Happy Ali Is Happy

I have nothing of deep spiritual insight to add at the moment, but I did want to follow up with a post noting that, for the most part, I am exceedingly happy with my life right now. Like, not just "I realize intellectually that I should be happy because things are going well, but mostly I feel tired" kind of happy. Actually happy, the solid kind of happiness that can become a foundation, the kind of happiness that you can build on.

Partly I think this is due to my writing. NaNoWriMo has given me a legitimate excuse to spends hours every day writing creatively, something I haven't done in a very long time. I find that the energy it gives me spills over into my other work — on the podcast, on the blog — and so that work is also becoming easier, getting more "flow" to it.

Another part of this is that, because I start every writing session with a tarot reading and ten minute meditation, I have somehow tricked myself into re-establishing a daily practice. Because the meditation is not all that long, I have far fewer excuses for not doing it; and because it's main purpose is to quiet my mind in order to help me transition into "creative writing mode," I don't concern myself with making progress or accomplishing anything by it as a result. This is, of course, the best way to approach a daily meditative practice — at least, so I've heard over and over — releasing attachments to outcome and providing yourself with a pause in which to embrace silence as a path to the divine. But I am such a perfectionistic workaholic that I have always bent my whole intensely-wound will on being really awesome at non-attachment... which, obviously, somewhat defeats the purpose. (Gods, please do not let me jinx this practice by writing about it here and making myself aware of the trick I've played on my perfectionism!)

Likewise, the tarot reading is not a reading for myself, but for the next scene that I'm working on in the book. So I avoid the kind of spiraling navel-gazing self-obsession that my attempts at daily tarot reading has led me to in the past. In other words, I'm practicing non-attachment with my divination as well, and the only records of my readings are (instead of an obsessively kept journal) the creative writing that results, which is shaped not just by the divination but by the plot outline I'm working from and the characters who want to have their own say. (There is one character in particular who dominates every scene she's in and just will not shut up and let others talk... I will have to find something to do with her. Jeff suggests giving her a yappy dog to keep her busy and distracted.)

I am so deeply proud of the work we're doing with the podcast, engaging in topics that really interest me and giving me lots of opportunities to explore new ideas. I feel somewhat liberated from the pressures that blogging had brought with it, which means that when I do blog (on my own personal website), I enjoy it more.

Also, it's beautiful here. The weather is finally getting chilly, but it continues to be sunny on and off most days, and the same flock of pigeons hangs out on the roof of the condo across the street, and the same crow surfs the power line above the smoke tree, and I am finally (weirdly enough) feeling at home here. I am not sure when this started to happen, but I noticed it when the kids came to visit us in October — I finally feel grounded and centered in this place, I finally feel like I'm starting to understand the patterns and moods of the landscape here. I still spend far too much time inside during the week, between the writing and the podcast research and editing, but weekends are wonderful chances to go out exploring, and Jeff and I are still volunteering as naturalists, which is another of the reasons I feel grounded and connected and happy.

I feel too often this blog becomes a place for me to rant about the things that bother me when they're bothering me, and it can seem like they dominate my days when really they are passing concerns. I feel deeply happy and fulfilled in my life right now. Oddly enough, I am exactly where I wanted and hoped to be by this time in my life (child-free by choice, with an awesome man who loves me and just got an adorable new haircut, living in a beautiful city that doesn't dry my skin till it bleeds in the winter, doing creative work that I love and find meaningful...). I am so full of gratitude and amazement that this is my life. Sometimes I wonder if my minor freak-outs are largely due to the fact that, damn it, I want everyone to have such an awesome and fulfilling life and so many times it seems like instead people are engaged in senseless self-sabotage. Non-attachment, Alison, non-attachment. Lift them up into the light and let them work their own way out, since that is really the only way it works anyway.

My remaining goal is to finish this book manuscript by the winter solstice. Perhaps an arbitrary date, but it's a pretty big astronomical alignment that kind of nicely wraps up my Saturn Return years. It would be nice to go in to the dawning of a new year and its lengthening days knowing that a major life goal of mine (to write a novel) has been crossed off the list.

I guess that means I better get started, then...

**

Edited to add: Duh! Then there's my relationship with the gods, specifically Artemis (yeah, that's right, I said it!) and Brigid (yeah, that's right, I'm not so deity-dumped as I thought). Turns out that when Brigid suggested we see other people, she meant some sort of kinky holy threesome, and I feel a roundness and wildness to my relationships with deity now that astounds me and fills me with energy, inspiration and gratitude. So... rock on!

Crowd-Surfing and Other High Anxiety Issues

I'm participating in National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) this year. I've started strong, and I'm trying to loosen up with my creative shitty-first-draft writing (which I don't do much of anymore these days, so it's a refreshing change).

For several reasons, but that being one of them, I'm feeling somewhat raw, more than usual. Also, probably the amount of caffeine, and worries about schedules and all of that.

I had a thought on crowd-sourcing and asking for financial support from people who read your blog or listen to your podcast (in the wake of our first ever canceled subscription over on FF&C — not a great way to start the morning). Fiscal crowd-sourcing is kind of like crowd-surfing.... You have to make sure that you have a big group of people who are so fucking excited to be there, they don't mind if you accidentally kick them in the face while you're busy failing around. It's not even a matter of supporting your weight. It's about the fact that, these days, you don't get "off" time from the online persona, ever, so you have to trust in people to forgive you for disappointing them or being a pain in their neck (literally). Also, if you're like me, you end up spending so much time trying to make sure you're not wearing steel-toed boots or other clothes that might hurt someone under you, that you never get the chance to crowd-surf anyway. And then you feel stupid and hurt because nobody noticed how gods-damned sensitive you were trying to be.

I am feeling deeply cynical right now, because I do not have very many people in my life that I can trust like that. I do not think that I am a very difficult person to get along with, but so it goes. I am approaching thirty, and sometimes I still feel like the vulnerable angst-ridden teen whose friends are always on the edge of abandoning her for some slight that she didn't even know she made. (True story.) I am unreasonably hurt, for instance, that a person whom I thought was a very good friend of mine simply hasn't answered my emails in several months.... And my reaction is "if you let them, let them go"... but sometimes I feel like I am doing a lot of letting go in my life. The thing about butterflies and flowers is, the flowers have to put so much energy into being attractive.

I do not understand what it is that makes other people successful. I don't even understand what it is that makes my own work successful when it does happen. Things I pour my heart and soul and sweat into get ignored, and things that I scramble through (not because I'm half-assing it, but because there's always something worthy to be doing and I just can't do it all) sometimes get praised like they're the best thing ever. It's so easy to ignore when that happens, especially when it feels like what people want from you is to always be scrambling and half-crazed and a mess. It's hard not to feel deeply hurt when your best stuff, your soul stuff, gets completely overlooked in the mad dash. It can make you feel like your soul is shit, isn't worth people's time.

This is me, making my life more difficult than it has to be. Only a few years ago, I was panicked because I didn't know what I wanted to do with my life and I had nobody to help me. Now, I have a wonderful husband and a wonderful home in a place I love, and I'm doing work that I love to do, more of it than I ever thought I'd have, I get to work full time as a "creative professional" (let's say — is that a term, or did I make it up?).... And I'm still the anxiety-ridden idiot whose worried that nobody loves her and nobody wants to listen. I went from being worried that I had nothing to say, to being worried that nobody could be bothered to hear me out.

How ridiculous. I blame the caffeine. Leftover Halloween candy is the worst.

I just want to make something beautiful with my life. When I feel like nobody supports me in that, I get resentful and stamp off to my own little corner to build my own sand castles. And they will be so damn beautiful. But I see the tide coming in, and I know it won't last forever. So how do you deal with that?

Even Emily Dickinson had fans.

Glorying in Dry Land

It's strange how difficult it is to give up something that, in many ways, has been a burden and distraction for me for the past year and a half. I'm stepping down from NUP and from the PNC more broadly.

It is surprisingly hard to let NUP go, now that I'm in the last stages of transferring the administration of the blog and all its social media integration to the new admin. I am so immensely proud of the work I've done on NUP, and the work that so many others have put into it through their writing and their guest posts and photographs. I've also been devoting a couple hours a week to trying to manage and promote NUP since it got rolling back in April 2011.... It's become a habit of mind to always be brainstorming, somewhere in my subconscious, what my next NUP post would be.

Deciding to pursue NUP as a project of the PNC was the first time that my work as a Pagan and Druid truly crystallized in my mind. As Plotkin describes in his books on the cycling stages of life, many people go through a "Wander in the Cocoon" phase, when they withdraw from society and go wandering in the wilds to find their truest calling. Sometimes this wandering is literal -- visiting strange, exotic locations -- and sometimes it's more figurative or psychological or spiritual. For me, it was a little bit of both, and it seemed to last forever. But, Plotkin says, if we commit to the work of every stage of life and try to live most fully in the present, that is the only way we are ever able to eventually move on. I was the Wanderer for a long time before things fell into place. And when they fell into place, I found that I was suddenly no longer wandering. I was the Apprentice at the Wellspring.

NUP was my first apprenticeship. I had become a student of ecology and deep ecology almost without realizing it, and it suddenly clicked into place that in all my wanderings, what I'd discovered was that more than anything, I wanted to talk and write about nature spirituality. I thought perhaps others wanted to read and talk about that, too, and so I approached Jason with the idea of pursuing the concept as a part of the Pagan Newswire Collective. I was turned loose to do my worst... and the result was a group blog with some of the most amazing people I've ever had the pleasure to work with. Together, we managed to make NUP the most popular and well-read blog of the PNC collective.

So it's hard to step away from that. My pieces on NUP have more than double the readers that blog posts on my personal blog get. That's the nature of the internet beast these days -- with a glut of information out there, aggregate news sites and group blogs attract a lot more readers, they know they can get all that they need in one place. So it's really, really hard to step away from that, to give up the chance to reach more readers.

