The Divine Pimp

It is said that we--humankind--were created in the image of The Creator.  I accept this as so.  Why?  Because I choose to.  If you do not, then you probably shouldn’t waste reading time on this particular Blog, but if you do, let’s take a little walk…

The first question, of course, is “What is the Creator’s image?”  Turns out, this is a critical and world-changing question.  Why?  Because the idea, for instance, that the Creator is male has helped foster and condone cultures of misogyny the world over.   It is the power behind the engine that drives cultures of male “superiority” and dominance--in which women have few rights, little independence, and are subject to unbearable abuse--all over the globe.  

I started this discussion by stating my belief that we human beings were created in the image of The Creator because, “I choose” to believe this, and this is an important fact to revisit right about now.  Choices.  Specifically, choosing what we believe is at the very heart of every religion in the world.  No system of religion comes with concrete proof of all the tenets of its beliefs neatly laid out--in short, no religion comes with a seal of approval by “God,” no matter what book or mouth it came out of.  So it stands to reason, therefore, that the biggest factor to believing in a certain religion is choice.   Someone, somewhere along the line, chose to believe a certain way and then chose to share those beliefs with others--who, in turn, either came on board by their own choice, or by persuasion, coercion, or any number of other means, including force.  Now, we have a group of believers, who share a common belief system--and thus it is, that a religion is born.

The tricky part comes when someone, for whatever reason, questions one, some, or all of the tenets of a system of beliefs.  What to do?!  What to do?!  Arguing the point (or points) invariably leads to people taking sides which, in turn, leads to conflict, hostility, and--as we see the world over to this very day--wars.  Persuasion sometimes helps, but not always (if you are over 40 and have teenage kids, for example, you’ll know just how effective this approach can sometimes be!) and, the “because I said so,” approach can be no more effective either, often leading to all of the same problems that arguing the point does (people can be unbelievably obstinate when it comes to their religious beliefs!).  So what is the most common approach?   We are told to have faith.  To just, believe.  Actually, we are often told that if we don’t have faith and if we don’t believe, we are doomed to a terrible, dreadful place called Hell.  Which, of course, is another tenet of many religions one can choose to either believe or not--since, once again, there is no concrete proof of the actual existence of such a place at all.  (However, if you happen to have found an entryway, trapdoor, or some other proof of the existence of Hell, I’m open to it, feel free to e-mail me the location.)    

If it isn’t Hell, then it’s some other kind of “punishment” or undesirable repercussion that will rain down on us in one way or another if we choose, choose, choose to believe differently or to disagree in any way with our religious group--and all this can be summed up under one umbrella term: Threats.  

Good grief!  So, most religions have some kind of “Threat” implicit in their teachings (by someone, somewhere) to convince its followers to believe or behave in a certain way?  Yes!  And, I’ll go out on a limb here by stating that they ALL do and, what’s more--and here’s the biggy, so get ready to gasp--Paganism is NO exception.  There, I said it.  Let’s face it, for Pagans who believe, for instance, in the Law of Karma (sometimes called the ThreeFold Law), the “Threat” of “What doest thou comes back to thee” is pretty strong motivation to cast your Magick or fling your Energy in a kind, good, or positive direction--well, for a lot of us it is, anyway.   However, one could argue that Karma is not a “Threat,” at all but rather a Natural Consequence, but I would waste no time in counter-arguing that implicit in the concept of “natural consequences” is the Threat of, “Do bad things--then, bad things will happen to you.”  

[Uh oh… This is turning into a bit of a meandering walk, isn’t it?  O.K., I’ll try to steer back onto my original path…]

So, here we are, each of us made (according to our beliefs--if you are still with me) in the image of The Creator.  But, here we also are, seeing that there is absolutely no concrete proof of this.  So, I would encourage you to look at the issue from the inside out.  Simply stated, if we choose to believe that The Creator made us in Its Divine Image, does it not stand to reason then, that if you look at us--any one, or all of us collectively--then you are, essentially, looking at the Divine?  Yes, it does.  Oh, nice.  So, The Creator is a 53 year-old woman with thinning hair, wrinkles, Parkinson’s Disease and a big butt?  You’re kidding, right?  Well, no.  But, it also means that The Creator is the twenty-five year-old gay man, the ninety year-old man at the doorway to the end of life, the three year-old girl with cancer, the high school jock, the prostitute, the pimp, the liar, the cheat, and the selfless mother who gives her life for her child.   The Creator’s many faces are reflected in the many faces of Its Creation--good, bad, and ugly.  Gay, straight, transgender.  Tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor, rich man, poor man, beggar man, and, yes, thief too. Even the murderer. Everything we are is a reflection of an Aspect of The Divine.

What?!!  You mean Spirit is a Pimp?!  A lesbian?  The old fart next door who can’t remember, at any given time, what day of the week it is?!  You can not be serious?!

Oh, youbetcha!  I’m deadly serious.  But, now let’s bring this little walk in step with a little common sense, too, shall we?  

