I Am Not Going To Blog Today <—- This Is A Lie

I’ve spent the past week being far more social than I normally am, and last night I went to a friend’s birthday party. It was lovely, the people I have been spending time with are lovely, but I’m exhausted.

Rodnover, or Slavic Pagan, initiation. Click for more info.

Being social is something I’ve been more mindful of since I self-diagnosed as Asperger’s. I have always pushed myself to be social and worked hard at it all my life. I try not to turn down a social opportunity if I can help it, but sometimes it’s just too much. I am overwhelmed and have to retreat. I used to characterize this as having a “me day,” where I could read, watch quiet British dramas and eat yummy food. Take those naps that become delicious and rare as you become an adult.

Becoming aware of Asperger’s at first made me “regress.” I decided to behave absolutely naturally, and I spent the month of December mostly alone, and mostly communicating in a dry, monotone, matter-of-fact manner. Spending that time alone was good for me. Giving myself permission to not be social was a relief. The isolation made me more aware of my behavior and comfort levels. I began to see which Asperger’s tendencies I have, and which I do not. I began to analyze how I “present” the syndrome.

Now, however, I’m making a conscious effort to return to normal activities. I’m pushing myself to be social again. I’m moving past my comfort zone again. I’m being mindful of where my limits are and how to manage my sensory intake. I’m trying to figure out a system by which to manage a good balance between my needs and society’s expectations.

And it has occurred to me, that in this Imbolc season, this season of initiation, that I’m experiencing an initiation of awareness through my self-diagnosis of Asperger’s. It’s a strange thing to understand that your natural inclinations are just that: natural. Particularly when they go against the expectations of a woman in our culture. It’s also a strange thing to consciously give yourself permission to to act against your natural way of interacting with the world in order to participate more fully in the world.

Maybe other folks are experiencing a type of initiation right now. Maybe you’re being initiated into parenthood. Maybe you’ve just gotten your drivers license and are being initiated into the world of motoring. Maybe you’ve moved to a new place and are being initiated into the local culture. There are a lot of types of initiation other than spiritual, yet they all have a spiritual component.

Today things have not gone according to plan. Things have not gone according to plan all weekend. I’m exhausted from having to interact with people. I’m overwhelmed and need to crawl into my shell to recharge. As a water sign, I need to learn to work with the ebb and flow of my own tides. I need to learn when and how to give, but I also need to know when and how to retreat, receive, incubate and recharge.

So I’m not going to blog today. I’m going to rest my mind and nerves. I’m going to take a mental health day. I’m going to curl up somewhere where there is not too much light, color or sound. I’m going to burrow in where there aren’t people who expect me to interact with them. And in my short hibernation, I’m going to birth wonderous new things.

May you honor your ebb tide, and may you dream deeply in the dark.

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When Hinduism Confuses and Frustrates Me

Modern Pagans consider many religions to be our spiritual cousins: Shinto, Vodou, Santeria, First Nations religions, etc… One of our spiritual cousins, from our point of view, is Hinduism: a religious movement as diverse and fluid as our own Paganism. Some Hindus feel the same way towards us, as evidenced by the presence of the Hindu American Foundation at PantheaCon last year.

One thing I recall vividly from observing the HAF panel last year is how Hinduism is taught as monotheism, but Hindu practice uses the language of polytheism. It’s a fascinating thing, especially as the nesting-doll theology (All Gods Are One) is very similar to much of Wiccan theology.

What deepens my confusion and frustration with Hinduism today is a link that I shared on social media yesterday from HuffPo. Arvind Sharma explains patiently and, to a Pagan point of view, offensively that Hinduism isn’t “pagan” because “pagans” are polytheists and idolators.

The Abrahamic religious traditions, as Judaism, Christianity, and Islam are collectively called, associate paganism with the worship of many gods, and their many idols. The former is condemned as polytheism and the latter as idolatry; and the two are viewed as inextricably intertwined forms of worship, which has been superseded in the aniconic monotheism and which these religions self-consciously uphold and propagate.

Hinduism at first blush appears to conform to paganism. It seems to worship many gods and seems to do so by worshipping different images. It thus comes across as polytheistic and idolatrous and therefore pagan. This perception fuels the missionary zeal of the Abrahamic religions to destroy such paganism.

[Emphasis mine]

It is precisely this sort of misinformation and appeasement that holds minority religions back. I don’t know a single Pagan who worships an image, and to see a Hindu spout this “ignorant statue worshipper” nonsense is disheartening. Frankly, Catholics have more taboos and superstition regarding their icons and symbols than we have regarding our religious artwork. Muslims most certainly do.

Hinduism is diverse. There are plenty of polytheistic Hindus. Hinduism in it’s practice is as polytheistic as Wicca or NeoPlatonism, which both hold that there is a Universal One behind all of the Gods. There are also monotheistic Pagans, but they rarely try to convince Abrahamic religions that they aren’t Pagan in order to gain acceptance.

