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I Was Not Ashamed at Pagan Pride

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A year ago I wrote about feeling ashamed at Pagan Pride.

The circle was to blame, I stated.

On Saturday, to my surprise, I found myself standing in a circle at another Pagan Pride, but this time I was helping to facilitate ritual. I was “West,” to be specific.

I stood in a circle, one that, when uncast, would close out the Salem Pagan Pride Day festivities, and — thankfully — I did not feel ashamed. (In fact, I can scarcely remember feeling so affected by the experience last year.) Instead I felt like I was participating in a community gathering that meant a great deal to this group of people.

I felt humbled, I think.

cieciel10_ Crochet Circle

Standing across the circle from me was a young girl, perhaps in her mid-teens, and I swear to you she was so present in that circle. When everyone turned from direction to direction, thanking the elements (which is a part of OBOD ritual but very much not a part of ADF ritual), this young girl put her whole body into giving thanks. She was participating in the theater of the event in a way that reminded me of the most pious Christians in church, genuflecting before moving through the pew and bowing their heads as the cross made its way to the altar.

This girl was doing her religion hard.

And I found that heartwarming.

It wasn’t my experience, though. I stood amidst a few OBOD members, all students of the Bardic grade, and a smattering of eclectic Pagans and I had no clear idea of what all this meant to me in a religious or spiritual sense. But looking at that girl reminded me of myself at some other point in my life. It reminded me that there was a time when I participated fully in my religion; eyes closed, hands clenched or opened wide to the sky, heart full of wonder, or mystery, or gratitude.

That was me once.

And it could be me again.

This girl gave me hope, which was something I hadn’t expected to feel when I went to the Salem Pagan Pride day event. I went with as few expectations as I could, and I was resolute not to pick aspect the event as I had last year.

Showing how something is flawed is not necessarily a constructive act, nor is it always the kindest thing to do. I’m working on being more kind.

Last year I was genuinely affected by the circle but this year it seemed benign. I wonder how much my experience in Denver was characterized by my belonging to ADF and my adoption of ADF’s ritual practice.

The Druid Fellowship is not anti-Wiccan in any way, but it does a great deal to make clear how the two trads are different. There’s a pamphlet passed out at most ADF festival booths which explains the distinctions (how ADF does not cast circle, how it sees the gods as distinct beings rather then emanations of the God or Goddess, etc.). The organization isn’t hateful toward Wicca in any way, but there was always the sense that it was important to identity how ADF Druidry, unlike OBOD, works hard to remain distinct from that tradition.

OBOD’s approach to Druidry is much more similar to Wicca, and as I consider starting up with my Bardic studies again — perhaps even working my way through the Ovate and Druid grades — I have to reconcile that this “simple shape” which “introduces our early minds to geometry, to symmetry, to physical and social design,” and that was held to blame for my feelings of shame last year might end up becoming a bigger part of life.

/enter_humility

natura_pagana - Humility

I have a lot to learn. I feel like a beginner again, like I haven’t spent the past two and a half years being some kind of Druid. As I make introductions into the Pagan community here in the Willamette Valley, I have to soften my edges a bit. The ways in which I’ve been hard and jagged no longer serve me, and I don’t think they’re all that helpful in the process of community building (however gingerly I approach that process).

So I’m considering the circle again. I’m asking it to forgive me for being so harsh before. I may have used it to make a point about othering in a way that was unfair to the event organizers. When I said the casting of circle turned us Pagans into The Church I was taking too big a leap. Clearly others thought so, too.

This is my 200th post on Bishop in the Grove, and yet it could just as easily be my first. I am still a beginner, and about that I am not in any way ashamed.

 

Photos by cieciel10 & Diego da Silva

The Continued Relevance of Compassion

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This has been quite a week.

I made the choice to leave ADF. I handed over the Fellowship to an amazing person, Kristin McFarland. I left home for Los Angeles to meet Cher and write songs with a bunch of starry-eyed kids.

It’s been surreal.

Then, at the end of the week, after rushing to put together the most meaningful Solstice piece I could for HuffPost Religion, I got hit with a damning comment and it all fell to pieces. One little comment was all it took to make me feel small, and profoundly vulnerable.

I’d just written these words:

“I hold up to the sun the challenges I face in my own life; my uncertainty, my doubt, my fear, my insecurity, my righteousness, my judgment, and my shame. All those parts of me which have remained unexamined, undesired or unwanted, I hold them up to the sun.”

Then, almost immediately after the post went life, these words appeared:

 HuffPost Comment

I read this comment and I nearly forgot about the sun altogether, and the Solstice, and my sense of centeredness. All of those challenges I wrote about were staring me straight in the face, and I had a choice to make.

Was I going to offer this up to the sun, to the gods of my heart, or to that magnanimous mystery that a friend of mine calls the Is-ness? Was I going to allow this be transformed?

Nope.

I didn’t do that.

I turned to Facebook.

I asked my friends to flag this comment as abusive in order that it be taken down by the HuffPost comment police. They complied, and the comment was removed.

But I think I might have missed an opportunity here.

This voice, spouting this ALL CAPS ANGER in my direction, could have served as a teacher for me, if I’d have given her the chance. Not a teacher of theology, or of religion, or of the “real”, “right” way of doing things; no, a teacher in how to practice compassion toward even the most mean-spirited person.

I had a chance to practice what it feels like to stand in my center, to remember who I am, and to respond with kindness.

But I didn’t do that.