You will notice that all these “attributes” are, in fact, polar opposites.  And, you may well be asking yourself, going by what I’ve said so far, if this answers the question: is The Creator male or female?  My answer would be, yes, The Creator Is.  

“The Creator Is…” That’s it?  Is what?  

Well, The Creator is male, female, both, neither, either, or… again, in short, The Creator Is.  Because everything we are, is a reflection of the Divine.  The Creator has a Feminine aspect as well as a Masculine aspect.  It has a Shadow aspect and a Light aspect.  A Procreative aspect and a Destructive aspect.  A side we can see, as well as a side we cannot.  Behaviors we understand, behaviors we do not.  I’ll state again:  The Creator is reflected in our image, meaning that all the complexities and diversities of The Divine are reflections of the complex and diverse nature of humanity, coming from Spirit.  So, what does this mean--how does it impact us?   It means, if you choose to hate gay people, you are choosing to hate Spirit.  If you choose bigotry against any race, religion, or group, you are choosing bigotry against Spirit.  If you think one gender is superior to another, you are choosing to see a part of Spirit as imperfect and, in some way, less than another part.  

Yeah… I hear you: “So, are you saying that being a pimp is somehow, Divine??”  Of course I am.   But, not in the way the question implies.  Come on, we’ll walk a little more…

The dark, negative, or shadow behaviors of humankind are a reflection--and only a reflection--of the duality of Spirit.  Spirit is Light.  Spirit is Shadow.  This duality is present in all things and all beings--and it is NOT representative of “good or bad,” but rather of, as stated, Shadow and Light.  Much like the Moon--sometimes we see its dark side, other times, its light--neither side is good or bad, they simply are.  Shadow and Light are present in free will, they are present in nature, in reflexes, instincts, actions, and behaviors--be they choice-based, or DNA-based--all reside in some degree of Shadow and Light.  So, choosing to be a pimp--depending upon your point of view--is a reflection of a Divine Aspect of Shadow, NOT a Divine behavior!   Murder is a reflection of the Shadow Aspect of Spirit, not the human reflection of a “murderous side” of Spirit.  

Go ahead, make the argument that the very presence of Light and Shadow somehow makes Spirit responsible for murder, cruelty, and the like--and I’ll tell you, in short order, that living in Shadow is a personal choice, not a Divine edict!  If you choose Shadow behaviors, you will live a life in darkness.  The only way to correct the imbalance of a shadow life is to turn toward--and live in--the light.  We all have a shadow aspect and an aspect of light because, to come full circle, we are all of us--no exceptions--created in the image of Spirit.  This, in turn, is why we all have a gender duality--a feminine side and a masculine side.  It’s all about Balance!  We are given countless examples of Balance all around us--and for a very, very good reason: To show us what we are meant to strive for.  So, as you raise your children, go about your daily life, make every-day or life altering decisions, ask yourself frequently:  Am I at a healthy Point of Balance?  Am I living in Shadow or Light?  If the answer to either of these questions is, “no,” then make an appropriate course correction.

Blessed Be,

Winnie

Ashes to Sand

I have always said, ideally, that I'd like to be buried in a busy, in-town cemetery (surrounded by the living), beneath a weeping willow tree, with a fairy on the top of my headstone.  No black clothing at my funeral please, no preachers, and no religion!  I want music, singing, and cut flowers, bubbles, butterflies, and doves.  Ideally.

However, I have learned in my life that funeral rites are for those mourning, not for those who have made the transition to the Summerland.  

As long as any of us--my mother or his children--can remember, my father always said he wanted to be cremated.  "Just put me in a cheap pine box and put me in the back of the station wagon,” he’d say.  “Drive me down to the crematorium, put me on the trestles, and push the button!  It's the cheapest way--and it’s what I want, because all this funeral stuff is just a racket!  Then, after you’ve done it, you won’t be stuck visiting a lump of concrete for the rest of your lives out of sheer guilt!"  We'd laugh and call him cheap, or joke that we’d knock the box together ourselves out of particle board to save even more money.  Clearly, there could be no question, in this one matter at least, that my father’s wishes were clear.

Then he died.  

"Please, please don't burn granddad, please?"  The grandkids just could not handle the idea, on any level (one of them sobbing uncontrollably at the mere mention of it) that we might be "burning" their grandfather.  We decided to go against my father's wishes.  

My father was an atheist, so he believed death was the unequivocal end to one’s existence and, in view of that, it did not really matter, he believed, what happened to a biological being after it "ceased to function."  I, on the other hand, do believe in Spirit and the Afterlife--and, I agree with him completely--but, for entirely different reasons.  I don't think it matters one bit, to the dead, what happens to their earthly remains once they have died.  But, I think it can--and often does--make a critical difference to the living.  Especially those among the most fragile of the living: Children, who are too young to fully understand.

Funeral rites are the punctuation mark at the end of the sentence we call, life.  How those rites are carried out can make an enormous difference to those left behind as to whether the sentence ends with a period, an exclamation point, an ellipse, or even a question mark. 

