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Pre-Pantheacon Packing Jitters

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I haven’t packed.

I have piles of things scattered around my office, and none of them are in any order.

Pantheacon starts tomorrow — tomorrow!! — and I haven’t packed.

In part, I’ve been slow to lay out all of the necessities because this trip is not just a weekend trip for me. I’ll be in San Jose for Pantheacon from Friday through Monday afternoon, attending workshops, giving a few workshops, and doing my best so write! write! write! Then, on Monday afternoon I leave for Los Angeles. I’ll be in LA until the very end of February.

So, packing for this P’Con is a little more complicated for me.

Here’s a short list of things I’m bringing:

1. Ribbons

Druid Ribbon Image

If you haven’t been to Pantheacon, you might now know about this crazy P’Con tradition. People give out ribbons. It’s a thing. People attach the ribbons to their attendee badge, and by the end of the weekend you’ll see badges with 30 ribbons on them. It’s zany, and I’m totally participating in the tradition this year with my Solitary Druid Fellowship/The Druids Are Coming combo ribbon.

2. Faithiest

BITG Book Club

Somehow in the midst of an insane Pagan conference and two weeks of songwriting (which I’ll be documenting on my music blog, #allofthesongs), I need to finish this book. I’m either going to be regimented and read a certain number of pages at a time (unlikely), or I’ll cram it one night when the fairy dust settles (probably).

Either way, this book is going to be read in the next two weeks, and we’re going to start talking about it on March 1.

Rain or shine.

I’m like the postman up in here (except on Saturdays).

3. Knitting supplies and my beret

photo 1

You can’t plan on knitting while walking without having some sort of wrist-bag, right?

Yes. I made a wrist bag.

I am a Golden Girl.

I intend to wind a few balls of yarn to take with me on the trip with the intention of knitting some prayer squares. Prayer squares are smaller versions of prayer shawls or prayer cloths. I recently made a prayer cloth for my grandmother, who’s sister is in hospice. It was meant to help remind her that she is loved, and to provide her with comfort during this challenging time.

But you can make them for anything. You can knit up a little square for any reason — to encourage someone, to give someone strength, to inspire them to creativity — bless it, and then give it as a gift.

I’m hoping to finish a few while I’m traveling, and I’m thinking about inviting the Fellowship to join in some sort of creative work around the creation of prayer squares. That’d be cool, right?

Presentation Announcement 3

This beret is a new edition to the wardrobe, and I’ll be sporting it throughout the conference. I love how it turned out, and so did one reader of Bishop In The Grove. He’s commissioned me to make one for him! It’s my first paid knitting gig!

(And do you like the SDF patch? I had a local embroidery artist make that up for me so that I could represent the solitaries of the Fellowship!)

There will likely be a lot more on my packing list before the day is out, but this is a start. I will do my best to blog here throughout the next few weeks, but if this site goes a little silent please don’t worry. Check #allofthesongs or follow my happenings on my Facebook profile or Matt Morris page. I’ll be around and busy! busy! busy!

My love to you all!

Teo

The Stuff of Posts, The Stuff of Songs.

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writing

I keep three blogs now.

Three.

This means that I’m either always writing or always thinking about writing. My life becomes the stuff of posts, sometimes the stuff of songs. The medium, with its requirements of regularity and consistency, force me to see stories in my life and lay those stories down in text.

When I started this blog, it was my experiences with Druidry that were the meat of my writing. Discovering Druidry was the focus, and unpacking the questions provided countless opportunities to write. What does it mean? How is it relevant? Why? Why?

If I didn’t have anything to write, I probably wasn’t investing enough in my own spiritual work. That’s how I saw it. Writer’s block? Do ritual, read something, dig deeper.

But now with these three blogs — BITG, the Solitary Druid Fellowship blog, and the newest, #allofthesongs — my writing is broken into very different themes.

The SDF blog is an extension of service. I write there, or I organize the writing of others, in order to provide solitaries the opportunity to reflect on the meaning of solitude in their lives. A deeper engagement with solitude is a primary goal of the Fellowship, and this blog encourages that with each new post.

#allofthesongs is my foray back into music. It is the blog I created to give me a place to write about music — my music — and to process what it means to be a songwriter and performer. Many of the readers of this new blog come with the hopes of hearing about famous people, but the fans who’ve been following my career for the longest seem to appreciate the candidness with which I write about my creative process. Transparency is rare in the entertainment world.

