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How Much Stuff Does One Pagan Need?

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Should I let go of my stuff?

Should I have a metaphysical yard sale, in which I sell my Cunningham books, my surplus of pewter jewelry, and my…

…ahem…

…crystals?

GET your hand off that… It’s priceless.

Should I rid my closet of the long, green, hooded robe I’ve worn twice, my Guatemalan patchwork jacket I scored for $7 bucks, or my black ceremonial duds? How about my malas, my God and Goddess candle holders (don’t you just love P. Borda?), or my copper OM chalice?

When I look at the shelf above my desk, I read the titles:

  • A Book of Pagan Prayer
  • A Pagan Ritual Prayer Book
  • The Book of Common Prayer (i.e. Episcopal Church)
  • A Canticle For Leibowitz (thank you, Themon, for the recommendation)
  • Sacred Fire, Holy Well
  • Creation Spirituality
  • The Re-Enchantment of Everyday Life
and
  • Pagans & Christians

Is that too diverse?

What about my entire shelf of Bibles? I’ve got the Green, the NIV, the Aramaic translation, the King James, the Revised Standard, the Edicion Pastoral, the Good News Bible, and the New International Version.

I also have a Humanist Bible, which is a whole ‘nother story.

I like stuff. Most of us do, to some degree. But I wonder if this surplus of metaphysical stuff I’ve accumulated throughout the years gets in my way.

How much of this stuff do I actually use?

Not much.

You’d think I was a Witch or somethin’.

These thoughts occur to me as I continue with my ADF Dedicant Path studies. I feel like I’m studying to be one thing, but the stuff around me suggests that I’m something quite different. I’m studying to be an ADF Druid working within a Pan-Celtic hearth, as it were, but my stuff indicates that I’m really quite eclectic.

This isn’t a crisis by any means, but it is something to consider. What does our stuff say about us? And, how much stuff do we need in order to do our religion?

Is an excess of spiritual stuff an indication that you don’t have enough religion?

Should religion curb your consumption? And when it doesn’t — when your spiritual/religious work winds you up with tupperwares full of serapes, tapestries, and unused statuary — is it really nature spirituality that you’re practicing, or stuff spirituality?

It may sound like I’m romanticizing asceticism, but I’m not. Like I said, I like stuff.

I’m just beginning to question why I have so much of it.

This post is not designed to preach what is the right relationship to stuff. I’m just hoping to inspire some classic Bishop In The Grove dialogue about stuff.

I want to know about your stuff. 

Take a look around you. Look at the stuff on your shelves, on your windowsills, and in your dresser drawers, paying close attention to all of the stuff that’s connected to your spiritual path or religious work (whichever term you prefer).

What’s there? How much of us it being used on a daily basis? Any? All? Some?

Do you save your stuff for the High Holidays? Do you haul out the cooler of candle holders for your coven’s rituals, or has it been collected cobwebs in the corner?

Let’s all take a minute and talk about our stuff.

What do we want from our Pagan leaders?

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In this last week of post-Pantheacon decompression, I’ve discovered a few things about myself.

First, as much as I am invested in my online work, either through blogging or social networking, nothing compares to real-life, skin and sweat, handshakes and hugs interaction. You can imagine all you want about how great it would feel to dance, but that isn’t the same as dancing.

And, I love to dance.

Pantheacon, my first large Pagan gathering, provided me with the opportunity to embody my spiritual practice, and to present myself as a spiritual and religious person. I wore my little “Druid” nameplate, a keepsake of Uncle Isaac, I introduced myself proudly to everyone I met, and I became at different moments a student, an inquisitor, a historian and a kid in a candy store. I had permission to engage in dialogue about complicated, esoteric ideas with a number of great thinkers, not because that permission was explicitly given to me by someone else, but because I gave it to myself. It was kind of self-liberation. I highly recommend it.

Second, I’ve learned that I have an easier time investing in my religious practice if I’m given — or, again, if I give myself — a more active role. If I’m left to watch from the sidelines I may be more inclined to criticize, analyze, and generally keep a distance between me and what’s actually going on. Skills of observation are useful to a writer, but observation doesn’t always trump experience. Sometimes it’s better to get your hands dirty.

And, I love dirt.

As I wrote about in my last post, I’ve been consistent in approaching my altar each morning for the better part of the last month. No matter how groggy I feel, I perform a short ceremony to honor Those who I honor, and then I start my day. I do what’s worked for me before, and open myself to whatever happens. Sometimes I improvise, and other times I follow my simple liturgy. Regardless of what transpires, the regularity of the ritual is proving to be very nourishing.

