The heat baked the ground, leaching the grass of its green. It’s uncharacteristic for the Great White North, a disordering of the pattern.
Looking at my paltry garden, I joked to my husband that I’d get a mop and a bucket of water, and summon rain on the porch via intense chanting-cum-screaming. After a giggle, he asked if I’d ever done weather magic. I paused and said, “No. I wouldn’t. Mother Nature knows better than I.”
And that’s largely been my philosophy of large-scale magical acts that monkey with the atmosphere. There are several different factors in my reluctance. For one, it seems awfully foolish. I’m one small monkey; who am I to boss around Danu with her vast reaches and mind-boggling complexity? The sky? The innumerable nature spirits, both incarnate and Otherworldly? To even think that I could is hubris, plain and simple.
Secondly, what if I were successful in drawing rain? Would it cause a drought somewhere else half a continent or even half the world over? If I try to save my garden with a well-timed thunderstorm, does that mean an elderly woman in Iowa has hers scorched beyond recognition? Is my prayer for rain more important than hers?
Granted, I think there are cases whee weather magic is acceptable — on a tribal level, so to speak. If mass numbers of people will starve due to crop failure, go for it. If the forest-fire is threatening your home and you’ve exhausted other options. In short: matters of intense deprivation, hunger, death. Hobby gardens and landscaping simply don’t apply.
And in such dire straits, the act — even if hubris on some level, or blatantly ridiculous and unworkable due to the smallness of the individual in comparison with the vast multi-verse — the act becomes art. It expresses the innermost need; it is a prayer sung from the heart’s blood, from the sweetness of life that seeks continuance. That doesn’t mean the prayer will be heeded. We are tiny parts of a complex whole, destined to die in one way or another. Our lives aren’t more important than the Pattern. Harsh truth, that. Consciousness resists it.