Graveyard Dirt: Two Worlds and In-between

Housemaker

"Going out" has become some sort of mythical status that I'm often left daydreaming about. I wish I could explain THE HOUSE CURSE, but it'd require more concentration than I normally have these days. (I think I'd be able to cope with the mental stress of being a shut-in if I could only write about what I'm feeling and what's happening, but my ability to stayed focused enough to write anything remotely cathartic is shot and I feel disinterested in everything, including myself.)

Before Chippy settled into domesticated family life he was a chaotic rocket crashing from one wall to the next. I couldn't work with him because I couldn't physically interact with him. I knew that if he was going to stay with us I had to house train him, but I had no idea how you tamed and built a relationship with something incorporeal. In the end, I picked an inanimate object (a plush Shar Pei dog; that's a story within itself, though) and interacted with it, pouring time, energy and intention into the process until it was brought to life.

Chippy eventually understood why I was lugging around and talking to an extra large stuffed toy and the vessel - a vacant structure waiting for some soul - was filled. If I created SOMETHING out of NOTHING before, why should size matter? What's REALLY the difference between a house and a stuffed animal? Especially if MORE of my heart, soul and physical exertion is given to House on a daily basis?

I'm the caretaker of House, and everything inside of House. House knows my role and my feelings of responsibility towards it. I've screamed at House. I've pounded my fists against House's walls, shrieking like a wild banshee while putting holes through drywall. I've cried within House, I've despaired, felt hopeless and trapped. I've laughed within House, found the meaning of life (and lost it, a few times) and like a queen perched on her royal fucking throne I've governed and ruled within - because of - House.

Our beliefs are kept sacred within House. House holds our altars, our prayers, our joys and fears. We live, grow, create, work, breathe and forge relationships within these walls. Every Spring we're married in House, every Fall we hold the divine king's wake in House. The seasons are celebrated, the cycle of the year is observed and we grow older and wiser within the confines of House.

House is a temple, a school and home. Within the collection of rooms I'm a nun (because "priestess" is totally a DONE concept within the witch/pagan community) observing and fulfilling my sacred duties. Within the collection of rooms I'm a student testing and experimenting with new ideas and theories. Within the collection of rooms I'm a nun, a witch, a wife, a partner, a co-worker, a cook, a gardener and a homemaker. (Housemaker?)

If I told you that House didn't like me leaving, would you believe me? If I told you about the years worth of effort and energy I put into House, caring for it, cleaning it, loving it, interacting with it, praying, loving and living in it and would you believe that House was just as real as the Velveteen Rabbit?