Pagans and Paganism

There's kind of an unspoken worry around meeting new pagan groups in your area that comes as a byproduct of us being grouped under a larger pagan umbrella that covers a diverse range of belief systems.  Even within those belief systems you can find a diverse variety of individual beliefs and practices, which ideally keeps us free from (systemic) dogma and allows for a more tolerant and compassionate group of people.

Ideally. 

Unfortunately, the unique situation facing pagans is the blend of 1.) having to defend your practice (whether it has roots in religion or otherwise) as being legitimate in the public sphere while also 2.) avoiding discrimination (or worse) for having those beliefs in the first place. It creates a space wherein some people may succumb to the urge to posit their own tradition/practice as more valid than others with the pagan sphere itself, leading to infighting. This can best be seen in the reviews for almost any popular pagan book on Goodreads. 

What makes this worse is that a lot of people beginning a pagan practice have likely already had to have conversations with loved ones about their new belief system. For many, this experience sets the stage on how they perceive their practice being treated by others, and can understandably make some people defensive and on edge. There's a sense that they have something to prove, or that people will automatically make assumptions about their status as a newcomer to the faith. Worse, there are some pagans who really love a power dynamic and are quick to push down or diminish newcomers in some way and it's honestly really awful. 

I've been practicing for 20 years -- well, almost 20: August marks the 20th anniversary of my first dedication ritual that I, as a very serious 13 year old, painstakingly researched and arranged, fretting over altar arrangement and candle color, worrying that my incense wouldn't please my gods or that I'd be rejected in some way. Time tends to help with the tense worry that you're doing something wrong, and it's in the best interest of everyone for older/experienced pagans to remember what it was like to be new to the craft. Even for ceremonial magicians who have stringent initiation structures, it's unacceptable to treat people who are new to the craft like they're unwanted or that their ideas and thoughts aren't meaningful in some way. 

I get it. I really, really do. I know how frustrating it can be to have a new-to-the-craft person declare themselves "really, really good with fire" and screw up your fire pit at a gathering (or worse). I know it's stressful to have to wrangle people who have rolled up to your long-standing circle to declare themselves the high priest/ess of the moon who is deserving of your collective adoration. I understand -- I really do. But these are people who are looking for something, people who are working through the birthing pains of their practice and are trying to establish footing. For many, they expect that coming to the pagan side of the fence will somehow provide them everything they feel their life has been lacking: esteem, prestige, power, community, instant life-long friends, etc. There's going to be some difficulty in coming to terms with the fact that the problems that exist outside the circle are likely going to be present inside, too. Personal growth is hard, and for those who don't have a comprehensive understanding of the tradition/practice they're joining, there may be assumptions that personal growth is for chumps and that this new thing is going to fix EVERYTHING. 

I know the urge to ignore this kind of person is hard. Honestly, I've done it. I've rolled my eyes and walked away, not wanting to expend the energy to deal with Valstath, Dragon Warlock of the Third Gate, who came to a midsummer gathering in a heavy wool cloak and was sweating his eyeliner off. I know how difficult it can be to expend the energy welcoming someone who seems to be there to present themselves to everyone as a Significant Being within the community when everyone else just wants to hang out and enjoy the company of fellow pagans. 

What I'm asking is this: instead of pushing them away, understand that we were all new once. Even if you were born into a pagan family, you've been new to something and experienced that sense of insecurity (maybe even fear) when walking into a group of experienced practitioners. I'm not saying we were all StarfireMoondust, High Priestess and Sage of the Mer-Unicorn Realm, but we were new (and hey, maybe StarfireMoondust has something to contribute! You won't know until you listen). Try welcoming them in, give them a place to sit, and show them that this is a safe place. Maybe they'll find that your practice doesn't suit them or their needs, but rejecting them out of hand isn't helping them or anyone else. 

Of course, always be mindful of your safety and the comfort of your group. If someone is harmful or unsafe to your circle and makes demands of celebrants, you are under no obligation to host them. There's a vast difference between someone who is genuinely dangerous (pagan or otherwise) to those around them and someone who expresses their tradition in an unconventional way.

