Matters of Magnetic North

The direction a compass needle points is due North--this is known as Magnetic North.  At least, that’s the general idea you’ll get about compasses and matters related to direction and such if you look the subject up on the internet (it’s interesting stuff, you should research it if you aren’t already in the know).  But, today, for purposes of this discussion, I’m going to be talking about your Personal Magnetic North.  (Yes, I did say your Personal Magnetic North--because we all have one and we are all subject to the pull of it--even if we don’t know it.)  And, what exactly is a Personal Magnetic North?   Come on, let’s explore…

You’ve all heard me talking about Living In Your Truth, so I shan’t natter on too much about that now, however it is important to understand that Living In Your Truth means living truthful to who you are, not simply, “telling the truth at all times.”* The odd thing about Living In Your Truth is that, inasmuch as we should all strive to live in our Truth every day of our lives--therein lies the oddity--in a sense, we all do live in our Truth, all the time, whether we know it or not.  Furthermore, it is living in our Truth that shows the world what our Personal Magnetic North is. 

Confused?  Come on, we’ll dig a little deeper…

In much the same way as a compass is drawn toward North by magnetic pull, so we, too, by our very nature, are drawn to behave in ways that make up the totality of our Truth.  This, I call our Personal Magnetic North.  It’s actually a fairly simple concept.  I’ll give you an example:

Good people sometimes do bad things.  But, if they truly are inherently good people, they cannot help but try to set their wrongs to right.  Conversely, bad people sometimes do good things--and, if they are inherently bad people, there is either an ulterior motive behind their act of goodness, or else it was an anomaly of behavior that will very swiftly be replaced by customary bad behavior.   

So, what does this mean, exactly?  That we are all slaves to our Personal Magnetic North, drawn inexorably toward behaviors we cannot control?  Absolutely not.  But, we are, as a general rule, drawn toward behaviors we have no real desire to change.  This, we tend to think of, as what we call human nature.  But, I think of it more as an individual thing than a blanket “human” condition.  In other words, it’s not so much that all human beings are drawn to behave a certain way, but rather, that each person is drawn to behave in their own unique and individual way--a way they keep coming back to time and again.  (To quote Jessica Rabbit: “I’m not bad, I’m just drawn that way.”)

Now, if we keep this “truism” in mind--that Personal Magnetic North is resistant to change, but can be changed--we can have a working shot at changing our own Magnetic North, or influencing the set point of the Magnetic North of those in our Soul Circle.  Most notably: Our children.  And why so specifically our children? Because, our moral compass is not fully set and functioning on “auto pilot” until our brains are fully formed--at about age 25.  This is BIG, because it means that when we are raising our children, we should be constantly mindful of the fact that everything we do around them, with them, and even near them, is contributing to the grounding of their Magnetic North--and the older they get, the more set it will become--and the more set it becomes, the harder it will be to change later on.  Further, once it is set, only the individual has any say in, or can change their own set point.  

Another example:

A child growing up in chaos and abuse, with no influence in any positive direction, invariably grows up to repeat the pattern of chaos and abuse as an adult.  We see it time and again... In simplified terms, battered mothers raise abusive/abusable children and violent fathers raise violent/victim children.  It can be either, either-or, or both, but it is almost invariably one or all of these outcomes.  But, if there is any one variable--a grandparent say, or a mentor--who gives by example a different, more desirable grounding point, then there is a chance the child will not grow up to repeat all the behaviors of the parents, but rather some or all of the behaviors of the grandparent or mentor(s).  If the influence is strong enough, the child will be drawn to the positive, rather than toward the negative or destructive.

Sometimes (although, this is rare) a child has no external influence at all, no reason to set their own Magnetic North toward positive behaviors and, yet, they do so anyway.  Why would this be so?  What is the catalyst for these children?  Well, this is where we get into reincarnation and the influence of the Collective Magnetic North--and, Karmic ebb and flow.  These exceptional kids are born with their Magnetic North already partially set--it is part of their individual soul journey.

