On The Blessedness Of The Rope And The Stick

I write a lot about relations and relationships in both my pastoral and philosophical work. They are at the core of my ideas and, in a very real way, relations and relationships define how my magick works. I was drawn to Aphrodite because She sang of love, and I became Her priestess exactly because relations and relationships lay right there at the heart of Her mysteries. I also became more and more drawn into spirit work and the Grimoire Tradition as my magickal career progressed for the same reason, because at the heart of all spirit work is relationship. I am devoted to these knots, the knots that tie us together to make the complex braids and nets that hold the world together.

But these braids and nets, the friendships, romantic relationships, families, communities, cities, and countries that make up our lives, can be a mixed blessing. When they are healthy, they are beautiful tapestries of connections that create joyful pictures and patterns. We learn who we are through our relationships with others, though how we treat them and how they treat us. By discovering others, we discover ourselves, and we are usually better off for it.

But when these these connections become unhealthy, the same knots that can sometimes support and help us can distort us and cause us great pain. The right connections with others help us understand who we are and help us be the best version of ourselves, but the wrong connections can become toxic and, over time, become traps. This not only harms us, but it can twist us. Harden us. Make us colder. Just like the right relationships can help us grow into better people, the wrong relationships can make us into worse people.

I am a (not quite completely) hopeless romantic. I cry at every emotional part in stories and songs, I fall in like and love easily, and I am often moved to write poetry that would make Tori Amos blush and Peter Steele would have found excessive. I am not ashamed of this fact, but it does mean that I can’t really be trusted with my own heart. I have been lucky enough to marry an amazing woman with whom I have shared the last 18 years, but I have also gotten myself into a remarkable number of disastrous and abusive relationships—both friendships and romantic relationships—over the years. Some of that was just the trials and tribulations of life and love, of course. Abusers are out there and it often takes age and experience to identify them properly. But sometimes I have just been truly stupid and self-destructive. I have made knots I shouldn’t have, friendships and romantic relationships that hurt me, hurt my loved ones, and hardened my heart. I stayed in several of them (or went back to them) for far longer than I should have, which left scars. Now when I meet a new person and they seem to really like me and want to hang out a lot, I don’t get excited and happy. I don’t take joy in a new connection. I don’t look forward to the pleasures of a new friend or lover. I get scared. I start looking for warning signs and red flags. I start needing to do other things with my time. I start putting up walls and making distance, often without even realizing it.

And frankly? That sucks.

I have probably tossed away good friendships with good people over the last few years because I got scared that I was getting too close and started making distance. Because something that person did felt like the push-pull of an abuser and triggered me. Poisoned knots cut apart long ago are still burning me years after the people that hurt me are no longer in my life.

So when I say that we should build these connections and relationships with others, that we should come together and weave our ropes together into knots, braids, and nets, I say it with a lump in my throat. I say it with fear in my heart. I say it knowing that I may end up taking a chance on the wrong person again, that I may trust someone who hurts me and damages my life again, no matter how wise I try to be.

But I am a priestess of Aphrodite, and though I may seem like I always have something to say about everything, I am also constantly worried that I am being misunderstood. Sometimes I think that I became a writer just so I could explain myself as clearly as possible over and over again until I am finally understood. So when I don’t know what to say (which is most of the time), I ask Aphrodite. It generally seems like the right thing to do. She is my goddess, after all, to Whom I am sworn. And She almost always says the same thing: “Lead with your vulnerability”. She says to put my heart right out there on my sleeve and dare the world to break it yet again. So that’s what I do.

And frankly, sometimes it doesn’t go very well. Sometimes I do get hurt. Sometimes leading with my vulnerability just ends up breaking my heart. This aching world does that to us, and I won’t lie to you and pretend that it doesn’t.

But sometimes—a lot of the time—I end up being surprised. I open up and I’m met with warmth (but not too much warmth, because that is dangerous and makes me want to run away). I open up and I get a chance to share a connection with someone new.

A chance to tie a new knot.

I am not saying that you should be foolhardy. Guard your hearts, dear ones. But I am saying that we are stronger, safer, healthier, and more whole when we make connections with others. When we tie knots and make strong, healthy relationships and strong, healthy communities. Knots tied to other knots become chains. Chains connected to other chains become nets. And nets are so much stronger than a single thread alone.

That said, there is also much to be said for the stick. While I would absolutely love everyone to be a good member of the family of existence, some people are bad actors. For various reasons, they knowingly and willfully cause harm, exploitation, and oppression to others. These people must be pushed away, in various ways, by the stick, until they can be held accountable and hopefully engage in processes of repair and restoration with the rest of us.

But some people will never accept accountability and engage in repair, and that is a loss for us all. Even one heart lost—broken, sad, and dangerous—in this world is a tragedy. We would all be better off—them included—if they were healed of what wounds them and could join the rest of us in love and trust. But sometimes that just isn’t possible. Wielding the stick with both wisdom and strength is mournful, but necessary, work.

Rope and stick. Stick and rope. It takes both to build a life worth living in. It takes both to build and protect a community.

It takes both to build a world.

This is another hard teaching, dear ones. I know I have been full of them lately, and I apologize. I very much don’t want to be cruel. But we live in hard times, so it is a time for hard teachings. We must rise to the occasion together, as our ancestors have before us. We must protect those who need it. We must feed the hungry. We must heal the sick. We must care for the living, the dead, and for the spirits among us.

We must wisely use the rope and the stick.

Blessed New Moon, dear ones. May all the blessings of the gods be with you in the coming two weeks.

In love,

Soror Alice

Art: Jean Louis Forain, “Tight-Rope Walker”, (1885)