Brewing in the Kitchen

Taking a break from all the deep-digging lately, I made a muscle balm to sooth the knot in my hamstring that's been plaguing me for weeks. My methods are not terribly sophisticated since I used a mason jar held in a pot of near-boiling water in place of a double boiler, so in this case you'll mostly just need to worry about the ingredients. Expect nicer words later, but here we are:

You'll need:

A large jar or double boiler you don't intend on using for food again (wax is very difficult to clean out entirely)
A medium/large pot of water for boiling (if you're not using a double boiler)
2oz (1/4c) coconut oil

1oz (2 tbsp) comfrey oil
1oz (2 tbsp) shea butter
1/2 oz beeswax (chopped)
25 drops cayenne extract
15 drops ginger oil
10-15 drops of the following oils:

• Black pepper
• Peppermint
• Rosemary
• Clove bud
• White camphor
• Sage
• Dragon's Blood 

Solid beeswax takes ages to  melt.

If you have beeswax in the form presented here, do yourself a kindness and go to a thrift store or very cheap place that sells a discount cheese grater and grate the wax. Otherwise you'll end up waiting ages for it to melt -- and trust me, you really don't want to use your home cheese grater for the wax unless you never intend to grate cheese with it again. While you're at the store, also pick up plastic spoon (long and thin if you're using the jar method) -- I didn't plan ahead and thus just used a stick I found that I'd stripped the bark off of, but it's entirely up to you and your level of preparedness. The stick was fine.

Put the pot of water on to medium-high. While it's heating, put the coconut oil, comfrey oil, and beeswax into your jar, and the jar into the pot of water. IMPORTANT: The water should be at least 2-3inches lower than the top of the jar.

Once the oils and wax have melted, add the shea butter. Stir well. Carefully remove from the pot and transfer to a potholder (waterproof is my recommendation here, because wax and oil are less than fun to get out of a cloth potholder if things turn messy).

Allow your mixture to cool for a few minutes. During this time you may wish to take a picture of the sun shining through your herb window and nearly blinding yourself in the process (in my defense, a storm was rolling in and the lighting was magical)

Now you begin adding your essential oils and extracts. The exact amount of some of these is estimated -- some of my reducer caps were a little more enthusiastic than others (particularly the ginger) and I ended up with more than I'd planned. To note, the dragon's blood and sage aren't in here for muscle pain, but because 1.) they're generally good, all-purpose things I use in healing/cleansing/"make things better" magical things and 2.) the smell is particularly soothing to me.

While your mixture is still hot and translucent, pour it into your jars. This blend makes about two 50mL jars (At least, I think that's the volume of the jars I had in my supply box for the past five years or so). If you don't have idle hands or pets that are prone to investigating things on counters, leave your jars to cool with the lids off. If you're on a time-sensitive schedule, you can speed things up and let the balm set in the refrigerator for about 20 minutes -- but remember to keep the lids off. Condensation isn't going to ruin your balm but it can look a little rough.

And you're done! The jars should be kept out of direct sunlight (which is why I used darker jars and not because it's just what I had lying around *coughcough*) and used ideally within a couple of months.

Note the very fancy de-barked stick in the background that I used to stir things along 

On Shame

I woke up in the early hours this morning, too early to start my day but just far enough into my sleep cycle that I had a rough time getting back to sleep. And, because the mind works in strange ways, an old memory from fifth grade bubbled up from the depths and filled me with shame. Which, as I lay there in the cool darkness, seemed strange to me because it wasn't shameful at the time. Let me explain. 

When I was a wee 9 year old growing up in Alaska some 20+ years ago, I attended a small elementary school with maybe 150 other students. I was a bit (okay, a LOT) weird by comparison -- in fact, I regularly had lunch in the library because other kids would throw food at me if I ate in the cafeteria. I talked to trees and birds (I wish I could say this was some spiritual kinship thing, but the reality is that I had no friends and was too young/oblivious to feel bad about it, and just talked to the trees, birds, ants, bees, dandelions...) and had no shame or embarrassment about any of it. I didn't hate the other kids or feel left out in any way -- they just didn't like me, so I did other things. 