What?! (Oh come on, you know me, I’m drawn to ferret out the hidden layers and lay them bare--it’s, er, part of my programming--blame my Personal Magnetic North.)  Look, it all comes back to the title of my Blogspot: The Circles of Life.  All of humanities’ behaviors function in circles, constantly ebbing and flowing in and out of one thing or another, starting at one point, coming full circle at another.  And it makes no difference if we are incarnate or in spirit--if we are at a certain place of development, it is imprinted on our spirit (our soul, should you prefer the term) and the more lifetimes we live, the sooner and more readily we swing back to the Magnetic North we have established over a long period of circular existence--in short, we are often born a certain way. This explains why some kids are inherently good, positive, optimistic, glass-half-fullers, where others are the diametric opposite: negative, glass-half-emptyers all the way!

The challenge, for enlightened human beings, is to be constantly mindful that we are set to draw toward our Personal Magnetic North and, because of this, are obliged to constantly seek to identify what that pattern of behavior is and, if it does not serve our spirit well, or the spirit of others--to set about changing it.  Now, this can be a tough and tricky proposition.  It involves, at the very least, constant vigilance to the sound of our inner voice.  We may not think we have one or are listening to it but, make no mistake, we all have one, are constantly engaged in listening to and hearing everything it says and it’s influence can be immeasurable, but we can shut it up or make it talk differently if we are determined to do so!   Also, we can use our knowledge of Personal Magnetic North to help us better understand the behaviors of others and even predict their future behaviors, based on the sum total of their past behaviors.  By this I mean, if a person is in their fifties, has always resorted to lies, thievery, trickery, and cheating to get what they want, it’s a fair guess that their Magnetic North is set to that kind of behavior.  Now, they could change, however, no matter how promising any “turn around” they have might be, it’s a fair assumption that they will, sooner or later, return to what they truly are.   If you are mindful of this, you can protect yourself from undue harm, even if it is your Magnetic North to see the good in people and give them another chance or the benefit of the doubt.  No one says you shouldn’t give them another chance, but don’t give them the pin number to your bank account!

So, let’s go back to the idea that we all live in our Truth at all times.  How can this be?  We all have situations where we do something or act a certain way when it is contrary to what we actually want, because we are living in something other than our Truth.  Then, we recognize it, address it, and make necessary changes.  That doesn’t sound much like living in our Truth all the time, does it?  Well, the reality is, it’s the way we get into the situation in the first place and the manner in which we respond to it in the second place that is the aggregate of our Personal Magnetic North.  Let me illustrate with a final  example:

My husband is a hard, hard worker.  Actually, his Magnetic North in that regard is to work until the job--whatever the job is--is done, no matter how long it takes, how heavy the toll on him, his body, or his personal life.  I, as his wife, am generally very supportive of his career, his ambition, and his passion for his work.  But, for both of us, there are times when the long, long hours, the endless business trips, and the overwhelming fatigue get too much.  At such times, what do we do?  We put our heads together, plan a vacation and then… work damned hard to see that we get it!!  

It works like this:  He is a hard worker by the nature of his Magnetic North. He works endlessly hard, long hours.  Eventually, the grueling pace gets too much.  We identify the problem and resolve to change Magnetic North in this area and actually rest up a while.  So how do we accomplish this?  By going right back to Magnetic North and working ourselves to death to get a week of vacation!    

The fact is, we humans are infinitely complex, multi faceted beings who can confound ourselves and others at every turn.  There are no hard and fast rules to the behavior of any human or collective group, however there are guidelines we can follow to help us evolve ourselves and understand the evolution--or lack thereof--of others.  A fundamental understanding of Living In Your Truth and the nature of Personal Magnetic North can go a long way in helping to traverse the human journey with greater ease.  Think them through--ponder all the deeper ramifications of these teachings--and you will see that they are replete with layer after layer of possibilities, pitfalls, and hope.  Use this knowledge wisely and you will come, perhaps, to a greater understanding of yourself and others at a swifter and less painful rate.  

Blessings,

Winnie

*Note: If you’re interested and you missed it, you can always read previous Blogs for more information on the subject of Living In Your Truth.

The Triplicity of the Divine

The first funeral I remember being aware of, I did not see.  It was early on a Saturday afternoon, I believe, when the funeral procession began its slow, dignified journey down our street.  I was about eight years-old at the time and, since I’d never seen a funeral before, I jumped up to peek out the window to watch the procession pass.  

