I’ve always been something of a free agent. My deity work has been largely by contract or bog-simple talking. I used to refer to myself as a gofer of the gods. It’s not a glamorous description but it’s an unusual one, and I let my carefully-crafted intimacy be mistaken for casualness or even blasphemy. I guess you could say that I prided myself on it. I fall outside the lines, and felt as if I fell outside of fate.
So maybe that sheds some light on why I find the idea of accepting fate so hard to swallow. It means accepting that it applies to me. (Yes, I know how ridiculous that sounds if you do believe in wyrd. Bear with me, okay?)
Fate scares me. Like, panic attack trigger levels of anxiety. Always has. It feels trapping, suffocating, like I can’t breathe. Things being out of my control scares the shit out of me.
So being told that it’s okay to be tamed – in this case, not literal taming or anything to do with that wild/tamed dichotomy, but telling me that it’s okay to submit to wyrd – is a big fucking deal.
But if wyrd exists, then it exists. Ignoring it won’t make it go away. And even if I were a free agent completely outside of the tapestry… choosing to enter that would not be an easy choice, but it would be a beautiful one. Outside, regardless of what kind of thread I am, I’m just one thread.
So maybe it’s a metaphorical choice, but I think it was nonetheless important for me to understand the reason to make it. I cast on my stitches, to switch fiber metaphors, a long time ago. I may not be able to see the whole pattern from within it, but knowing where I’m going is more likely to let me enjoy the trip than flailing against the path.