Questions and Answers

1.How would you explain your path to someone else with no knowledge of it? (please include the name of your path or paths)

Animism? Shamanism? I don't really have a name for my path. Among other people I have always referred to my path as "Free Agent of the Universe"--that is, I am on a path, I do recognize universal power, but how I relate to it is always subject to change and evolve. Then if there are any questions, I'll carefully get into details. I dedicate some time each day to wandering in nature with my dog. Speaking of dogs, I volunteer at an animal shelter, as I feel this is an essential part of me. I also tutor in a variety of areas, from the Pagan Way to history--passing on knowledge.

2.How is your path expressed in practice?

While I don't make a big outward show of my faith, I am aware that I am a walking ambassador not only for my faith but for the beliefs of so many good people out of the mainstream. I try to be a kind, compassionate, warm emissary in my daily life.

3.How do you know if your practice is successful?

I feel calm, at peace, and quietly happy.

4.Why have you chosen the particular path you are following?

I don't think I consciously chose it. I also don't believe I'm following anything so much as blazing a new path.

5.What is your experience of otherworld beings? (e.g. gods, wights, or other entities) Could you give some examples.

I have experienced otherworld beings, but I also realize that my experience is mine and may not bear any similarity to the experiences of others. I feel a constant presence, an energy that guides me and helps me make choices.

6.How do you see your relationship with them?

If I leave myself open and welcoming to them—knowing rather than believing—they will be here for me when I need them. I give them trust and they give me guidance.

7.How does your path relate to other areas of your life?

My path is a part of my life as a whole. It’s so thoroughly a part of who I am that it pervades my life and keeps me full of love and hope.

8.How do you see the relationship of life and death?

Life and death are two man-made words to describe an eternal continuum. Life and death aren’t polar opposites, for in death there is also life. Death is only the release from the fleshy shell.

9.How do you see time?

"Time" is a human yardstick. I don’t believe in one timeline. I do envision time as a spiral rather than as an arrow pointing in one direction.

10.How do you handle ideas of good and evil?

Good and evil are relative terms and should be defined on an individual basis. I don’t have concrete definitions as what is called good eventually turns evil and evil becomes good. They’re also changing concepts. What is evil today might be good next year.

11.How do you view different spaces and objects in your practice or experience? (e.g. circles, hearths, groves; wands, mead-horn, cup, plastic, wood, metal, clothing)

Certain places and items have resonated as being especially suited to me and my faith, but for me nothing is fixed. I look to my otherworld guides for a feeling of what is right at any given moment.

12.How do you feel about other religions?

Everyone has the right believe what they want so long as it doesn’t infringe on the rights of others. In other words, stay out of my face and I’ll stay out of yours.

13.How do you feel about science?

I agree with the Dalai Lama in that science and spirituality are essentially the same thing with two different methods.

14.How do you feel modern Paganisms relate to ancient paganisms?

Personally I don’t try to reach back to the practices of my ancestors. If I am following a certain path now, that path as it may have existed in the past exists in that moment. But I do enjoy researching ancient ways.

Damsel In Distress? Like Hell!

This has mystified me since I reached an age where chivalry and bravado and coming to the rescue as a romantic gesture began to make a little sense. For some reason beyond my ken, I inspire feelings of protectiveness and downright knightly behavior on the part of the men who come into my life. The women, too, but I'm not getting into that right now.

Now come on. I've always been able to stand up for myself whatever the circumstances. I'm no shy, fearful, retiring little flower in need of masculine (or feminine) brawn to shelter me from the icy rain pellets of a big bad world. Shit happens, wise people have said. The art of life is not to avoid shit happening, but rather to navigate through said shit and come out the other side stronger and wiser for the experience. Let me add one more step--AND THEN MOVE ON!

Look, I grieve like most other human beings. I get hurt, and I need time to get over and past the hurt. But my driving philosophy is to move on, whatever the circumstances. At this point in my life (I'll be 39 this year) I've been through enough heartbreak, sickness, and bereavement to know for a fact that life continues on the other side. Through experience I've learned to let go of pain. I hold on to what was good in any situation, bear no grudges, and take the whole as a new building block for the pyramid that is life.

So I've even had guys online coming to my defense, or something to that effect. And you know, I'm grateful to have instilled such love and loyalty in said people. But relax! Things are good for me. I'm not dwelling on what's finished and I don't regret anything I've done. Don't feel the need to rescue this damsel in distress. Why not climb up the tower so we can all celebrate what is basically an exciting and amazing life?

Witchery Way

Pick up the skin of the wolf and feel yourself pouring in to fill its sleek contours. 

The fires in the distance dance with abandon, teasing the swift winds that sail through the air. 

