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Do Not Speak, and You Will Be Heard

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Today I approached my altar in silence. Speaking the words out loud, my standard approach to a daily ritual, felt unnecessary. In my mind, in my heart, the words rang out with perfect clarity, and I trusted that whomever needed to hear them would.

The effort I put into my daily practice waxes and wanes, and it is influenced a great deal by my emotional state. Some days I don’t feel I have it in me to make offerings of gratitude and thanks to the Kindred. There are financial concerns, piles of paperwork on the desk, and sticky-notes of errands that have been neglected. When I wake up with a busy brain I have a very difficult time making space for piety.

But today in my ritual, rather than using my voice to will the space into stillness, I went inward. I turned my gaze into the depths and found that there was already plenty of space for reverence. Caverns of it, really. And the stillness came.

To my delight, I found that the richness of my meditative, magickal work increased in this state of silent dialogue. My small candle flame transformed into the great, Sacred Fire with a force that it hadn’t before. The chalice became the Well, and reached deep into the center of the earth, effortlessly. In between the two stood the Great Tree, broad and majestic, and full of life.

All of this happened in a silent room, and it was only possible – I think – because I’ve been faithful to my daily practice to the point where the words I speak out loud could finally be internalized. The Kindred listen in ways that are beyond my imagination. The spirits of the land and of our ancestors are sentient, I believe, but I’m not sure how. I think that I was persistent in speaking out loud because I thought there was a connection between the sound of my voice and their ability to hear. This may have even been a lesson I was taught.

But I don’t believe it’s true. I don’t believe we need to approach the Kindred — the Gods of our heart — with the idea that their limitations are easily conceivable. They may not, as many Pagans have presumed, be omni-anything, but the exact shape of their being remains a mystery.

Sometimes I think the Pagan Humanists have it right in their approach to their practice. They see the Gods as archetypes, but they also see the archetypes as our entry into deeper engagement with the greatness, the expansiveness, the mystery of the Gods. In a way, I’d rather suspend my need to affirm some definite conception of the Gods if it allowed me to approach Them with greater reverence and wonder.

Does that make sense?

Before today, I spoke out loud in my room because I thought I needed to do so in order to be heard, in order for my ritual to be successful. But I’ve discovered that I can have the experience of being heard without speaking at all. It feels like there are greater ramifications to this discovery that I can’t yet see.

Does this inspire something in you?

Chew on THIS, Pagans.

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We set fire to the kitchen last night.

Metaphorically, I mean.

The conversation started while I was preparing dinner, and it continued on throughout the meal and into the clean-up. I woke up thinking about it, and I feel compelled to share some of it with you, my readers; my community of dig-deepers.

I’m not sure how to tie all of this together just yet, and I feel like some of these ideas may be much more foundational for me than I’m even aware. This may be future book-stuff, to be honest.

Buckle up. I’m about to throw a lot your way.

Embodied Theology

My friend has reached the conclusion that any theology which is not an embodied theology inevitably leads to fundamentalism. I asked for clarification.

“By ’embodied theology,’ do you mean, any theology which locates the divine in some place other than in our body, in the place we live, in our immediate world?”

“Yes.”

I instantly saw what she meant, and agreed. Then, I paused.

But doesn’t this create a problem when we approach our altars or ritual spaces and invoke deity/deities to come into our space? Doesn’t the need for invitation imply that they are not present to start with?

I voiced this concern.

“They’re already there,” my husband stated.

Then why, I wondered, do we use language that implies separateness from the Gods or other spiritual beings? Is that useful? Or, more importantly is it accurate?

(Chew on that.)

Reciprocity

There is a conversation happening among some Pagans about the need to make offerings to the Gods in order to win their favor. In essence, I lay some relevant item on my altar and ask that my offering be received, and then — Gods willing — the Gods comply.

My friend framed this as, “Capitalist Theology.”

When she said those words, my mind broke a little.

The idea of reciprocity is very important in ADF as a foundation of right relationship to the Gods. We give as a sign of respect, and to justify our asking. But to assert that in order to get something from the Divine we must first give a gift is very much like saying, “In order to get a paycheck, I must show up at work and do my necessary duties.”

Capitalist Theology.

A different idea of theology was offered up as an alternative: Grace Theology.

(If you feel a Christian-language trigger, please recognize that and try to put it aside for a moment. Take “Grace” to represent something broader, and more universally relevant a concept. If you don’t think it is, we can discuss that.)

Rather than work for your blessings, which is an extension of a Capitalist Theology, one simply acknowledges that there is already a great providence in the world, and we are best served (and best able to serve) by creating more space for receiving. The cultivation of our openness and ability to receive is the foundation of a Grace Theology.

(Now, chew on that.)

