Cultured

I have a friend with whom I discuss religion fairly often. Our discussions are always friendly, even though we believe differently – he’s a former Jehovah’s Witness turned atheist, and I’m… well, you know. ;) I'm actually not sure if he knows that I'm pagan, since I'm not always forthcoming about what I believe in public. I don't yet have the chutzpah to be fully "out." However, I've explicitly stated I'm not Christian, and I think it's also apparent that I'm not an atheist either.

It's surprising how much we actually agree about, which is probably why we get along so well; even though he doesn't believe in the divine, he recognizes the cultural weight that religion has, and that's what most of our discussions center upon. We both know non-Christians who attend church not because they believe, but because they want to take part in the cultural and societal aspect of it. I'm torn on the subject. I think it's unfortunate that people have to participate in a religion that they don't believe in if they want to be more fully involved in their community. And while there are secular alternatives, as well as other religious groups that one can be involved in, there's no denying that the US as a whole has a Christian culture.

This is not the same as saying, "The US is a Christian nation founded on Christian principles," which conservatives are often fond of claiming when they feel threatened by religious diversity. Or at least, even if that statement may be technically true, it doesn't mean what conservatives want it to mean. Yes, the United States' citizenry has always been predominantly Christian of one denomination or another. (Excepting the members of indigenous tribes, but then again they haven't always been considered US citizens.) And this undoubtedly has affected the structure of US society, customs, and values. But this does not mean (as much as conservatives may wish it) that the US is a Christian theocracy.

It does mean that even non-Christians will adopt Christian traditions, whether unconsciously or consciously. Besides the example of non-believers attending church, I know for a fact that non-Christian Americans will use, "Oh my god," "Jesus Christ," and "Goddamn," as epithets. We'll also say, "Amen!" to express emphatic agreement. The act of holding up something cross-shaped to ward off "evil" is invoked by Christians and non-Christians alike. This is because, even if we personally don't believe in Christian doctrine, we've been raised in a society that is permeated with them. It's likely that our parents are Christian, and if not, then most definitely a good number of our friends, teachers, neighbors, and random people we interact with from day to day are. Thus, it's impossible to escape Christian culture, and so it rubs off in the way we speak and in the little gestures and habits we express.

On the one hand, this doesn't bother me too much. After all, pagans still have at least one God, even though He's not at all like what Christians believe their God to be. Also, if one believes that there are multiple valid ways of forming a relationship with the Divine (as I believe), then a mixing of Christian and pagan isn't as hazardous. As long as the intent is understood, the net result is the same, right?

On the other hand, it frustrates and saddens me that I don't have a "pagan culture," as it were, to ground myself in. Not to say that there isn't a pagan culture, but I haven't been raised in it, and I haven't been exposed to it to the same extent. Adopting it feels false and affected; I have to consciously make myself replace "God" with "Goddess," and that act of deliberation - instead of just letting the epithets well up - makes me wonder if it is less genuine. When I want to speak with the Divine, my first reaction is to kneel and clasp my hands in the Christian gesture of prayer - and then I berate myself for slipping back into old habits instead of consciously, deliberately devoting myself to my new path.

It's a real catch-22 I've put myself in. On the one hand, I want to be more mindful and conscious of my religious practice. On the other hand, doing exactly that makes me feel like I'm not being genuine; I feel like I'm thinking too much when religion is supposed to be a matter of heart and soul.

Perhaps this feeling is shared by everyone (or most people, in any case) who converts from the religion they were raised in. I don't know; I'm only one person, and this is my first religious conversion. One data point does not make a trend. So I ask you, whoever may be reading this: if you've undergone a religious conversion in the past (and, if you're a pagan, this is probably the case), did you experience awkwardness as you adopted new practices? Did you get over it? How?

To what end?

Apologies for my long absence. Again.