For a woman whom I thought, at that time, was worn out, slow as a snail, and just plain ancient, my Grandmother was out of her chair, drawing the curtains and instructing me to sit down, be respectful, and be quiet, so quickly, I was stunned into immediate compliance!  But, still, my mouth shot open to ask questions and, just as swiftly the look on my Grandmother’s face, the slow shake of her head, and the downward cast of her eyes told me to hold my tongue and keep it that way.  Nanny folded her hands in her lap and lowered her head.  I copied her, but I was squirming in my seat with curiosity and kept canting my eyes toward the window to see if I could catch a peek through a crack in the drapes.  We sat there for about five (long, long, agonizing) minutes... waiting and waiting (I later found out) for the funeral director to end the funeral march (a slow walk, one foot directly behind the other, from the point of departure to the first junction in the road) and get into the hearse.  I remember hearing the clock ticking in what appeared to be suspended animation and it seemed to me that everything had become stuck in the time it was measuring, like treacle pouring from a spoon.  

Then there was the one and only time I remember meeting my Great Great Grandmother.  I had no interest in such a meeting, I can tell you.  “Must I?” I asked my mother.  Not only was the answer an instant and very firm, “yes, you must!” but it came with some other very specific instructions, too…

• You will be respectful.
• You will pay close attention to Great Gran--attention to everything about her--the way she looks, the way she talks, the things she says.
• If she does not look, smell, talk, or behave the way you would expect her to--keep your mouth shut about it!
• Be polite.
• Be attentive.
• Eat nicely and treat her china with care!

“Oh, for crying out loud,” I remember thinking, “she’s just an old lady, why all this fuss?”

Why indeed?  

At the time, of course, I had no idea why my Grandmother would be so particular about funeral etiquette for a complete stranger--or why my Mother was so insistent that I remember everything I possibly could about my Great Great Grandmother--a woman my Mother knew full well I’d likely never see more than once in my entire life.  These things seemed like “silly old people stuff” to me.  Because I was young.   Mercifully, I have since outgrown that.

It is, perhaps, easy to grasp the concept (academically at least) that wisdom comes with age, but the real truth--the hidden secrets of wisdom--are privy only to those who have actually reached their Age of Wisdom.  And, if you are one of my students, right about now you are saying “Whoa!  Slow the broomstick down there Winnie… what’s all this ‘their’ crap?  What happened to THE Age of Wisdom??!”  (Or, words to that effect--my students are generally more articulate than my dramatic license would seem to imply.)  

O.K., so Wisdom, obviously, is not granted to us at a certain age like the tooth fairy dishes out money when your baby chompers fall out.  Wisdom is not a rite of the passage of time, anymore than good sexual judgement is a rite of the arrival of puberty.  Wisdom is far trickier than that!  It sneaks up on a person, gradually insinuating itself on the consciousness, smoothing off the rough edges of bloody mindedness, gently broadening the constricted passageways of narrow mindedness, and bringing to flower the buds of old ideas, bearing new and totally unexpected fruit.  Some, of course, move more swiftly along this transitional path than others, but this is due, in large part, to the influence of Reincarnation, Karma, and a multitude of other things that also become more clear as we age.  

The thing is, Triplicity is the key.

What?!  (I hear you asking.)  O.K., Winnie, where did that come from? Well, let’s take a little walk and I will explain…

As Pagans, I’d hazard a guess that we’ve all heard of The Maiden, The Mother, and The Crone, right?  After all, it’s the model of Triple Deity that drives the spiritual reality of many a Coven, many a Solitary Practitioner, indeed, many Pagan groups of all kinds.  But, what do we call its counterpart?  What is the archetype of the masculine form of Triple Deity?  

At this point, I usually hear a student yelling, “Well, duh! The Father, The Son, and The Holy Spirit--just ask any Christian, they’ll tell ya!”   And, they would be right--for Christians.  Furthermore, if they said this model of The Divine is perfectly correct--for Christians--I’d be giving them a high five pointed star.  But, why does it not work as a model for The Divine for us, for we CSC Pagans?  Because we see the Divine as we see ourselves--reflected in the image of.  

Grrr… Of what? Winnie!  There you go again (I hear you say), messing with our heads!  (You’re very loud today, I like that.)   

Maiden, Mother, Crone.  Beautiful and balanced: The Triplicity of the Divine Feminine.  No matter where we are on the Wheel of Life, we are all possessed of the Divine Feminine--male or female, old or young, gay or straight--we are all a reflection of The Goddess.

