8. Your job is to fix you. If others learn from your example, great. If not? Move along.
I learned a thing from one of my mentors this summer. (If she knew that this was about her, she’d be VERY upset with me. HI PAM!) Here’s the thing: A priestess or priest runs rituals, ceremonies and creates spiritual experiences for themselves. If anyone else, wants to come along, do the work and do the homework, that’s great. If not? Oh well.
Ya’ll……
YA’LL!!!!!

That very thought added a foundation to my ideas of what a priestess is, stuck a pin where I have my convictions and made the globe of “who am I?” stop spinning.
I stopped waiting for my community to formally recognize me as a priestess. I stopped fantasizing over a regal neck torc and elaborate ceremony to get it. I realize now that I fully believed that the ceremony and the ‘thing’ of getting a torc were the end all and be all of a priestess. Honestly, they just part of the window dressing. Those things are not what makes me a priestess.
NO Lia Fáil NEEDED.
Forget the super expensive brass or gold neck torc. I went out, got a functioning wrist one – made with copper and bullets – and got back to work.

Once my head stopped spinning, I took a look at my ritual archive. No, not of the ones I’ve done publically – the “other” one. I have a scary impressive bank of ideas, rituals, thought processes and ceremonies that I’ve never felt I had the support to pull off.
I’ve got a full year long devotion made for my patron god. (Don’t worry, I’m recovering the website.)

I’ve got a proposal for creating a new way to learn to be a bard by using what we have available.
I can travel with my own painted labyrinth when introspection is needed:

I can make a mean magic potion

I know what I am. I know who I am. I know what I want to do in my spiritual life. And, if ya’ll want to come along for the ride? Do the homework and get a helmet. Cuz I got this idea for a road opening ritual that will be pretty epic… along with a few more crazy ideas.
Who am I? You can call me Rev Terrie Mountain Fire

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To be clear, I set a time for my fasting. I had a protein shake for early breakfast and set my fast end for dinner. As a diabetic and compulsive snacker, you can see where this would be difficult for me. It lasted eight hours. While I stuck it out with only having water, coffee or tea, I thought of my ancestors. From both sides of my family, my ancestors were labourers, farmers, soldiers, hard workers and harder spiritual workers. They came from not so poor families themselves. While everyone could read and write, not everyone had three meals a day, or even a bed to sleep in at night. They worked long hours in risky places for less than optimal pay even for the times. They served their countries and put their lives on the line for their families and friends. If they could make that sacrifice, surely I could stick out eight hours. If you ask my friends, they may regale you with stories of the feasts that were held in my home. Food is how we celebrate life and death. This time, I chose to recognize not just the lives of my ancestors. I recognized all they sacrificed so that I would have a better world to live in and make the world a better place for others. And so I did. After eight hours, I had my first solid meal. It was plain food. I don’t even remember what I had. I do remember thanking all those of my blood who only had one meal a day – maybe – for all that they have done for me and for their sacrifices.