On the other hand, NUP has been a bit of a thankless job. I got no support from the national staff, who eagerly gave themselves impressive titles and then settled back on their heels and asked everyone else to take the initiative as part of the "autonomy" of the blogs and bureaus. So instead of making good on the clout earned through celebrity in order to promote and spread good, thoughtful, engaging writing... that clout was squandered.

I know full well that I don't get to sit at the popular kids' table in the Pagan Cafeteria. At best, I was for a time a bit like the yearbook editor, with the popular kids relying on my hard work to make them look good and feature their photographs most prominently in the collages (okay, the metaphor is stretched, bear with me). But trespass on the popular kids' table at lunch, and you get smacked down and reminded that hard work doesn't mean you're not still a geek and a loser. And I was tired of getting smacked down. I was tired of having to hang around people who clearly didn't like or respect me, even if I did love the work I was doing. I was tired of fending off personal attacks thrown at me in the public arena by the very people who were supposed to promote and support my work as part of NUP. I was especially tired of the attitude that my hard work on NUP somehow was something to feel embarrassed about, as though I didn't have something better to do, as if the disorganization and incompetence of the people at the top was a mark of their superiority. Diana's response especially, that the concerns of the PNC were "narrow" and not a big part of her life.... as if to say that the care and energy of the volunteers who make NUP and the other blogs possible was something beneath her, that she couldn't be bothered to handle the responsibilities that she chose to take on....

Well, anyway. There were a lot of reasons to leave.

But it's going to be a challenge to change my mental habits. To realize that I no longer have the NUP project as something that needs to be nursed and looked after. That's someone else's job now. In a lot of ways, it feels like an anchor has finally been cut, a deadweight released. In other ways, it feels odd to relinquish control over something you've put so much time and energy into... to give up on that vision of what you thought it might become and let someone else take on that responsibility and make something of it instead.

I have FF&C to think about, and that work has been so amazingly rewarding and fruitful already. I go into that work guided by a vision and a direction. Rather than feeling like I'm always scrambling to grab the attention of the popular people so maybe they'll throw me a bone, I have a deep sense of integrity about the work I do for FF&C. Maybe it's just that, for now, we're skirting under the radar of the trolls and the haters.... But all of the listeners and readers and fans have been so full of support and enthusiasm. It's a joy to do this work.

I read an article analyzing Obama's strategy in the presidential debate this week. There is a technique in debating where you bombard your opponent with a slew of falsehoods, half-truths and strawman arguments, in the hopes that he'll spend all his time trying to debunk you and never have a chance to get out his own message.

In a lot of ways, I felt like the work I did for NUP was constantly at risk of getting pulled off track by that kind of tactic, especially when it came to behind the scenes. Not so with FF&C. With FF&C, I feel like I am finally staying "on message" and really having the chance to explore and share the things I truly care about, the things that most fascinate and inspire me.

The internet is a weird place. Bad press can be addictive. You feel like you have to defend yourself against idiocy. I know for a long time I've worried that my work would be remembered according to the false characterizations of the trolls and haters who were way more popular than me, had tons more readers. Every time I came across someone judging me (especially judging me as a person) without having even bothered to read my work, it really hurt. But at the same time, damn did it drive traffic.

But I don't want to deal with that stress anymore. I'm sick of trying to placate the Bitchy Popular Girls in the Pagan online community. I much prefer to go off with the other nerds and enjoy their company.

It's like the surface tension of water, I told Jeff earlier. When you've been drowning in bullshit so long, sometimes it takes a lot of effort to break through, to scramble to the surface and leave the bullshit behind. But when you do eventually make it back to dry land, and you can stand upright again and feel proud of your work and hold your head high and take a deep breath without worrying what kind of stench is going to invade you from every direction......

......Damn, it feels good.

This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things

I should note the meditative work I've been doing on "natural polytheism" recently, as well as the equinox ritual we attended this past weekend, not to mention my on-going work on the podcast and the work I'm doing as a volunteer naturalist (our training is almost over!).... but instead, I'm going to take a second to Rage in a quiet way.

Last week, Ian Corrigan wrote an interesting post about the use of the word "unsacred" in the title of the blog, No Unsacred Place. He trots out the fairly familiar complaint that the word "sacred" means to set aside as special, and if "everything is sacred" then nothing can be sacred.

I left a comment explaining the context of Wendell Berry's quote, and drawing attention to the very important fact that, first, Berry is speaking poetically (since "unsacred" is not even a proper word, that should have been a pretty obvious hint), and second, Berry is very specifically trying to call our attention to our relationship with the places we create through the act of "setting them aside." Berry is using the word "unsacred" in a very particular way, in order to challenge us to think about how we engage with the very notion of "sacred."

Jeff and I explored this idea, as well as the contrast between the concept of "space" and "place" (which Berry also plays with in his poem), in our most recent podcast episode, which I'm about to finish editing and posting. In fact, I'm working on the show notes, which is how I ended up back at Ian's post snagging the URL to include in our list of links....

When I see that Michael York (academic and author of that book, Pagan Theology) has left a comment on Ian's post since the last time I was there, in which he praises Ian's essay and says he agrees with a previous commenter whose entire comment consisted of a single sentence: "Thank the Gods for people who care what words mean!"

York left his comment after I left mine. There is absolutely no acknowledgement from York (or from Ian) that either of them even understand the more subtle point that Berry is trying to make, or the value of considering the context of the original quote. There is no acknowledgement that my comment has helped to contribute to the conversation. Instead, to be perfectly honest, York's follow-up remark seems very much like an intentional kind of "silent treatment." He refers specifically to a previous commenter's remark, which means he did bother to read the comments that other readers had left before him. My comment was substantive, relevant and brought valuable new information to the conversation in order to expand the focus beyond prescriptivist nit-picking about the technical, literal, dictionary-definition of words. Quite honestly, in this case, "caring what words mean" obviously has to include an understanding and appreciation of the context and use of words (especially words invented by the poet specifically for the purpose of challenging our usual, easy assumptions about how we use those words).

And yet, my comment receives absolutely no response. Ian acknowledges it just barely enough to give his permission for me to re-publish his post over on No Unsacred Place, but beyond that, you could practically hear crickets chirping.

Now, yes, I take this as an affront to my pride. I totally have some ego going on here.

But I think this is also part of what's wrong with the way that celebrity functions in the Pagan community. There is a certain type of Big Name Pagan — I'm not going to pull punches: they're usually white, male, middle-aged or older, and they usually pride themselves on having some kind of academic background, and unfortunately there seems to be a higher concentration of them in Druidry than in other Pagan traditions — who responds to criticism or challenge from others (especially if they are young and female) with silence, at best. Nobody would even know I'd been there. I doubt that either Ian or York will ever refer back to my comment as relevant, interesting or helpful, even if at some later point they decide to re-evaluate their ideas or even come to agree with me.

The fact is: Ian was mistaken. He didn't bother to find out what the context of the original quote was or to think about it any more deeply than the assumption that if someone was using a word (or intentionally invented a word) in a way that bothered him, it must be because they were using it incorrectly. I pointed that out to him (in a way that was respectful and enthusiastic to share some of the more interesting implications of the quote), but the simple reality is that I am young and female and knew full well what I was doing when I chose that title for the PNC nature blog (we even had a conversation about it among the staff before settling on it). All of that meant that there was no way for him to maintain his position of being the One Who Knew More — not only did he not know the context of the original quote, but he didn't know that I knew it and had taken it into consideration when I made my choice.

So Ian responds with relative silence (I doubt I would have received acknowledgement at all if I hadn't asked him a direct question that he couldn't very well have afforded to ignore).

Seeing some uppity young woman being sensible about the whole thing, along comes York and decides that, on top of responding to my comment with very deliberate silence (which he calls attention to by making sure everyone knows he's read the comment thread), he's going to double down on the original, overly-simplistic approach that Ian took in his original post and praise Ian for it.

The Good Old Boy system prevails, old white men pat each other on the back and reinforce each other's prominence and expertise, the more interesting and subtle aspects of the conversation get ignored.... and a couple years from now, we'll be having this same exact conversation all over again. We never make any progress, our theology remains shallow and myopic, and we wonder why other religious traditions don't take us seriously even though we wear shiny things and fancy robes.

This is why we can't have nice things.

Saturn Return, Part Three: Revenge of the.... Saturn?

Just a quick note: looking again at the calendar of Saturn transits that I wrote up a while back, I see that my last onslaught of major transits (conjunctions with my ascendent, natal Saturn and Pluto, plus one parting sucker-punch square to my MC) started back on, surprise, August 18. It's going to be a rough two months.

During our quick phone call today (or yesterday?), Jeff said that he thought I was handling my Saturn Return much better than he did, since at least I was working consciously with the energies. During his Saturn Return, he was externalizing those energies, so they took the form of other people controlling and pressuring him, leaving him to deal with the real fall-out only seven years later during his next Saturn square (which was, among other things, his divorce).

He has a lot of confidence in me. Generally, I'm just frustrated with myself for being subject to these bouts of crankiness and apparently so easily influenced by the goddamned stars.

But now it's way past when I should have gone to bed. I just don't want to move, since the cat is curled up on the blanket right next to me, and he's so sweet when he twitches, chasing noms in his sleep.

In Which Ali Rambles About How She Was Never Loved Enough As A Child

I just had a realization, a minor revelation about the source of some of my anxiety about wanting to do so much and feeling like I never have enough time.

I am blessed to know a number of amazing, creative people.

Take Heather, for instance. I've never met her, I'm just a fan of her blog. In another life where our paths could have crossed in person, she seems like the kind of person I would have been friends with (or maybe not — who knows if we might have remained strangers — she often sounds as awkward and introverted as I am, which is another reason I like her writing). Today, Heather shared a post on her blog about committing to writing one poem for each day during the months of August and September, building on her experience in June and July when she created one index card's worth of art for each day.

My first thought was: Awesome! That sounds so inspiring! I want to do that!