But that's not the memory that haunted me in the early morning hours. No, we had an assembly in the school gym and I was seated in the front row with other members of my class. At a certain point in the presentation, the teacher presenting gave a rousing speech about school spirit, started playing music and beckoned the front row to come up and dance. I joined them because I loved dancing and didn't think about the fact that the whole stinkin' school was watching, because I just wanted to dance! So we danced and leaped around and when it was all over, we sat back down. 

Seems fairly innocent, no? 

Ah, but she wasn't beckoning to the front row. She was beckoning forth the eight aspiring cheerleaders to come up and perform their rehearsed school spirit dance. I was just the dumb weird girl who jumped up and joined them in uncoordinated flailing that didn't match their dance. The roaring laughter of my peers didn't even register, because I'd interpreted it as general school spirit noise. 

It wasn't until I was taunted in the hallway that I realized what'd happened, and I sort of filed it away in my fearless, undaunted child-brain as a Thing That Happened. It wasn't until years later that the shame really started to sink in, when adolescence starts to kick in and you start caring about the opinions of your peers. 

As an adult lying in her bed at 4am, I cringed and desperately tried to think of something else. The memory refused to budge. 

Somewhere in the depths of my sleepy mind came a quiet thought that questioned why I was so embarrassed about what had happened. Not the usual "that happened two decades ago, let it go already" that I usually thought, but an odd understanding that I was judging my child-self for something she took no shame in, that I was deciding that her expression of joy and desire to move to the music is somehow embarrassing because it wasn't done at the right time in the right place. For all my soul-searching work and lessons in acceptance, I was still looking at this fierce little girl fearlessly living her life and wishing she would be smaller and quieter somehow when I should be lifting her up and admiring her bravery. 

My child-self was not afraid. She lived her truth and talked to the bees, would spend afternoons in fields of giant dandelions singing to herself and watching the ants marching through the grass. She didn't care about the grass stains or the kids laughing as they rode their bikes past her and called her names. She didn't even register them as things she should pay attention to. They weren't interesting, so she honestly didn't care. There was no need to pass judgment one way or another. It simply didn't matter.

Once these thoughts overrode my crippling sense of shame, I gave my inner child-self a hug and thanked her. I have so much more to learn from her and I've been pushing her away for far too long.

I was able to sleep again, and dreamed of dandelions. 

Teenage Beliefs

Continuing on with "The Great Work" by Tiffany Lazic, today's question is:

What messages about the world do you remember believing as a child or teenager?

I had an enduring belief that I would one day find my people, my tribe, and that we'd have this wonderful pagan community of love and support. That we'd celebrate the seasons together, that we'd be truly present for one another in times of grief and joy. I thought I just had to find them.

I had an unshakable belief that that people of other countries and cultures didn't have the same problems and awfulness  that we did in the USA. I felt that other countries -- despite hearing about their own wars and genocide -- didn't have the selfishness and pettiness that I found so prevalent in my own country. I thought that all these beautiful places outside our borders just had shit figured out, and that we were behind the curve on civil liberties and cultural progressiveness. Some part of me believed that if I could just move to England/Peru/Croatia/Kiribati/wherever, I could live happily and celebrate local cultures in peace because everyone else was just better than us. 

I also remember believing that there was hope and possibility everywhere. It sounds a little strange now, but I remember believing that there was nothing on earth I couldn't do if I'd put my mind to it. Watching dancers or hearing incredible singers, watching master craftspeople working their art, etc... I believed firmly that all of these possibilities were also open to me, that I could be a blacksmith or glass blower or acrobat if I really wanted to. The world of possibility was vast and ever-expanding. 

I don't think what happened between then and now has anything to do with those possibilities contracting in any way, but more with me losing the energy needed to pursue those things. Sure, now that I'm older I don't think that I'll ever be an opera singer or ballerina, but other things -- things that I still love and am interested in -- are still within the realm of possibility for me to take up as a hobby, especially now that I'm getting the help I need for medical issues and my energy is coming back.

There's another message about the world my teenage self believed that I'm having a hard time putting words to but that shaped so, so much of the obstacles I'm learning to overcome now in my 30s. I was self-conscious about everything, and deeply concerned that everything I did was viewable (and judged) by all. I received messages about the world that I was both insignificant but scrutinized, that I was generally unwanted or begrudgingly accepted in groups but that my actions and words were analyzed for flaws. It's a strange mindset that I was (repeatedly) told was self-centered and wrong, but without any nurturing of the good parts of my mindset I ended up feeling that everything I did and thought was wrong somehow -- and I was powerless to change it. That is, that some souls are born as toads and don't you DARE try to aspire to be anything else.
 
