A Different View...

We are all use to seeing those gorgeous pictures of Saturn, with its great golden warm color, and vibrant glowing rings and the incredible black shadow of its bulk thrown across those rings.

Saturn

However, the Cassini Space Probe has taken a picture of Saturn from a different view - "behind" it, with the enormous body of the planet eclipsing the sun. It is a stunningly, profoundly different viewpoint, dark and mysterious...

Cassini Probe picture of Saturn eclipsing the sun...

Color enhancement of the photograph shows something that, yes, you can see in the non-enhanced picture, to  the left and a little down of the thin haze of the outer rings...a small blue sphere which is...

Earth...

Color enhanced view - Earth is to the left of the planet down from the outer rings...

I did some widgeting (yes, that is a technical term) with the photograph, until I was able to isolate and re-size that area of the photograph that contained Earth...

Earth, seen through the rings of Saturn

How many times have we suddenly seen something from a really different angle of view, and realized that it changed what we knew about something, gave us a new place to stand in the spaces of our lives. How often have we our selves, living on the borderlands, different, our lives eclipsed by our differences, shown someone else by our very being, that different way to see, a new way to think about things?
The Cassini Probe took a journey of 794 million miles to reach Saturn, an incredible distance. It was launched in 1997 and reached orbit around Saturn in 2004, a journey of seven years. I think that the journeys we take in our own hearts as we learn about each other, our diversity, our differences, our similarities, our strengths and our weaknesses are far more infinite, and yield an even greater beauty. May the beauty and power of the universe seen through a different point of view inspire us to always look for the different point of view within.

Trip to the Mosque: a moment of Joy

Muslim youths lighting candles at Aathgaon Kabrasthan

in Guwahati, Assam, on the occasion of the Muslim religious festival

"Shab-E-Barat"

Ten years ago, only a few weeks before the attack of 9/11, I had picked up a book by one of my favorite authors, Karen Armstrong. This book, The Battle for God: Fundamentalism in Judaism, Christianity and Islam, wound up saving my sanity in the wake of the plane crashes and attacks that shook the nation. An exploration in the rise and phenomenon of fundamentalism in these three great world religions, this book gave me the understanding and the knowledge to NOT blame Muslims as a whole, but to understand that the actions of a fringe group, in no wise should be used to judge the whole. Understand, I already had that view as it was; I mean, what if the rest of the world only understood Christianity through the lens of Westboro Baptist Church’s extreme hate and judged me by their actions?

Yet still, I knew very little about the Muslim faith before reading Armstrong’s book. As the decade has passed, hysteria, hate, demonizing and rage have risen higher and higher through the sensationalism of the media. The willingness of our brand of politicians and Christian Fundamentalists to rush to throw gasoline on the fire of rhetoric that has painted all Muslims with the narrow image of hate has only made things far worse.

This has a personal face for me in my relationship with my father. My Father is, to employ the term, a good conservative Republican Christian conspiracy theory chasing wingnut. He is 84 years old, and has spent his life determinedly, willfully locked into that view of the world, which has gotten worse, admittedly as he has grown older. Apart from religion and politics, he is the warmest sweetest individual you could ever meet. He treats women as equals and with true respect, while calling Feminism satanic. He has dear friends who are Buhdist, but rants against any other religion than his own, on the religious political level, not the personal. And in the ten years, his hate for Muslims has grown to the point of a fearful dark bitter thing that rides him. He considers Obama to be a Kenyan born Muslim and loathes him.

My father and I have gone round and round on this, gently as we can. He will not believe anything I say about anything that does not fit his political, religious views. (I have a promise to my mother not to get into an all out political/religious argument with him, since I can hang up the phone, and she has to live with the aftermath. It has become an increasingly difficult promise to keep over time.) I have reached a point of personal sorrow and despair over this aspect of my relationship with my father; only my stepping back from this “argument” has kept our relationship whole, I believe.

So I have listened year after year to the anger and hate from my father’s lips on this subject. Saturday, I went to the Mosque in town with my class from school as part of a religion class. I went with hope in my heart that I would hear the other side. That my firm belief in the sanctity of all faiths, in personal dialogue to dispel the demons of hate and prejudice would be proven out. And it was. We were met by a lovely man named Ibrahim who was so kind and gentle and knowledgeable, who was exceedingly informative about his faith and how it was lived out in his life and his famlys' life.  By the time we were out of there, I wanted to hug Ibrahim! I learned so much – both knowledge that will increase my effectiveness as a therapist, should I encounter a Muslim couple in my office, and also that healed much of the pain and anguish in my heart with my father.