With my daily ritual firmly in place, I’ve decided to return to the Dedicant Path, an ADF study program which seeks to develop one’s own personal religion (Neopagan Druidism), while deepening one’s knowledge about the Indo-European cultures of antiquity. I feel that ADF has something very valuable to offer me, and this was confirmed by my experience in ritual and in fellowship with the ADF members I met at Pantheacon.

I’ve also decided to return to University and seek a degree in religious studies. This decision requires much more planning and preparation, and it probably won’t come to pass for another 12 or 18 months. But, I feel that if I’m going to take myself seriously as a writer on religious matters, not to mention if I’m going to ask anyone else to do the same, I have to put in the work.

When I commented on my Facebook page about looking into applying to Marylhurst University for further study, an ADF Druid who I met in San Jose replied,

“Do it, brother. You were called to lead.”

If he’s right, then I have a lot of work to do. And, if he’s right, I have a lot thinking to do about what it means to be a leader.

There have been great discussions on blogs and in podcasts about Pagan leadership, and I’d like to continue that dialogue here at Bishop in the Grove. My readership is so diverse, and so willing to engage in deep thinking about practice, tradition, philosophy, and belief, that it would be foolish of me not to ask you what you think about leadership.

What does effective religious leadership look like to you? Do you expect leaders to be well-educated? Charismatic? Inspirational? Instructive?

When you think about leadership in the Pagan community, where do you think we’ve gotten it right, and where do we have room for improvement?

Please, lend me your insights into what leadership means. And then, if you know someone who might have a valuable perspective on this subject, pass along this post.

Tree Roots and Druid Groups

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My relationship with Druidry is growing deeper, more committed and a little bit complicated. Tree roots come to mind.

I began searching out information on modern expressions of Druidism a few years ago, finding The Order of Bards, Ovates and Druids (OBOD) first. I immediately connected with the spirit of the organization, and was delighted that they put such a great emphasis on creativity. I’m a writer and musician, and I’ve always sought out ways to express my spirituality through my creative gifts. That this tradition was encouraging it seemed like a sign that I was in the right place.

After a period of a few months working through their Bardic course, I drifted away from OBOD. Looking back, I attribute that to a lack of community around my spiritual work, as well as a lack of a religious structure. I got a great deal out of it, but there was something missing. Leaving the studies wasn’t a failure in my eyes; it was just the choice that felt best for me.

Then I found Ár nDraíocht Féin: A Druid Fellowship (ADF), the group I’m working with now. ADF is a religious organization, and through them I found the structure and religiosity I was missing with OBOD. The community I was searching for has, more or less, been available to me, and I’m working my way though the year-long course of the Dedicant Path.

Here’s where the roots begin jutting out in yet another direction.

I just read The Druidry Handbook, written by John Michael Greer, Archdruid of yet another Druid group, The Ancient Order of Druids in America (AODA). I flew through the book, and found myself enchanted by their philosophy and approach. I loved the book so much that I purchased The Druid Magic Handbook, a follow up title built on the principles in the first book.

If you are unaware of the subtle differences between these organizations, and their respective takes on Druidry, let me try and explain one key point. OBOD and AODA accept the work created during the “Druid Revival” of the 18th and 19th century as valid material, created by inspired individuals and worthy to include in a modern spiritual practice of Druidry. They both acknowledge that some of the work created during this period was forged and misrepresented, and that there were great historical inaccuracies in the Revivalists’ perspective about Druids and Celtic culture. But, in accepting that they also believe in the idea that if the writing and traditions which originated from that period are inspiring and useful, then they should be celebrated and made use of. In the end, for them, its all about doing what works.

ADF takes a different perspective altogether. The emphasis, for them, is on building a new tradition around what is historically accurate, as best we know, about the ancient religious practices of not just the Celts, but the Indo-European cultures as a whole. ADF dismisses the writing created during the Revival, and places the emphasis on striving for a kind of historical authenticity that feels, to me, to be bordering on re-constructionism. It isn’t quite that rigid, but it still is searching to graft the new ways on top of the old, as best we can assess what those were. Being as true as can be to the “old ways” is very important in ADF.

Now, back to me.

