Lord Hephaestus, one of the forge and creativity. You do not mince words.
Stick to the grindstone a bit a day – This will get you to more.
Stick to the grindstone. Come back with product. I speak no more – not of this.
And when I have seemed stuck you remind me: I have spoken little because you have done little.
Lord Hephaestus, are the fire of creation that feeds the bellows of my heart. When I write, I create product.
Work. You are one who demands much, the contribution. You demand individual choice.
Work hard at your dreams, you say. I cannot tell you what they are. I can help with them.
When I have wondered about my journey, my path, you remind me:
Beneath each person is a polish that is chipped. We are known through our imperfections.
Each creator or creatrix owes you a great deal. Creativity is love. Creativity requires discipline and commitment.
When we work with form and shape, it pleases you. We are making efforts as works of Gods, as mageia.
Ritual is work. It is craft, it requires devotion and the fires, the fuel that come from the internal forge.
In devotion to you, my creativity is my crown. As you have said, it is to be treated with care and constant cleaning. Cleaning the physical workspace and the mind. Cleaning in conversations with others, and cleaning as a means to push forward.
To clean is to create rather than to let fester the wounds of sullenness. To do what I do with joy, this is what you state as the tribute to you, God of the Forge and Creativity.
The grindstone may be bloody, yet blood is sloughing off unneeded excess. Each task completed paves the way to wholeness.
Strength is gained through repetition, yet work is not mindless drudgery.
As you have noted: “I may seem to bludgeon about in my forge, yet each item has a purpose, a gift; each turn of the wheel, swing of the hammer or push of the instrument is from strength, devotion, and love. I love what I do. Do you?”
To that, I answer that yes, I can truly say that I do love what I do.
It is this realization that I hold fast as I speed down highways, the joy wielding the combustible engine in my heart and hands. This knowledge strengthens me as I help others on their personal journeys, through the instrumentation of the keyboard or the invisible fibers of the conventional phone system. In our contemporary mundane world, work is not glamorized, except when it is considered monetarily successful. In your worship, I have learned that each task done well is a tribute to you and to the process of life, regardless of the material gain.
Strength through repetition. This has been a hard, but necessary lesson learned.
I thank you, Lord Hephaestus, for your quiet counsel, and your keen insight from the heat of the forge.
I call upon you during the season of Brunalia, as the light is still in its early waxing stages. The heat of the south is your territory, the hammer and metalworking your symbols. As inseminator, you represent the spark of fire, of life, of fertility. In dedication to you, I ask for your continued guidance in understanding the fire used in the arts, in alchemy, in the transformation of creative potential that resides within.
Fire destroys, creates, nurtures, and transforms. The saying, “to burn a bridge” often indicates a point of no return, when the past cannot be retrieved. At times, I’ve burned bridges when it has not been necessary, and left some standing that should have been blasted out of the water. I ask for your guidance in wielding the destructive and transformative nature of fire in the same manner that I have learned to create and to nurture, to offer as sacrifice and to use for cooking.
When your time comes in August, I look forward to seeing you in the fires and through the smoke. We harvest, we destroy, we celebrate.
I thank you and look forward to learning more with you.