My grandmother was an atheist, too.  Likewise, my grandfather.  Their wishes were for cremation and to leave the crematorium to dispose of their ashes in whatever way they saw fit.  We abided their wishes… and I sometimes wish we had not.  There is no “special” place to go to lay a flower and shed a tear.  No “special” place that holds their earthly remains. No plaque, no marker, no solid reminder of the lives they lived… save for we transient reminders, the family they left behind.

New Year’s Eve, a few years ago, my father’s sister fell to the ground, dead before she lay fully still, of heart failure.  Another atheist, she had also requested cremation.  But, what to do with her ashes?   She had never actually said, that any of us could remember.  So, when the crematorium gave the ashes to my sister--in what looked, for all the world, like a huge green, commercial size, plastic mayonnaise jar--she put them on an office shelf, having absolutely no idea what to do with them.  She called me to discuss the matter and we agreed that we would make the decision the next time I visited my home in England.  

A year went by.  All the while, the green jar, pushed to the back of a shelf, was unfinished business for my sister, me, my whole family.  Finally, I made a trip home.   

A few days into my visit, two of my sisters and I sat talking--and, the subject of my Aunt’s remains became, quite quickly, front and center of the conversation.  My younger sister suddenly jumped up, went to her car, and returned with a plastic shopping bag, which she then set down, with a thud, on the table.  “What’s that?” I asked.  “Aunt Sylvia,” came the swift, firm reply, “And it’s about time we did something with her.”  

I had no idea that “cremains” weighed so much.  Nor, to this day, can I believe that I actually unscrewed the lid and took a peek inside.  This, stuff was my Aunt?  Good grief!  How unceremonious was that, to spend a year in a giant green mayo jar, collecting dust on an office shelf--and looking for all the world like, well, kitty litter?  There was a sticker on the side of the jar giving the name of the contents and the date the contents were rendered ashen.  No, “Rest In Peace,” or, “You will be sadly missed,” or anything soft and kind at all.  Just her name on a line marked, “Deceased” and, on another line, the date she was cremated--not even the day she died.  

I have to admit, I hadn’t given the disposition of my Aunt’s remains much thought in the prior year but, quite clearly, my sister had!  And, who can blame her?  They’d been hanging about on her office shelf for a year--I bet she felt like she was being haunted by the ghost of Hellman’s mayonnaise.  It was undignified and unfair--to both my aunt and my sister, so we decided, we had to do something.  But, what?  My sister had been making enquiries.  Apparently, one could not simply pour out ashes anywhere one chose--there were, in England at least, all sorts of rules and regulations governing where one was or was not allowed to dispose of the ashes of a dead loved one.  

We, my sisters and I, spent a lovely afternoon, sharing memories of my Aunt, laughing, reminiscing about days gone by and trying, with all our worth, to think of a respectful, beautiful place we could scatter my aunt’s ashes.  My sister lives on the British coast, her home overlooking, in the distance, the ocean and, fairly close in, what are known locally as the Backwaters.  Yes, eventually, we came to the conclusion that the Backwaters would be the best place. If we slipped out there under cover of darkness, we could scatter the ashes and no one would ever know.  Sylvia’s wishes would have been met (she did not want to be under ground) and, come morning, the tide would come in and she would be taken out to sea.  It was the ideal solution.  So, that evening, we dressed for the occasion and met up in the kitchen ready to make the short trek out to the Backwaters.

“What are you wearing?” My sisters asked.  “Well, I thought this nice black dress and pumps would be respectful,” I responded, looking at their sensible beach walking attire and suddenly feeling somewhat silly.  “Do you honestly think you can trudge along the beach in those shoes--and you with Parkinson’s Disease?” they asked and, I had to admit, they had a point.  It was also, I could see now, a little too chilly to be running around outside in a flimsy black dress.  “I know!”  My sister said, “I have aunt Sylvia’s Wellington boots in the mud room, you can wear those!  And, I have one of her winter coats, you can wear that, too.”  It seemed perfect--a practical solution that was also a nice tribute to my aunt.  Suitably attired, my sisters, brother-in-law and I set out for the Backwaters.

My mother was in hospital at the time and the rest of the family lived two hours drive away, so it was only the four of us, but we walked the short trek to the retaining wall, made it over the concrete steps, and down onto the beach area of the Backwaters.  With balance issues and having limited familiarity with the area, I required a little help, but we made it to our destination fairly quickly and, with the aid of a flashlight, chose what we felt was an appropriate spot.  It was a little windy that night, so I licked my index finger and held it up to make sure the wind would not carry the ashes back at us, which made us all laugh and, then… we became hushed, respectful, and reverent.   I spoke a few words--loving, respectful, heartfelt words--and then, scattered her ashes on the sand.  (Well, O.K., I tried "scattering" them, but they just sort of flopped out in a big lump.)  I wept quietly for my aunt and we stood there for a few moments, each of us in our own thoughts.  Then, we headed back to the house, had a nice cup of tea, and  sat up until the wee hours reminiscing some more.  