My second thought was: How in hell can I make time to sit down and write a poem each day? I spend most of my time feeling tired and half-burnt-out from all the other self-assigned projects I've taken on, and I have more naturalist training coming up, and another season of FF&C starting in a week, and I can barely commit to fifteen minutes of prayer at the altar or thirty minutes of Tai Chi in the morning....

These are my third thoughts. When I realize that, instead of feeling frustrated that there are too many things I want to do, I should stop for a moment and thank the gods that I know so many inspiring people. People who make me say, "Awesome! I want to do that!" People who know how to live their lives with grace and guts, even when shit is hitting the fan and they feel like they can't keep it together, who still manage to be honest and strong and kick-ass.

So some of my desire to do all these awesome things is to show support and appreciation for the work of these other brilliant, strong, creative people. Because I never really got that kind of support. I wanted to be a writer from early on because my first grade teacher made a passing comment about how she liked my stories. I don't remember anyone ever giving me that kind of compliment before, but I remember my parents' pride in hearing it. For a while, I wanted to be a nature writer and study science (I was very specific, the way kids sometimes get, I wanted to be a marine mammalogist) — I kept a naturalist journal where I made detailed sketches and took notes on all the local flora and fauna down at the creek near my house.... until the day when I found a newborn rabbit that had been dug up from its burrow by a neighborhood dog, and I brought it home with me in a shoebox and was ready to stay up and nurse it all night, but my parents said no, they would take care of it... and in the morning, I woke up to find its body cold and stiff curled up in the box where they'd left it on the back porch.

So I wrote poetry. Dark, morose poetry. My freshman year of high school, I wrote a poem every day. I filled notebooks and notebooks with really bad poems. I slouched in the back of geometry class and wrote poems in backwards handwriting, from right to left. My mom bought me a novel written by a girl who was only eighteen — and I thought, this is the expectation, then. I have to be good enough to write a best-selling novel by the time I'm eighteen. I didn't. I write and I write and I write... but my parents never read anything I write anyway. My senior year, I organized a school-wide arts festival, the largest in the school's history, complete with art gallery, fashion show, live music and poetry readings. My mother filmed hours of other people performing.... but the camcorder battery died within the first 30 seconds of when I finally got up to read. I still haven't been able to write a book manuscript. I have a publisher who said he'd love to publish anything I wrote, just send a manuscript his way whenever I'm ready..... and I still haven't been able to write a book.

What's my excuse? I don't know. I want to do everything, but somehow time gets away from me and I waste hours not getting anything done. Every time I see someone doing something amazing and creative, I want to read their work or take the time to really deeply consider what they've said. I've spent three days — three days — taking notes on a book that's only 150 pages long, so that we could do an hour-long FF&C episode on it. Why? Because four years ago I criticized something else this author wrote, and he came back at me asking for a detailed review of exactly what I thought was wrong with the book.... and I never got around to giving it to him. I didn't tell him to fuck off, I didn't point out that a critical review of a book did not obligate me to pick apart his every argument for logical fallacies, I didn't point out that the critical review I did give the book had plenty of specifics in it already.... Instead, I have spent four years feeling like I owe him a detailed critique, promising myself that someday I really am going to go back and read that book a second time and go through it bit by bit..... and now that I'm reviewing another of his books, I'm leaving no stone unturned, no argument left unexplored. Nevermind that, at this rate, we'll never record the episode, and that even if/when we do, he'll probably never listen to it, and even if he did, his response (like those of listeners) will probably be that I went way overboard and "over-analyzed" what was a very short book and my expectations for it were too high and so therefore my review isn't important..... Why do I do it? I don't know. Because I would want someone to give that much thought and put that much effort into a critique of my work. Because I believe if someone puts the time and effort into creating something, they deserve the same attention and effort in return.

And because giving this much thought to it has deepened my understanding of my own ideas. Yes, that too. But ideas that never have a chance to catch their breath or find their own expression because I feel like I'm constantly in a race to find a better way to express them, or constantly trying to weigh them against the ideas of others, to refine them and deepen them. I am a perfectionist, not just of things but of ideas themselves.

I realize that I feel deeply sad about some of this. People are eager to think little of you. My recent blog post about being "deity dumped" received numerous enthusiastic responses from people full of advice — much of it kindly meant. But an even more recent post, exploring an aspect of my practice in crafted, delicate language, a piece I was proud of writing and that I felt was much better from both a technical and an emotional perspective.... received almost no comment. When I admit that I think the work I do is valuable, and that I work hard to be respectful and to listen deeply to others, I'm told I am arrogant and holier-than-thou.

I feel the strong desire to stop. Jeff, and even my parents, have remarked about how different my attitude towards ebooks is now than it was a few years ago. I used to hate them. I used to think that they would ruin the genre and jeopardize serious reading (not to mention libraries and public access to information and the ability to pass down books through the generations as sacred objects of power). Now, I really enjoy the convenience of wanting a book and being able to download it within seconds. What they don't seem to get is that I am thinking like a consumer now, instead of a writer. I gave up. I no longer think that anyone would read the kind of book I would want to write. I no longer believe that, no matter what I did, my parents would be proud of me or ever really hear me.

So I spend a lot of my time trying to really hear others, to really listen. There are so many people doing so many amazing, wonderful things. I could spend all of my time running around amazed and saying "Wow!" and never get anything done. Even now, the podcast is practically little more than that — me sharing the latest crazy-awesome news and thoughts from other people.

But I find myself burnt out and tired. I find myself wondering why I still feel so stressed out and busy all the time, when all of the deadlines are self-imposed and nobody would really notice or care if I dropped offline for good and never posted another update or recorded another podcast episode or wrote another line. I could just stop. I could give up and watch television all day, and no one would think any worse of me. Plenty of people would be downright jealous. Lots of people dream of being able to eek by on their spouse's single income and not have to work for somebody else at a job they hate.

But this ramble has gotten way out of hand. What I wanted to say was, maybe I can find another way to honor the creativity and inspiration I find in other people: to say thank you and celebrate them, without feeling the pressure of needing to pour all of my attention into that and leave no time for my own work. Maybe some kind of simple ritual, similar to the offerings I make in the mornings to my gods, ancestors and spirits of the land. A ritual that will help me to set boundaries while still showing support and gratitude. I want to think about this more....

Dark Moon Vigil: Nights 2 and 3

I realize I never wrote up about the last two nights of my three night vigil.

Night Two (Friday night, August 17) was a quick and somewhat impromptu meditation quite late (it may have even been technically Saturday morning by the time I got to it, after hanging out with Leah reading Pratchett and watching a couple episodes of the IT Crowd). I didn't do a full formal ritual circle as I'd done the night before, but simply lit Sorta*'s candle and spent some time in silent meditation before drawing a card from the Oracle deck and then spending a bit longer meditating on its meaning.

The card I drew was the Hunter of Gifts — and my half-sober meditations seemed to revolve mostly around the subtle paradox of being a "hunter" of gifts, how this phrase seems to capture the paradox of our relationship with the gods, the delicate blending and balance of work and grace (to put it in more Catholic theological terms), or action and receptivity, effort and acceptance. I have never gone hunting in a literal sense, but I've heard stories about the long hours spent waiting quietly in the woods, moving gently through the trees trying to be unobtrusive as possible, how our ancestors sometimes had to stalk prey for days.... And the sudden appearance of the animal, when it finally arrived, could seem like a gift. A gift is a gift precisely because it is not earned or deserved or exchanged tit-for-tat... it is simply given, freely.

I found this particularly poignant because on this night, I had another object on the altar besides the Oracle deck, the candle and the water (which I drank, as before, to honor and bring into myself the energies of the divination and meditation).... a pendant that is an abstract depiction of a bow and arrow. It seemed a powerful omen that I would draw a card depicting a hunter on this night. (The night before, when I'd drawn the Shaman of Courage card, I'd had a piece of ritual wear that I plan to consecrate to Sorta* for shamanic/journey work on the altar, one that has ties to the deer/stag, which I always invite into the circle with an invocation of its strength and courage.)

Night Three (Saturday, August 18), once again I did a full clearing and blessing of the space while burning incense, lighting the candle with a prayer to Sorta* after some time in meditation. This time, along with the deck, candle, water and incense on the altar, I had another pendant, this one of a bear's paw print, along with Jeff's bear fetish that he allowed me to use. The card I drew during divination was the Shaman of Stars. Using the recorded drumming, I did some journeywork on the meaning of this energy (again, a good synchronicity that on the night I work with the bear's energy, which I've often invoked as "great starry bear" associated with the constellations of Ursa Major and Minor in the northern sky, I would draw a shaman card of the stars)...

Again, I entered into the hollowed cedar and found myself following a spiraling stairwell deep down into the earth. The stairwell itself had close, cool walls of bluish stone studded with "stars" that shone white and gold in the dark and which, on closer look, were various gems and diamonds. At the bottom of the spiral stairwell was a rounded, wooden door on which the image of the Shaman of Stars appeared. I reached out to touch the image, and at my touch the door swung open, giving way to a night scene of green, rolling hills under a star-studded and moonlit sky. I recognized this place as the same hillside I'd seen in meditation more than a year ago when seeking insight from Brigid about her role in my life and my role in hers. The image I'd received then was of me dancing beneath the moon and starlight off alone in ecstasy, while others gathered around a bonfire off in the distance sharing stories and laughing together. I remember feeling a protest in me about how this personal worship, away from the eyes of others, did not seem to me to be what being a "priestess" to the gods was about (I thought instead it was about serving the community and being in the public eye) and how I was chided for that attitude, reminded that tapping into my own deep relationship with the gods was the source of any "priestessing" I would be doing and that I needed to let go of my worry about others' expectations and opinions when it came to that work. This time, there was no one else on the hilltop beneath the starlight.... at least at first. Then I saw a movement, almost like a disturbance in the air, and there was the Shaman of Stars on the hillside, reaching up to pick stars out of the sky like fruit and bringing them down to the earth. He was tall, huge really, and his head seemed to be of an animal nature, with a snout, and he seemed to have antlers, though they were invisible, in which the net of stars would sometimes snag and shiver with the movement of his head so that the stars themselves glimmered. I approached him hesitantly, watching him awhile as he plucked the stars. Then he handed me one — it was cool and light, not heavy, though it was about the size of my fist, with many gleaming facets. I wasn't sure what to do with it, but had the impulse to eat it, so I put it to my mouth. Some rational part of my mind must have objected to eating something hard as a diamond, for I found that I had to crunch it with my teeth, and it shattered into a million tiny shards, like glitter, that I swallowed down with some degree of trepidation and even horror. But as I swallowed, I could feel the shards embedding themselves within me all along my throat and in my chest, sinking into my flesh, passing into my bloodstream and being passed throughout my body until I was shining and glistening on the inside. The heat of my body seemed to melt them somewhat, so that they were wet and almost like liquid. At the drumming call back, I thanked the Shaman of Stars and turned to return through the door and back up the spiral stairwell.