Last month, long before the snows fell, I was driving to work along a residential boulevard. It's four lanes with a grassy median dividing it, lined by pre-planned, upper-middle-class suburban communities with names like "Seminole Forest," names that pay lip service to the land's history without actually understanding it. It's a moderately busy road, but that day traffic was slowed down to a crawl. I didn't know why, until I saw the stag.

He was absolutely beautiful - six points at least - with a thick dun coat and a broad, well-muscled body. I'm not sure how big he actually was, however. It's hard to gauge size when the animal is on the ground.

A police officer had parked his squad car in the lane closest to the median, where the buck lay, and he stood next to the king's felled body with a bemused expression on his face. No doubt he was wondering what to do now. On the pavement behind the squad car was a thick red smear.

I felt an incalculable sadness at the sight. Here was one of the oldest, proudest stags I had seen in years - a far cry from the small, young bucks that usually populate the liminal space where "civilization" and "wilderness" merge. What was he doing here? What did he possibly gain from entering the world of humans?

Rationally, I know the answer. The truth is, humans are one of the best things to have happened to white-tailed deer. We cut down the old growth, clearing the way for deers' favorite habitat. We provide plentiful, nutritious food in our gardens and fields and kill off the apex predators who hunt them - the added danger of hunters and cars are small potatoes compared to the cornucopia of suburban living.

But emotionally I couldn't accept this. The stag is a potent symbol of the wild - when he dies, it should be the result of a meaningful hunt, not careless happenstance. The hunt celebrates the vibrancy of his life even as it ends it. Whereas the driver that hit him didn't even know he was there until it was too late.

I wanted to do something to acknowledge the tragedy of his death, but I didn't know what. The only hand symbol I could think of was the Christian cross, and that was obviously inappropriate. (I do not know why I didn't think of signing the pentagram, other than that I am not quite settled into a pagan identity yet.) So I did nothing except meet his glassy gaze and send him a prayer of well-wishes as I slowly drove by.

Every day, to and from work, my eyes sought out that crimson swath in the road. Even after the rains came and washed it away, and even now, with everything covered in a crystalline blanket, I still seek the place where the wild king died.

The most literal witch-hunt in 500 years

So apparently Christine O'Donnell, a Republican Congressional candidate for Delaware, "dabbled" in witchcraft when she was young.

I can understand why a lot of Dems are bringing this up; they are trying to point yet another example of the GOP, the self-styled party of "Christian" values, having members who fail to live up to their own standards. No doubt if O'Donnell were on the other side, we'd be having plenty of conservatives spewing the "thy shall not suffer a witch to live" mistranslation left and right.

I haven't been following this whole thing terribly closely - I'm frankly getting burned out by all the idiotic politicking - but I imagine the GOP is re-spinning this as an example of their open-heartedness and their ability to forgive. After all, O'Donnell is an example of probably the most acceptable narrative for witches in the US: she was a young woman, she "dabbled" in it momentarily, but it was just a youthful phase, and when she "matured" she realized the error of her ways and returned to Christianity - a "real" religion.

What do you suppose the chances are of finding a politician who is a proud currently-practicing witch, who says, "Yes, I perform magick, and it is a valid religious tradition in its own right?" And of having them get anywhere at all?

HA!

I also can't help but notice, in the same way there was a definite misogynist undertone to "liberals" criticism of conservative Miss California's nude pictures, there is a whiff of bigotry to Dems' handling of the O'Donnell/witchcraft non-issue, too. They may say they're just trying to point out conservatives' double standards, but I get the definite feeling they consider being a witch a character flaw in its own right.

(NOTE: Before anyone thinks I'm endorsing O'Donnell, let me make it perfectly clear I think she's an idiot who shouldn't be let within 500 feet of a public office. But even though she's got shit-fer-brains that doesn't mean she deserves to be persecuted because of the way she's chosen to explore her spirituality. Go ahead and criticize her about her ignorance (or callous disregard, or both) regarding separation of church and state! Hell, I do! Every chance I get! But criticizing her personal religious history just isn't cool.)

More than I bargained for.

A thousand apologies for my recent absence. I've been busy recently for a number of reasons.