The truth is that claiming an essential monotheism underlying a polytheistic practice isn’t going to stop the coercive conversion. It’s not going to stop discrimination. It’s not going to buy you a seat at the table. It’s not going to keep Abrahamic faiths from denouncing your religion. Making a great effort to distance yourself from Modern Pagans in the West only serves to alienate your natural allies, who don’t care whether you are monotheistic, pantheistic, henotheistic, panentheistic, polytheistic or atheist.

For Modern Pagans to read articles like Sharma’s is disheartening. We feel that not only are we being thrown to the wolves by our spiritual cousins, but that the grand, verdant diversity of Hinduism is made invisible by such statements.

Sharma’s semantic argument boils down to we are not like the “evil” pagans, we are just as good as you. And that makes me very sad.

If I could say one thing to Sharma, it would be that perpetuating misinformation only harms your cause, and polytheism is a wonderful thing. You shouldn’t be ashamed of being associated with it.

What do you think? And check out the conversation this sparked over on G+. What do you think of the comments made by Rodney Orpheus and Greg Harder?

Also, it appears members of the Hindu American Foundation will be at PantheaCon this year as well (Sunday, 9 AM: Pagans and Hindus Together: One Billion Strong). If you’re going, it’s worthwhile to check them out and hear what they have to say, particularly regarding the challenges they face regarding coercive conversion in India.

And for the record, whoever came up with the idea that to be truly polytheistic you must worship every single God (at the same time), have you ever actually met a polytheist and what kind of crack are you smoking? Seriously?

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Stumbling Past Imbolc, or Not All Sabbats Are Created Equal

I have already broken one of my New Year’s resolutions. I intended to celebrate every Sabbat equally in 2012. Yet Imbolc has come and gone, and I honestly did very little to celebrate it. I don’t even really feel regret at skipping past the holiday uncelebrated. As I sit here and consider Imbolc, I have to admit that I don’t really care about it.

I want to care about Imbolc. I’ve put a lot of effort into psyching myself up and getting excited about Imbolc. I’ve tried to plumb it’s meaning. I’ve tried to seek it’s wisdom. But I just don’t care.

It seems to me that if the eight spokes of the Wheel of the Year are equal, they should be celebrated equally. Imbolc shouldn’t pass with a murmur and Yule with fanfare. All things should be equal. Many Wiccans have argued that all Sabbats are equal and that they are all celebrated equally, even when this is obviously not the case. I like the ideal that all the Sabbats are equal, even when my soul tells me different.

As I sit here and look over the moon Goddesses and solar Gods adorning my shelves, the fact that I could care less about Imbolc doesn’t seem like such a bad thing. This morning I’m sitting here thinking about how much more useful it would be to put my energy into things that matter to me, and Imbolc clearly doesn’t.

What does matter to me right now? Spring cleaning. Getting organized. Planning my garden. Working to make my living space comfortable. Setting my priorities. Settling down to focus on major projects.

My focus is more on my life, than on the greater changes in nature around me. My relationship to nature is how it affects me. Lactating ewes and tree sap don’t affect my life. Maybe that may seem selfish, but right now, in this time and place, it feels right.

Check out these interesting Candlemas traditions, and if you haven’t already seen it, check out Agora, the new hub of the Patheos Pagan Portal.

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Quickie: Wicker Tree Party in ATL?

So if I could convince the Atlanta Midtown Art Cinema to get The Wicker Tree, how many of my local peeps would come out to see it? Because the window of opportunity to see it on the big screen is tiny, and we could all go to Park Tavern afterwards and argue about how good/bad it was and reminisce about The Wicker Man.

You know it would be fun, and a fantastic story to tell. I’ve heard stories of Pagans going to see The Wicker Man on the big screen back in the 1970′s. Picture yourself in a rocking chair telling young whippersnappers how you went to see it with a group of Pagans, and how you all dissected it over burgers and beer afterwards.

If you’re interested, sign up for the Facebook event. Maybe we can convince Midtown Art Cinema by sheer force of numbers!

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Can You See Your Shadow?

Everybody has their favorite groundhog. Mine is General Beauregard Lee, who lives (not far from my birthplace) at Yellow River Game Ranch. He agrees with my prediction that the warm weather will continue, and predicts an early spring.

What shadows have been seen, cannot be unseen, young padawan.

It seems to me this morning that all this groundhog lore is perhaps also a lesson in self-knowledge. Can you see your own shadow? Can you predict your foreseeable future? Do you know thyself?

A lot of Pagan books talk of shadow work, of confronting our shadows. Sometimes that is as simple is learning to deal with our anger or quit smoking. Sometimes it takes on imposingly mythic dimension as the Watcher at the Gates, the Dweller on the Threshhold, or the Troll under the Bridge. You can’t scratch Pagan pathworking texts without turning up a lot of pop-psychology, of varying quality and usefulness.

Regardless of how you deal with the darker aspects of your psyche and personality, are you aware of them? Do you know what they are? Can you see your own shadow?

I think I’m pretty self-aware, but I’m going to take some time to think about this today. It’s a good thing to ponder now and again.

Here’s a dark side for you to view, and if you’re like me, it will make you want to watch this movie today:

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And for the record, Punxsutawney Phil is a punk and Gobbler’s Knob sounds kind of dirty… *ducks*

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Ascent of the Goddess: 7th Annual Brigid Poetry Festival

Here’s my contribution to the 7th Annual Brigid Poetry Festival:

Clean water, rose-scented,
bright linen sheets: wind-rippled.