Fire and air and sand and animal are all one at this place, this time, this hour. 

Tip just a bit of that powder of gila monster and cactus pear into the tea. 

Do the stars cling to you, clothing you as if by some mystical fabric? 

Reach out and embrace. Fear none. 

Throw yourself from the cliffs of the known and certain into the bliss gravity of the free fall. 

Let the wind lift you and guide you. 

Lose yourself to the celestial moment. 

It is done.

Hera Unveiled

You've probably met Hera (known to the Romans as Juno) before, perhaps on your own or in a high school classical mythology unit. You probably know her as the nagging, shrewish wife of Zeus (Jupiter), the king of the gods and great lord of Olympus. But did you know that back in the mists of the ancient world, Hera was a Great Mother figure of the eastern Mediterranean region, a sky goddess beloved by millions in her own right as Queen of the Heavens? The jump from sovereign female to screeching grudge-holder takes some imagination to visualize, but over a few centuries Hera was so demoted. How, why, and what of the Hera that came before the arrival of Zeus?

Restoring Hera to her rightful place as a Great Mother Goddess is not a work of feminist revisionist history. Clues from the ancient world reveal the true Hera. The ruins of Hera's temple at Olympia remain beautiful and elegant, reflecting a love for a magnificent and inspirational goddess. The signs of Hera as she is portrayed in literature are lacking. Where is the ruthless and envious character that gives Zeus nothing but grief in Hellenic lore?

Maybe you have heard about Io, the beautiful woman in Hellenic lore that Zeus happened to notice as he was searching the world for a new romantic conquest. In return for the great honor of Zeus' lust, Io stood helpless as Zeus changed her into a heifer. This way, so Zeus believed, the king of the Olympians could deny the charge of infidelity leveled at him by his spiteful and jealous wife, Hera. As wise as she was angry, Hera demanded that Zeus give her the heifer as a token of his affections. Zeus could do nothing to protect the animal that had been the woman who had been his lover. At first Hera kept the heifer tied up in her own sanctuary. Later, Hera sent the notorious gadfly to continuously bite and irritate Io.

This tale isn't favorable for the innocent Io, but it is even more damaging to the character of Hera. She is best known as the wife of Zeus (or Juno to the Roman Jupiter), but when Hera is unveiled she becomes a great and ancient mother goddess, much beloved by her people.

The story of Io is a good example of how the tribes dedicated to the Sky Father grafted their own lore onto the pre-existing religious structures that existed wherever they invaded. On the Island of Argos the people worshipped Hera. "Hera" is not a name but a title, meaning "Our Lady." The Argives saw Hera as "cow-eyed," which culturally indicated her close association with the moon and making rain. Io was an Argive priestess-princess who led the people in public dances intended to ask for rain.

But this is not the version that has survived to modern times. Because the indigenous devotion to Hera remained strong, the tribes of Zeus joined the two deities in a marriage of convenience. The result was the jealous and wrathful Hera of the Hellenic age.

Hera never wanted anything to do with Zeus. She certainly never wanted to marry him. However, Zeus desired the majestic sky goddess with all that he was. He knew that Hera had a special fondness for a certain bird, the cuckoo, and he knew he could count on her compassionate nature. With this in mind, Zeus transformed himself into a disheveled cuckoo and flew into Hera's lap for sympathy. The kind Hera took pity on the bird. Her shock knew no boundaries when she suddenly found herself being raped by Zeus. Humiliated, Hera needed to restore her honor by marrying Zeus. This tale is likely a metaphor for the way in which Hera's people were conquered by the tribes of Zeus. Hera's later angry behavior towards her husband indicates the indignation of her people.

Let's look at Hera as she originally was, a beneficent sky mother holding her own among celestial powers. As mentioned before, "Hera" was a title and not a proper name. What Hera's original name was is lost to history. Hera reigned in beauty as queen of the earth and the heavens and human beings. She was kind to all, but favored women and female sexuality.

Hera began as a triple goddess. In her maiden form she was Pais, childless and free from responsibilities. She symbolized blossoming youth. Her middle form was called Teleia and presented her as a mother in the prime of life. In her third form she grew into Chera, the crone who has passed through motherhood to return to herself.

We might think the original Olympics were ancient. But the Heraea was an old festival that predated the Olympic games. These were athletics for women held in Hera's honor. Women of Argos would gather to compete in foot races. The competitors were divided into three age groups to mirror Hera's triple nature. Winners were given the great honor of leaving statuettes of themselves in Hera's main shrine.

This is almost the converse of the Olympic games. At Olympia, not only were women forbidden from competing, women could not even be spectators. In fact, any woman who tried to transgress these hard rules would be slaughtered. It can be deduced that the importance of the divine feminine had been greatly diminished by the time of the arrival of the ancient Olympics.