But this blog, my First and Foremost, has alluded me lately. This was the place I created to ask questions about my spiritual path, and I’m not sure how to ask those questions right now. My journey into leadership with SDF and the Solitary SIG (a sub-group of ADF for solitaries) has made the asking of questions seem less timely or appropriate. Inquiry for inquiry’s sake might seem confusing to those who are looking to me for direction.

At least, that’s how it feels at times.

Inquiry is so important, though. Asking ourselves why we’re doing the things we’re doing opens up the possibility for new awareness. Our growth is dependent upon our occasional disassembling of our preconceptions and our assumptions. We have to keep asking questions or things get stale. The soil gets hard. Nothing can penetrate it.

Perhaps this is a natural thing to be thinking as we inch closer to the spring. There are eight High Days in my tradition, but sometimes I think it would be better if we recognized the seasons between them instead. These are the days we’re living. These are the days that require context. This season of Imbolc could be filled with inquiries into what it means to me making our way to a place of planting. This time could become a time of closer inspection of what is in our pantry (the one inside) to see what remains after the winter. We could use this time to reevaluate where we are, and to make plans about where we’d like to be when the sun returns.

I think I’d like to bring some synchronicity to these three blogs I keep. The post I wrote on #allofthesongs today is one that could have easily been on this blog, and this a post could have — with a little more focus on practice and solitude — been on SolitaryDruid.org. Maybe that’s the key to managing all of this creative work; to see how the various parts of myself are not actually so separate, and to allow them to become more integrated.

Perhaps this is a season of bringing things together.

The Road Ahead: Being Matt Morris Again

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As many of you know, I have two names. There is the name you know me by, Teo Bishop; a name which I chose for myself several years back, and one that I took as my legal name last year. There is also the name which I’ve performed under for most of my life, Matt Morris.

I wrote the following post on my Matt Morris fan page a few days before New Year’s:

Matt Morris in Austin

This year, I got to write with Sarah McLachlan, Greyson Chance, Michael Franti, Joe King, & a whole host of amazing producers. Mary J. Blige cut one of my songs, and so did Cher.

All in all, I’d say that makes for a pretty good year of songwriting.

But being in [Ryan] Tedder’s studio did something to me. There was a moment today when I could see myself writing and recording for *me* again. It was the first time that’s happened in while.

I’m not one for New Year’s resolutions in any strict sense. But I do think that music – my music – may end up playing a more central role in my life in 2013.

This was a revelation. I’m going to do music in 2013, I realized.

Honestly, just writing these words makes my stomach knot up a bit.

Making music was all I did for the longest time. All of my 20’s were devoted to it. Only in the past few years have I allowed myself to explore another creative avenue, blogging, and that has led to wonderful growth and exploration in my personal life.

For one, I managed to get the Solitary Druid Fellowship up and running, and that project is moving forward wonderfully. I’m writing liturgies, crafting prayers and devotionals (which will be up on the site very soon), and I’m living out the kind of ministry that I wrote about so long ago:

Fire, in my imagination, resides primarily in the heart.

Ministry, as I understand it, is the act of nurturing that fire, both in yourself and in others. One who ministers is one who keeps the fire burning, or who teaches others the skills needed for this internal fire tending.

This blog has also been a commitment to my spiritual growth. Bishop In The Grove started out in 2010 as the blog of a student, and it continues to be that on a much bigger scale. Now my religious tradition, my life experience, and my readership are my teachers.

These spiritual projects mean so much to me, and I see them continuing to grow and evolve throughout 2013.

But music? How will making music – my music – fit into that picture? Should it be a “spiritual project” as well?

I’m not totally sure how to answer that question.

The Path, by Cornelia Kopp

The Path, by Cornelia Kopp

Someone suggested I make “Pagan music.” I tried that last year, and I’m not sure it’s the right way for me to go. I never felt right about making “Christian music” when I was a Christian, after all. I think it’s because I think of music, when it’s done well, as a vehicle for uniting people. It’s bigger than any one tradition, any one religion. And (pointing to my own proclivity for Universalism), I respond to music that approches something true about the human condition.

The music I make, or perhaps the music I’d like to make, is music that can be listened to by people of many different backgrounds. I’d like to write – to sing – beyond the boundaries of my current identity, my chosen tradition. I’d like to be bigger than I think I’m capable, and by doing so expand the reach of the sound into new, unexpected corners of the world.

(I haven’t thought these kinds of thoughts in a long time.)