Of all the nights' meditations, this is the one I'm least sure of — the journey work on courage seemed to have some clear and obvious symbolism, the red-mud paint and the dancing naked by the bonfire.... This seemed to be the counterbalance to that night's work, all darkness and starlight and a kind of being anointed on the inside, by eating the star, rather than on the outside with bodypaint like blood. There are also obvious ties back to my work with Brigid, so that I feel that this is also about bringing the gifts of my past relationship with her into this new work that I'm doing. (The Libra-ascendant in me is all ready to be giddy: oooh! a sun goddess and a moon goddess! how balanced! ::headdesk::)

I had intended to complete these vigils with a ritual of integration on the new moon night (Sunday), but decided it wasn't quite the right time. Jeff and I did go out again to Tiger Mountain, where I spent some time in meditation in a small cave among the Talus Rocks, surrounded by rock and root, soil and sky. Obviously, since then, I've had a couple of rough days with inexplicable crankiness — today, though, I'm feeling more enthusiastic and energetic. I'm thinking perhaps that I'll do some work tomorrow night, on the sixth night of the moon, which is also a day of importance to this goddess.

Random discovery yesterday while surfing online: the western (or Pacific) red cedar is not a true cedar, but is actually a member of the cypress family. This is also pretty intriguing, since I've had an intuitive sense of connection with the western red cedar ever since arriving here in Seattle, and it turns out that the cypress is a tree considered sacred to the goddess I am calling Sorta*. Interesting....

Consumerism, Social Media and Loneliness

Full disclosure: I am feeling immensely curmudgeony today. In fact, I've been feeling that way for the past several days (as is probably evident from my last post — in which I spoke too soon, several folks on TC ended up sharing some intriguing ideas and information regarding virginity in ancient Greece, so I was a bit premature in bitching about the canned responses... persistent questioning in this case paid off).

One reason for the crankiness is lack of sleep — a nightmare last night had me awake at 2 AM and I didn't fall back asleep until 4 AM, after Jeff had gotten up and headed to the airport. The nightmare involved a group of young people (three, I think, two girls and one boy) who along with some sort of teacher had staged a massacre — they initially set up a scenario where one of the girls was supposedly mauled by a savage, rabid dog and came stumbling out into the view of the crowd dripping with blood, her flesh town, and the two others were somehow also in on it, setting loose the dog and encouraging it to "sick" on anyone who attempted to run (which everyone did), resulting in a mass of chaos as people ran screaming, trampling each other, and others had weapons, knives, etc. so that the dream descended into a jumble of nightmarish images of people with their eyes gouged out and their limbs torn ragged, etc. I didn't wake up afraid, but more just didn't want to close my eyes and be subjected to the violent images again, so I worked at some light-breathing and meditative exercises (including drawing Brigid's mantle about me) while lying in bed. I did eventually fall back asleep after Jeff had left, at which point I had some sort of dream about Abed (from the TV show Community) being abandoned by his friends now that Troy was dating Britta and all his fears about loneliness and being metaphorically "stuffed in a locker" coming true after all — again, not a fearful dream, but this time a very sad one.

I'm feeling out of sorts and disconnected from people. Earlier, before the nightmare started (which was actually a dream within a dream), I was dreaming of being back at my parents' house, hanging out with my brother and Arthur. I realized how much I miss Arthur, and other aspects of living in Pittsburgh (though Arthur isn't even in Pittsburgh anymore) and how I'm still not feeling very well settled out here in Seattle. On Saturday, a cool gray day after Friday's hot and sunny weather, Jeff and I spent an incredibly lazy day hanging out; the people across the street were noisy and jubilant from early in the morning and Jeff said he heard one of them say something about it being "the day of the wedding"... which led to a bout of crying for me, remembering our wedding and how it felt very much like just one more stressful day in a string of stressful days and how hurt I'd been (still am) that none of my family had seemed as excited and happy for me that day as these people across the street sounded (and how the people who'd been nicest to Jeff and me on our wedding and honeymoon were always strangers giving us spontaneous hugs and congratulations). Jeff pointed out that, at least in his family, there has never been a wedding or baby shower that lived up to the ideal of being a truly celebratory experience — that there was always some conflict or controversy or family drama going on, always a certain extent to which people were just faking their excitement and sincerity. So Jeff spent some time with me remembering all of the beautiful things about our wedding and honeymoon, and when was the first time he felt like we were "really married" (the massage we got at the spa in Santa Fe).

Weirdly enough, though I felt wiped out and deeply sad, there was also a lightness, too, a sense of relief. Every year around Lughnasad it seems I get burnt out, and then comes a day when there's a shift in the air, a different energy, and you can taste autumn for the first time. That was what Saturday felt like, and I felt like I could completely relax, curled up on the sofa with the light falling through the low, misty clouds onto our skin so that it looked illuminated, iridescent.

Sunday we spent out in the woods again, hiking around Tiger Mountain (not up to the summit this time, but along some other trails that led to some boulders that form ancient caves on the mountainside). I found myself stressing a bit about our upcoming naturalist training and feeling that I hadn't done as much studying and research as I would have liked since the end of our spring training. I get into these obsessive thought patterns that just wear me out.

This morning, after the lack of sleep, I just find myself annoyed at how idiotic things seem to be and how much I wish I could just step aside from all of it. The latest controversy in the Pagan community is now whether or not it's discriminatory for online services like eBay and Etsy to discontinue the sale of "intangible" services like blessings and prayers, or to restrict the kinds of medical claims sellers are allowed to make for their products. I hate the fact that my community has such a persecution complex that, instead of seeing this as an opportunity to hold fellow community members accountable to a higher standard of honesty and integrity, they want to complain about discrimination. Is the Pagan community so full of snakeoil salesmen?

It especially bothers me in light of the prevalence among Pagans to complain about Christianity as some sort of homogeneous brainwashing that converted the world through intimidation and force all those centuries ago.... Today, consumerism and capitalism function in just the same way, making promises of a better, easier life if you just buy into the system, enforcing that economic model at the point of a gun and securing its interests all over the world through the use of military force. The result: the exploitation of the most vulnerable and disenfranchised in our society, people who are impoverished and marginalized, and the destruction of our environment. If Pagans as a community could muster even a fraction of the self-righteous anger about capitalist consumerism and the problems it perpetuates right here and now as they do over past wrongs (that are often exaggerated or completely imaginary — "never again the Burning Times")..... But no. Instead, they buy into the system completely, they worship gods with explicit connections to the exploitation of land and people in the name of the "freedom" of the market (Columbia, anyone?) and they get all worked up when their ability to sell superstition to the highest bidder is called into question by businesses that do not want to be associated with hucksters and frauds. They invent reasons to feel victimized and persecuted, instead of rising to the challenge of turning a critical eye on the roll that selling spells and blessings plays in their own community. If these restrictions seem to unfairly impinge on Pagans more than those of other religions, maybe we should ask ourselves why our religion is so much more deeply entrenched in capitalism and money-making than these others? Why Pagans are more willing to spend $30 on a love spell than donate $15 to protect the environment against exploitation and destruction? This is not social justice — this is the whining of pampered, privileged white kids who want to be able to profit from selling products branded with dubious "magical" claims without any expectation of accountability or integrity. Maybe I'm just becoming cranky in my old age, but I lean more and more towards the belief that the selling of religious services in general is deeply problematic. (And yeah, I do still fault Bonewits' theology of polytheism to a certain extent, for building capitalist assumptions right into the foundation of what so many folks in the U.S. think of as "hard polytheism.")

Dark Moon Vigil, First Night

Last night's vigil went well. Very simple: candle, incense, glass of water, badger stone and oracle deck. After clearing and blessing the space and inviting in the guardians, I spent time in zazen meditation before lighting the candle with a prayer to Sorta*, then performed some brief divination on the question of what steps do I need to take to prepare myself for a more formal relationship with her (these vigils during the three nights of the dark moon are focused on that question, with hopefully a culminating ritual on the new moon that integrate the previous nights' work). The card I drew was the Shaman of Courage. After this, I did some journeywork, using the 15 minute recording of drumming on my iPod (since Jeff was asleep in the other room, I figured drumming in the middle of the night wouldn't be the best thing to do).

I went to the hollowed Cedar as my entrance to the Otherworlds. Once inside the tree, it seemed to grow much larger, so that I could stand up fully inside it and walk around. On the walls of the inside of the tree off to one side was painted the same figure as depicted on the oracle deck — I reached out to touch it, for it seemed to be shimmering, and it transferred some of its shine to my fingers, feeling slightly wet and sticky, and I smeared this on my body (brow, chest, arms). Then I bent down to mix the shining substance with the earth, which resulted in a gorgeous red mud, and I used this to decorate my body as well. The power was pretty intense at this point, and I spent some time dancing within the tree and just outside nearby where a large fire burned within a circle of stones. I'm out of practice with journeying and was just starting to slip from trance into dream when the callback sounded and I returned to waking consciousness.