We are also, equally, a reflection of The God.  The terms I use for the God aspect of Triplicity are:  Youngman, Father, and Sage.  Beautiful and balanced.  The Triplicity of the Divine Masculine.   Just like the Triplicity of The Divine Feminine, we are all of us--no exceptions--also possessed of the Divine Masculine--male or female, young or old, gay or straight--we are all a reflection of The God.  

But, what has this to do with funerals, old ladies, and all the other stuff I’ve been prattling on about?  One word: Respect.  Come on, let’s put it all together…

All those years ago, when my Grandmother was admonishing me not to peer out the window to gawk at a passing funeral, it came down to this:  A Crone (my Grandmother) was teaching me (a child in the Maiden years) to respect the pain of the grieving.  She was teaching me how to become a Crone myself one day. She was showing me that the rituals of life are important and to be deeply respected, just as we are to respect The Divine.

When my Mother was telling me, in no uncertain terms, how to behave in front of my Great Great Grandmother, she was teaching me, among a plethora of other things, a vital lesson about respect--but not just for Gran, but for my Mother as she is now and, for my own aging process the way my Mother was wise enough to see it would one day be for me.  She knew, thanks to the benefit of wisdom, that the day would come when I would wish I could remember the last time I saw Gran, the one and only time we took tea together, how she looked, talked, behaved--who my Gran was.  Blessed Be that “silly old people stuff,” because it was thanks to the wisdom of my Mother that I now have any memories at all of taking tea with an old, old lady when I was a wee girl…

She had soft, white, cotton candy hair and kind, gentle eyes.  Her body was frail and I swear she looked like she would snap like a toothpick at the slightest touch.  But, she wore a dainty floral dress and held her china teacup with such care and elegance that I thought she must surely be Royalty.  She was a Crone.  A beautiful, serene Crone who taught her daughters well.

To this day, I always wear a hat to a funeral, take tea in a china cup, and vigorously teach respect for the Crone and Sage to the young people in my Soul Circle.  We Pagans should set a strong example for the young we raise, we should teach our children to value the wisdom of the elderly, and we can do this best by setting the example.  It is simply not enough to tell our children to show respect, we must diligently show respect ourselves, we must scrupulously show good manners ourselves, and we must honor the Wisdom of the Ages--out loud, out proud, and fully Pagan!

Winnie

         

      

Pondering the Sun

I have been pondering and considering anger against The One and, try as I might, I cannot find any in myself.  I do not blame The Creator for that which was designed and planned to be random and fair. But, I think that comes from my firm conviction that we are, like everything else in creation, designed to renew, to rebirth--or, in a word, reincarnate. This makes my life seem a lot more fair than it perhaps would if I believed I were going to live once--with my unique circumstances and challenges--and then die and be judged on that one life. 

I ponder the Sun. Imagine if it were to shine only one day. One time to warm the Earth. One time to bring light and joy to the people and plant life of this planet. Only one time to shine.  What if that one and only day were cloudy and overcast? Then, what if the sun were judged on its performance on that one and only day? Perhaps the Sun could be excused for being angry and resentful... After all, this was an uneven playing field; the game was rigged.  But, the knowledge that the Sun does, in fact, have a countless number of days to shine (and be appreciated for it), well, perhaps this knowledge alone renders resentment--of any one single day, no matter how inconvenient, disappointing, or painful--unenlightened, indeed.

Of course, one could argue that lots and lots of chances might tend to devalue any one single life experience (Why don’t I just go ahead and be an asshole? After all, I’ll get another whack at it, right?), but this is to negate the role of Karma in our lives.  What we do, we must learn from.  If we give in to our Shadow Side, this can make for some pretty painful lessons.  Far better on ourselves, I think, to take the gentle path, to walk the Good Road.

Sometimes, it takes a Herculean effort not to take things personally.  Your child is born--and, is not physically perfect.  Cancer strikes.  Murder.  Poverty. Starvation.  Cruelty.  Well, you get it, the whole human drama.  But if we remind ourselves at such times, that it isn’t a personal thing, it isn’t a permanent thing, it isn’t about reward and punishment, judgement or redemption... It is simply about today being “our turn.”  Well, then we can let go of the need to shake our fists at the Almighty, or turn our backs on The One.  We can simply learn to accept.  For, truly, “this, too, shall pass.”

Blessed Be--in suffering and joy, for all conditions are Sacred and ordained by Spirit.

Winnie

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!