The next morning, I awoke early and, as soon as I was out of bed, threw the curtains open to see the high tide.  I could not see the spot we had scattered the ashes from the angle of my window, so I dressed and headed toward the Backwaters to take a better look.  My mother was having her house remodeled at the time and the builders were already there, hard at work on the addition.  The foreman greeted me and commented on the fact that I was up and out good and early, so I told him I was on my way to take a look at the Backwaters.  “Let me walk you,” he said, since my balance issues on steps were apparently already embarrassingly notorious by then.  I thanked him and he took my arm.  We walked to the top of the steps and I looked down, scanning the sand for the waterline.  Right then, was when I saw my aunt Sylvia’s ashes.  There they were, in a sort of messy pile on the beach, the waterline some ten feet behind her.

“But, what happened to the tide?”  I asked, feeling a little panicky, “when will it come all the way in?”  “Oh, it’s on it’s way out,” he responded.  “Out?  Out?  Are you kidding me?  I thought the water filled this whole inlet?  How can it be going out?”  “Oh, no,” he said, smiling wistfully, “not anymore--it’s a global warming thing, the water doesn’t make it anywhere near as close as it used to.” He pointed to the exact area where Sylvia was now piled up, “this area is pretty much dry these days.”  

“I have to go,” I said, turning wildly and making my way in as big a hurry as I could manage back to the house.  I opened the kitchen door, and slammed it shut behind me, leaning on it for fear that someone (no idea who) might come in.  The sound of the door startled my sisters, who were, by then, up and drinking tea in the kitchen.  “She didn’t go!”  I said, in an urgent whisper.  “Who didn’t?”  They asked, a little non-plussed.  “Sylvia.” I said, “She’s still on the beach!  Apparently, we didn’t make it out far enough for her to be taken by the tide--what are we going to do? She’s still there, on the beach!”  We all three of us, immediately made our way to the Backwaters again and, sure enough, I had not imagined it, there was aunt Sylvia, on the beach with the joggers and the meandering dogs--an abandoned pile of kitty litter being trampled into the sand.

My mother swears to this day that she will not allow my younger sister to have charge of her mortal remains or final resting place because she cannot be trusted with the task!  (She places the blame squarely, but unfairly I feel, on my sister’s shoulders because she had the ashes for so long.)  Pretty much, the whole subject of the ash scattering debacle is taboo around my mother these days, because she insists we were all irreverent and disrespectful--and there is no convincing her otherwise.  But, quite frankly, nothing could be further from the truth.  (Well, if anything was disrespectful, I’d say the mayonnaise jar fits that bill.)

The fact is, that our intentions were respectful, reverent, and kind.  Can anyone ask any more than that for one they love?  It may not matter to you what happens to your body after you die, or it may matter a great deal what happens to it, but at the end of the day, you will have no feelings in the matter at all--only the living will.  So, why not give them a break?  Consider their feelings a little more than your own.  And, recognize that, when the moment arrives, their feelings might change.  Make your wishes known, by all means, but then, tell them to do what feels best for them, when the time comes. 

Peace Be,

Winnie  

Some People are Pure Nutters

Do not try to fight a religious fanatic on a mission to change your faith.  Ever!  More than that, strive with all your worth never to become a religious fanatic bent on changing someone else’s faith, changing their religious viewpoint, or showing them “the way,” “the light,” “the truth,” “redemption,” “forgiveness,” “Divine grace,” or anything else you may think they’d benefit from spiritually.  Why?  Because a.) it does no good, b.) it is NOT the Pagan way, c.) it is nothing short of bloody impolite, d.) it presumes that their way is somehow wrong (if not for everyone, then, at least for them),  and, e.) it’s the kind of asinine behavior that causes hate, discontent, and wars.

That said, how do you deal with a person who is hell bent on changing your mind about your spirituality?  Especially when ignoring them, deflecting them, and distracting them is doing no good at all?  How do you politely, safely, and with the least harm possible, tell them, essentially, to bug off--you are not interested?!  

Well, sometimes, you don’t. (Especially the “bug off” part--you may be thinking it, but it does no good to voice it!)  And, what’s more, sometimes you simply shouldn’t.   Why?  Because some people are on a mission--literally--and just won’t be deflected, distracted, or derailed from their “cause” no matter what you say or how you say it, so the best course of action open to you is a safe and expedient retreat.  Just put as much distance between you and them as humanly possible!

There are a few reasons for this, but sometimes the biggest reason of all is your own personal safety.  Let’s face it, some people are pure nutters--and there is no changing or helping a nut case, no matter how much you may want to or think you can.  Then there is the common, garden variety know-it-all who is just certain they have the answer to your problems, your redemption, and/or your pathway to their “God.”  There is just no dealing with a person like that.

Then, there is the well meaning, well intentioned proselytizer who can be--and often is--the most vile of all preachers you’ll encounter.  They will tell you everything from “you are wrong,” to “you are doomed/a sinner/going to hell/going to pay/ or even, going to die” if you do not, “repent/change/see the light” or whatever they think you need to do in order to think or believe just like they do. You can tell them all day long that you do not so much as believe in the concept of a place like “hell,” but it does no good at all--they are determined to “save” you none-the-less.  You can tell them you are not interested and do not need or want saving, but they pursue your “conversion” anyway.  