I feel a pull towards the writing and approach of the Revivalist Movement, and I don’t really care that they made up or borrowed a great deal of what they were doing. What they created speaks to my heart, and that counts for a great deal, I think. I’m seeking to live a life that is rooted in this world, and that allows me to expand in my creative expression and my spiritual awareness. I’m looking to grow in my connectedness to the world while simultaneously become more fully myself. Shouldn’t the heart lead the way in that quest?

The question is, must I be a strict adherent to any one of these traditions in order to accomplish that? Can I be an ADF member, following through on my commitment to the Dedicant Path, while still harboring this love for the Druid Revivalists and their modern spiritual offspring?

I’m open to thoughts and comments from members of any of these groups. What has your experience been like? What resonates about ADF, OBOD or AODA for you, and why do you lean towards one or the other? Or, do you pull from all three traditions? Tell me about your tree roots and Druid groups.

A Weiser Win, and a Welcome To New Readers

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This morning I received a sweet note in my Facebook inbox from “Ankhie”, the Weiser Books web guru. She wrote to inform me that my post, “In the beginning, there was Weiser…” was selected as the winner of the Weiser Books 100th Blog Post Challenge.

Ah, sweet victory. I do love it so…

🙂

In all seriousness, this was more than just a contest win for me. It was an affirmation that the writing I do, and have done for several years now, either here at Bishop In The Grove or at my former blog, The Epiphanic Oath, is worth reading. As much as I’m going to enjoy digging through the Weiser Conside Guides to Alchemy, Yoga for Magick, Herbal Magick, Practical Astrology and Aleister Crowley — and believe me, I will — I feel that this message from Weiser was the real prize.

So, if you’re new to this blog, have a look around. If you like what you read, subscribe to my feed. This site was created, primarily, to be a record of my progress through the Dedicant Year for Ár nDraíocht Féin, A Druid Fellowship, of which I am currently a member. There are entries about my personal experiences in mediation and ritual, as well as musings about what it means to be forging a path as a Pagan in today’s world. If you’re interested in reading more about the community building that I spoke of in my winning Weiser post, browse through the archives at The Epiphanic Oath. You’ll see the posts about Kissing The Limitless, as well as a whole host of entries on the Tarot with card illustrations by the terrifically talented artist, Robert Place.

You can contact me through the site, or feel free to visit my page on Facebook or Twitter. And, if you read something here that sparks your imagination, please post a comment of your own. I look forward to hearing new voices!

Peace to all who read these words!

Teo

A Beautiful Noise

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I experienced a kind of breakthrough this morning during my devotional. For the first time since I began this path of Our Druidry, I sang my liturgy.

It was a magnificent feeling.

I think the experience was so fresh, so powerful, because the sung liturgy the part of the Episcopal church service I cherished the most. As I mentioned before, I was an acolyte, and I loved the liturgy. Wholeheartedly. I knew the rises and falls of the melody, and was moved by them. I relished in them. I sang along beneath my breath. It never occurred to me before today that I could facilitate that sort of worship on my own.

I had just finished intoning the AWEN, and I was centered and still. I was listening, deeply. From the silence, I heard in my mind, “Sing to Arawn.”

(I’ve learned to follow these voices during worship, and not spend time inspecting them too closely. When you receive this sort of quiet direction, you take it.)

So I did, and the experience was, in so many ways, more natural for me than speaking the invocation has ever been.

The melodies were simple, and reminiscent of those sung back at church. To Arawn, my melody was deeper, fuller; something felt right in singing with a manly tone when calling him. To the Kindreds, I lifted the melody a few steps, and, being that I speak close to the same words for each of my three offerings, I did my best to use the same melody for each of the Three. To Brighid I sang with the most passionate tone, which was still simple in its form (the Priest is never to interject too much, as it is the simplicity and beauty of the voice paired with the meaning behind the words that creates the proper worship experience).

After making my offerings, I thrice intoned the AWEN, recalling “Amen” from church. However, while singing the word I remained conscious that the AWEN is a force, living and moving through me and the world – not simply a statement of closing (as one might use, “So Mote It Be”).

This integration of yet another tradition from the Christian experience of worship feels right to me. There are so many effective aspects to the Episcopal liturgy, and I see no reason why I shouldn’t integrate them into my Pagan experience. This mashup of religious expression is coming from a sincere place, and I believe sincerity to be the most important ingredient in one’s religious life.

So, as I am moved, I shall sing to the Kindreds. I shall lift up my voice in praise to the Gods and Goddesses, the Ancestors who have paved the way for me, and the Spirits that surround me in this great land. I shall make a beautiful noise in their honor, and they shall hear me.