I received conflicting messages that I had to succeed academically and financially, but that if I DID succeed, I was being a snob and thought I was better than other people. My teenage years (and subsequently, my early 20s) were filled with no-win situations where I was supposed to achieve and accomplish great things, but if for a moment I took pride in those accomplishments, I was arrogant and big-headed. So I ended up in a terrible loop of over-achieving and being depressed about it because it was simultaneously not enough but also too much. I was a mess. I was deeply afraid to pursue things I desperately wanted to do because I felt that my successes or failures in those arenas would be somehow more painful. I wanted to keep the little flame of interest protected and safe, and in the process managed to smother them.
 
I'm still working through a lot of those self-reinforced ideas. I still run into problems where people I care about treat my successes as personal attacks to their lives, or act as though my accomplishments make me vain and arrogant. I'm still afraid to celebrate my hard work and find myself believing that the rewards for my toil are pure chance, that I'm just lucky. It's an insidiously difficult mindset to break, but I'm slowly chipping away at it and no longer allowing those people to influence/manipulate the way I view myself and my life.

***

Holy crow, that dug up some painful things. I guess that's the point, but I really wasn't prepared for where that took me. 

In Which There is a New Project and Grumpiness

I'm starting The Great Work by Tiffany Lazic today. I've read the primer and chose to skip through to the part of the year where I'm at instead of reading each seasonal section sequentially, starting at Yule  -- I'm not a fan of the idea that you have to wait until a new year to begin your efforts, because life happens and the wheel keeps turning. Started near Ostara? Pick up in freaking Ostara. Make it relevant to now instead of reading it academically.

It's actually pretty awesome.

Honestly, I'm too tired to throw more words at that. If I'm being really honest, I feel like I shouldn't be writing at all because it's early and I'm still fuzzy-headed and grumpy. But the point behind all of this -- the reason I bought this book, the reason I'm digging deeper -- is because there is rarely a perfect time for anything. It's the willpower and the drive to do the thing a more motivated you committed to doing. My willpower when purchasing the book was that sort of glowing gold radiance you feel deep inside your chest that makes you feel like yes, of course! This is the book for me! The idea of aligning my thoughts and meditations with the wheel of the year matches everything I've been looking for!

It's the same radiant enthusiasm that one discovers within themselves while, say, standing in a health and nutrition store listening to the very fit salesperson talk about how their life changed when they took CHARGE and suddenly you're deciding that NOW IS THE TIME TO BE HEALTHY!! and buy all the things that ultimately taste like chalk and make you crave a hamburger. Of course that enthusiasm doesn't always last. That's the point. There's a billion dollar industry based around it, but that doesn't reduce the purity of the feeling. Sometimes your willpower is like a sad carrot in the vegetable drawer in your fridge. Maybe it's a little grubby and not as crisp as the day you bought it. Doesn't mean it's not a carrot, though.

Perhaps the analogy got away from me there at the end. I'm tired.

Without further ado, here's the personal reflection for March 15th: What dreams for your life did you have as a child or teenager?

This one is a little weird for me, because I didn't have career dreams as a teenager. My dreams were mostly just being one with nature and doing yoga and drinking tea. I dreamed of having a group of people who felt similarly, and had this strange longing for a place I'd never been. I just wanted to garden and walk in the forest and do witchery all the time.

I often thought about how once I was out on my own, I'd take up belly dance and rock climbing and aerial silks, how I'd dance when I wanted to and go hiking or swimming any time the mood struck.

It's so strange how separated I am from that now. I still want those things, but there's this undefined barrier in my head that makes me assume that all of those things are outside my reach. I'm not sure if it's a byproduct of always having my dreams at arm's length for practical reasons, but even now when I know I have the ability to do all the witchery I want, to hike all the trails... something stops me. I stop me. And I don't know why.

Maybe I should, uh, meditate on that.