Again, I say: Retreat.  

A spirited debate is sometimes interesting, informative, and fun.  But, when a conversation tips over the threshold of “spirited debate,” headlong into the dodgy territory of “you are wrong, I am right,” it’s time to get away.  And, fast.  Do it as safely and politely as possible, but if all else fails, slam the door, ask them to leave, or call the cops.  Just do whatever it takes to get away from them.  If they are online, on your phone, or coming at you in some way other than in person, block them, unfriend them or, if you must, report them… I can’t say it enough, just get away from them.

Ponder this:  You may believe the way you do with every fiber of your being.  They may, too.  You might be willing to die for your faith.  They might be, too.  You may not be willing to kill, maim, or wound for your faith.  Others, however, may feel very, very differently.  (Consider, for instance, the likes of Timothy McVeigh and Osama Bin Laden.)   

It is often considered the pinnacle of rudeness to ask a person one hardly knows what their sexual preferences or political beliefs might be--and yet, the deeply personal topic  of one’s spiritual convictions is fair game for anyone to ask.  It shouldn’t be.  If you are asked the question inappropriately, don’t answer it.  If anyone ever has the affront to ask you if you have or have not been, “saved,” are “right with the Lord,” or anything remotely like that--again, do not answer--this is nobody’s business but your own.  Furthermore, if they try to backdoor you by “witnessing” about their own “redemption from sinful ways,” tell them you are happy for them, then get away!   

Remember… no matter how joyful and optimistic your own faith may make you feel, you should keep it to yourself or with your own Circle. Why?  Because every path is sacred and every path is the right path for someone and it is not for us to judge which pathway is right for whom.  If you feel compelled to “preach,” do so by example, keeping your mouth shut.   

Finally, a word about children… A lot of Pagan parents choose to home school their children to protect them from unwanted outside influences or from themselves--the parents fearing their children might say something “religiously unacceptable” or “spiritually odd” and, thus, become a target for ill treatment by other children or even--and, yes, this happens--other adults.  I do not fault parents who do this, but if you are a parent who cannot or do not want to home school your child, what do you do?  Good question!  Let’s explore…

It all goes back to parenting by example, teaching more by what you do than by what you say, and taking care to avoid labeling--especially negative labeling.  Teaching our children to be spiritually bigoted is as bad as teaching them to be racially bigoted.  The minute you start telling your children that another person is somehow less than you are because of their religious beliefs, you are guilty of teaching religious hatred. The very instant you ridicule, demean, or criticize someone else’s belief system in front of your children, you are guilty of hate indoctrination and are, therefore, no different to Timothy McVeigh or Osama Bin Laden.  Think about that.  

Of course, there is no simple recipe for keeping children safe at school from religious bullying (or any other kind for that matter). But for the scope of this discussion it is enough to say that the best way to try to keep a Pagan child safe from religious bigotry, is to teach them to respect all religions, teach them not to preach or try to teach their own religion to others, and to cultivate the habit--when it comes to matters of spirituality--of listening much, speaking little. 

Actually, we could all benefit from that advice--myself included--so, I’ll shut up now!

Someone asked.

I have found myself, over the years, endlessly fascinated by church.  My parents were atheists--or, at least, my Father was.  I think my Mother was--is--more anti-religion than anti-God.  They always told me that I was free to make my own choices regarding whether or what to believe and how--or not--to express that belief.  

But then, when one's parents phrase it along the lines of, "I think there is no more a God than there is a pork chop flying around, but if you want to believe, that's up to you!" it tends to steer one away from believing in a Higher Power at all--for fear of, if nothing else, looking “stupid,” or losing the respect of one's parents.

As a child, I would envy friends who believed in God and went to church.  I'd peer in church windows at the people inside, watching them pray or genuflect, or make the sign of the cross on their chest and I'd think... How lovely it must be to have the kind of faith I imagined they had--complete and unyielding confidence that God IS--and, that God can and will bring peace and comfort to one's soul, simply by making every painful or wrong thing right again--some day, some way.  I imagined that all those people were at peace, in some manner I could not imagine, because they had faith in a Higher Power.  

I remember quietly slipping into Bible study classes at school one year.  They were held during morning break and I thought I'd like to learn the secrets of the Bible--find out all the important answers I'd heard it had--to all the big questions of life.  I recall listening carefully, to the the begat’s and the thou shalt’s,  and the beautiful poetry, and the lyrical words…  but, as to answers?  For me, it either provided none, or else, they were contradicted or woefully inadequate.