On the upside, my magickal work has paid off and I got the results I wanted. On the downside, I didn't properly give thanks to the Powers That Be for helping me out, which means I'm getting a lot of complications along with my desired goal.

Lesson learned. Always be grateful.

I have a place of my own now, which means I can set up a full-time altar. I did, but I'm still agonizing over whether I "did it right." Should I make sure it faces North, or should I just have "up," whichever way that is for me when I'm working at the altar, be the symbolic "North"? And if I do have it face "real" North, are we talking true North or magnetic North? I know this is a small thing to fuss over, and I'm sure the Powers That Be don't really care that much, but this is my first opportunity to really make magick and paganism a permanent feature in my home, and I want to do my best.

What the cards teach me

I've been learning to read Tarot for a little while. Originally I intended it to be a way of organizing my thoughts - kind of like how you flip a coin when you "can't decide," and the result of the coin toss makes you realize that, oh wait, you actually wanted the tails option instead of heads all along.

However, I've had some odd experiences with it since starting.

Currently, I'm in a rather isolated part of the midwest for an editing position. I'm here on trial, which means once the trial period is up (rather soon), I have to decide whether I want to stay here and keep working or go find employment elsewhere. I'm kind of up in the air on this, with some days thinking this is the best job in the world for me, and other days thinking I can't wait to get out of here. So I've been using Tarot to give me guidance on my feelings.

When doing the Celtic cross spread, twice in a row I've had the Queen of Swords as the questioner (me), and the Hermit as the immediate influence. The Queen can symbolize a lonely woman (o hai!), while the Hermit symbolizes withdrawing from the world, solitude, and isolation... not to mention my boss fits the Hermit archetype both physically (he's an old dude with long hair and a giant white beard!) and psychologically. That was certainly an eye-opener to me.

More recently, my boyfriend was on an interstate motorcycle trip - the first since he'd been in a rather serious accident this past winter. So, naturally, I was a little anxious about it. Then suddenly his phone starts going straight to voicemail, and he's way overdue to arrive back in his hometown. His mother calls me to ask if I know where he is, since he hasn't checked in. Cue me freaking out.

I ask around his friends to garner as much information as I can - his motorcycle broke down, and last they heard he was still looking for a place to stay for the night - but none of them had heard from him for a while. Great.

To calm myself down, I decided to ask the cards: "What's my boyfriend's situation at the moment?" I pulled a single card at random from the middle of the deck.

Naturally, I drew Death.

Now, it's a truism that Death practically never means actual, physical death. I kept telling myself that, over and over. But a part of my brain kept responding, But sometimes it does!

The Death card also means an unexpected (perhaps negative) event, I told myself. His motorcycle breaking down certainly falls under that category. Just in case, I cast a quick, impromptu spell for his protection and went to sleep.

The next morning, I asked the cards the same question - what's his situation now? - and pulled another card at random.

I drew Death once again.

Now I was really scared. I decided to try calling his phone one more time, even though last night it seemed to have been dead. This time, though, it rang, and - joy! - he picked up, sounding as if he didn't have a care in the world.

"Oh yeah," he said, "my bike's still fucked, and I'm waiting for it to get fixed. But I managed to get ahold of [a mutual friend of ours from college] and her folks were kind enough to put me up for the night. I'm hanging out with her right now."

Finally I understood what the card was trying to tell me - he was swept up in an unexpected event (the "death" of his motorcycle), but he let himself go along with it, and it led to him reconnecting with an old friend, leading to a "rebirth" of his relationship with her.

I imagine that my persistence in drawing Death was also a test for me; I was deeply affected by my boyfriend's injuries over the winter, and I still need to shed my emotional baggage over it. Worrying about him whenever he leaves his house is not productive, and could actually harm our relationship. I worked myself into a frenzy of anxiety, and over what? He turned out fine; he usually does.

Still, I'm definitely going to make a protective charm for him when I get home. :P

A Healing Spell for Another

My girlfriend had her tonsils removed not too long ago, and I whipped this up for her to aid her recovery.