On Meditation and Devotion: Weeks 10, 11, & 12

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March has been quite productive. Spring is definitely upon us!

Week 10

I’ve been working away from home for over half of the month, relying heavily on my portable altar for morning worship. I did not bring my tarot cards with me on my travels, which opened up space in my morning devotional that would normally be spent shuffling and reading. This allowed me to re-connect with the stillness, and place more of an emphasis on reaching out to the Kindreds.

On March 9th I wrote in my journal:

I spent more time in silence and stillness after making my offerings to the Kindreds. It felt good. For a moment, as I was trying to sense their presence, I thought I heard a bit of Irish music playing. I listened for a moment before my mind drifted….

Week 11

The first half of Week 11 was spent away from home, but I had acclimated to my hotel room. I rose each morning in complete darkness and went straight to the small coffee table I used to set up my altar. I started each devotional by atoning the AWEN and reading a series of prayers from the Pagan Ritual Prayer Book. These new additions to my practice felt very natural; a kind or re-connection to the religious tradition of my youth.

On March 12th, I was blessed with a deep experience of worship. I wrote:

This is the first morning in the last 3 that my meditation and worship was fully centered – fully heart-felt, and I attribute that to being done with my work for this trip. The last two days were fine; I made offerings and I held the space, but my mind drifted often, and I didn’t spend time in stillness or reflection. The offerings I made were sincere, though, as there has been an abundance of evidence of blessings in my life. The Kindreds are owed their due.

Today was special. My breath was deeper in, and my mind clear. I took my time speaking my words, paying close attention to direct them to each of the Kindred & to Brighid. I paused after each offering and thought, “Hail ___!”

Once my offerings had been made, I acknowledged how tremendous a week this has been. I spoke of the myriad of experiences and gave thanks that in all of them there was the presence of the Kindreds.

Filled with praise, I lifted up my hands and said, “HAIL” to each, recognizing them and their qualities and attributes. I also praised Arawn. Really praised Him.

Closing, I felt peace. Still do.

My religious tradition brings me so many good things. I am blessed. I am a warrior, and a seeker; a hope-filled bard who sees the world in vibrant color. My pen is my want and my voice is my Sacred Fire!

Week 12

This was a challenging week for me on account of a last minute trip, and a serious shortage of time spent with my husband. In addition, I had a rather poor experience at the Ostara ritual (which I wrote about here).

All this time I’ve been hoping that group ritual would satisfy a longing I had for religion and worship, but it was my solitary practice that brought me back into balance.

The following is a journal excerpt that elaborates on my my post-Ostara ritual experience :

Yesterday’s group ritual was a bust.

But today, alone in my sacred space, surrounded by the warmth and presence of the Great Kindreds, I experienced true worship. Heart open, mind centered, intention clear, I spoke words with sincerity, and in doing so I was welcomed into a great place – a place that felt both intensely close and eternally expansive. My mind’s eye saw the glow, and with my hands uplifted my entire self was whole in Their presence. I spoke a liturgy from the heart; the truest prayer. I spoke in my true voice.

 

I’m experiencing a true deepening of my personal, solitary practice. If it is ever meant to be matched with a rich, deep, group dynamic then so be it. If not, I feel enriched and strengthened by the power of worship and prayer… just me and the Three.

The Doing of the Details: Ostara 2011

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I’m a stickler for details.

As a kid, I was an acolyte. I had a wide range of responsibilities each Sunday. I lit the candles on either side of the altar, establishing the sacred space before service began. I stood beside the priest, assisting him in making preparations for the breaking of the bread. I chimed the bell at the appropriate moment in the liturgy, indicating a call to recognize an event of special importance within the narrative. And, I closed out the service by extinguishing the candles I had lit at the start. My action or stillness was all part of a great liturgical symphony; one that sounded out to me in a deep and resonant way.

The ritual was an act of service intended to facilitate, for all those present, a real, palpable, sensory experience of communion with the god we’d all come to worship. The details mattered because our spiritual lives mattered. Honor the details, and you honor our individual experiences of communion. Honor the details and, ultimately, you honor our god.

This childhood memory of a beloved weekly ritual stands in stark contrast to my experience of yesterday’s Ostara rite. Instead of feeling like I was taking part in something sacred, I felt as though I was simply standing on the periphery of a haphazard community theater performance; one in which the actors fall in and out of character, delivering their lines without conviction and with unconvincing accents, and seeming mostly disconnected and unaware of their audience.