Droplets race down her skin,
carrying death back to the earth.
Sun-brown women carry pitchers
filled with lavender water
for hair matted, plaited
in patterns of death.

Throw those rotten shoes into the sea!
Banish these tattered rags to the mountain!
Exorcise this filth from her pure body!

Caramel skin glows radiant
as the decay falls away,
hidden so long
in the realm of the dead,
in the halls of Ereshkigal.

Comb smooth her hair,
dress it in queenly braids.
Line her eyes with kohl,
drape her in purple linen.

Gird her in her calk-skin girdle,
adorned with gold buckles and pearls.
Drape her in ropes of lapis beads,
weigh her down with bright seashells.

Place a nosegay of crocus in her bosom,
tuck a daffodil behind her ear,
sing her praises, magnify her name,
for the Goddess is arisen! Rejoice!

This isn’t really my view of Wiccan theology, but it’s what the muse told me to take down this morning. Check out all the other poetry today!

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By the Hair On My Chinny, Chin, Chin

Like many women, I have wild hairs that grow on my chin. Amidst the barely visible down that adorns every woman’s chin, I have random stiff hairs, standing dark and proud. Staunch, rugged individuals among the insubstantial fluff. Rebels.

I tend to keep these hairs plucked and my chin tidily feminine, but a week of wrangling boxes and furniture left my boar bristles free reign. My chin looked decidedly mangy this morning as I lucked each pioneer, each thick outpost, from my face.

If I had 100X more chin hair I would do this, only in pink and black. Click the pic to read an article about a disturbing beard trend.

On the eve of Imbolc, the season of initiation, my chin hair seems to be a symbol of something. Plowing under last year’s corn stalks to prepare the ground for a new crop. Shedding the old in readiness for the new. Beautifying the temple of my body as the earth prepares to deck herself in flowers.

It seems right to do a bit of extra grooming this time of year. I really want to get my hair and nails did. I’m considering bleaching my hair blond to shed the dull brown of winter. I want to make preparations to move forward as the best I can be: joyful and sound of body, spirit and mind.

I think today I will spend some time grooming my person and my living space, so that tomorrow I will be refreshed and ready to groom my mind into a poetic bent, for the 7th Annual Brigid Poetry Festival.

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Almost Imbolc and I Feel Fine…

I should write something deep about poetry. Or fire. Or the sacred forge of life tempering us all. Or spring.

But I really don’t want to. We’ve had unusually warm, lovely spring weather here in Georgia and I just want to play on a tire swing. Or ride my bike. Or have a picnic.

Credit: Caroline Ford

One of those picnics where you eat tomato sandwiches, ridged potato chips, and store-bought cookies. Where you crack open a watermelon and eat it with the juice running down your arms but you don’t care because you brought wet wipes for just that reason.

One of those picnics where you lay back in the grass and watch big fluffy clouds roll by. Or sit on the shore and watch folks fish on the lake. Or sit on the beach and watch the shrimping boats chug along.

It’s one of those days where you want to sit in the yard with a tall cold drink and just sit quietly with friends watching the sun set. Where people get to telling stories late at night and someone laughs so hard sweet tea spurts out their nose, which makes someone fall out of their chair laughing. Where you realize you’re all sober, yet you’ve been up past 3 am without any idea of the time.

This morning what I really want is an apple, sweet and crisp. Or a cucumber, cold, sliced-up and dipped into jalapeno ranch dressing. I want to drive with all the windows open, the scent of freshly mown grass on the breeze and the radio cranked up to songs of my youth.

And maybe that’s about Imbolc too. The longing for summer, for warm weather, simple pleasures and good friends. Looking forward to the promise the year holds.

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I’m Getting Old

After packing up and moving all my stuff with the help of amazing friends, every bone and muscle in body hurts. I’m obviously not a teenager anymore, but I feel a lot older than 30 today.

So as I moan and groan over my aching body, enjoy this:

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Hijacking Paganism in the Media

Imagine people began to refer to all people who wear religious jewelry as Catholic. The wearing of a Star of David could be characterized as the “Catholic Agenda,” and shops selling pentacles provided as proof of Catholicism on the rise. It’s a complete misuse of the word Catholic. It’s confusing. It’s inappropriate. It makes it seem as if Catholicism isn’t a real religion.

When Gingrich referenced Paganism the other day, he was talking about secularism. He was talking around us. He was speaking as if we aren’t here, as if we don’t exist. The way he was using the name of our faith, he dismissed us as irrelevant and invisible.

Which is why I responded the way I did yesterday. My response was as if he was talking about us. That’s my usual response when people invoke the names of our faiths. Because I refuse to be dismissed as irrelevant. I refuse to engage on their terms. I hijack the debate.

I think that’s what we have to do. I don’t think we can give ground on this. I don’t think we can stand idly by while people speak as if we don’t exist.

Anyway, those are my thoughts very early on a Saturday morning after not enough sleep. I have a very busy day ahead. I hope you have an excellent weekend. Have some music:

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