Altar Talk

Here’s the thing — every morning I make offerings at my altar, and I use language that asserts that I’m making these offerings to honor and respect the Gods, Ancestors and Nature Spirits… and to be in good favor with them. The question is, when I’m doing this what is going through my mind?

Do I really think that the Gods need my little thimble of oil? Does the Divine need anything? If I don’t believe that these things offerings and sacrifices are absolutely necessary in order to be on the Gods’ good side, what is the purpose of daily ritual?

The conclusion I reached, somewhere between clearing the table and pacing around the kitchen, was that we do these things to create an awareness about what is happening within us; what is already, always occurring. Everything we do in ritual is (or, perhaps should be) focussed on creating an inner awareness of a spiritual constant (i.e. the presence of the Divine in its various forms).

If I make offerings, I am doing so in order to create the experience of gratitude, respect, and reverence. Making regular offerings is also a way of experiencing my commitment to a personal religion, my commitment to the Gods.

(Still chewing?)

Reciprocity + Grace

There can be a balance, we decided as we sat on the countertop, bellies full, between reciprocity and grace. Reciprocity provides people with an opportunity to experience humility, gratitude, thankfulness. These are all useful human experiences. Grace also teaches a kind of humility, because one must accept that no matter what is given, materially speaking, no gift is really necessary.

There is a tension between these two ideas.

Perhaps — and this is the idea that really set me ablaze — it is the act of holding tension between reciprocity and grace that is the foundation of any genuinely relevant theology.

(All chewed out?)

Get ready to spit it out!

Take the time you need. Think on these ideas for a minute. Think about it over the weekend. Think on them for a lifetime, if you’d like. But, really sit with them. Let them burrow deep.

Then, let’s continue this conversation. Share the conversation with a friend. Take it wherever you feel like it should go. Ask questions! Tell me a parable! Anything!

I can’t wait to read your thoughts.

What To Do On Samhain When You’re Dead

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Earlier this week the air took a turn toward December, becoming wet and visible, and the moisture that fell in cold, slow-motion stuck quickly to the cars, the streets, and the sidewalks. On the morning after the storm a massacre of tree branches covered the earth around my house, proving both the strength of water and the fragility of wood.

What I like about the snow, and the timing of this particular storm being so close to Samhain, is the way in which it provides tactile evidence that the season is changing, that the Hallows are near. The shift toward winter is not simply an interesting idea; it is something to touch, to feel.

The dead leave little evidence of their continued living, so we are forced to find them at the intersection of interesting ideas and tactile experiences; we search for them in snow drifts, between the breaths of our chanting, and in the smoke rising from our censors. We listen for them in the floorboards of houses, too.

Do The Dead Dance?

In our new house of less than a week, my psychic husband and I have encountered some strange phenomena. The doorbell rings unexpectedly, and several other electrical devices make noise for no clear reason. There are creaks and bumps in empty spaces, and our kid gets creeped out whenever she walks past the staircase. She’s a certified Medium, by the way.

If these strange occurrences are more than faulty wiring, as everyone seems to think, then the dead may indeed be wresting with the same existential questions as are the living. Is a ghost fiddling with switches in an attempt to get our attention all that different from a group of Druids or Wiccans lighting our incense, ringing our bells or projecting our invisible parts into other realms in search of the Ancestors? Perhaps we’re all trying to do the same thing, just from opposite sides of an increasingly thinning veil.

I like the idea of the Dead doing ritual to make contact with the living. I’m not sure that’s how it works, but there’s comfort in thinking that certain aspects of this life are mirrored in the next. Or, rather, that aspects of the Other Side are mirrored over here.

As Samhain approaches, and people juggle their Halloween parties with their group gatherings and rituals, and Pagans across the land set aside some private time of reflection on the changing of the season, I wonder what the dead are doing. Do they gather in preparation for the coming days, sensing that the air has changed? Can they feel the transition? Is it snowing over there, too?

Do the dead dance naked around the fire…

…like some of us do?

What To Do When The Dead Come Knocking

We spend most of the year focussed on the human experience of living. We honor the Earth and celebrate points along an agricultural calendar because we eat food in order to be alive, and we see value in honoring the land from which that food came. We see new life born around us in the spring and summer, born of flesh and soil, and we celebrate the life that we create. Life, for the most part, is all about the living.

But Samhain is different. This High Day is about the intersection of the lives of the living with the lives of the dead. This holiday is about remembering that there is more to reality than our living experience of this world. There is more than what we grow, what we build, what we see blossoming all around us. There is a quality to death of which we can hardly conceive, and rather than push it away out of ignorance we embrace it in reverence. We celebrate the mystery, and we delight in the sacred unknowing.

