The Winter Solstice once again finds me looking back on the past months during the wee hours of the night.

It just so happens that this late December, the world around me has been encased in a certain amount of snow and ice. Enough to disrupt pretty much everything in the region. I’ve actually never seen it quite this bad down here.

And I’ve never had it quite so accurately reflect my own past year.

The snow makes things in the urban arena bright. Sources of light are plentiful, but the darkness often swallows them up. The snow catches and reflects the bulk of that once lost light, illuminating even the darkest night with a somewhat eerie glow.

It makes everything seem navigable.

But it’s not.

That same snow that reflects so much light and lets you see where you’re going also works against you. It pulls your legs out from under you as you step on a spot of ice. It slows you down and chills your bones as you trudge through it.

Give it half a chance and it will kill you.

Over this past year, I’ve had a few things I’ve relied on–systems that have worked quite well–turn on me and work against me. But as a side effect, they’ve also provided quite a bit of illumination, cutting through some blind spots and making seen some long hidden dark corners.

This past year, and the one before it, have been a time of complacency and stagnation for me. I’ve been frozen in place, able to see clearly, but unable to move in any given direction without losing my footing.

Now, as I pass through the darkest part of the Solstice–awake and aware of where I have been–I know full well that the coming sun will bring with it a true light and useful warmth. That light and warmth will eventually grow and, in time, will thaw the entrapping ice and snow.

Over the next handful of months, there will be many changes. Plans that have been simmering in an igloo-like incubator (safe from the frostbite, but still held in reserve) will spring forth and make their own way in the world. New ideas will push their way out of the tundra and take root with the strength to serve as handholds, steadying all who pass by on the treacherous ice.

Most importantly, though, I choose to do this. Even before the thaw, I’ll be picking my way along a path I’ve looked at for a long time.

The going will be slow at first, but there will be movement.

The sun will rise. The ice will glitter, then melt. And the path will once again be clear.

Last week I talked a bit about my influences and how I got to where I am. This week, I want to touch on the path I’m following. (Though right now, I am admittedly more stumbling along and mulling about than following anything.)

For a very long time I had no real title for what I was doing. Sure, I started out Catholic and for a while labeled myself Pagan. But neither of those fit all that well. I attempted to coin my own term, but it sounds silly and is more just a title than an actual path (more on that later).

Then, a few years ago, I came across a book that pretty much laid it right out. Between the pages I found many things that had crossed my mind and many ideas I agreed with. It was also a repository of links to things it would have taken me years to stumble across otherwise. For what is, essentially, a memoir of one man’s journey it is exceptionally well annotated and universal in scope.

The book is The Zelator by Mark Hedsel. If you don’t have it on your shelf, you should.

Hedsel calls it “The Way of the Fool” and it is the same path he walked along. No. Not the same. That’s the thing about this particular path. No two people follow the Way of the Fool in the same manner. Each iteration is different based on the person walking it.

So what is the Way of the Fool? David Ovason, who was a friend of Hedel’s and is the one who made the book ready for publication after Hedsel’s passing, says in an appropriately unnumbered chapter titled “The Way of the Fool”:

The Way of the Fool is the way of the independent traveller on the Path of initiation. Such a traveller may study under a variety of Masters, yet will strive always to preserve his or her own identity, and rarely undertakes vows of silence which will bind his or her being to a particular school of teaching. The fact that this travelling Fool is on a Path is meant to reflect that he or she is following the way of experience, which in ancient Greek was termed pathein.

The Path of the Fool is the way of the developing Ego. In esotericism, the Ego is the Self. This Self is a droplet of the Universal Mind, or Godhead. The Sanskrit term, manas, which may be translated as ‘the immortal individual’, as much as ‘higher mind’, is the equivalent of the real Ego. It is that droplet of the Godhead which has sought experience through involvement with matter. This minute particle of the Godhead is directed into matter in order to perceive Itself, or to gain experience in the realm of Its own creation.

This Way isn’t one that’s all that common. It’s also not an easy one to follow. There’s no prescribed methods or hierarchy. No school to sign up for that tells you when you’ve made the grade. No one book that lays it all out in simple steps. It is something you make for yourself, by your own rules. It takes a certain dedication to doing things your own way.

I know I haven’t been actively working on my development for a while. What I have done has been haphazard and fraught with doubt. But, true to this particular Way, I have done it all in my own style. And I have managed to keep my feet planted in both the physical and spiritual at once, at least most of the time.

My take on the Way of the Fool is based heavily in my background. It is the Initiate’s duty to weigh the information he or she acquires along the way. It is the Initiate’s duty to make the choices and accept the consequences of those choices. There’s no one to defer to, no direction to point a finger in and say “I did it because he said so.” It is a Way of responsibility and exploration. A way of thought and action.

And that’s what makes it a difficult and unpopular Way. That is what makes it a solitary Way most of the time. The path chosen may cross those of others, but rarely will it run parallel for too long of a while. The call for exploration–for experience–is too great. We have to do things our way, no matter how silly or nonsensical it seems to those around us. We are willing to suffer for that freedom (even if that suffering pales in comparison to that of others and seems pointless to anyone outside of our own heads).
Only a Fool would knowingly choose this Way. Someone willing to subject themselves to what others would consider unnecessary suffering. Someone who would willing fling themselves our into the Abyss without a net to catch them. Someone who would set out into the wilderness with neither a map nor provisions.

I am comfortable and that is how I know I have halted my progress along this Way. I have allowed myself to become mired in one world–the temporal–and stagnated my own spiritual development.

But that, too, is part of this Way. That, too, is part of being a Fool.

It is about the knowledge–of self, of Universe, of others–and the Wisdom gained by connecting it. Connecting it in ways that are deemed taboo or outlandish by those around you, but in ways that make sense to you.

Yes, I’ve been slacking on my Work. But every Fool needs some time away. Some time to play. Some time to relax.

And every Fool–every real Fool, at least–realizes when it’s time to get back to work.

After all, we’re Fools… not idiots.