Then, as I grew into my teens and twenties, I kept trying to square the idea of believers having a special sort of inner peace with what I actually knew of people--not to mention, squaring what I'd read in the Bible with the wildly differing ways it could be--and was--interpreted.  All the while, my own inner conviction--that we as human beings were not here as a result of a random matter of scientific wonder, but rather were the result of thoughtful planning--kept growing.  Not just us--the whole Universe--it seemed to me, had to have come into being by something other than an “accident,” surely?  But, even if it didn’t come into being that way, it certainly carried on in a manner that was the farthest thing possible from chaotic.  And, why did I feel that way?  I’d look out the window and see… perfect chaos contained within perfect order.  Seasons, years, days, humans, animals--everything--cycled in perfect order and, what’s more, in unbreakable order.  Seasons may sometimes seem late or early in coming, for instance (that would be the chaos part), but come they always do (there is the perfect order part).  Sunrise and Sunset are non-negotiable and unfailing (order), but we often have overcast days where the Sun seems, gone, somehow (chaos).  There are absolutely no exceptions to the fact that death always follows life (order), but the matter of when death will come to any one individual, is a complete unknown (chaos).   

However, when the realization hit that I myself was a “believer,” the epiphany that this was a decision on my part that I may be required to act upon was inescapable.  

Aww… man!  You mean, you can’t just believe in a Creator and be done with it?  Bow a little bit, make a few gestures, dip your fingers in some special water or something and that’s that?  Couldn’t you just give yourself over to “blind faith” and you’d be right with God?  I thought faith was the whole point?!  With enough faith, you could, they say, move whole bloody mountains!  Surely you could also live and die with inner peace, too?  Surely faith and regret (you know, saying sorry--and meaning it--when you do bad things), were all the “action” you were required to take if you were to have that special feeling of oneness and peace that I’d imagined for so long would come if and when I became a “believer?”

Well, no, actually.

Crap!  So, this was when the big, ugly question, “O.K., you “believe”--so what, if anything, are you going to do about it?” came knocking at my door.  Hmm…  Well, for some time, I simply refused to hear the doorbell, much less answer the door.   But, as these things do, the question refused to take no response for an answer and simply kept on and on pecking at my head until I could ignore it no longer.  The hunt for a religion--or, as I think of it now, my spiritual home--was on.  

Now, I could iterate all the things I looked into--from Christianity to Islam--and give the reasons I rejected the one’s I did, but that is not my purpose here.  Here, I am looking at belief, my journey to that belief, and what I, personally, chose to do about that belief.  And, perhaps most importantly, what I have learned along the way about Personal Beliefs in general.

Well, let’s just start there shall we?  Personal Beliefs are just that: personal!   Not only are they personal, as in, “affecting, or belonging to a particular person rather than to anyone else,” but also personal as in, “done in person, without the intervention of another.”  In other words, what we choose to believe, if we choose to believe anything at all with respect to spirituality or religion, is a matter of individual choice and can and should be as private as we choose for it to be.  Moreover, this means that anything and everything we choose to believe is right--for us--even if it is wrong for everyone else.  

Phew!  That’s BIG!  So, everyone has the right religion--for them?  When they have it?  Even if they change it like I change my underwear, the one they currently have is still right… for them, now?  There are no wrong religions?   

Yup.

Wow.  So, wait… what does that mean to me, exactly?  I mean, now that I “know the truth,” or, “need to spread the word, because my religion says I should,” or, “I’m just so happy now that I’ve found (whatever) that I simply have to tell everyone I meet…”  All that is, well… wrong?

Yup!  

And, nope.   OK!  I know, I’m doing it again!  Alright… here goes…

I found my personal “spiritual home” as a Pagan and, as my students know, I teach--only those who have asked me to--in a very loose, sort of open-ended manner.  Why?  Because I do not believe many questions have a simple, cut and dried answer that fits everyone, every time.   And the question of whether one should proselytize, preach, spread the good word, seek converts, bring in the flock--or anything else you might choose to do or seek to call it--is strictly a matter of personal choice.  There is no right or wrong to this, just as there is no right or wrong thing to believe or way to believe that applies to everyone all the time.    

So, for the record, my personal choice is not to proselytize at all.  Fine line that one.  Sometimes, you can be doing it and not even know.  Other times, you can be consciously striving not to preach or teach… only to examine things later and find that, perhaps, you were.  Or, at the very least, that it could be taken that way.  Better to keep your mouth shut as much as possible.  Unless, of course, someone asks…

There ya go!   

  

A Quarter Past Yule

So, here we are, at about a quarter past Yule, with the clock ticking resolutely toward Candlemas… and, I’m sure you are wondering just exactly what that means?   

I thought not.  

O.K., so you aren’t wondering at all--but I have need to talk it through anyway, so may we pull up a seat for a minute or two and explore?  Why?  Well, because this is a subject close--very, very close--to my own heart right now.  More than that, it’s razor close to my life.  And I need to work it through.  So, here goes…

Yule, the time on the Wheel of Life akin to the Age of Mystery is, perhaps the most desolate, sparse phase of Development there is; it is, essentially, the least understood time of all: Death.  Desolate?  Sparse?  I guess.  But, is this really so, or is this just my perception, based on proximity and fear or, some other emotional baggage I may be carrying?  Probably all of the above.  But, why?