So many things were missing; so many things didn’t come together. There was no attempt to create a group mind. There was no initial purification. The leader spent a great part of the ritual with a crying baby on his hip. There was no Omen on account of the divination tools having been left in the car. It all felt rather hodge-podge and thrown together; poorly planned and poorly executed.

I left feeling disheartened and disillusioned.

Worship must be more than role-play. I believe that effective group worship must be an engaging act that seeks to unite the people present in a common mind for a common purpose. The leaders must be teachers. They must be magicians. They must be priests. They must be open to the hearts and minds of all those present. And most importantly, they must be sincere.

This morning I woke up early, and I approached my altar. I stilled myself, and I lit my candles. I recited the words I’d chosen from the Pagan Ritual Prayer Book, and I cleared myself of all emotional, mental and spiritual impurities. I called on my Gatekeeper, Arawn, and with a contrite heart made offerings to the Kindreds and my Patron, Brighid. Then, from my most sincere place, I acknowledged the coming of the Spring, the frantic and explosive rebirth of life from death, and the multitude of blessings that are present all around me. In the process, I felt transported to another place. I felt surrounded by those Beings whom I came to honor. I felt, quite simply, the experience of Communion.

Once it was finished and the ritual done, I slowly and deliberately put out each flame. I whispered words beneath my breath. I payed attention to every detail.

On Meditation and Devotion: Weeks 7, 8, and 9

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Week 7

On the night after I wrote my last Meditation and Devotion post I became very sick. I’d just written how my daily practice had become a central part of my life, and then I was bedridden for days; unable to maintain my normal routine.

I lost about 3 days of meditation and devotion, and when I returned on February 12th, still a bit stoned from Nyquil, I felt completely shaken and unable to focus. I described it like this in my journal:

“…it felt as though there was a kind of hood over my inner eye. I felt like my inner vision was blocked off along the edges.”

The low energy and sinus pain continued on the following day, and things began to clear up on February 14th. That was also the day that I noticed that, as I put it,

“The trance-like intensity of my daily devotions and meditations has waned. Given, I am no longer in the thick of an intense creative process – or, at least, not the same creative process – but it is strange to me the way this is starting to feel ‘ordinary’.”

I was forced, due to the illness, to cancel a very important event in my life; what felt like, at the time, the culmination of much of the creative work I’ve done so far this year. On that day, February 16th, I was wrecked. I rushed through making offerings, drew cards but couldn’t see any meaning in them, and then closed the Hallows without offering thanks to Brighid and the Kindred. I was so upset that the illness had disrupted my life as it had.

Week 8

What brought me back into a pattern of meditation and devotion was the tarot. I put my focus on the spreads I’d lay after making my offerings, and those spreads began to show more sign that they were coming from the Kindred; they offered new insight, creating greater context for why I’d become ill and what I had to learn from the experience.

All of my entries during this week are heavy on the tarot interpretation. I focussed little on stillness in meditation, and went through the ritual of making offerings with a slight mechanical nature. The cards were my main focus, and they were what brought me back into an awareness of the mystery of this daily work.

Week 9

I reached a point where I was beginning to feel like my practice was solely a tarot practice, and not an extension of worship. I wrote on February 25th:

I’m having a difficult time starting this entry. I have a 3 card spread before me, and this is beginning to feel like a Tarot Journal rather than a journal to document my spiritual growth. Every day I perform my devotional ritual, and every day I sit down to draw cards. I ask the Kindred to guide my hands and send a message, and yet as I sit here now, staring at the cards, reading their interpretations in the DruidCraft book, I feel alone, and very much in my head. The rest of the experience feels spiritual, but trying to make sense of the cards launches me into a mental tailspin.

What is this time designed to do?

What had given me an entry way back into this daily time – the tarot – was now pulling me out of the moment.

I notice as I look back on the rest of the Week 9 entries that I’ve created a pattern of documenting my daily time. Each entry starts with 1 or 2 paragraphs of reflection. Then, usually somewhat abruptly, I write about the card reading. The rest of the entry is about the cards, and I don’t seem to spend much time contextualizing them or connecting them back to my initial reflection.

I tried that this morning, and I noticed that my mind went to a million different places. I think it is time for me to return to the DP material and search out techniques to control my mind. It’s time to bring more mental discipline into my practice.

Prose or Poetry?