I asked Sorta* to help me to integrate the energies of courage and strength as I prepare for a relationship with her, pouring these energies into the glass of clear water, afterwards drinking the water completely. I then closed the ritual space and went to bed. It seemed to me that I had some pretty intense dream, but I woke up feeling deeply rested and refreshed.

All in all a very simple ritual, but powerful, with lingering effects.

I have another vigil tonight, though it will probably be quite late since we're hanging out with Leah and having a Reading Night again (yay, Pratchett!).

Virginity, Schmirginity

I've been trying to get a straight answer from folks over on TC regarding the theological implications of virginity for goddesses like Athena, Artemis, Hekate, etc. So far, the only direct statement I seem to be able to get from anyone is: "the ancient Greeks thought about virginity differently than we think about it today" and every once in a while the slight expansion, "for the ancient Greeks, being a virgin just meant 'unmarried'."

Which is all very well and good, if I were a middle schooler who didn't know how to use Wikipedia. But since this is pretty much the first and most obvious information I was able to find on my own with the very limited resources I have (Wikipedia aside, a bit of Googling brings up some reliable academic sources and a few articles by modern Pagans as well)... it is kind of frustrating. Sometimes it seems that these kinds of general all-purpose responses triggered by key words (virginity? I know I have my pre-formulated reply about virginity in here somewhere...) are used by modern Pagans to prop up a semblance of expertise while covering a multitude of inconsistencies and downright contradictions.

In my short time looking into this, I've found "hard" polytheists who insist on interpretations of the virginity of Greek goddesses to mean everything from "since women in patriarchal ancient Greece were not allowed to have sex outside of marriage, virginity today means you literally have to abstain from sex" all the way to "virginity was about female empowerment, and therefore today it means you should have tons of sex because sexual liberation is how we express our female power." Since I happen to think both of these extremes are poor excuses for feminism and female empowerment, I'm baffled that somehow this whole debate has been carefully managed by resorting to the same basic response, "ancient Greeks thought about virginity differently than we do today." That response leaves me asking, And.....? It's a masterpiece of social cohesion in the face of mind-boggling diversity. It's basically a way of avoiding confronting the fact that your theology says you worship distinct, separate deities, and yet these same deities seem to manifest to you (plural) in such incredibly different ways that from an outside perspective it seems odd to claim that Greek-Virgin-Goddess-X-let's-have-sex is really the same as Greek-Virgin-Goddess-X-no-seriously-cut-it-out, but Goddess-Y-let's-have-sex-oh-by-the-way-I'm-Norse just simply can't be the same deity at all, no way, no how. What I'm saying is, as someone who is not a hard polytheist in any way, the lines that get drawn seem pretty arbitrary.

Hard polytheists crack me up sometimes.

Since I'm not a hard polytheist, I don't have much of a problem is there's a huge diversity in how people relate to and interpret deities that they call by the same name. But it's seems to be that intellectual integrity could be better served by asking hard questions and laying bare that diversity in a way that can give us insights and spark new ways of relating to deity, instead of trying to act the expert. I used to buy the line that Hellenic Recons had so many more sources and resources available to them for their efforts at reconstruction than those interested in CR. But now I'm starting to think that's a load of bull and HR folks are just as deep in the process of cobbling things together from half-understood academic sources as CRs are.

In any case, here are some of my remaining questions about virginity in ancient Greek society (keeping in mind the answer could be and most likely is, "ancient Greek society was diverse and evolving, so the answer to your question is going to be complex"):

• Why would a goddess choose to be virginal? (Is the act of choosing significant, or only the state of being virginal itself? Is there a connection between the two?)
• What is the spiritual or theological significance of virginity in both goddesses and human worshippers?
• If the ancient Greeks merely equated virginity to "being unmarried," then why do so many of the myths involve women who lose their virginity through rape or trysts outside of the context of marriage?
• Why did the Greeks use the same word (nymphe) to describe both "nature spirits" of a local landscape and its features, and a "bride," i.e. a woman who is married but has not yet had children?
• In light of the answer to that question, what is the theological and/or ritual significance of descriptions of Artemis as having nymphs as companions and priestesses?
• How do modern Pagans approach and understand stories of Artemis punishing not only rapists but also the victims of rape and sexual assault?

Sorta

This evening during dinner, it suddenly struck me that now that we're in Seattle, my Saturn-Pluto conjunction isn't the only thing in my astrological chart to have shifted (away from a square with my midheaven, thank the gods!).

My moon has moved from the dark depths of the mysterious and inscrutable 12th House into the 1st House, house of manifestation, self-expression, obvious appearances and the physical body ("identity in action," as Arroyo describes it).

Which might explain, or at least contribute to, why a sorta-moon goddess has suddenly asserted herself in my life.

Of course, she's not exactly a moon goddess, not really. She is only sort of a moon goddess, just as she is sorta many things, sorta this, sorta that.

I've been pondering a way of referring to her in public posts like this without having to name her specifically, since I'm trying out this whole thing of not giving a shit what other people think of our relationship (and not wanting to rely on the italicized her, lest things get too hot and heavy in the syntax department). I feel like "Sorta" may just be a very good nickname.

With all respect, reverence and due deference. (I think she's cool with it.)

Post-Ritual Drag (And Moontide Blues)

It's becoming increasingly obvious to me that one area I need to focus on in my spiritual practice is working to regulate my energy. This is probably a combination of easing up on myself when I'm working too hard, and finding both mundane and magical ways of maintaining my energy levels through low periods.

And I do mean periods. I had been hoping to perform last night's protection ritual earlier in the week, riding the tide of the just-past-full moon, but I was slammed by my usual 2-to-3-day phase of intense pain and complete exhaustion that occurs every month. Every month. Recently, I had hoped perhaps I could somehow manage to avoid it. I've been eating better and exercising more routinely, and my energy levels have not just been higher, but downright awesome. Last month's moodtides laid me low, but it was in the wake of the custody hearing and a week with my parents, so I naturally attributed the energy lag to the stress, and within a day or two I was back on my feet. This month, I was disappointed and frustrated to find that all that awesome energy and vitality I'd been feeling for the last few weeks suddenly fled as quickly as usual, leaving me a sack of meat, fat and bones barely able to raise myself up in bed, let alone change out of pajamas and get my shit together.

For anyone (all two of you) reading this and wondering: it is extremely frustrating and embarrassing to have a regularly scheduled illness every month that slams you in the stomach like clockwork, especially when you're as intense and serious-minded as I am, and especially in a culture in which Successful, Serious People are supposed to be On the Ball all the time. Promises that birth control would help mitigate symptoms turned out to be empty promises, just compounding my usual fatigue and pain with morning sickness.

Yesterday, my energy was finally climbing back up to usual levels, and so Jeff and I dove into ritual. This morning, my energy was pretty good (I wrote that blog post, didn't I? yes I did, while walking on the treadmill).

Now, Jeff is on his way home, biking seven miles like a boss, and I feel like I can barely keep my eyes open. Physical sensations include: a headache that stretches across my temples, tension in my neck, eyes that feel tired and dry, muscles that feel flabby and somewhat tingly, feet that feel cold (my whole body generally feels cold), and an overall feeling of my old bag of flesh and bones being too heavy to shift around properly and hold steady. This is par for the course after a period, but it feels as though the effects were prolonged this month because of the energy work I did last night.

So..... items for the to-do list:
• Work on evening out my energy levels through the month so that, for the sake of slightly calmer highs, I don't find myself at such disruptively and frustratingly low lows.
• Work on post-ritual energy reboot to keep me grounded and healthy.

I really am not a witch. I really dislike being a female body sometimes, and my euphemistic moontides have been a bitch for most of my life. This is not oh-isn't-it-magical-and-special-to-be-a-woman time. Puberty was not a blessing. Menopause just might be. But let's take things one step at a time. I celebrate the sun. That's why I'm a Druid. But my fiery goddess has put me on hold for a little while and counseled me to get my act together and find a better balance, because otherwise she's fed up with me and my burn out.

So. Sorta-moon goddess, you're up. Let's do this thing. You aid women in labor, and this monthly round of gut-punching pain and bloodloss feels close enough to me. Let's say you and me work this out.

First things first:
• I'm going to make a list of activities that help me regenerate and re-energize, and see if I can get some healthy habits going. Same goes for foods.
• I'm going to make a list of activities and foods that deplete my energy and resources, and try to do better at avoiding them.
• I'm going to turn my morning meditations towards more deliberate energy work.
• I'm going to keep doing Tai Chi like a motherfucking KLINGON.
• I'm going to ask for help. Even if it kills me.

Waning Moon Spell of Protection

Jeff and I went to Carkeek just after sunset last night to perform a banishing and binding spell of protection to guard the kids from harm and sever our ties from E and her toxic melodrama influence.

I think, all told, the work went very well. We found an out-of-the-way place just off the path by the creek (not Piper's Creek, but another, smaller one that runs through the northern end of the park) and settled ourselves beneath what was likely a douglas fir (though it was hard to tell in the dim twilight).

I won't share the details of the ritual itself, since they are private and specific, but the general format was pretty straightforward: declaring peace to the four directions, grounding in the three realms, weaving a nemeton of the three elements, inviting the guardians of the directions to join us and strengthen our work... "lighting" the central candle to mark the center and open the gateway (since we were in a city park where fires are not permitted, plus nestled in amongst dry branches and leaves, we used an LED candle). For the first time, I formally invited Her to attend and aid us; it seemed appropriate, since she is a Protector of Children (and young women in particular), as well as a fierce guardian of the borders. Her energy seemed ideal for a work of magic meant to strengthen and guard healthy boundaries that have been repeatedly violated and transgressed. I poured an offering of white wine to her in thanks. (Note to self: the smell of alcohol permeated the circle for the rest of the work, since we weren't burning any candles or incense that might have helped to dissipate it, and since alcohol is also not permitted in city parks technically, it made me a bit paranoid, but we had no disruptions, and we were out late enough and in a secluded part of the park so that not once did we even have a curious dog-walker pass — so, no harm no foul.)

