Deborah Lipp

It is, perhaps, harder to be at peace with your spiritual self than it is to be at peace with yourself overall. (Unless you’re an atheist. I figure “I don’t do that” can be a pretty peaceful state.) By “at peace,” I don’t mean “self-righteous;” to be aggressive and rigid about your path is, I think, a sign of lack of peace.

Because prayer, meditation, and worship have profound goals, we may judge how we do those things harshly, and we may fantasize about doing them more or better or different. And we may be mad at ourselves, or critical of ourselves, when we don’t measure up to this fantasy.

I have never been someone who meditates often or does a lot of private worship. That’s a sucky thing to admit, being a Famous Wiccan Writer® and all, but it’s true. I’m other-directed. I worship best when there are other people around, and Wicca, to me, happens in a circle with other Wiccans.

Now, in my life, I’ve gone through phases about this. I used to be really mad at myself and do the New Year’s Resolution trip about how I was going to meditate every day from now on, just like I would resolve to, I dunno, be more organized or disciplined or exercise or diet or any of the thousand things we think we can fix by resolving. ‘Cause that always works.

And then I recognized that I was externally motivated. I do things when there’s someone expecting me to do it. I clean house when company’s coming. When I plan solitary circles, I cancel if I’m exhausted. When I plan group circles, I suck it up because people are coming over expecting a circle. So in phase two I stopped being mad, but was still kind of ashamed. I should be self-motivated. It would be better if I did more stuff on my own. And I would be really jealous and admiring of people I knew who did have that self-directed spirituality.

Phase three was figuring out that this is who I am, and finding a way to come to peace with it. Knowing that a home altar needs to be really visible or I’d forget about it, I moved mine around several times until I found the right spot. I let go of thoughts about how long it’s been since I meditated, and simply be in this meditation, right now.

Finally, I am in phase four, and truly at peace with it. So much at peace that I don’t mind telling you these things that I used to consider embarrassing. Religion, to me, is mostly about community, and the deep spiritual things that happen, the trances, the visions, the exaltation, tend to happen for me when there is a community around me. And that’s not inferior to doing those things alone. Whatever works.

Friday, as I was getting ready for work, I noticed my Kali altar and noticed I wanted to pray. Okay, it’s been a while. And I didn’t beat myself up. I just lit some incense, offering first the flame, then the incense. I stood at the altar. I chanted “Om Kali Kalike Kalyai Namah Namostute Om” once. Just once. Not 108 times. I made darshan (eye contact with the idol). I took another breath. That was it.

I felt…wonderful. Enriched by the experience. Centered. And I know that if I sat for 108 chants with my mala, that would be powerful in a different way. And that’s okay too.

We are approaching the darkest night of the year. Winter Solstice is, paradoxically, a festival of hope, of light, and of birth.

The Wiccan Wheel of the Year is replete with these paradoxes; in light we see darkness, in cold we see warmth. But how do we see hope and renewal when light is gone, and a chilly darkness pervades the world?

Pagan faith is rooted in reality. While indeed, there have always been, and still are, great Pagan mystics and thinkers, there is also a strain of earthiness that is always a part of who and what we are. We have faith that the sun will rise, in great part, because it has always been known to rise. Because our theology and our mythos don’t defy nature, we can draw comfort from the natural world.

Ground and center.

See yourself in total darkness. You are surrounded by a palpable and endless dark. Everything is void, everything is black.

Now a light begins to dawn. Perhaps it looks like a sunrise to you, or perhaps you experience the light as coming from within.

Notice the growing light. It is warm and golden.

As the light grows, you find yourself remembering that light always returns. The sun rises each morning, and you remember many bright and shining days. The spring comes each year, and you remember many golden Aprils and Mays.

Fill yourself with returning light, and allow yourself to know that this light always returns to you. Allow yourself to know that your sorrows have always been followed, sooner or later, by laughter. Recall new things born into your life when you thought you were alone and lost. Recall being healed. Recall being awakened. Recall hope.

Fill yourself with returning light, and notice the feeling of gratitude. The light will always return, and you can be grateful for it. The earth will continue to turn, and you can be grateful for it.

Now you are fully in the light. The sun is up. Your body glows with light. Notice the feeling of hope and optimism. Enjoy it.