It was my habit for many years to spend the period between Samhain and my birthday looking back at my year, what had happened and how I had grown. I honestly can’t remember exactly when or why I stopped. College, especially my time at Earlham, was probably a factor; I know that the horror of the 2016 election and being chased out of the Heartland Spiritual Alliance cult over the course of that year and the next were the death blows.
From 2008 to 2015 or so, I could honestly say that each passing year had been the best year of my life so far. That has not been true since. Some years were better than the one before, but even so, “better” has often not been “good”. 2019 was a really good year. 2022 had its moments. 2023 and 2024 have had their highlights, but they have also been a really rough ride.
As a whole, 2023 was such a wildly mixed bag. Parts of it were really good. Parts of it were really, really bad.
In the summer of last year, I was at a high point in my magical and mystical practices. I was experiencing divine epiphanies and revelations on a near-daily basis. I got some really good writing done. My partner and I celebrated our birthday by flying to New Orleans with some of our closest friends.
At the same time, I was struggling to maintain some of my most important relationships. I was barely making ends meet as an independent artist. I had some magical experiments go sideways in ways that really fucked me up. By September and October, I was deeply depressed and distressed over (among other things that I will not get into here) my failing eyesight and having been screwed over and then gaslit by an optometrist who fucked up my prescription and tried to blame me for it.
This time last year, I had just come home from a birthday/Samhain trip to New Orleans sick with my second or third round of Covid (second confirmed case, I’m pretty sure I had it at least once more that didn’t present strongly enough to show up on an at-home test but did do its damage to my mind and body), a week of forced bedrest and idleness during which I wrote, watched bad television, slept, and did little or nothing else. That November and December, I went through what may have been the very worst depression of my entire life to date.
The first several months of 2024 were spent crawling out of that depression hole. That climb was made more difficult by poor finances and continuing fallout from the previous year’s depression.
Part of that depression was a crisis of faith, culminating in an anti-theist blog post in May that … seemed to resonate with people, but which also sparked a lot of “are you okay” messages that were nice but not particularly helpful. I am hardly the first mystic to doubt the goodness of the gods, or their worthiness to be worshiped.
I am no longer obsessed by it, but the question of “why should anyone worship gods who answers Nazi prayers?” will really never go away. I know that neopagan circles are rife with fascists, and Hellenic polytheism second only to Heathenry (or third, if you count worship of the gods under their Roman names as separate from the Greek gods). I am not special; if the gods show up for me, why should I assume the gods don’t show up for them?
Every camping trip I have attempted this year has been rained out. Beltane was cancelled in advance on account of the forecast. My random weekend in the woods with my best friend was cut short by incoming torrential rains. Samhain camping was cancelled by forecasts of rain two weekends in a row.
This has been my third year as a fully independent artist. The first half of the year was really rough, in that regard. Since July things have really turned around: I’ve had more consistent sales in August, September, and October than ever before. I’ve released some work that I’m really proud of. I put out new my first Beltane line, my third Pride line, and my second Samhain line … though I might be a little less ambitious that way, next year.
In February, floundering on how to put the final polish on several other projects, I started a new novel draft: Chimaera, the story of the half-dragon daughter of Morgana Iramon and the Avhaar Dragon, and mother of Dano`ar Ashandosaar, one of the great adventurers of my fantasy world. I’m about 40,000 words in to what will probably be a rambling doorstop fantasy, and I’ve gotten a little stuck finishing out the first act, but it’s still been a lot of fun.
In July I took a road trip to do some photography with a friend from the Green Musheen discord server, and another came in from out of town to shoot with me. I did four photoshoots in three weeks, and still havent’ finished processing the fourth, but the results have been incredible.
Despite the depression, and crisis of faith, and occasional struggles to afford incense, candles, and wine, I have maintained my daily ritual practice without interruption for a fourth consecutive year. I am slowly incorporating a daily meditation practice.
Back in May, things lined up to allow me to take Sara Mastros’ class on Solomonic pentacles. I am moving more slowly through the lessons than I would like, but the most consistent message from my guides and divinations has been to slow down, take the time I need, and not exacerbate my burnout by pushing too hard. And, by following that advice, I have slowly made my way back to a place where messages and visions are once more coming through clearly. I still throw up in my mouth whenever I see someone talking about the gods being Good and their actions beyond mortal judgement, but … that has always been the case, and probably always will be.
Now, come November, I am sick on my birthday again – though this seems to be a common cold, not Covid. Last week it was 80 degrees out at a time of year that used to be consistently snowy. The USAmerican people have given me another Trump presidency. I just got word that one of the men who taught me my trade died over the weekend, and of a fatal illness in my family.
2024 has by no means been the best year of my life so far. But, despite everything, I am still doing significantly better than I was this time last year.
Inevitably, as I wind this rambling retrospective to a close, I find myself looking toward next year. I doubt that I will be able to make 2025 the best year of my life, so far, but I’m going to try, against all odds. I am taking my time with everything. I am certain of absolutely nothing, except that things are going to be bad and ugly for the next four years (at a minimum). I think that I am exactly old enough that I will make them murder me instead of going back in the closet as a queer, as a witch, as an artist, as an intellectual (which is a distinctly different vibe from being young enough to make that same decision). I may make some new decisions about what platforms I’m on, but … I’ve been doing that math the whole time.
To all my family, friends, and followers: thank you for accompanying me on this long strange journey. Some of you, I know, have been here in one way or another at least as far back as the first Journey Through the Obsidian Dream blog posts in 2010. Some of you have joined the party more recently. I just can’t say how grateful I am to have such brilliant and supporting peers.
And I do see you as my peers: I am not a guru or wisdom teacher, pontificating from on high. I am a madman, a mystic, a seeker. I speak of my experiences in the hopes of providing guidance for those who follow after me, sure, but also in hopes that those who went before me can see these posts and offer the benefit of their own wisdom. I am not special, but that does not mean I am not unique and valuable. And so are you.
I hope you’re all still here in November of 2025.
Fuck the fascists.