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A question for all my fellow ADF’ers:

What if I prepared my Dedicant Path submissions on the High Days as poems instead of the traditional prose/academic model? I could still site references (which could be kinda cool, actually – my poems would have footnotes!), and it would allow me to engage with the assigned writing in a way that is familiar to me.

The idea occurred to me after writing my Imbolc post. While personally relevant and totally valid as a journal entry, I’m not sure it served as the type of High Day piece that’s required for the DP.

I could write the verses and post them shortly after each High Day (with the exception of Samhain and Yule, which I’ve already celebrated as an ADF member and could write in advance), like maybe within a week or so after.

Thoughts? Would you be more interested in a prose or poetry description of the High Days?

(If you’re in ADF and have some insight into what is an acceptable submission, please share your wisdom!)

History Waits… The Gods Call!

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I’ve been back and forth with a few books, uncertain of how exactly to commit to a book for my DP Indo-European book report. My first one (Jaan Puhvel’s Comparative Mythology) was a bust. The second on my list (In Search of the Indo-Europeans) was also text-book-dense. History was never my forte, and my getting older hasn’t changed that much.

Now, religion and philosophy? I can dig into some religion and philosophy.

I’m taking a momentary pause from the search for the perfect IE history book (keeping my copy of A History of Pagan Europe nearby) and taking on a fascinating book, A World Full of Gods: An Inquiry into Polytheism.

I wouldn’t consider the book a light read, but it is certainly more fitting to my temperament. Plus, as someone whose early years were spent worshiping and developing a religious identity in a monotheistic tradition, I feel the need to address the differences between a “one God” and “many gods” system head-on.

It may be a bit out of order for the DP calendar set forth in Rev. Dangler’s Wheel of the Year, but it feels right for me now.

A Question to My Readers: Integration

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My last post, Turning Over A Good Omen, received a thoughtful and sincere comment from Grey Wren, a blogger and new friend whose DP work I’ve enjoyed reading. (Pay her site a visit. She’s delightful.) Her words are on my mind this afternoon, and I’d like to share them with you.

She wrote:

I could use a little Princess of Wands blessing in my own creative work today. It’s one of *those* days. I’ve been so wrapped up in discussing my personal struggles with the Kindred that I’ve neglected my professional struggles.

I’m writing this post from work, which may have something to do with why her words are resonating for me!

But this theme has surfaced in other places, too. In a mailing list thread that’s been steadily growing over the past week, one ADF member, Karen, joined the dozen-ish other members in who responded to the question, “What were or are your hurdles with the Dedicant Program”.

She wrote:

I’m finding my biggest hurdle is remaining constant in my studies and practices through the ebbs and flows of my mundane life.

Karen and Grey Wren are not alone. I think many of us feel this way, whether we’re working our way through a structured program, like the Dedicant Path, or building a spiritual discipline from scratch.

I pose this question to my readers, regardless of your spiritual tradition and practice (and there are a good 60 of you who are regulars to the site, so don’t be shy – speak up):

How do you integrate your spiritual practice into your ordinary life? What tips could you give someone who is struggling with this challenge?

The first steps on a full, red moon

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Tonight is the Full Moon… and Yule… and a Lunar Eclipse…

All at the same time. How’s that for cosmic coincidence?

Tonight is also the night I take my first steps on a new path: the ADF Dedicant Path.

Thinking back to the preparations I’ve made over the past few weeks, it occurs to me that my first act an ADF Dedicant is called to perform – the First Oath – has already been written. I don’t think I realized that’s what it was when I was writing it. But, the words which came to me just before Samhain – words that speak to a lone seeker, standing underneath the moonlit sky, feet planted in the native soil, crying out to the night for a fire to be lit in his soul — if that isn’t an Oath, I’m not sure I know what is.

To sing this song is to remember that I am on this path, and that the Light which I seek is already burning within me. This light sustains me in the darkness, and is the source of my inspiration, the spark of wisdom gained and the promise of Divine guidance and love.

Tonight, in a little over an hour, I will walk outside, stand beneath a red moon, and declare to the unseen forces that guide my life that I honor them, I am committed to learned the Old Ways of worship and devotion to them, and I seek to live a life in service to the world using the gifts they have given me to the best of my ability.

I am a Pagan. I seek to live a virtuous, pious, studious life that connects me to the world, to my heart and mind, and to The Shining Ones, The Ancestors and the Nature Spirits.

So let it be.