During winter 2004ish, I found myself in temporary possession of a complete (at the time) Harry Potter boxed set, and I exploited its brief displacement by big brain mashing my way from the top of Sorcerer’s Stone through the end of Order of the Phoenix over a weekend.
It was fun. I mostly like(d) the story. And I have myriad bookworm-esque musings about the quality of the franchise, its originator, her ensuing chicanery, and how those factors contribute to and inspire a discourse about personal evolution and creative legacy, but this particular time is meant to tell you about how I came to be #slytherinforthepeople.
You remember the early aughts Potter hullaballoo when pioneering Sorting Hat technology had folks brandishing Hogwarts house designations like business cards? Due to the Internet’s inability to definitively categorize me and the fact that my interest in the whole phenomenon was/is rather light, I put myself in Ravenclaw. They’re smarty-pants minders-of-their-own business who stay above the fray, and that speaks to my Aquarius moon in sweet whispers of detached intellectualism. I also claimed the ‘Claw despite my evident alignment with their fictional serpentine brethren because, again, passing interest and – a keen reluctance to align with fascist sentiment, be it imagined or real.
Years passed, until the day when two of my favorite astrologers (one of whom resides in the section of the millennial generation that grew up neck-in-neck with the boy who lived) set me right.
“You’re Slytherin,” said J, in response to one of my liberation domination monologues.
“Absolutely not. I’m a Ravenclaw who rocks with certain Slytherins.”
“Disagree,” M disagreed. “Not with all that water in your chart, and the way you sometimes frolic about with so and so and such and such while the commoners go about mundanities.”
“I’m a commoner.”
“One who enters enemy territory on the regular. A whole double agent. We’ve seen the pictures. Besides, Slytherins aren’t unequivocally bad. Plus we need folks on the inside.”
“Plus, you relate to snakes.”
They continued, deftly abolishing prisons of narrative reduction, emancipating from authorial condemnation the gem of revelation that I, fully and frankly, display many of “the on the page” traits of the silver and green. Cunning? Yep. Loyal? True. Charismatic, discriminating, ambitious, resourceful? Checks rain down the list, baby. With zeitgeist pop culture references and encyclopedic levels of celestial knowledge, they illuminated how I’d already been subconsciously (read: intuitively) using the aforementioned qualities as a strategy applied to the pursuit of personal and community abundance and freedom, rather than to realize dreams of bleached, oppressive blandness.
“Fine.” I conceded, inwardly thrilled to receive the gift of permission to revel in my happy place of highly functioning Reptilia. “If I absolutely must. I will Slytherin, for the people.”
And a catchphrase for purpose was born. Delivered by Inspiration, labored in the length of time of a spoken sentence. I’ve been sliding and gliding around spaces sticky with risk ever since my well-intentioned, assimilationist mama plopped me into the pits of PWIs – I just didn’t have the language to call it what it was.
Naming things is helpful. SftP has proven quite handy in recent years in surviving wars waged with algorithms and character limits, along with artillery and willful ignorance. I rep the Hiss with pride – and while I won’t tell you exactly how I go about it, (pay attention to glimpse a glimmer in real time) I enthusiastically invite you to seek out and enact ways you might consciously perform similar ascension magic for yourself and your crew.
Because no one is saving us but us. <flicks tongue; winks; apparates>
