The day begins before the day begins. This simply means that I wake before the sun, the family and the daily activities. Finding time to nurture myself, means slipping it into each end of the normal day.
In the silence and darkness of my home, I walk to what I refer to as my office. I was the last to bed, and am sure that the path is clear. My office, is a mishmash of parts, all resulting in a visual space, where I can create boundaries. This is important to me, as I need to go to a personal space, in order to quiet my mind.
In this space, I have my altar on top of the cupboard that houses my books. It is in front of me while I work, the scent of sage, incense and oils, lingers from past spellwork that I have done. My altars, (always explained here, in my writings) may change throughout the year, but there are some things that always remain on display. I find that again and again, that aroma is a powerful tool in my ritual. I can see precious items there, but the scent of a sage and rosemary smudge stick, reminds me that I was honoring my newly departed father in law, during a particularly trying day with my mother in law. It is these things that make my Wicca real. I stay strongly, but invisibly tethered to my own power, through the simple, musky scent of a moment in my religion.
With this scent in my head, I turn to my BOS, and write my early morning thoughts. Usually, this is the intent that I have for my day. Not laundry-gardening-homeschooling type of intent, but my intent to find joy in the ritual of everyday life. I intend to find something loving and joyful to say to each child this morning. I also intend to find common ground between someone who is difficult for me to be around. I am also intent on re-reading a powerful passage in a beloved book on witchcraft. It may be a validating passage by S. Cunningham, or a reminder paragraph by A. Moura. Nowadays, it is often a blog or other online venue, where someone always has a tidbit that gives me pause.
The rising sun brings with it the sound of tiny feet coming to find me. My youngest child, a young toddler, knows just where to find me. In the quiet time before the family wakes, he and I touch and talk about all the intriguing things that are just out of his reach, on my altar. It is the one time of day that he is allowed to put his finger into the ash in my conch shell, or I can tickle his cheek with my beloved Cody's tuft of fur, tied with a ribbon. I hold off trying to indoctrinate my children to my way of spirituality, everyday. I would love for them to find the joy in all natural things, as I do. I hope that they, too, will find a path that brings them peace and strength. I also hope that it is one that is as non-confining and gentle as wicca. That is for them to decide, and I to simply see happen.
Now everyone is up. I come out of my special area, refreshed and focused for the day. I may not glance at my altar, books or wiccan related readings for hours, but always in my mind, I am satisfied that I have loved myself and honored my goddess within, in order to love and honor those around me.