Another celebration observed Hera as the sovereign over death and rebirth. A statue of Hera would be carried down to the water to be cleansed in a symbolic renewal. Hera was both autumn and spring, death and life, and to worship her was to continue the eternal cycle.

Hera was by no means the only goddess so demoted. This trend can be found in Europe as well as on other continents. In many cases, such as the instances of Lilith and Tiamat, the goddess was simply demonized. She who was not demonized might have been turned into a monster like the Gorgon. In the Celtic world goddesses were assimilated into Christianity as new saints.

The Sanctity of Laughter

A funny thing happened at my high school reunion.

With great Pagan panache, I appeared in a purple gown cut along the lines of a classical Greek robe. I wore what I call my Pagan bling bling, a pentagram about the diameter of a Big Gulp cup sprinkled with amethyst chips. After all, I had no reason to disguise what I was under a cloak of the mundane. These were people who had known me back when I was a caterpillar. Now I was a caterpillar with wings.

Anyway, I got a drink of Generic Punch X and went to join a cluster of people. It took twenty seconds for the question to hit. "When did you convert?"

Once I figured out he was talking to me, I tried making the most vacuous face I possibly could. "Convert?"

"Yeah. To Judaism." Politely he motioned to my above-mentioned bling bling. "That's a pretty Star of David you've got."

This wasn't the first time. I mean I understand how a star is a star unless you know that there's a vital difference. Maybe other Pagans would take this opportunity to expound upon the ancient history of the pentagram, continuing long after any interest has waned. I didn't. "It's a symbol of natural religion," I said by way of clarification. That seemed to be enough. The evening went on and I discovered that all of the ritual work in the world would never make me a dancer.

A few mornings later I was relating this story to a Wiccan friend on the subway. To my surprise, she covered her mouth with a silver-decked hand and gasped. "You must have been so offended!"

Offended? Well actually, I wasn't. How could I be? My reunion chums were familiar with the Star of David but not with the pentagram. As none of them are Pagan, I wouldn't have expected them to recognize the pentagram. Regardless, I'd gotten a good laugh out of the event. I couldn't quite understand why my aforementioned friend found more offense than humor.

"He who laughs last didn't get the joke."

In recent months I've encountered a growing number of Pagans who seem to have misplaced their senses of humor. It's my hope that I'm just running into killjoys and not a representative population. We're not really in a humor crisis, are we? One of the things I like about Pagan paths is the sense of humor and the idea that spirituality should be fun. I like being able to laugh at myself. There's nothing so serious that an injection of good humor won't improve it. That being said, is it any wonder that I just have to shrug at Pagans full of their own importance, Pagans who won't deign to have a good laugh?

Laughter is a gift from the divine. It is the divine expressing joy and elation through us. Every laugh is a thank-you to the Powers That Be for life and the ability to enjoy life. Through laughter, not only is the divine served, but we serve ourselves as well. We've all heard the adage about laughter being the best medicine. Humor is good for us. A good chuckle reduces stress and raises the level of endorphins in the body, leaving us to feel especially good. Perhaps best of all, humor helps to keep the episodes of life in good perspective.

When I was learning the Wiccan path I had the benefit of a close-knit group and circle elders who understood the sanctity of humor. The woman who was both priestess and mentor always reminded us to laugh at ourselves. If I forgot the words to my Full Moon oration, I learned to have a good "D'oh!" and then go back to dip into the endless cauldron of inspiration. Ritual may be sacred, but it is also a circus begging for messes to occur. People are going to spill the libation and knock over candles. Rain can soak the most devoted of celebrants, turning a grand outdoor observance into an ad libbed indoor rite. Maybe the person baking the esbat cakes used the driest recipe possible.

This is all part of what makes the celebration dynamic and personal. There are a lot of opportunities for things to go wrong, in that the Powers That Be have given us built-in openings for humor and laughter. To err may be human, but to be able to get up and laugh at one's self is a gift.

All right then, so somebody explain to me why someone - anyone - would abandon the gift of humor. You can be serious about your path without taking yourself too seriously. Are people choosing to give up humor in exchange for dry observation and almost mechanical experience? I cannot tell if people are not getting subtle humor or if they are refusing to roll in the mud of laughter and silliness. Recently, I've come to wonder if this isn't the price all of us as a community must pay after decades of endless challenges from more orthodox religious traditions. Has all the fighting knocked the laughter out of us? I don't believe it.

Everybody, listen up! We're not like the traditions that focus more on the negative aspects of being human. The spiritual world touches us all, and engaging with the spiritual world is fun! Celebrate with laughter the hours of the day and the seasons of the year. Giggle at what strikes you funny. Take a good look at yourself and ask if you might be taking yourself too seriously. Does a question from a newcomer inspire you to a relaxed explanation or to indignant frustration?