I’m also thinking that I’d like to have my music be simpler than it’s been in the past. I’d like to make it accessible, and beautiful. I’d like it to be singable, and memorable. I’d like to write songs that I enjoy singing, that are comfortable and also challenging.

And, I should probably find a way to incorporate this music making into my daily practice. (Hmm… *twirls mustache*)

I’ve learned a lot about my readership over the past few years, but we haven’t talked much about music. Perhaps that should change.

As I look at being Matt Morris again, I wonder:

What does music mean to you? How is it a part of your life? Are you a connoisseur, or an occasional listener? Do you create music yourself, or have you always wanted to?

Is music a part of your spiritual practice? If so, how?

Tell me —

How do you do music?

My Pagan Yule Sounded A Lot Like Christmas

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Pagans sang Christmas carols at the Yule ritual, and it totally caught me off guard.

The song sheets handed out to the attendees contained three classic, Christian favorites, re-written with Pagan, mostly Wiccan-themed lyrics. We Three Kings, Away in a Manger, and God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen were retitled and reworked as Moon of Silver, Away From The Harvest, and God Rest Ye Merry Paganfolk, respectively.

Perhaps Pagan re-adaptations of Christian hymns are not big news to my readership, but I was completely taken aback. Shocked, even. After all of this discussion about needing to keep Pagan traditions distinct from Christian traditions, and hearing Pagans emphasize the importance of defining ourselves outside of the Christian paradigm, it seemed bizarre–almost absurd–to hear Pagans sing these melodies as though there was no Christianity attached to them.

When I lived in Nashville, the Christian Contemporary Music (CCM) capital of the nation, there was nothing that made my skin crawl more than to hear a Christian band assume a style, a look, or sometimes an entire genre of music that had been originated in the secular, “non-Christian” world. The tactic was rampant in the CCM industry. It happened all the time.

If a secular rock band topped the charts with a new, unique sound, you could bet good money that there would be a Christian look-alike band performing a similar song within six months. But their song would be sprinkled with Christian theology and dogma. Instead of being in love with a lady, for example, the singer would be in love with the Lord. Or, there would be a subtle mention of salvation, or heaven, or how great it felt to be saved.

No matter how well styled the recordings were, the songs ended up sounding, to me (a liberal, Episcopalian Christian at the time), like little more than generic-brand, Christian propaganda. It bothered me to think that my fellow Christians, by and large, were not producing music that would stand up on its own, while at the same time being theologically relevant. So, Christian or not, I preferred to listen to the music of an original sinner over a saved sinner rip-off.

With all that in mind, imagine how strange it felt to stand within a circle of Pagans, candles in hand, incense burning in the cauldron, and to hear everyone sing, to the tune of We Three Kings,

Maiden, Mother, Ancient Crone

Queen of Heaven on your throne,

Praise we sing Thee, Love we bring Thee

For all that you have shown.

It was like Nashville all over again.

The CCM performers lacked a genuine, authentic, artistic identity; something which made them distinct, gave credence to their message, and was thoroughly memorable. After my experience at the Yule ritual, I question whether Pagans are experiencing a similar absence of definitive and relevant identity.

If we are not clear about what we are, on what we believe, and on how those beliefs inform our actions, we borrow. We borrow because it’s easier than doing the hard, creative, introspective work. We borrow We Three Kings instead of actually writing Maiden, Mother, Ancient Crone. We borrow instead of innovating.

But if we don’t have enough fire and passion for our religious traditions to create something new, to fashion something from nothing in order to express exactly what it is that we’ve encountered in the quietest, darkest, deepest recesses of our soul, then why are we doing this? Have we encountered something worth writing a new melody for? Or, are we just performing ritual theater? Are we just engaged in religion role-play?

I need something more than that.

Pagans can make a different choice than the CCM artists did. We can take the spiritual, ecstatic experiences and encounters with nature, with our Gods, Goddesses, Spirits and Ancestors, and channel those experiences into new, thoroughly original and relevant songs — songs that don’t sound like Medieval dirges or Protestant hymns — and breathe some much-needed life into Pagan ritual, Pagan worship, and Pagan celebration.

Religion can lead to beautiful, brilliant art. If it isn’t doing that, there’s reason to pause and take a closer look at what the religion is truly offering its adherents. The creation of art is, after all, very much connected to the experience of worship and unity with the Sacred. The two are closely related.

Are our traditions inspiring us to create? To sing out loud? To rejoice at being alive? If the answer is “no,” or if we are in any way ambivalent, what does that mean for the future of Paganism? And, what can we do to ignite a creative fire within our circles and groves?