Well, for one thing, Grandma went into a nursing home this week.  I saw her today--bruised, broken arm, stitches in her forehead.  The fall that took her independence away came last Saturday--it felled her freedom and her short-term memory like a loggers axe and, now, she sits with all the dignity of Her Royal Majesty in a strange room, with an even stranger roommate, and no expectation that she’ll get out of this situation alive.  Grandma is ninety years-old and this, to me, seems “desolate and sparse,” you can bet it does.  But, let’s take a closer look…

In many ways, the Age of Mystery is no mystery at all.  We grow old, we die.  We all get this, as a matter of fact, even if we don’t like it very much.  But can we ever, really get the full impact of it--unless we ourselves are sitting in that blue chair, with our walker beside us, and our dignity hiding somewhere, shamefaced, and completely out of sight?  There is nothing mysterious about this at all.  There is no mystery to falling, quite literally, into decrepitude and dependence, from a prior perch of strength and independence, seemingly in the blink of an eye.  Unless… you separate yourself and your thinking from the body and the mind.  Unless you look upon the journey as what it truly is--something other than a physical, or even emotional walk--but, rather, a spiritual one. Then, you need to look that spiritual journey right in the eye--without blinking.

I get so angry when I hear people saying things like, they will not visit anyone in a hospital or nursing home because they themselves “cannot handle it.”  Or, they will never place anyone they love in any kind of long-term nursing facility because they themselves simply could not stand to visit them in such a place.  How dare they, I think, be so self absorbed--how can they be so selfish?  

Well, how dare I judge them so harshly?

The simple fact is, the spiritual journey is as real for those in, say, the Age of Innocence (ignorance?) as it is for those in any other Age.   Facing death is a spiritual journey, no matter how close one may seem to be to it, or how far away.  Just because a person may feel--or be--far removed from death or from the dying process, does not mean that they are not on the pathway of death just the same.   I have no right to make harsh judgements of anyone’s Death Walk.  I want to sometimes, but I have no business doing it.  

So, here we are, a quarter past Yule--meaning, we are in the depths of Winter, in the shadow place of Death--with the clock ticking resolutely toward Rebirth.  Because, in the nucleus of every death, there is the seedling of life, just waiting for the light to return; for the light of Candlemas to show itself again.  And, for many of us, it is a damned dark and frightening place to be.  So, we look the other way.  Or, try to.  Want to.  Need to.  And, who can blame us?  Who should blame us?  Certainly not I.  

For the record, Grandma is sitting calmly in her chair, looking her coming death squarely in the eye, with all the poise and dignity of a Goddess.  She has dominion over her grace and control, if not always of her body or mind, then certainly of her emotions and, in the final analysis, she is one amazing old woman.  She is teaching me, with the gentle touch of a cooing dove, that peace is a state of being that we can and will all own--in our own time, at our own pace, and in our own way--nobody else’s.         

You go Grandma!  

In Perfect Love & Perfect Trust

Most Wiccans ascribe to, believe in, or, at least try to live by, the sacred principle of Perfect Love and Perfect Trust.   Well, lots of religions do that!  Consider, for instance, the phrase found on the dollar bill, “In God We Trust.”  This is a principle directly borne out of Christianity and is as much a part of everyday life as the dollar bill itself.   But, why do we Wiccans phrase these two principles together—Perfect Love and Perfect Trust—as if they are integrated and interdependent?  Well, the simple answer to that question of course, is that, to us, they are!  But, as with most things in life, the simple answer is only part of the equation.  The fuller part of the equation is that Perfect Love cannot exist without Perfect Trust and this, of course, applies exactly the same way vice versa.   Equally—and, here’s where we get into Sacred Contradictions again—the story does not end there, because we can love but not trust, just as we can trust without loving!

I know—it gets sorta convoluted, doesn’t it?  But, if you can grasp only one thing out of all this yadda yadda, let it be this: Spirit loves perfectly and is, therefore, the one thing in which we can place perfect trust.  

Let me give you an illustration of this…

As most of my friends know, I have a little dog named Hannah who is paralyzed—she has no feeling from about mid-chest, down to the very tip of her tail.  Hannah is a 7lb miniature Dachshund who ruptured a disc in her back five years ago.  Despite surgery, Hannah lost the ability to walk and now either drags herself around with her front paws, or else gets around in a doggie wheelchair.  The paralysis means that Hannah is also unable to urinate in the normal way, as she has no sensation in her bladder and no muscle control to affect a normal void.  So, three times a day, we, her human caretakers, squeeze her bladder to empty it and then, carefully clean her with tissues and baby wipes, in order to help prevent the bladder and vaginal infections that, none-the-less, show up two or three times a year anyway.   We have been taking care of our little pup this way for a little more than five years now—three times a day, every day of her life.

