About Pagan Religion

Ian Corrigan has created a pretty brilliant blog post about his Pagan religion, in response to Star Foster’s “Crisis of Faith” blog post on Patheos.

I don’t have a lot to add. Both Ian and Star talk about leaving Wiccan Mystery Traditions. I have never felt the need to leave mine. Star talks about how participation in a Mystery Tradition can be short-term (like the Mysteries of Eleusis–attend once, never forget), and wonders whether it’s actually a religion. To me, I see exoteric and esoteric Wicca as two sides of the same coin. Participating actively in the Pagan community is something I encourage, even if you find public rituals weak or silly or whatever. I have loved and mocked and enjoyed and been bored by all manner of Pagan rituals over thirty years.

My ritual life is Gardnerian–my Mystery Tradition suits me fine–but Pagans are my people. In Judy Harrow’s badly-named book Wicca Covens, she says “Witchcraft is not a religion, but a committed religious order. Our religion is Paganism.” I’ve always really liked that; I think she’s hit upon something important in how we express ourselves religiously.

Star Foster said “What you believe matters as much as what you do,” and Ian responded “I tend to see beliefs as ephemera, compared to traditions.”

I have for years told students that Gardnerian Wicca is not orthodox (strict in belief) but orthopraxic (strict in practice). Believe what you want–we’re not the Thought Police. If the religion is true; if the Gods are present and the ritual reaches Them, if the Mysteries reveal to you a connection that is Mysterious and profound, then your belief, your understanding, your spiritual connectedness, will be informed by that and emerge from that.

Do the rites. Worship the Gods. Belief will follow in a way unique to the individual, and yet the coven will be of one mind because the practice and its results bind us together.

Deeper Down the Rabbit Hole

I did this fun podcast with the folks at Deeper Down the Rabbit Hole tonight. We talked about the four elements, about elemental beings, about Spirit, and more.

The podcast is here and will be available on iTunes.

Boy or Girl?

I went to McDonald’s yesterday (don’t judge!) and ordered a Happy Meal. It’s a way to eat as much as you want, and not supersize it, it has apple slices, it’s cheap, and I like the toy.

So anyway. I order a Happy Meal, and the kid behind the counter says “Boy or girl?” I was momentarily stymied.

Why do we have to stick a gender on this? Obviously, it’s for the toy choice. I’ll even play Devil’s Advocate for a moment; I think that customers asked them to introduce this. When Arthur was little, there were just Happy Meals, not “boy” meals and “girl” meals. In fact, he’d give me his toys if he thought they were too girly (my love of stupid little toys goes way back). I’ll bet that parents got tired of kids being disgruntled, I bet that customers asked for the option.

But why is the option “boy or girl”?

“What are the toys?” I asked. “Star Wars or Build-a-Bear.” “Star Wars,” I said.

Girls don’t like Star Wars? Boys don’t like bears?

What efficiency expert decided that it was easier to ask “boy or girl” than to simply give a toy choice?

Today’s irritation has been brought to you by The Patriarchy.

Dream Interpretation

So, Friday night I dreamed I was at a party that my brother was hosting. When I left work to go to the party, I found my car had been stolen, but I couldn’t reach the cops. Somehow I got to the party anyway. The men mostly stayed downstairs watching sports. I stayed the night, and in the morning the men had come upstairs, and Bruce Springsteen was one of them. I got into a big easy chair with Bruce and we were making out. It was glorious. My mother was there and after a while I think she got tired of watching me make out, because she started making fun of me. Then I went back to trying to get the cops about my car. Then I called into work to explain about my car and my boss fired me. (This was a boss from years and years ago; someone who actually did fire me in real life).

Now, if I know who or what Bruce Springsteen represents in real life (which I do), then I might understand that my subconscious is telling me that, no matter how glorious it feels to be with “Bruce,” it’s a disaster. In this dream, Bruce is wonderful, but job, car, Mom are all bad. It’s a warning, and not a psychic warning. Based on how it made me feel, this was a psychological, not a supernatural, dream.

So of course I ignored the warning, and of course within 24 hours the warning proved right.

Blessed Imbolc

May the three fires of Brigid: The fire of the body, the fire of the head, and the fire of the forge, be awake within you.

From the fire in the body, may you have energy, healing, and fertility. May your health be robust. May your bodies energies be as bright as the Sun.