Broken Glass

I’m not mad at myself for tattling on this commenter. Being mad wouldn’t serve much good. I just recognize that I have some more work to do. It’s easy to practice your kindness-speak on an audience of comrades. People thrust forward their Likes and RT’s, and you get to feeling pretty good about yourself.

The real test on whether your message is legit comes when you’re forced to stand before someone who doesn’t give a damn about you.

What then? Who will you be in that moment?

I keep coming back to this sense that forgiveness is important. Crucial. I hear this voice in my head that says,

“Forgive yourself. Just forgive yourself.”

Funny that it isn’t saying to forgive the other person, isn’t it?

Forgiving myself allowed me to forgive her. Once forgiveness starts, it spreads. Now I’m no longer angry at bazooms22. I don’t feel affected anymore.

I remember where my center is.

Then, unexpectedly, a feeling of gratitude starts bubbling up.

I’m kind of glad this person was an asshole. I’m grateful that I had the opportunity to respond like a child, because it reminded me of the ways in which I am still very much a child. The fear, insecurity, and shame that exists in me is the same that exists in her, too. She held up a mirror and said, this is what fear looks like.

I felt the fear, then I let it move me to action, initiating a series of events which led me back around to around center.

It was a gift, really.

Sometimes we get lifted up and celebrated, and I don’t think those are the times when we are offered the greatest lessons. It’s when we’re humbled by the world that we are reminded of the things that really matter:

Our own capacity to forgive.

The meaning of fortitude of spirit.

The continued relevance of compassion.

 

Since When Were Will and Grace Pagan?

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On the last day of the Eight Winds Festival, an hour or so before heading to the airport, I sat around the fire with my fellow ADF members and participated in a discussion with the Senior Priests about the future of ADF’s Dedicant Path (DP). For those not involved with the organization, the DP is a means of introducing people to ADF’s cosmology, philosophy and common ritual format, and it is the first step in a course of study that can eventually lead to priesthood.

There was a moment in the conversation when Ian Corrigan said that his was a religion of will, not of grace. Now, for those of you who read that sentence and drifted away to sitcom-land, come back to us — he was not talking about Will and Grace. He was saying — I believe — that will, the ability to direct, or at the very least, affect one’s own fate, reality, or circumstance, is more important — more central to his worldview — than grace, which he seemed to connect to a theology of sin and redemption, being fallen and needing to be redeemed.

Something about the idea of a religion that was all will and no grace sat wrong with me.

Grace, I think, is best understood from the human perspective. Getting inside the mind of the gods — especially if you understand them to be in possession of distinct consciousnesses — is no simple matter. Some say it’s impossible; a feat only a fool would attempt. The mind of the human, however, is something we all possess, so perhaps it is better to begin any theological discussion by first looking at how the theological concept influences, or is influenced by, being human.

From the perspective of this mortal man, I see grace as a process of surrendering to all which one does not have control over. As powerful a mage as you may become through your religious work, I don’t believe one can control everything. Your will, after all, is not the only will. I do not see one needing to connect grace to a particular theology, or to a single deity, in order for it to have relevance. An atheist, for example, might experience grace by remembering and recognizing that they fit within a greater, more complicated, more interconnected ecosystem. Grace occurs in conjunction with that kind of humility.

I’m still piecing this together for myself, but I think my religion might better understood as a relationship between one’s will and one’s openness to grace. Perhaps I’m attempting to strike the balance between the two in order to discover and negotiate my place within the cosmos. Perhaps thinking that my entire life is simply a product of my will alone is more pressure that I’m willing to accept. I don’t know.

These thoughts come up at the close of my Indiegogo Campaign, an attempt at raising funds for an EP of Pagan-centric music, which did not succeed. I’m close-examining my will, my intentions behind this project, and holding all of that up against the idea of grace. Perhaps one might encourage me at this moment to uncover the ways in which my will was not clearly executed, but I’m choosing not to do that. Rather, I’m attempting acceptance, surrender, and humility. I’m taking a moment to be soft with myself, and to remember that there are lessons to be learned in every situation, even when the outcome was not in line with one’s will.

Let me take this opportunity to thank all of the 75 people who contributed to the campaign, whether publicly or anonymously. You gave generously, you shared many words of encouragement, and your contribution and support will not be forgotten.

Thank you to:

David Salisbury, alan928, Lori Davies, Rowan Pendragon, ibyogi, handheldmgmt, gaiascolours, Rob Henderson, dennisray62, dottiemoore1, Pamela Jones, carmiac, Mary Davis, tis.caitlin, Brann Armstrong, Snowcrashak, Jhenah Telyndru, mzlott, jeffharrison, Valerie LaVay, David Dashifen Kees, karenfox1, kkimminau, starling.foster, bard3, John Halstead, naomijacobs10, davidhughes123, T Thorn Coyle, jaimelws, Stephanie Gunn, slleedodger313, jesse.stommel, themon, kairamoon, birchtreenymph, btmanassa, stevestaj, Elizabeth Abbott, prophat77, leonaoigheag, celticphoenix03, thedrewbrody, negelhoff, Jason Hatter, contribute1341274389, knottydragon, druidbetula, dandelionlady, Ellie Smith, Brendan Myers, Krisdrickey, Michael Smith, druidkirk, jtel99, Ivo Dominguez, libradragonmo, Ashtore Ash, icatsnitram, nancy.batty, hernesman, Brenda.titus, Urban Haas, vegaspipistrelle, vheiderich

May your own will bring the changes you wish to see. And when it does not, may you come to know grace in a way that softens your heart.