
The sad part of my story is I considered myself a Christian while I dabbled in Occult practices. I didn’t comprehend it’s one or the other. The two don’t mix. Like it or not, when you try to have it both ways, you’re going to favor one side over the other. I’ll let you guess which one. I’m not saying these statements because I’ve heard or read them somewhere. I’ve lived the events I’m writing about so I’m not just sharing beliefs. I’m sharing experiences. I can assure you the lure of Astrology, or psychics, or Tarot Cards or whatever soul poisoning dabble you choose isn’t worth the price you’ll pay down the road. It wasn’t for me.
My dance with the dark side started in elementary school as a smart kid with a fearless mind and a thirst for knowledge that continued for most of my life. The dark, musty downstairs “Vault” of my small town library was a treasure trove of resource books that entertained me for years. There were tomes on everything from gardening to true crime to history to travel to the 19th century Spiritualist Movement and everything in between. I grazed through all of them; but I was drawn most to the books about hauntings, the preternatural, and the Spiritualists. I devoured every ghost hunting book Hans Holzer wrote. I read about Atlantis, Lemuria, and Mu as well as the Order of the Golden Dawn. I digested the writings of Edgar Cayce. I became fascinated with UFO’s, crop circles, and ley line theories. Don’t get me wrong, I pursued other interests like medicine, history, quantum theory, FBI profiling, forensic facial reconstruction, and history among other things. As I’ve already said, I liked knowing a little bit about some things and a lot about others. Unfortunately, for the most part, the “lot” wasn’t the right stuff. My favorite dance was with Astrology, Tarot Cards, ghosts, ET’s, and things that go bump in the night all under the guise of knowledge.
Despite all that, I considered myself a Christian. I would have corrected anyone for suggesting otherwise. I believed in Jesus. There were things I didn’t do because they were “wrong.” I had the guilt, the condemnation, the rules and regulations without ever having the relationship with the Father or the Son. Forget the Holy Spirit. He was just a word. I believed I was right. The occult interests I dabbled in weren’t my “religion.” They were just passing fancies I found interesting and I had “rules” in place to protect me.
Those rules were laughable. For one thing, I was already in a dark place from the time I was molested the first time. To even think I could wallow deeper in the dark without being affected takes a serious disconnect from reality. You can’t. I believed I could read about witchcraft as long as I didn’t read the spells or chants. I could read about other religions if I didn’t read the rituals. In fact, I could read anything I wanted to read as long as I kept the wrong words out of my head. Right. I was playing with things I didn’t fully understand although I knew enough to know words have power. Looking back, there was something in me that drew a line in the sand I couldn’t cross. One that said I was willing to dabble this far; but not cross the line. While I’m grateful for that restraint, I went too far.
Far enough I didn’t like the dark and I didn’t like to sleep. I was born an insomniac. My mind was always churning. The fear of the dark came later. About the time I learned there might be things to fear in the dark like that cold, malevolent presence I encountered at the top of the stairs one night in my family home. It should have clued me in when the “whatever” departed and let me pass when I cried out to Jesus. It didn’t. Not really, I brushed it off as “one of those things.” Not my brightest moment. I don’t claim to know what that was or why it happened. It just did. I don’t even claim to know what it’s intent was beyond the fact I felt like I was being pushed down to a kneeling position and I didn’t like that even more than I didn’t like it.
For one thing, I was standing on the top step of a second floor staircase, not the landing, and that wasn’t safe. For another, the whole experience was terrifying. For the third, I don’t like being forced to do anything so there was a degree of anger in the fear. While I’m grateful the story ended with me walking safely to my bedroom, I wish I’d had enough sense to be scared back in the right direction. I wasn’t. Not beyond putting my Bible by my bed and reading it. I was fourteen or fifteen at the time and already too damaged for that degree of common sense to bleed through the youthful arrogance. Added to that, the hamster was already galloping around the “if I can control my life, I can control the pain” wheel in my brain and had been for several years by then.
As my occult interests expanded, my boundaries became more defined. I had enough sense to know I was flitting where I shouldn’t go and I needed to do more than just not read certain words. So, I decided what I would and wouldn’t do; but, I didn’t give up my quest. Knowledge is seductive and I wanted to know. That mindset is dangerous. It can take you places you’re not meant to go. But, as I said, I had boundaries. Right. I thought I knew everything when I knew nothing.
I understood I wasn’t going to play with Ouija Boards. I’d heard enough spooky stuff about that to steer clear. Crystals didn’t interest me. The idea of channeling or automatic writing scared the hell out of me. Literally. The idea of something overtly having control of me that wasn’t me wasn’t anything I wanted to tangle with. I wasn’t interested in astral projection. I didn’t know what would crawl in when I crawled out. I wouldn’t dabble with anything involving Satanism, grimoires, spells, or blood sacrifices. None of the yuck stuff that ended up in horror stories. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t joyfully prance around in shadowy areas I considered “safe.” I did and it all started innocently enough with imitating my Mother’s interest in magazine horoscopes.
While my goal isn’t to freak you out, real life is messy. Most of us drift into things without realizing we’re doing it. I dabbled in things we consider mainstream now like astrology and tarot cards. I consulted psychics a few times in my life. I did more than that as I’ll share more in depth in the next post. In closing, I wasn’t that stereotypical weird Goth kid everyone knew something was wrong with or the woman who cut herself in private. I wasn’t an addict or an alcoholic. None of that. I was a very normal, very average woman with a love for learning. Or so I thought. In reality, I think subconsciously I was a woman searching for some way to end the pain and find a degree of peace and happiness anyway I could find it
Until Part II,
Calla
Tori Lennox Author 