Somewhere you have your own Pagan bling bling. You have your own story to tell of a path-related incident that made you laugh. This is the Powers That Be touching you and letting you know of their love. Embrace that sense of humor and laugh out loud to the stars. Laugh until you don't have the power to laugh anymore. This is message sent and received. This is the appreciation of the cosmic gift.

Don't Shirk--Blunt Works!

Sometimes it's necessary to couch things in soft terms. We often need to be discreet and politic so as to not upset or anger whoever has our attention at that moment.

Then again, there are times when it's necessary to be absolutely blunt. I get called "blunt as a spoon" a lot. Maybe it's even accurate. I prefer to go for the verbal visceral punch instead of tap dancing around an important matter.

Here are two examples of what I mean--success stories in which I take great pride. Before the Pennsylvania Primary on April 22, 2008, my grandmother and her Greatest Generation Gang were sitting around, resigned to not voting. This wasn't important, they said. No one interested them, they said. Many hadn't voted at all for over 20 years--ostensibly to avoid jury duty.
Now if these people could survive 80+ years on the planet, they could handle me. And so I started. The vote is your voice, I told them. What do you think your friends in all of these wars have died for--so you can sit on your bottoms and reliquish your right to vote? What about your children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren?

This was getting through, but I decided to go for the kicker. "If you don't vote on Tuesday," I said, "you'll be giving up your right to complain for the duration of the election process."

The Yankee Doodle spiel had softened them, but the thought of having to refrain from opining for all of these months finished the job. Every single one of them voted in the primary (and I did what I could to make sure they got to their polling places).

Lately my mother made an appointment for her first colonoscopy. She was cool with it until last week, when she started pulling excuses to call it off from her...er...nose. Who would take care of her mother? What about the bathroom situation? What if this list of 53 improbable things happen?

So I came at it from a different point of view. "We're talking about your life here," I said. "If you don't have this done and there is in fact something wrong, it will go undetected and be that much harder to treat. You owe it to us--the family that loves you--to take this step to secure that we have a future together. You're so worried about Grandma and all of that, but what good will it do anyone if you die because you talked yourself out of this?"

Within the span of a day my mother made a complete turn around. With the knowledge that she could bail out at any time, she went about the prep process, with my sister and me for company and moral support. Suddenly she found a new strength and she surged ahead, determined to get this thing over with. I am happy to say she had it done this morning, everything went well, and I am so proud of her for overcoming her hesitations in order to take care of herself.

Anyhow, my point is sometimes the greatest kindness is to use a little bluntness in your speech. You need to look for the one thing that will turn the discussion. And don't worry about hurt feelings. More often than not people will thank you for being straight with them.

My Punk Valentine

Sid Vicious and Nancy were Bogey and Bacall compared to my punk valentine. Here it goes.

I was a college bound senior in high school and I fell like a dope in love. He was one of those anarchist punk types that roamed the halls of the school, a dream in steel toed Doc Martens and Japanime-wild hair. My mother screamed, my father tried to talk me out of it, but no use. Have you ever tried talking to a seventeen year old girl about how the boyfriend she loves more than weekends and snow days combined isn’t the best for her?

We found ourselves in February. Naturally, I began looking forward to Valentine’s Day. I couldn’t wait for that traditional time when two young lovers could be together and celebrate their glorious relationship. Apparently nothing about my boyfriend’s stance or interests suggested to me that maybe February 14 was a date skipped on his calendar. Wow, was I naïve.

I stopped at a florist for a dozen red roses on my way to school that morning. I’d put on my PG-13 skin-tight bright red mini dress. Believe me, I was Valentines Incarnate. Or maybe I was Lust Incarnate. In high school, what’s the difference? All I knew was that I wanted to give the guy I loved the best Valentine’s Day of his life.

Now you might be thinking that I didn’t know this guy as well as I thought I did. That may be true. But I prefer to think I was a victim of relentless optimism

Anyway, I met my boyfriend at this locker and presented him with the roses. In turn, he glared at the roses and then glared at me. “What the hell is this for?”

I tried to think of what Mae West would have done at that moment. I batted my eyelashes at him. “They’re for Valentine’s Day,” I said. “After all, you are my sweetheart.”

He laughed so hard that reverberations from his mirth echoed up and down the crowded hallway. “Come off it,” he said as he fought to catch his breath. “This Valentine’s Day is an arbitrary holiday where card companies can make a fortune and droves of losers fall deeper into depression. I don’t pay it any attention. Why should you?” With that, he thrust the orphan roses back at me. “You’re smarter than this.”

Guess who I didn’t take to the prom?