After this opening and building of energy and allies, we settled down to the main work, which consisted of some good old reliable sympathetic magic, drawing a protective circle around the gathered locks of hair from the kids that Jeff got from them before he dropped them off at their mom's, as well as locks from both Jeff and myself. We used stones, salt, blessed water, herbs for strength and flower petals to draw the circle, which shone dimly in the twilight against the dark earth. With each drawing of the circle, we asked for a blessing of protection for our family. Then, we drew a triangle of salt outside the circle and placed a symbol of E into it (a piece of weaving she'd done years ago — Jeff threw the rest of it out before we began the ritual). We named the triangle as a space of protection and binding, so that we could address our grievances to her in safety. After we each spoke, we declared that she could not exert her will over us or harm us through will, word or deed, that we would no longer allow her to create unnecessary strife in our lives and that she was bound against harming the children, taking out her issues and insecurities on them or burdening them with guilt or shame. We then affirmed that her love and care for the children as their mother was welcome and that we had no wish to interfere, as long as her relationship with them strengthened and supported them on their path. We surrounded both the protective circle and the binding triangle with a ring of flower petals, invoking the love that weaves together the universe and binds us all to one another as equals through respect and good intention.

After this, I did some simple knot magic, taking a cord of twine for each of the kids and tying four knots in each symbolizing the various blessings we'd drawn around them in the circle. Later today, I'll find little trinkets for each of them to tie up the ends, and complete the charms so that we can send them to the kids.

After all this was done, we then buried the piece of E's weaving and dispersed the triangle. We closed the ritual with a prayer for peace, thanked the goddess who'd attended, thanked and bid farewell to the guardians of the directions, extinguished the candle (ie turned it off — yay LED!) and un-wove the circle of the three elements, allowing any remaining energy to bless the place of our working.

Since my leg was massively asleep by the time we'd finished because of the way I'd been sitting, we sat a little while afterwards in silence, enjoying the night, and then spoke a little about how the ritual had gone. We'd tried a different approach this time, since Jeff does not have much experience with ritual and I'm finding that the physical act of ritual are far more effective for me than sitting still and trying to visualize — my energy work is much more of a visceral, kinesthetic thing than a visual thing. So after I did the opening prayers and invocations from memory, I had Jeff read the prayers from our cheat-sheet (ie iPhone, the newbie ritualist's best friend) as I performed the various actions. This seemed to work out really well for both of us. I didn't have to worry about memorizing words or stumbling over prayers as I worked, so I could concentrate on directing my energy into the physical actions; and Jeff said afterwards that, with his Zen background, he's not big into the ritual itself, but as a linguist and writer he finds words themselves incredibly powerful, and bringing voice to the words and feeling them embodied and manifest through his own body and breath, as a deeply powerful experience that let him feel involved in a way that simply listening to a recitation usually doesn't. He said he could feel the protective strength of the earth beneath us, and I think doing the Three Realms working and grounding at the beginning of the ritual (as well as the few moments of centering and silence we took before starting the work) was incredibly helpful in that respect.

In general, I'm feeling refreshed and very glad to have the thing over and done with. I feel like this was exactly the right time for such work, and the way is clearer and more open now in a way that it wasn't before. I feel incredibly grateful for the work and the energy.

Highlights from the Ritual

"Okay.... seriously, I know his hair is in here somewhere."

"It's holy water, of course it smells minty fresh."

"Deep in the still center of my being, may I find peace—"noise of massive jet flying overhead ".....I said, deep in the still center of my being..."

"Wait, I lost my sandal. Where'd it go? Use your iPhone, can you see it? It's in the bush there somewhere. I knew I should have gone barefoot..."

Flamekeeping Shift: Intense Dreams

My flamekeeping shift started at sunset last night.

I've been having intense dreams for the past several nights, though most of them have been of a mundane nature. Last night I had two intense dreams.

The first, there was fire and a presence in the heavens, a great god whose laughter mingled with the long rumbling of thunder. Everyone was terrified. The sky was bright, too bright — the white, rolling clouds parted here and there to reveal impossible liquid-fire light beyond them, golden tongues licking the mist-curled sides of each billow of cloud. Lightning dropped like rain, jagged liquid fire, thick and slow, not the usual quick and thin streak of electricity but something else. Some people said it was Jesus. The mighty presence laughed. I recognized some Pagans among the panicked crowds, making offerings and kneeling in supplication to Zeus or Thor. The god laughed again, turning his attention to fall on them like liquid lightning. Squealing, they dodged out of the way as the fire fell, impacting the earth with a huge roar and a blaze springing up where they had stood. Terror ran through me, a fear welling almost to an ecstasy. The god drew spiraling lines in the earth, trailing fingers of lightning along the ground until the rocks trembled and buckled, scorched scars raised in long lines almost as though some burrowing animal were tunneling just beneath the topsoil, pushing up its trail. The liquid-fire lightning dragged along, raising spiraling welts on the earth as people dodged out of the path. The lightning turned and danced, and I found myself caught between converging lines with nowhere to go. I stood rooted in place, willing every part of me — from bone, blood and breath to soul itself — into complete stillness, waiting for the moment of convergence. Then there in front of me was a man, wild grin shining and a noise like thunder. It was — gods forgive me — the Tenth Doctor. (Not actually him, in the dream, but his look — my mind probably seeking for some visual representation of the mingled terror and adoration I was feeling.) I trembled, saying, "But... I know you." And the implication of recognizing this god with a kind of terrifying intimacy bordering on triumph. Somehow, I communicated to him, "You're scaring people, you have to go." He offered me the body of a serpent, bloody and skinned, its scaled hide sparkling with a myriad diamond jewels in the impossible light and the length of its body cut into chunks of wet, red flesh with the white, round center of its spine peeking through the mess. I breathed, and said, "No, I don't eat meat," to the horror of those around me, who were bowed down to the ground and weeping in fear, unable to imagine refusing the god anything. The god laughed again, uproariously, and then he was gone just as suddenly, the whole scene settling like dust into a quiet stillness. And I looked down to see that I was holding a plastic bag full of wet, juicy honeydew melon chunks (one carved in the shape of the serpent's head).

I woke up at this point in a lot of pain, with my legs twitching terribly, and it took a long while to fall back asleep again. Once I did, I had a second dream.

Not as detailed as the first. I was in a cart, somewhat like a cross between a roller coaster car and an open-topped railway train car, with rows of bench seats across it with seat belts. There were carts in front and behind mine, too, in a long chain and the train seemed to be underground in a long, dark tunnel with rough, earthy or rocky sides. The dream is only vague impressions for a while — there were many people in all these carts, loading and unloading as the train went back and forth along the line making stops, and many of the people seemed somewhat young, though not exactly children. I remained on the train the whole time, never getting off, and almost always sitting alone on the bench seat as people shuffled around me. Then, at one point, a man sat down next to me — I could best describe him as a stereotypical redneck hick — his hair was blond and short, cropped in a kind of bowl cut with bangs hanging down across his forehead, and he had large teeth and an overbite, barely a chin to speak of, and when he spoke he had an obnoxious stereotypically southern accent that seemed at once idiotic and overly cheerful. But his eyes seemed sharp and intelligent. He sat down next to me, and again there was a sense among everyone around me that this was somehow an honor bestowed on me. Everyone around treated him with a great deal of respect, almost reverence, and deferred to him as a kind of leader. I found, mingling with my distaste for him, a vague sense of familiarity, as though this were some kind of disguise that he was wearing. Again, the dream was only vague for a time, with the sense that we were about the embark on a much longer journey, not the same shuffling back and forth between the same few stops, and that this man next to me was somehow in charge of the journey or leading it. I noticed he wore a blue coat with a few metal pins and sewn-on patches and stripes here and then, almost like a military uniform though I didn't recognize it at all. It seemed too big for him, sticking out at the shoulders, so that he seemed like a child wearing his father's clothes, but there was still that intelligent look in his eye and a sense of authority that he carried about him. We were moving along on the journey now, people settled into their seats, and the tunnel beneath the earth seemed to stretch on in front of us forever with no light in sight except for the torch lights mounted every once in a while that passed us as we moved. The man acted towards me as though we knew each other and were good friends, and I had that vague sense of familiarity (though I was out of the dream enough that I couldn't place why I felt I recognized him). As we moved, the train sped up, faster and faster, and suddenly there was a great lurch as though we'd been struck from behind. The man next to me stood up in his seat, gazing back into the darkness past all the other carts, and his face changed briefly, the expression of soft, cheerful idiocy replaced by a hard, intelligent, penetrating look as though the disguise for an instant had fallen away and the full power of his presence came through. I felt, then, that we were good friends, that I did know him (though I still couldn't say how or from where) and that I trusted him completely. He dropped back down into his seat next to me and whispered that a great serpent was following us, quickly catching up to the train. If people realized what was happening, they would start to panic. He was able to call up or get in touch with the person at the very front of the train and instruct them to veer off the track as we passed an opening in the tunnel — because of his inexplicable authority, nobody argued with him. We veered and suddenly the train was plunged into an icy underground river, the carts now floating like boats or rafts all chained together in a long line. The wheels churning the water beneath the carts sped us onwards, faster and faster, taking twisting turns and bends in the rocky tunnel, now without any light but a kind of eerie very dim blue light that seemed to infuse the air and come from everywhere and nowhere. Behind us, the huge serpent was gaining on us and people were beginning to panic. Its eyes glinted like sharp blades in the darkness, its forked tongue flicking, its massive body writhing in the waters behind us.

I feel as though something happened then in the dream, just before I woke up, but it's gone now, I can't remember it. I don't remember waking up frightened at all, though there was a lot of energy coursing through me. I wish I knew who the man was, or what happened at the end of that second dream. It's no coincidence, I think, that both dreams involved a serpent, as well as other people who were in danger and frightened. But I'm not sure I know what either of the dreams mean.