From the fire in the head, may you be inspired. May you write, paint, draw, dance, and make music to your heart’s desire. May creativity flow freely.

From the fire in the forge, may you be skilled in your crafts. May you be adorned by beautiful jewelry, may your steel never break, may work be rewarding.

Blessed be.

Witchtalk Radio

Now, if I had any sense, I’d have posted about this before it happened, so y’all could have listened live, but here’s my appearance, from this afternoon, on Witchtalk Radio with Karagan. We talk mostly about Wicca, but at the end, we do get into James Bond as well.


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Blessed Solstice

Do you ever wonder where the soul resides? Do you think it's comfortable there..?
Creative Commons License photo credit: gogoloopie

On the longest night of the year, we await the dawn.

The celebration of the Winter Solstice is the celebration of hope. In the darkness, we await light. We expect, anticipate, pray for, and believe in, that light.

Our human scientific knowledge has known for a very long time that the light would return. Certainly, by the time we were able to measure the astronomical phenomenon of solstice, we were able to understand that at the end of the longest night, the sun would rise. And yet, for all these centuries, we continue to await the dawn of the day after solstice, ending the longest night. Because it is not science that inspires us to believe the sun will rise. It is hope. It is the human spirit. It is our ability to look into the darkness and say “I see that light will come.”

I see that light will come.

“Yule” means “wheel.” We believe the wheel will turn. We believe that our dark nights will turn into bright dawns, and our cold winters will turn into warm springs. We believe.

It is faith itself we celebrate, lighting a single candle rather than cursing the darkness.

May your wheel turn. May your darkness end. May your dawn arise bright and glorious.

Blessed be.

The intrusion of nature

I was riding to work and a leaf landed on my windshield.

Just that. Just, I was in a car, on a heavily-trafficked road, at a stoplight, commuting. I was all the things that aren’t about nature, and aren’t about the Gods. I was not thinking. I was not in sacred space, either in my mind or in my body.

And a leaf, a big brown leaf, landed on my windshield, exactly at eye level, and said “Look at me, I am nature.” Yes, leaf, you are. I looked.

Yes.

Adventures in Customer Service Follow-up

So, the Avenue wrote to me, very promptly, and showed me their “wide calf” boots on their website. They are 15″ in circumference. By contrast, Torrid’s are 18-20 inches. I bought at Torrid. Today I discovered Evans. They offer extra wide and extra wide-calf boots, but they don’t give specific measurements.

Meanwhile, I haven’t been watching many movies. I was away. But my next movie after the Prince of the City fiasco was fine. The next movie after that, however, was cracked down the middle. They really seem to be sabotaging their DVD collection.

Blessed Samhain: Honor the Ancestors

Here’s what happens: At some point when you’re young, you face your first terrible, unexpected death. Some people, it is true, are born or raised in tragic circumstances, and death surrounds them: Iraqi children right now don’t know their first experience with death, because it is a background to their lives. But in more normal, more privileged circumstances, we recognize a moment as shifting things for us. My beloved, adored grandfather when I was nine. My father’s close friend when I was 16 (the friend was in his late 20s or early 30s; he died in a bizarre mountain-climbing accident). My fiance when I was 24.

We carry those dead with us. They are a personal photo wallet; we bring them to our dumb suppers, and we can allow them to change us.

And people keep dying. People we love, people near to us, people we admire from afar. People who are very old, and for whom death was timely, people for whom death was tragically young. Illness, accident, suicide, murder, war…death piles up.

And then, you are no longer young, and the people you carry with you are legion. It’s not a few photos in your wallet anymore, it’s an album.

This isn’t a terrible thing, this is nature. At Samhain, when we cast the circle, we are Between the Worlds. On the day when the veil between living and dead is most thin, we share our circle with beloveds on both sides, and if we are blessed, both sides are more crowded than we can accomodate, because our love is so big.

There are more people I love than would fit into my circle. Just among Pagans, just among people who might, potentially, have made it to ritual this weekend, there are more people I love than the room we used would accommodate. That’s a lot of love.

And among the dead? There were more whom I love than I had time to name. More than I remembered to name. More than I can count. My honored dead were with me, beloved, wept for, missed, and celebrating. I am sorry, so sorry, for the losses that came too soon. But I am happy for the love.