When she was first paralyzed, Hannah struggled a great deal with trust.  Who can blame her?  After all, we may have known that we were holding her quite securely, we may have understood that everything we did had purpose and was ultimately for her own good, but all she knew was that she could only feel support from mid-chest up—the rest of her, as far as she could tell,  was hanging out there with no safety net at all.  To make matters worse, when we emptied her, we would bend down with Hannah in our arms (to get a wipe or something out of her changing basket) and this would, effectively, tilt her entire world upside down in one direction or another.  

Initially, Hannah would panic and struggle wildly every time we emptied her--she would  flail and writhe, her heart would beat like a trip hammer, her desire to reach safety all too apparent--and we would agonize for her.  Hannah would claw the air looking for anything that felt even remotely secure and she would whimper and look so terrified.  Our hearts would ache for her and we would coo and soothe and promise her in the most comforting way we  knew how that she was perfectly safe, perfectly loved… all she had to do was trust.  But, this was a leap of faith far easier asked for in those early days, than given.   

For a while, we thought about setting her down every time we changed her, but this simply made the process far more time consuming and meant disrupting her two or three times at a change, rather than just once.  It was much easier to keep her clean if we kept her little private parts aloft until the process was complete and, then, set her down on her changing mat to snap her clothes on.  So, we simply kept on doing what we knew was best for her--with our hearts in our teeth every time.  As we did so, we never deviated from our course, we kept on supporting her in the places she could feel as well as the places she could not, and we kept on reassuring her. We simply kept on… and on… and on... 

In time, Hannah came to have faith in the process.  In fact, she learned to trust in us completely--no more struggling or flailing, just gentle acceptance.  Anytime we tilt her world upside down, she simply waits patiently for us to right it again.  Anytime we move unexpectedly, or tilt her in another direction, she demonstrates complete and unshakable confidence that, a.) we will right her world again, b.) we will (albeit in our own, fallible human way) do what is best for her, and c.) we will never, ever let her fall.* 

So much this beautiful little being has taught me about trusting The Source.  There are so many times when I find my world turned upside down and, at those times, find myself flailing wildly, asking why, or complaining that it is unreasonable or unfair.  In fact, there have been many occasions in my life when I have felt no trace of Spirit at all.  Ouch!  But, this is not because Spirit is not present in my life, it is because--at those times--I have failed to understand that I am held aloft in the places I am unable to sense, supported in ways I am completely unaware of, and have been tilted all akimbo for reasons of which I have absolutely no understanding at all.  These are the times when I must simply give myself over to Perfect Love and Perfect Trust.  I must become like Hannah!

Just as Hannah completely trusts me—a resoundingly imperfect human being—I must learn to place my trust in Spirit, knowing without any doubts at all that I am safely held in the arms of what truly is Perfect Love and Perfect Trust.  I may not understand all the what’s, why’s, and wherefore’s of life, but I may not need to.  In fact, I may need to do nothing more than trust that Spirit is holding me safely at all times, that I will never be dropped, will always be safe, and that there is a purpose behind everything in creation. 

It is not, then, simply a matter of “In God We Trust,” it is far more complex and beautiful than that, on so many levels.  It encompasses trust in the known as well as the unknown, the visible, as much as the unseen, the process, as much as the end result, and ourselves, as much as Spirit.  

*Update:  

Just recently, I dropped Hannah.  I simply lost my grip on her.  With Parkinson’s Disease, my reflexes are not the swiftest, but something kicked in that day, I’ve no idea what--and I caught her just before she hit the ground.  My heart nearly beat out of my chest, I pulled a muscle in my shoulder, and I found myself swallowing great gulps of air as if I had my head in a plastic bag.  For her part, Hannah, who found herself suspended by her baby clothes, upside down, simply looked up at me and did not react at all.  Once again, she taught me something…

First of all, unlike we humans, Spirit does not make mistakes--Spirit does not let go or drop us.  We simply fall when it comes time for us to fall.  We, none of us, ever know when the moment of our “fall” will come--but, sooner or later, come it will.  If we fall and something catches us, it is not the “hand of God,” but rather the hand of luck that held us aloft.  Everything in creation has its season, its time… and when that time comes to an end, everything falls--just like a leaf falls from a tree.  Not because Spirit lost It’s grip on it, or because Spirit failed to catch it in time, but simply because the time had come for it to fall.  It isn’t personal, it just is.  

Ways We Should Love

 Ways We Should Love...

• We should not fall in love; we should jump, feet first.
• We should not be swept away by love; we should sweep love with purpose toward our own heart.
• We should not love blindly; we should go into it with our eyes wide open.
• We should be forgiving in love, but we should not forget irrevocable harm—if it means leaving ourselves vulnerable to further pain.
• We should only ever be madly in love in the heart; keep your head sane and rational.
• We should remember always that, in love, a little jealousy goes a long, long way.
• We should wait a while before declaring love—your mind may change your heart.
• We can love, but not like; just as we can like, but not love.
• We do not have to be loved back just because we ourselves choose to love.
• We can, quite irrationally, fall out of love.
• We are not obliged to love those who love us.
• We always, always, always have a choice in love.

--Winnie, 2011