Worthy and Worthless

Someone not worth linking to or naming recently said that all kittens are going to burn in hell unless you pledge to give Jesus all your money and your first born son. And even though this person is not worth naming or linking to and may not have actually said that or in fact even be a real person at all, they're still worth directing scorn and insults at, so I'm going to devote a blog post to ranting about why I think they're wrong about everything and are too worthless even to name.... And since I haven't bothered to name, link to or even directly quote from this someone, you will have no way of knowing if my version of this person's position is in any way accurate, or if I'm misinterpreting or intentionally misrepresenting this person in order to stir up controversy and drive up readership on my blog. Because I'm not actually interested in honest conversation or thoughtful engagement with complicated issues. I'm more interested in being a passive-aggressive ranter who feeds on others' hard work by turning it to shit and mud-slinging.

This is why I dislike the Pagan community so much sometimes. People who are supposedly "leaders" of our community can get away with behaving in some pretty nasty, childish ways. It's disappointing, yes, but even more than that, it's embarrassing to think that these people represent the community to the general public. This is why we can't have nice things. This is why, when I first told my parents I was Pagan, they asked me if that meant I "hated Christians" — because that's the stereotype that such leaders continue to play out before the eyes of others. Angry, small-minded, petty and totally missing the point.

I strongly believe in surrounding yourself with sincere, supportive, caring people. I strongly believe in avoiding bullshit if you can at all help it. And that means avoiding bullshit-farms even if you might miss out on the off chance that one of those bulls swallowed a diamond and, if you just keep digging, you might get lucky. Not worth it.

One way I avoid bullshit is to avoid anything that starts with "Someone not worth mentioning/naming/linking to said such-and-such.. and here's why they're wrong." That's a big red flag right there. Because if you're about to write an entire blog post about something, saying that the person is not worth mentioning is simply dishonest. Obviously they are, or you wouldn't be taking the time out of your day. So if you're not willing to link to a source and you make no convincing argument up-front about why you're not linking (such as, for instance, not wanting to drive traffic to a hate group's website or something legitimate like that, in which case you could still name the source without providing a link)... chances are, it's because you're too insecure or insincere in your own opinion to trust your readers to make up their own mind. Chances are, you just want to rant without being challenged. (Like I'm doing now, yeah, because this is a personal journal that nobody reads and that doesn't allow comments.) Chances are, you're hoping to get away with making sweeping value judgements (like the intrinsic "worth" of an idea or point of view that you've given only a passing, biased summary of) without alerting the person you're criticizing and allowing them to respond — because allowing them to respond could lead to an actual conversation, which would totally undermine your self-righteous ranting.

So if the ideas you're writing about aren't "worth" sourcing, then the blog post you're sharing isn't worth my time to read. I don't need any more rants in my life, thanks. I have enough ranting going on in my own mind, I don't need to invite you into that mental space to clutter up my day.

I do wish that our community had more leaders who were grounded in a healthy spiritual life that gave them the tools to cope with insecurity and petty behavior. I'm mortified that on the largest interfaith website out there, we're represented by writing like this. (Yeah, that's right, I'm linking to the post that inspired this rant, because it's aggressive, petty and ridiculous.)

Sure, there are some diamonds that plopped down here and there amongst the bullshit, statements like "I believe in the holy power of the Many." Or maybe that's just a fancied up bit of pretty glass...

Because there are also statements (far more of them) like this: "Christianity won because it was the Borg. It was organized and ruthless. It bulldozed everything in it’s path." and "We have to learn to survive in a world infested by the Borg. We have to learn that resistance is not futile and assimilation means death."

Yeah..... that doesn't sound like celebrating the holiness of diversity to me. That sounds a lot like making sweeping generalizations about a huge segment of the world population, portraying them as less-than-human monsters who need to be demonized and punished, with any attempt at understanding or mutual respect being equated to "assimilation" and death.

With statements so steeped in bullshit, I find it hard to swallow the whole "belief in the holy power of the Many" claim. I don't see it in evidence. If this is what belief in the sacredness of diversity looks like, I weep for my community.

Lughnassad Ritual Outline

(An outline for the Lughnasad celebration Jeff and I are planning for tomorrow evening. Forgive the formatting -- I'm composing and posting from my iPad while I sit outside in our front yard. Yeah, that's right. #awesome)


# Opening

**Peace to the Four Corners**

May there be peace in the North,
a light of courage to shine
May there be peace in the South,
a rock of truth to stan upon
May there be peace in the East,
a chalice of kindness to drink
May there be peace in the West,
a staff of wisdom to lean upon
We join here now in peace,
May peace hold sway throughout the three realms
Awen.


**Weaving the Circle**

I weave this circle as sacred space,
Woven in stone, in calas, in bone
I weave this circle as holy time,
Woven with water, with gwyar, with blood
I weave this circle as a nemeton,
sanctuary of spirit,
Woven by flame, by nwfyre, by breath

The circle is woven, the grove is open,
By land, sea and sky, where the three realms meet.
Awen.


**Welcoming the Directions**

Hail and welcome, swift Hawk of Dawn
and the powers of the East!
Winging across the wide lands, far-sighted,
far-seeking, riding the high winds.
May you bless and cleanse our circle
with your presence.

Hail and welcome, bright Stag of Noon
and the powers of the South!
Poised at the height of your power, courageous,
strong with the fiery music of the hunt.
May you bless and strengthen our circle
with your presence.

Hail and welcome, wise Salmon of Dusk
and the powers of the West!
Quiet and quick-silver beneath clear waters,
in touch with the ebb and flow of awen.
May you bless and inspire our circle
with your presence.

Hail and welcome, starry Bear of Midnight
and the powers of the North!
Dark and deep-rooted in the nurturing earth,
great protector of the wilderness.
May you bless and guard our circle
with your presence.

The four corners of the realms are joined.
We stand in the center, place of sovereignty and grace.
Awen.


**Druid's Prayer**

Let us join now in the prayer we share with our fellow Druids.

Grant, oh gods, your protection,
And in protection, strength,
And in strength, understanding,
And in understanding, knowledge,
And in knowledge, the knowledge of justice,
And in the knowledge of justice, the love of it,
And in the love of it, the love of all existences,
And in the love of all existences,
the love of Spirit and all goodness.
Awen.


**Marking the Center**

(Charge the candle for abundance)
By spirit and fire, we mark
the center of this rite.
Gateway between the worlds,
light in dark and dark in light.

(Light the candle)
By land, sea and sky,
sacred fire, well and tree,
The center way is open,
by the three realms, so may it be.


**Invocation of the Gods**

(Improvised invitation and prayer to the gods)


**Making Offerings**

We honor our ancestors of blood, spirit and land,
who walk with us still.
We honor our gods and the gods of our people,
shining ones of spirit.
We honor the earth and all of her beings,
flora and fauna, kith and kindred.
May you accept our offerings
as a symbol of our gratitude and devotion.
Awen.


# Central Working

**Prayer of the Season**

The season of harvest is upon us. Fresh fruits ripen on tree and vine, and the earth prepares herself in her self-giving to welcome her children into a time of plenty and celebration. The majesty of the sun warms us even as the days grow shorter, and we gather in the lingering summer evening to offer our praise to the earth. As Lugh, god of skill and light, Lugh of the long arm, honored his mother with harvest and celebration, so we honor Earth Mother, she who sustains and nourishes us, she who supports and encourages us.

We place upon our altar the gifts of the season: Sweet corn, tall and golden in the field, each kernel a drop of sunlight, round and nourishing, promising wealth and abundance still to come. Berries swollen with juice, fresh and ready to be enjoyed, falling to the earth full of seeds from which future harvests will grow. And wine, blushing, refreshing water of life, coaxing us to joy and celebration.


**Raising Power**

In the sight of the gods and the company of friends,
We raise power for our working,
and open ourselves to receive the blessings
of abundance in our turn.

Prayer:
Flame of creativity and productivity.
Light of abundance and prosperity.
Warmth of gratitude and generosity.
We welcome all these into our lives.

Chant:
(Build the chant as symbols of abundance are shared around the circle: corn, berries and wine. Keep chant going as long as necessary, in multiples of three.)
Flame, Light, Warmth, Welcome (x3)
*clap* Light, Warmth, Welcome (x3)
*clap* *snap* Warmth, Welcome (x3)
*clap* *snap* *slap* Welcome (x3)
*clap* *snap* *slap* *stomp* (X3)
(for final repetition, both words and gestures)
Flame, Light, Warmth, Welcome!
Awen.


# Closing

**Prayer for Peace**

We join together now in a prayer for peace throughout the world.

Deep in the still center of my being,
May I find peace.
Silently in the quiet of the grove,
May I cultivate peace.
Gently within the greater circle of humankind,
May I radiate peace.
Awen.


**Farewell to the Directions**

Hail and farewell, starry Bear.
We honor your presence in our circle tonight.
May peace and gratitude go with you to the North.

Hail and farewell, wise Salmon.
We honor your presence in our circle tonight.
May peace and gratitude go with you to the West.

Hail and farewell, bright Stag.
We honor your presence in our circle tonight.
May peace and gratitude go with you to the South.

Hail and farewell, swift Hawk.
We honor your presence in our circle tonight.
May peace and gratitude go with you to the East.


**Closing the Center and Unweaving the Circle**

The fire that burns before us guides our love and will.
Extinguished on the altar, but carried with us still.
(blow out candle)
The circle is unwoven, returned to time and space.
What power is remaining, may it bless this place.
(empty remaining offerings of water, herbs)
By calas, gwyar, nwfyre, by land and sky and sea,
The rite we’ve worked is over,
By the three realms, may it be.

Sacred Poetry Workshop

Jeff is on his way home from the airport (he should be home any minute!), and I find myself too excited to settle down to read or do anything even remotely productive. Plus, it's gorgeous and sunny outside, and FF&C's last episode of the season is up. So in general, I am a very happy Ali.

