An Invocation to Self
Our Father, who art in heaven,
hallowed be thy name;
thy kingdom come;
thy will be done
on earth as it is in heaven.
~Excerpt from the Lord’s Prayer
Tears course down cheeks, hot with shame or perhaps fear, maybe a mixture of emotions that cannot be untangled, cannot be spoken or understood, only felt. Pain flares in the chest, a heartbreaking or already broken, the shattered remains of hopes and dreams, carried within, crippling even as they are pulled tight in a bear hug of an embrace, balled together and held down so deep no one else can see. So deep that even you forget the origins of what once was, can instead only recall that once something was lost, can feel the ghost of the thing, like a memory long forgotten and know that once, you prayed.
I used to be adverse to prayer. Perhaps it was the foolishness of youth and the need to shed any connection to organised religion, who knows, but I hated it. Even within paganism, it felt like (and still does, depending on where you look) everything was the same, only that God and the Big JC were instead swapped for the Goddess, or any number of them. Though the deity may well have changed, there was still that whining neediness. Instead of asking one supreme being to sort your problems, you just asked another. Or at least that was how it seemed to me.
Listen to the words of the Great Mother,
who was of old also called Artemis; Astarte;
Diana; Melusine; Aphrodite; Cerridwen; Dana;
Arianrhod; Isis; Bride;
and by many other names.
~Doreen Valiente, Excerpt from Charge of the Goddess
Perhaps part of my reluctance to embrace prayer was that from early on, I knew it wasn’t any god that was responsible for the hurt or suffering that affected me and those around me. It wasn’t Gods that started wars or caused the starvation of brown peoples in far away lands that we’d see on the tele (an eighties kid, I remember the aftermath of Live Aid, if not the event itself). Because back then I was a kid, a little kid too, I had no idea if god existed, or perhaps that isn’t quite right, for I always felt an interconnectedness to the natural world that felt at odds with the accepted idea of ‘God’. No, as I look back now, I think that what I struggled with was believing in the existence of a God, of a supreme creator being imbued with all the power that entails, and still the world was as it is. I think most of us struggle with this at some point in our lives and, my favourite author puts it quite nicely when he writes:
“Most witches don’t believe in gods. They know that the gods exist, of course. They even deal with them occasionally. But they don’t believe in them. They know them too well. It would be like believing in the postman.”
~Terry Pratchett, Witches Abroad
So when I say I actively avoided any concept of prayer when I first started exploring paganism and witchcraft seriously, you might kinda see how I got there, you might ken how that might have happened. Perhaps it echoes your own story, who knows.
But times and people do indeed change.
Once, where I saw prayer as a tool of the needy, praying to their oppressor for change that would never come, now I know different. Of course, some prayers do still smack of begging, and there is something proud within that recoils in horror of committing such an act. Now I see prayer as something else.
Papa Legba, open the gate for me,
Legba, open the gate for me.
Antibon Legba, your child awaits,
Let me pass and I will thank the lwa when I return.
~Excerpt from a Song to Papa Legba
Papa Legba is perhaps the most well known of all the lwa and he is honoured by many houses or temples, for he is indeed the gatekeeper. In my own house, where I am undergoing Kanzo training, Papa Legba is one of the patron lwa and the excerpt from the song above is one used in honouring him. As you can see, this invocation, for that is what it is, a prayer, asks Papa Legba to open the way, to let us pass. Part of my work with Legba involves speaking with him, openly, directly, from the heart. A prayer, for all intents and purposes, you might say. Even when I have nothing to ask, nothing to say, and I am just shooting the shit, of course in the most respectful of ways, that is what it is. A prayer. An invocation.
The words stumble, I might stutter and trip up, lose my train of thought and pick it up a minute later. It isn’t beautiful nor poetic in any way. At all. But it’s honest. And then I continue with the ritual, with the workday world, with life. Perhaps in this way, prayer becomes something else. An unburdening. Unofficial therapy. By praying, you are giving yourself the space and time to acknowledge your truest feelings, that part of yourself that isn’t always appropriate for polite society.
I’ve also prayed in those hard times, to nameless gods, if even to any god or any thing at all. In those times, always low points, I’ve been hurt or afraid or both. Sometimes, in that instant, it can feel like you just cannot go on and so you pray for strength. For help. For it even to just end regardless of the outcome. Sometimes hot tears might accompany words spat out, ugly and harsh, but still true. Still powerful.
Nema. Reve rof, yrolg eht dna,
rewop eht dna, modgnik eht si eniht rof:
Live morf su reviled tub,
noitatpmet otni ton su dael dna.
srotbed ruo evigrof ew sa,
stbed ruo su evigrof dna.
~Excerpt fromThe Lord’s Prayer Reversed
Who do we pray to in those times? Who do those who profess no belief in gods of any sort pray to in that instant, when the words come as though unbidden, automatically even?
Part of me wonders if it isn’t to ourselves. We are, after all, the ones who can take action, even if we are not the orchestrator of events. We can react. We can move. In this form, the prayer takes on the role of rallying call. It is the cornerman for the weary fighter, urging you on, forcing you to draw on reserves you didn’t even know you had. We are our own Gods, are we not? It is our will we are manifesting, not some outside power but something internal.
I think that perhaps, one of the biggest turn-offs I once held about prayer was the passiveness of it and this part still holds true for me today. For when I see prayer only in thought and not action, it does infuriate me. It’s the ‘thoughts and prayers’ of social media posts when some atrocity or natural disaster happens, and then the continual and active participation in systems that perpetuate such outcomes carry on as normal.
Perhaps the satanists, Luciferians and traditional witches have it right, when they recite the Lord’s Prayer backwards. Let it not be seen as some unholy and perversion but instead a prayer to the self. Instead of seeking the love and glory of god you seek instead the inner strength to manifest your will, to bring about the change you want to see in the world.
But of course, whatever one’s opinions about prayer and what it is or isn’t, one thing remains true, that action must follow, else it is only lip service, empty words. Useless.
And of course, prayer need not always be verbal. It can be as simple as standing barefoot on the grass or listening to the birdsong at sunrise. But even from this must come action to protect those very things that give solace, that cannot protect themselves. In this way, this communion with this other becomes something that is reciprocal. It is time to remember we are not just passive bystanders and that prayers are more than just words.
EMMA KATHRYN
Emma Kathryn, practises traditional British witchcraft, Vodou and Obeah, a mixture representing her heritage. She lives in the sticks with her family where she reads tarot, practises witchcraft and drink copious amounts of coffee.
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