A sacred illness is one that educates us and alters us from the inside out, provides experiences and therefore knowledge that we could not possibly achieve in any other way, and aligns us with a life path that is, ultimately, of benefit to ourselves and those around us.
— Deena Metzger
I saw this quote on gratefulness.org today. And it resonated with me. It said in so few words what I have tried to communicate for over 10 years.
12 years ago I was diagnosed, by myself and others, as an alcoholic. 18 months after that I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia. Some thought that my alcoholism stemmed from my pain management. Perhaps. I think that the minute I drank with intent and got buzzed at the age of 13 I was on the rough and ready road. But I digress…
My sponsor, also a pagan, and I discuss language and thought and the law of attraction and magic. Part of me halts at this phrase Sacred Illness because it doesn’t deal with, at least not directly, recovery but illness… But adding the word sacred to illness is a huge leap in consciousness for me. Reminds me of adding “in bed” to every fortune cookie fortune. Add Sacred to any word and it changes it completely.
When I got the first of those diagnoses I was devastated. I thought it was the end of my life and my happiness. As if I was happy! *snort* I was miserable. I began going to meetings, I turned my back on my witch path in order to try and be spiritually open minded (I know, I know), I did the footwork. And things were getting better, step by slow step. But I wasn’t ready for the fibromyalgia deal. When it came I wanted to run and hide. And I quit my job because I couldn’t work enough. I thought I was also going to be not only in pain but in poverty. For the rest of my life. The sadness overwhelmed me some days.
And then a person entered my life. A person I would rather not see now. A person who was sober but not sane. But in two ways he changed my life for the better and while the ending was ugly I find that I must still be grateful for all it brought me.
The first thing that happened, and that brings this topic up for me, was that he introduced me to a medieval recreation group, a mix of true living history and folks just in costume. While that group changed me and was the initial inspiration, what really did the trick was hours and hours of doing something I loved, anything having to do with textiles but mostly anything with a needle and thread, with or without fabric.
When I was very young my mother and her mother, Goddess bless them both, taught me the arts they knew. Their arts included cooking, gardening and flowers, crochet, sewing, and embroidery. Their arts also included long walks where they showed me the frozen pipes along the lake, back when my city got really cold in the winter, the fallen leaves in the woods in the autumn, the growing grass and the hidden eggs. I learned to sew on a machine at 8. I have my first embroidery ever thanks to my grandmother who saved it. But somewhere along the line my training didn’t progress and I gave up sewing clothing. Alcoholism and a love of bad boys took away my embroidery. But! My solid familial and traditional foundation of Nature and Nurture came back with sobriety.
When I started playing with that medieval group I thought I sucked at the sewing but I loved the costumes and textiles arts so much by then, in my early sobriety, that I just kept plugging away. Making not so authentic stuff, but it was beautiful. It really was. And they were Sacred Clothes. I sold the old stuff to make room for better and more beautiful things. My concept of beauty morphed several times. I found that no matter how pain wracked my body was I couldn’t not sew and embroider. The passion so burned in me that I kept at it no matter what. And I started knitting Sacred Socks. All my socks are knit in 12 step meetings. Meetings where the heart and the spirit reside. They are endless knots of love to everyone I give them to. In order to keep what I have I must give it away. Sacred Gifts.
Some time had passed before I realized how much I had changed. Not only was I going to meetings every day because I wasn’t working but I felt pretty darned good. I was happy. I loved creating. And I found out that I am an artist. That I have something to give to the world. And no one was more surprised than I. *laugh* That realization, that I am a creatrix, blew my mind. Sacred Artist.
Today, I teach classes on what I do and many of the students say things like “I could never do that.” or “I’ll never be as good as you.” I try to tell them that everything I learned I learned because I did it every day. 40 years worth of learning. That I went to the library and got every book I could get my hands on that showed me how to do the things I was interested in. And I did it every day. Because I wanted to. No matter how shitty it looked. And then I made another one. Most of them are right, they will never get there simply because that is what they believe and they make it true. But the one who keeps making crap? I see them improve and they do it every day. And for me? I had to do it or die. Swear to God. Sacred Crap.
“Anything worth doing is worth doing badly.”
The road I had to walk to get here, the 23 years of active addiction, the unknown years of physical pain, well I wouldn’t recommend it to anyone. But the gifts that they both brought me, the gift of myself, my soul, my passion, my love of all things (yes, all *sigh*), those gifts are priceless. Today I still feel darned good most of the time. I still don’t drink etc… And every day I still stitch. I have no choice. I couldn’t not to do it. Sacred Passion.
And I have my path back. Sacred Goddess, Mother of Us All
Sacred Illness indeed. It altered me from the inside out. It “aligns us with a life path that is, ultimately, of benefit to ourselves and those around us.” How did it align me? It forced me to be quiet. To sit and stitch because I could do nothing else. It gave me time to discover myself.
So mote it be.
Stitch Witch Cottage 