Yesterday, I attended a two-hour workshop put on by the OBOD seed-group in the area, the Circle of Coll. It was a very small group, just the workshop leader, M., one other member, R., and me (several other who'd been planning on attending had to cancel at the last minute). The workshop was a variation of the one M. presented at Pantheacon this past year, along the theme of "unity in diversity." It focused on crafting sacred poetry to be used in ritual context, and explored how poetry might be used in a non-tradition-specific way.

The discussion during the first part of the workshop was fascinating, as I got to learn a little bit more about how this particular group approaches ritual and the discussions that go on within the group. It was great to be able to have a conversation with other Druids in person in this way, though I think my enthusiasm made me a bit inarticulate and bubbly when I tried to share some of my own thoughts. One thing that was interesting was how clearly M.'s approach to ritual as a general structure is shaped by Isaac Bonewits' approach — I felt a bit awkward in following along to some of the conclusions he reached about just how "universal" this basic structure was, based on my own research working on my thesis. But it's been years since I was immersed in that research in any case, and that's a more complicated discussion for another time.

What struck me most about the workshop was just how differently M.'s approach was to what he called sacred poetry (i.e. poetry to be used in a ritual context) compared to, for lack of a better word, "secular" poetry. I'm not sure I agree with this distinction, but let's go with it for now and consider what he said. His most striking claim about sacred poetry was that it was deliberately designed to transcend itself. This flies in the face of how I usually think of poetry and other forms of art more generally, which to me are most successful when they are most whole, when they do not seek to point outside of themselves to something external but instead embody fully what they are.This is according to some philosophies of aesthetics, I think, the difference between a sign (which points at something external to itself) and a symbol (which embodies something which it both is and is not). To me, the symbol is the more powerful and potent of the two. So I'm not sure how I feel about treating sacred poetry as sign rather than symbol, and to make the goal of writing such poems to be explicitly transcendent. (And I don't think I agree with M. when he says that a "secular" poem that manages to express something sacred is an accidental miracle. To me, that is simply the mark of a truly great poem, or any other work of art.)

The approach to writing sacred poetry for a ritual context does not seem to me to be all that different from writing poetry in general. I liked his emphasis on two key aspects: synchronicity, and constraint. The poetic form, even in free verse, is a masterpiece of constraint, even just in the concrete, concise language and the use of metaphor and juxtaposition. And synchronicity plays a big part in the process of crafting a poem and the choice of juxtaposition and metaphor, even for folks who don't sit with a Tarot deck or ogham on hand. I've always found that observations of the natural world will play off of my own mental or emotional state in a way that allows for surprising synchronicities.

On the other hand, I don't exactly agree with the impression M. left that in order for sacred poetry to be truly transcendent, you should avoid revision. The idea of "getting yourself out of the way" and using techniques to help loosen up your creativity and your willingness to make leaps and take risks in your work — that's all very helpful, but I don't think poetry (unless you're very lucky and "in the groove") can stop at that stage in the process, even sacred poetry. Sacred poetry, as part of embodied ritual, is bound to be just as much a kind of self-expression, since the purpose of ritual is to bring us into the greater patterns and allow us to embody those sacred patterns within our lives. You could argue that ritual is quintessentially about self-expression, and if rituals can be practiced and polished and their forms refined over time, then I don't see why sacred poetry to be used in ritual shouldn't also be revised and refined.

That said, learning to more freely enter a state of mind (and spirit) that allows for inspired automatic writing (even if it is not always polished) is definitely a good skill to cultivate, and one that I probably can benefit from working on, especially since I tend to be a perfectionist and move at a painstaking pace when I write. (I do find it easier to get into the swing of things when I'm typing and when I'm writing in poetic prose, though.) M. is obviously very skilled at this, since his piece that he shared at the end of the workshop (after we'd each had half an hour to craft a poem to be used in a culminating ritual at the end) was very good and very effective. I took quite a while, and I don't know if mine was all that good, at least at what it was meant for (raising power at the peak of the ritual).

I've included the poem I wrote below. We were each assigned one of the three sections of the ritual, which we'd decided would be about welcoming prosperity and success into our lives. The task was to draw a tarot card and use it as inspiration for the poem, and to use some kind of structure or form as a constraint to help us "get out of our own way" and step aside from our own voice. The card I drew (from a random deck I selected) had an image thick with ferns, which immediately put me in mind of a fern growing from tiny, invisible spore into tender fiddlehead and then unfolding completely as full-grown plant. The number of the card was 2, so I decided to go for rhyming couplets in the structure where the last word of the previous line repeats at the beginning of the following line. Here's what I wrote:

Rooted in the lush earth, we feel ourselves secure
Secure in our potential, small hopeful seed
Seed of our skill, knowledge and power, responding to the sun's touch
Touch of rain, warmth of earth, nurturing our need

Our need opens us to new possibilities,
Possibilities call us beyond ourselves, open to the new
New in strength, we feel the power of sky and earth,
Earth and sky lend power to the work we do.

Dew of morning on green leaves unfurling
Unfurling into mid-day's energy
Engery we need for our success surrounds us
Surrounds us as the earth's fecundity

Fecundity of field and forest through season's turning
Turning seed to sprout to blossom, then to fruit
Fruit ripens now, we celebrate our harvest
Harvest and prosperity take root

Rooted in the lush earth, we build the power to its peak
Peak of power, by land, sky and sea
We welcome in prosperity, so may it be.

Wild Maiden of the Mountains

Had an awesome day yesterday out hiking with Leah near Barclay Lake, about an hour east of here in the Wild Sky wilderness area. The day was gray and misty (even in the city, the morning was one of those that seemed mysteriously calm and quiet, no breeze to carry the noise of traffic from busier streets). It felt so good to be out in the woods again, and to take some time to sit quietly by the shore of the lake and watch the mist drift through among the hemlocks and cedar. Everything was damp, darkening the skin of the trees to deep shades of brown and mahogany beneath the myriad shades of green from moss, lichen, needles, ferns.

After writing my first column for SageWoman (which, damn it all, bounced back when I tried emailing it apparently, so I don't know if it will have made it to Anne in time or not), I shared a draft with Jeff, who asked me if I weren't perhaps getting in touch with another goddess. When I read that reply, there was a thrill of recognition, and almost immediately a shy giddiness. (What it reminded me of most was way back, sophomore year of college, when Elliott asked me randomly one day if I had a crush on Ray... and it was like naming something I had already known but hadn't yet named for myself. Sometimes I need people in my life to point out the astoundingly obvious.)

I have a great deal of ambivalence about it. Not about.... her, but about the community. I am very hesitant to talk about it with anyone as yet, and maybe will remain that way. She isn't Celtic at all, and so I feel on the one hand that my cosmology has been thrown completely out of whack. I talked awkwardly about it with Leah some and found myself having to repeatedly hedge in what I was saying, tacking on all sorts of qualifiers about how maybe it wasn't really her, I would have to do more research and see. But even as I said it, I could feel what bullshit that was: it most definitely is her, I knew it right away, as soon as I recognized the truth of it. Why did I feel the need to pretend I wasn't sure, or to apologize that she didn't fit into a carefully planned and organized cosmological framework with all the appropriate cultural context?

I did some poking around on TC today, seeing what I could find of other people talking about her. It was depressing and frustrating — the main threads I found were full of bickering and nit-picking. Sometimes I feel like reconstructionists are so astoundingly literal, so pinned down by a misunderstanding of how historical research even works in the context of theology and relationship. I feel like I've met this amazing new person in my life, and these folks are full of dating advice along the lines of rifling through her old photo albums to find pictures of her dressed up for her school plays when she was five. And if you dare to suggest that maybe who she is now is not the same girl who wanted to be a pretty-pink-princess for Halloween, you get shouted down for historical inaccuracy. Not only does that seem deeply disrespectful to her and her wildness and her power, but I don't think I can have a relationship with a deity who is restricted to the past, fenced in by the interpretations laid on her by the ancient Greeks (many of whose views I find deeply problematic in any case).

I did a Google search for images of her done by more modern artists, and there she was, shining through in every graceful, powerful curve and arch, the whole ecstatic tension of her freedom, her self-possessed sensuality like a wild thing, a bridge between dark earth and illuminated night.... and to think, the folks on TC box her into the role of "pre-pubescent female" because the Greeks always portrayed her wearing a knee-length chiton. Like I give a fuck how the Greeks wanted to dress up their goddesses. My mother used to dress me in overalls and Oshkosh-b'gosh.

I am not sure why the reconstructionists believe that our ancestors were always in the best possible relationship with the gods — they were clearly not in the best possible relationship with other humans, instead they held views that were often misogynistic, xenophobic and downright cruel. Slavery, servitude, the second-class status of women. Why would I automatically think that they were any better at establishing healthy relationships with the divine? Didn't the gods abandon them, in the end, didn't Christianity take root in a society rife with injustice and the absence of the old gods? I just don't think that, if the old ways of being religious were so goddamned perfect, a bit of fire and sword and cross could have overcome them.

But I'm getting away from the point.

Or maybe not. My relationship with Brighid has become increasingly difficult — I feel her presence as a task-master and guide, but there is a distance between us that wasn't there before. I find myself troubled by the cosmology of it, feeling like I can't get it to hang together, and a resistance on her end. The other day I found myself feeling somewhat envious of Jeff's relationships with his deities, how they seemed natural and organic, to arise from a place of messiness that was closer to reality than the stilted, patterned structure I've tried to make of my theology. In some ways, I almost feel as though Brighid has referred me to... her to shake me up and break me free from my Libra-rian need for balance and equal-opposites in all things. She is just so utterly wild and beautiful. As though her wildness will break open my relationship with Brighid (and perhaps Manannan, too, though he has always come and gone as he chooses mostly in dream and vision), shake me out of this bizarre need I've developed over the past couple years to always ensure that my relationships with the gods conforms to the expectations of "historical accuracy."

I think maybe I won't call her by her more familiar name, at least for now. Maybe that will help.