In related news, the calendar my sister gave me for Yule also mentioned dreams today, and now that I'm looking at it and comparing it to what I just wrote, maybe the issue is that I'm judging myself for my dreams and deciding whether or not they measure up. I'm taking my shitty past experiences and deciding that since they sucked, so will the undefined future efforts.

So it turns out that I have a lot to think about today. But first: coffee.

In Which There is a Tough Decision and an Important Lesson

Ostara is coming up at the end of the month and I've been turning my mind to the things I want to see grow and thrive in my life. I've been diligent in establishing healthy routines to help support the growth of a healthy lifestyle, have been watchful of my spending and budget, and thoughtful about how and where I spend my time throughout my days.

So on Monday when I came home from a weekend of visiting friends and noticed that a beautiful bird's nest had appeared in the holiday wreath on the front door, I delighted in the symbolism. Over the next few days, I spooked the mother bird going to (and returning) from the gym in the early hours. She was living on our door! I was really happy and even felt a little blessed (Disney may have given my inner child strange notions about the joy of wee birds that years of having to deal with the noisy bastards has yet to demolish).

A friend from my college days who is an avid bird watcher warned me that the nest looked like it might belong to the House Sparrow, which is an insidious invasive species that pecks baby bluebirds to death in their nests. I didn't want to believe it and decided that I'd make the call if any eggs showed up -- I assumed that our comings and goings from the apartment would deter the mother from getting comfortable and that I'd never have to make the difficult decision.

This morning, however, I noticed a lone egg. I knew deep down that my worries were confirmed, but looked up the ID just in case. It is, of course, a house sparrow. Balls.

It's tough because I really love life and nature and how wild things reclaim habitat in spaces where humans have taken over. I love seeing nature persevere in the face of our hubris. In this case, though, removing this bit of nature that mankind removed from its natural habitat and introduced to North America allows for other bits of nature to survive.

While I was discussing this with a friend and mentioned my struggles with the timing of Ostara, I realized that this is a pretty good message as far as symbols go -- that we need to make sure that the things we're allowing to take root and thrive in our lives are things that are healthy. Something might look nice and and make you feel good, but it's important to know what impacts it will have on other areas of your internal ecosystem. It's not a pretty lesson to learn and it will be hard to remove the nest and dispose of the egg this weekend, but it's necessary. May we all have the strength to identify and do what we must to encourage positive growth in our lives.

Slowly finding my words

Things have been improving a lot.

I've almost been afraid to talk about it because I'm so afraid that this is all a fragile bubble that can burst at any moment and I'll be back to holding the floor down with my body and wishing I had the energy to do things. Fear is the mind killer, as Frank Herbert has said, and I will permit it to pass over me and through me.

I've finished up the medication cycle for my endo and have moved to a BC implant, which should help manage my symptoms. The lupron depot injections I was on were really helpful but sapped me of all my energy for six months and made it difficult to do anything. But things are improving and I've been able to exercise, to cook real food (not just reheat frozen things) and keep up with all the house things -- cleaning, laundry, etc. They're all things I previously took for granted; that is, you never really think about doing the laundry. You just do it because you need clean clothes, obviously, and it's just a normal thing like showering or wearing shoes. 

For the last six months I've had a prioritized list in my head. There were things that were non-negotiable that I had to do every day - brushing teeth, feeding the cat, going to work, eating at least two meals. Then there were secondary things that I needed to do, but could put off a few days and build up the energy for: dishes, laundry, grocery shopping. Things like "visit with a friend" or "participate in a non-essential thing" were very, very far down the list. I felt -- and still feel -- like a horrible person for not reaching out to friends who reached out to me, for not responding to messages or emails or letters. I'm not to a point where I can tackle the backlog yet, but I'm working on it. Progress is being made.

Spring has also brought with it a renewed stirring for witchy things, and I've decided that -- for the first time in 19 years -- to go back and review some of the basics. I was talking with a friend who has been practicing at least as long as I have about the heavy tiredness I've been feeling, and she recommended a really good book that isn't condescending to the long-time practitioner but that helps to get back to your roots. I've ordered it and will post more once I've had a chance to work through it a bit. 

Otherwise, I'm still keeping on. I feel like I'm in preparation mode for things to come -- tilling the soil in which I'll plant my intentions.