• Gather three sage leaves, three sprigs of lemon thyme, and three sprigs of rosemary.
• Make a little bundle by tying them up in a lightweight blue cloth with a blue ribbon/thread/piece of yarn.
• On a sheet of paper, write the following:

Rosemary, sage, lemon thyme too,
Wrapped up and bound in healing blue.
When you feel ill, give this a sniff;
It'll make you feel better in just a jiff!

By the power of herb and leaf,
As I will it, so shall it be.

• Then gently fold the paper into thirds, with the bundle inside - like a little package.
• Seal it with a kiss and give it to whoever needs it!
  

X-posted: Enlightenment at the end of a scourge

I am currently reading the 10th Anniversary Edition of The Spiral Dance: A Rebirth of the Ancient Religion of the Great Goddess by Starhawk. I'm somewhat chagrined to say that this is the first time I've read anything by her, considering her importance in the pagan and ecofeminist movements. I will admit that I've been avoiding Starhawk up until now because of her prolific nature; it seemed everywhere I turned I saw her books with their slick, trendy covers, and I figured she was one of those commercial hacks, like that Sylvia Brown "psychic" woman.

Shame on me for assuming.

Though the edition I'm reading is twenty years old (and the original publication even older), I have found an emotional and intellectual resonance with Starhawk's writing that is unlike anything else I've encountered. I knew, as a queer woman and a feminist, that I did not like the heterosexist, cissexist bent of a lot of pagan ideology, with its focus on the Divine Polarity/Union of the Goddess and the God. However, I did not know how to adequately conceive of an alternative; Starhawk has eloquently provided one for me, one that made me grin with joy when I read it.

In fact, that seems to have been my reaction to a lot of what I've read so far. This is the first time I've seen religion and feminism thoroughly and intrinsically integrated, which is something that I've wanted for a long time.

And then I read this:

In Witchcraft, love is never associated with actual physical violence, and nothing could be more antithetical to the spirit of the Craft than the current rash of violent pornography. The God does not perpetrate acts of sadomasochism on the Goddess or preach to Her the "power of sexual surrender." (114)

...Oh.

I had thought that finally - finally! - I had found the key that would unite my spirituality, my sexuality, and my politics into one cohesive whole - a unifying theory, as it were. And Starhawk's book came so close, so so close, to doing that for me.

But apparently the most fulfilling form of sexual expression for me is not right - is "antithetical to the spirit of the Craft." Just like I've been told that it is antithetical to feminism, to being a healthy member of society, to just about everything I'm supposed to be and think and am.

This isn't going to make me give up on the Craft - in the same way that reading anti-kink screeds from certain feminists isn't going to make me give up feminism. I'm cutting Starhawk some slack, since I like most of the rest of her writing and this was written during the height of the polarizing Sex Wars anyway. Hopefully her views have changed since then; I find it hard to believe that she could maintain the views she espouses in the book and still be against kink without a decent amount of cognitive dissonance.

Now, it's true that I don't need to find validation in the writings of others for my sexuality/spirituality/politics. Obviously I'm going to continue being kinky, a witch, and a feminist all at once regardless of what Starhawk or Dworkin or anyone else says. But it is nice to read the thoughts and theories of like-minded people, as it helps me develop a cognizant framework to describe my own life experiences and my own feelings, which are often chaotic and half-formed even to me; I know what feels right, but I can't explain why or how without help.

Fortunately, I've already seen hints of kink-friendly paganism. I just finished reading Craft of the Wise: A Practical Guide to Paganism and Witchcraft by Llyn Annwn, and she briefly mentions the traditional use of the scourge in rituals. Though she doesn't go into detail - only saying that, in the proper circumstances and for the right people, it can be a powerful experience - it provides a hint that, yes, I can incorporate every aspect of my sexuality into my religious practice. However, I don't know where to look to find more material about this. Any suggestions would be much appreciated.

(x-posted to my kink blog)