So, on this coming High Day, the day that little Witches dream about during the sweltering heat of summer, the day that Puritans of old (and new) dread with every inch of their starched, Sunday suits, the day that warrants sweet candy, sultry stockings and a healthy pinch of spookiness, I think I shall listen for the call of the dead, for the rising chant of some ghostly group who, themselves, reach back with ethereal hands into this Earthly realm in search of some familiar feeling. I will open every ear I’ve got — on my head, in my hands, at the bottom of my feet — and I will listen for the call of those who’ve left this place to travel on to a land that even myth can barely approach. I will watch for their postcard, wait for their telegram, look for their fleeting face in the shimmering snow.

Perhaps they will arrive at my door in costume. Or, perhaps they’re already inside. Either way, they are welcome to cup of spiced cider on this blessed Samhain night!

 

If these words stirred something in you, or if you’d like to share your thoughts on Samhain, please do so in the comments. I always love to hear from you. And, I’d be grateful if you’d help broaden the conversation by sharing this post on Facebook or Twitter.

Ghosti!

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I sat in my room, staring blankly at my altar. I hadn’t even lit the candle or prepared the incense, and I was already stressed, bewildered, and overwhelmed with the drama of the morning.

The episode leading to this emotional state of emergency involved two missing shipping receipts, a lost package in Alaska, and $400 dollars. I was a frantic mess, running around the house, trying desperately to find the pink and gray Post Office notes, certain that I would end up with a very expensive consequence for my dis-organizational tendencies. My husband tried to reassure me, but I couldn’t be consoled. I collapsed into my chair, folded my arms across my chest, and proceeded to pout my very best pout.

He quietly left the room.

After a few minutes alone I thought about making a petition to the Kindreds, and I thumbed through A Book of Pagan Prayer. There was nothing for my specific situation. I started to wonder if there was something ethically problematic about asking for aid in the retrieval of a lost item. Is that too trivial? Should I wait to petition the Kindreds for something more dire? Recovery from a life-threatening illness, perhaps? I didn’t know what to do.

So, I decided to do my devotional anyway. I would approach my altar with sincerity, and, if it felt right in the moment, I would ask for otherworldly assistance in as respectful a way as possible. I would do it in a spirit of ghosti.

I centered. I purified. We opened the Gates. I blessed my offerings and lifted them up to the Kindreds. I lit a fire for Brighid. I sought out guidance through the tarot, and the images were both intuitively correct and intellectually foggy. Then, I approached the altar, closed my eyes and spoke from my heart.

I said that if the Kindreds deemed this cause worthy of their assistance, and if they would kindly help resolve this situation in my favor, I would, in return, donate a portion of the $400 to a group that seeks to restore balance and harmony with the Earth, and that honors the Gods.

There. I’d spoken my peace. I’d also made an oath to the Kindreds; not something a devoted Pagan should take lightly. I felt better. I’d done all I could do. I closed out the space and left my room.

Sitting in his office across the hallway was my husband, typing away at his computer. When he saw me he paused, and reached for something on the desk in front of him. He held up the two missing Post Office receipts. He’d just found them.

I grinned, and chuckled under my breath. How brilliant. How perfect.

Before thinking to long about it, I went back into my room and opened my computer. I went to ADF.org and found the link to “Donate” through their web-store. I made a donation, fulfilling my promise to the Kindreds.

All was right in the world again… just like that.

Ghosti!

Relax, and Respond

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The message from my great-grandmother was that I needed to slow down, otherwise I would miss an important opportunity. She spoke, and I listened.

Over the weekend I did my best to “go with the flow”, responding only to the impulse to rest or to be creative (without worrying about the function of purpose of that creativity). I did my best to relax my mind and take a break from the persistant race I’ve been running. Then, on a phone call with a good friend and colleague, I came face to face with the opportunity my Ancestor had fortold. And, in my calm, relaxed state, I was able to see clearly the choices being presented before me and navigate through them with ease.

“Your great-grandma was right,” my husband told me after I got off the call and told him what had happened. “You did what she said, and you were ready for your opportunity.”

The living and the dead both speak truth. My Ancestor, a woman who makes herself known by sending the electical system of my house into haywire, who relays messages to me through my psychic husband, she is a real, present, active force in my life.

At some point, when I reach the time where I’m ready to formally describe the role and relationship of Ancestors in my life for my DP work, I will be ready. And, as I’ve learned from this experience, it will come when it comes. I needn’t force it. I simply must relax, and respond.

On Meditation and Devotion: Week 4

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Week 4 of my daily meditation and devotion was Omen-centered. My creative work was consuming much of my time, and I sought guidance daily. I wrote on January 19th:

Throughout this two week period [referring to a 2 week creative project I was in the middle of], I’ve been given guidance from the Kindred. The Omens, or as I understand them, the Points of Focus, have been quite useful reminders and guiding posts throughout the work days.

