There He’s Standing with His Open Heart

I can’t recall how many times I’ve asked myself if I made the right choice, to integrate myself with matters of the divine while dealing with the issues of this life as well. Was it really the best decision to accept Lu as my patron? The combined pressure of both worlds can be overwhelming, and sometimes I end up avoiding one in favor of the other.

And I have to admit, often that means neglecting my duties as one of Lu’s own. It means choosing what seems more real, as the skeptic in me mocks my devotion and belittles his and my Work. In times such as these, it’s difficult for me to remember the importance of my faith, because in terms of tangibility our work is entirely spiritual, mental, and emotional—it’ll never support me financially, it’ll never have a firm foundation in the material world, and I can’t see proof of it’s worth beyond my own mind. My relationship with my god and my work as his student cannot be assessed as easily as other situations. It cannot be evaluated through its payoff, and it certainly cannot be appraised by anyone other than Lu or myself.

So why do we do it? Why do we put so much time and effort into cultivating divine relationships, into doing tasks that may be meaningless to anyone else, into learning things that aren’t always relevant to our lives?

I can only speak for myself, and my reasons may be difficult to comprehend. One of the problems with dealing with Lu through emotions and feelings is that often I can’t describe in words the extent of my devotion, or the meaning behind our work. It is one thing to say that I’m his devotee, and quite another to live it. I could say that my work involves blogging and living to his standards, of bearing some of his burden, and of having my actions and words reflect back on him as my patron and vice-versa– but it goes beyond that. It goes beyond the mere act of being his disciple, but rather the yearning to be of use to him—to be a force of change in this world as he has been a force of change in my own life.

He is often accused of being too proud, of wanting to outshine his creator—to be brighter than the source that breathed life into him. And how can I, as his disciple, aspire to be anything less? He made it clear at the start of our patronage that my help would not be accepted if all I hoped to accomplish was to please him, or to repay debts that don’t exist. I had to want this for ‘substantial’ reasons, to feel as strongly for these causes as He did.

I thought I did. But it wasn’t until he began projecting his own emotions onto me that I realized how mistaken I had been. How does one even begin to describe a god’s sorrow, or his joy? All I know is that my own human emotions could not compare to His. He kindled the glowing embers of my own sentiments, feeding them with his own fiery passions.

But something like this can’t be undone. His grief, joy, and rage remain as muted imprints, irrevocably intertwined with my own emotions. And this is one of those consequences of my patronage to Lu that I spoke of before. I can’t unfeel these things, I’m stuck with them whether I continue to work with him or not.

So while I may whine and complain about the stress levels that being his disciple inevitably raises, I know that deep down I wouldn’t have it any other way. I can’t help but do his work, not only because I admire what he represents, but because the sentiments he has stirred within me won’t let me forget. I cannot fathom living my life feeling what I do, knowing what I know, and not make the effort to be a reflection of his ideals in this world.

It is because of this that I can endure that nagging voice at the back of my mind that mocks my faith; it is why I endure the weariness of my role as His student. It goes beyond what appears true, because this feels real–the emotions, the devotion, and his presence in my life. In the end, that’s what keeps me faithful, despite the silence (or rather my inability to ‘hear’ him) and despite the frustration. I can’t say for sure if the choice I made was the best one, but the fact that I keep choosing this god and this path, each and every day, has to mean something.


I hear people talk about how they have multiple patrons/work with multiple deities…

And I cringe.

Personally, I think it’s hard enough just being devoted to one. I can’t even imagine what I would do if I had multiple patrons…have a meltdown, probably. Maybe it’s just because my devotion to Lucifer is so overwhelming, but my work with Sarasvati has reached a standstill. I feel like I’ve disappointed her, in my unwillingness to divide my attention equally between the two.

Barring the financial and time constrictions that don’t allow me to honor her fully and properly, as in puja rituals, I can’t find it within myself to connect with her as deeply as I do Lucifer. And while that was more or less expected (neither she nor I showed any interest in developing a patron relationship with one another), I find my devotionals to her becoming less and less sincere, and almost reaching the point where they are chores.

I’m grateful that the deities I’ve worked with thus far (Lucifer and Sarasvati), have been so patient and gentle with me (well…to a point). If I had been called instead by a more, er…forceful deity, like Odin or the Morrigan, I honestly don’t know what I would have done. I probably would have been too cowed to do anything other than accept.

At least Lucifer gave me the option—one which I accepted far too quickly, looking back on it now. When I was barely getting into paganism, I was way too eager to form a patron relationship. I thought it would be so cool to work with a deity, and have them be integrated into my life. Knowing what I know now…well, I’m rather conflicted as to whether I would warn or urge my younger self concerning my patronage.

Six months was not a sufficient amount of time to base a decision like this off of. Yes, I trusted Lucifer by the time I accepted his offer, and I knew that our patronage would be a long-term relationship, but I didn’t realize the weight of such an oath. Not that I regret my decision, no. I just think I should have read all the fine print, so to speak.