...

In my last post, I spent a while talking about the ways in which my metaphysical practice changed over the course of lockdown in 2020-2021. There was really only so much that teenager-me could do. Above all, I did a metric fuckton of reading. And although I don't really interact much with his work anymore, a lot of what I read was the writings of John Beckett, including two of his books and a good deal of his blog. A topic which he often wrote about during this time was a concept he coined Tower Time and how pagans of the current day were meant to cope with it. If you have any knowledge of tarot card XVI, then you probably have an idea of what he was getting at with that name. As time goes on, I find it to be more and more apt of a description of the period we're all living in right now. It's been especially relevant to me.

As much as I didn't want to admit it at first, Tower Time has been hitting me pretty hard for the last few years. Shortly after lockdown began and I was sharply isolated from the friends I had spent the last six months around, I was outed as queer to a mostly-unaccepting family. I decided not to push the case. Then, a few months later, I started a retail job where I was repeatedly faced with customer harassment and managerial negligence, until I quit with little warning about a year and a half later. I then spent the next two years navigating the highly volatile interpersonal relationships of my college's theatre company. I was in a leadership position the entire time, and I thought I did mostly okay in the moment, but it seems now like they're much worse off than when I first joined them, so maybe not. And most recently, I've given up a majority of my identity as a visual artist, replacing it with the menial tedium of a desk job in exchange for slightly better pay and mediocre healthcare. Each individual incident might not seem like a full-blown Tower moment (except for maybe the one where I got outed), altogether they feel extremely reminiscent of Beckett's concept of Tower Time.

So, how did my practice survive these changes?

Well, really, it didn't. Really, Tower Time has taught me how to strip back everything that I thought mattered to my practice, to get down to the very core of it. But it did teach me how to rebuild.

A Brief List of Steps for Keeping a Consistent Practice While it Feels Like the World is Ending

• You won't.
• Every frivolous or flashy accessory your practice may don will be burned away without a second thought.
• When you think the burning is done, there's still at least one more layer to shed before you can find the stuff that absolutely must stay.
• Take a moment to acknowledge and appreciate what no longer serves you, and thank it for the time it spent with you.
• Even though some things will stay, they're probably going to look very, very different than before. Figuring this out will require experimentation.
• You will forever be left with the reminder of everything that burned up in the fray whenever you try to incorporate something new into your practice.

I know that all sounds a bit doom-and-gloom. I don't mean to be a pessimist here. If anything, having all the unnecessary outer layers of my practice forcefully ripped away taught me many important lessons about what actually mattered for me and my spiritual practice. It might not have happened in the most comfortable of ways, but really, why should it have happened like that?

A Much More Optimistic List of Ways to Rebuild During Tower Time

• Think of something that feels completely indispensible to your practice. Now think about how you'd keep on doing that thing while overwhelmed, burnt out, acutely sick or in pain, or otherwise feeling like total shit. If this does not seem feasible to you, then there's still more excess to be burnt away. If you are unsure, peel back another layer anyways, just in case.
• Have different "levels" for your practice that you can pick from depending on how you're feeling. Completing the above step can help with the beginning of this one. Have one level that's just the barebones, non-negotiable stuff that cannot be ignored, for when you feel like shit. Have another level that includes the whole shebang--accessories and all--for when you're really feeling it. Include as many middle tiers as you feel would be beneficial. Do not feel bad for having to pick one of the "lower" levels on a given day, because you're still doing all that you consider necessary.
• Figure out if any aspects of your practice are being done in order to present a certain image to the world (or, more realistically, to your followers), replicate someone you admire, or anything else in that vein. Really mull these things over. See if they're really necessary to your practice, or if you're just continuing them out of some sense of obligation. Assess the meaning you acquire from these practices, if any. Repeating the first bullet point can help with this.
• Above all, do not get down on yourself for having to strip down your practice. Do not view it as any kind of failure. Breaking everything down and focusing on the non-negotiables shows a great amount of care for your personal practice and what personally matters to you. It shows that you want to keep on doing it even when everything feels awful and unpredictable. And honestly, unless you're part of a larger order which has certain expectations for you (or you have certain obligations for a certain spirit), who else are you answering to other than yourself? Sure, that lack of accountability may feel stressful, but you may also find it to be incredibly freeing.
• Honor and appreciate the wonderful perpetual work-in-progress that you are.

I'm still deep in the rebuilding phase of my practice, even though it's been over a year since the initial bonfire began. In some ways, I think it's a constant process without any fixed end destination, and that's honestly fine with me. I understand that I'm in a very uncertain phase of my life right now, and the foundations I'm rebuilding may very well crack under pressure once again when my current situation changes. That's fine. If anything, I find the uncertainty a little exciting.

When all the metaphysical content you're consuming--be it blog posts, YouTube videos, TikToks, social media posts, anything--is created by people who appear to have it all together, it's easy to feel like you must have it all together as well. In reality, probably 90% of those people aren't telling you the whole truth (and that's me lowballing it). As one's life changes, it's only natural for one's spiritual practice, in whatever form it may take, to change to accomodate it. I'm not doing remotely the same practice as I was eight years ago, or four years ago, or even one year ago. And that's fine (good, even).

When you start honoring the fluidity and change in your practice, or in any aspect of your life, I believe that it begins to frighten you much, much less.