Examples of the questions or statements I have posed to the Kindred and the Omens I have received are:

1/19/11

Q: What is my challenge?

A. The Tower.

Meaning: You are blessed with Awen. Fury may preceded grace, destruction may precede creation. The work of liberation, deepening and illumination progress.

1/20/11

Q. Why change decks? [A question I posed when I felt that I needed to switch from using the DruidCraft Tarot Deck to the Llewellyn Tarot Deck, a Welsh centered deck]

A. 10 of Wands, The Moon, Three of Cups.

Meaning: You are coming home. Home to the place where your intuition is a force, and where magic is born. These cards will aid you in your learning. Enjoy the experience.

Mid-week, I had an unexpected brush with an Ancestor, which I wrote about in this post. It gave me pause to consider whether or not I was moving faster than I should in my daily work. After approaching the Kindred, as well as communicating with a few ADF members, I found that there is nothing wrong with a daily practice — “slowing down” doesn’t mean changing the routine, or abandoning it altogether. It may simply mean, “lighten up”. There isn’t a need for every devotional to be performed with the intensity of a High Day ritual. After all, that’s what High Day rituals are for, right?

On January 24th, I made an intuitive decision to use the Ogham Card deck for an Omen. The card was Nuin (Ash). The book read:

Your deeds are part of a far greater, even endless, chain of events, and your own inner pathways have their reaction in the outer world.

This message was deeply connected to my meditation for that morning, and proved a very useful reminder throughout the day.

I’m not sure that the Celtic Tree Oracle would stand up to ADF’s academic standards, and I know there are some who outright dismiss the idea of a Tree Calendar (including ADF’s founder, Issac Bonewitz – read this). But, this feels like a good introduction to the Ogham, even if the historicity is questionable. At some point soon I would like to acquire, or better yet fashion my own set out of wood.

Advice From The Otherworld

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An unannounced visit from a relative can be jarring.

Especially when they’re dead.

My great-grandmother has paid a visit to my husband two times in as many days. She shows up, makes the lights flash on and off in our bedroom, and, by doing so, scares the fool out of him.

This isn’t the first time she’s visited him, either. She has shown up, reliably, just before: a.) a relative is taken to the hospital, b.) someone experiences physical trauma, or c.) we suffer through some major family drama.

She’s like a trans-dimensional red flag waver.

I don’t think she means to scare us – she wasn’t a malicious person while she was living, and it seems that her visits are always a warning of some kind. My husband believes that her most current visits are attempts to deliver a message to me that I may be moving too fast on my new spiritual path.

Honestly, I’m not sure what to do with this information. For now, I’m taking it under advisement and waiting to see if I get any clearer sense of what she means. I’m planning to continue with my morning devotional… unless that’s part of what she’s concerned about. I don’t know. It’s unclear.

WWDD: What Would Druids Do?

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In a few days I should receive a copy of Rev. Dangler’s newly released DP Journal. I’m not sure exactly how I’ll use is, or whether pen and paper will be able to compete with keys and pixels. It’s much easier to use all 10 digits to keep up with my mind, and my meager forearm is less likely to cramp when I type. But, I like paper, even if I don’t use it as much as I used to. I like the idea of paper.

I wonder what the Druids of old would think about my documenting these esoteric studies and experiences on a blog. Or better yet, what would they think of a blog?

Would they see this collection of text and color, space and lines, as nothing more than the illusion of paper; an untouchable substitute for true script?

I’ve heard that the Druids underwent extensive training to learn the secrets of their kind*. Upwards of 20 years would be spent studying, memorizing. They committed the wisdom of their kin, their tribes, their ancestors to memory. No books. No one-click ordering a tome of knowledge and having it delivered to your doorstep in 2 Business Days, only to be skimmed and shelved. These cats were memory rich. Their wisdom was a slow growth forest; not a downloadable book.

(*I’m not sure if there is any reliable evidence of this claim. I’ve still got some reading to do.)

This musing is not self-righteousness. I am not blanket-condemming the digital landscape and all of it’s parts. I enjoy the benefits, just like whoever might be reading this post. Who knows – you might be the person who posts a comment that completely changes the way I see all of this. In an instant you could transform my understanding; light-speed alchemy.

No, I’m not anti-digital.

I’m just a Neo-Pagan member of a modern Druid Fellowship, who finds much of his sense of community through the internet, and who documents his progress on this spiritual path through publicly visible, digital text, wondering what my spiritual development would look like to my druidic, spiritual ancestors?

Would they scoff, or would they approve?