My father was born 8 decades ago, in a world that barely exists anymore, so much has changed. I believe at the heart of his political, religious polemics, is simple fear of change and with that fear an utter inflexibility to change. Part of it is his personal past in his family system, his generation, and part of it has to do with simply who and what he is. Nature or nurture, somehow he was molded into this rigid unbending two dimensional view of the world. I wish he could meet Ibrahim. For always, on the personal level, he is so different. Where he will not listen in a high level debate on abstract points, he would be gently, lovingly, respectful of Ibrahim whether or not he agreed with him – and might come away with some small shift in perception. It would be harder at any rate for him to demonize all Muslims if he knew one, personally.

I don’t think at this point, it is possible for me to “change” my father. I am not even sure I should – look what is destroyed and what you have to replace old views with before you charge in to change someone. But I do know that my journey to the Mosque has given me the ability to see my father through a better lens. To understand even more where he is coming from. To be even more patient and compassionate with him. To forgive his outbursts and his fears.

Last night I noticed a post on line from a friend of mine in the international community who is Sunni Muslim. He posted that it was was the night of Shab-e-Barat. I wrote my friend and asked him if he could tell me more about this, since I was a none Muslim.  He responded and told me that this is the night of forgiveness in the Islamic calendar, proceeding the month of Ramadan, when Allah forgives all who come to Him. During this night, Allah proclaims:

"Is there anyone seeking forgiveness, that I may pardon him?

Is there anyone requesting sustenance that I may provide for him?

Is there anyone afflicted with difficulty (so that he may ask for assistance) that I may help him?

Is there anyone with any other need?”

Perhaps, at such a holy time and in relationship with my father, the need is forgiveness and understanding, and meeting him where he is.

إن شاء الله

Insha’Allah – as God wills.

Luminous beings are we....

Jill Bolte Taylor is a Harvard Educated and published Neuroanatomist who experienced a stroke on the left side of her brain years ago. She actually remembers the experience of the stroke and how it affected her, and her thoughts are remarkable. She has some very powerful observations about this, that profoundly speak to how we think and live and feel and experience our world. She is amazing!

Samhain/Halloween 2010 part One - The Third Degree Ceremony and Trick or Treaters....

Happy Samhain!

My Third Degree Ceremony which was scheduled to occur Friday night, on the 29th, actually took place on Saturday night, on the 30th, instead, the day before Halloween. We also had some extra good news which I am saving for a second post, as it deserves it's own moment in the sun. (there were any number of reasons for the change of dates, ranging from fatigue from earlier in the week to crisis in participants lives to questions regarding the weather. Saturday turned out to be a better fit for most. There was also a change in location and available participants. Never refer to Wicca/Paganism as an organized religion! *Rolls eyes! Facepalm*)
So on Saturday afternoon, I went over early to Priestess's house and began the set up process. Part of the 3rd Degree "requirements" asked of me was that I was to set up and run the basics of the circle itself - which is actually something I love doing! I did not get a lot of pictures of the circle site, or the ritual - it was getting dim on into dusk and then once it got rolling, I was too busy to attempt photography. So was everyone else! But I did get a shot of the main Altar, which for this was set up in the North.


I am going to do a quick rundown on what you are seeing here, left to right. At the top left is an Russian style Icon of Christ that my friend Skeptic painted for me, which I treasure very much - it is on my altar as part of my dual path. Behind the Icon, but not visible is my tarrot card deck. Right below it is the cake for cakes and ale and the plate it was going on (Yeah, I know - purchased the cakes and ale - I'm in grad school and Dreamweaver gets up at 3:45 AM to go to work. Cooking just was not on, this week.) Beside the Icon is my stuffed Tigger from childhood, as I said he would be! There is, still working left to right, sort of up and down, a Tiger Eye globe to charge, the stature of Pan with the Otter at his feet, and a pair of stag antlers. (Now, an interesting point about the antlers - they are not from hunting, nor are they sheds. They were picked up from a lightening strike scenario - the burn mark is still on the tip of the left horn where it struck. So this was not a hunting casualty - not even for food, and definitely not for sport, but a natural, if unusual passing.) In the center, between the two white candles (which are there for the Lord and Lady) is the candle for Earth and North....This is the green Candle in the center of the spiral of earth from our garden, with acorns and leaves and pine cones. Directly behind the Green Candle for North, is a small wooden box painted and decorated with sun and moon images - in that box are the ashes of beloved ones who have passed before us - TruthTeller, Jason and MeadowHawk. In front of that are two bowls, one holding sea salt and the other holding water. Up to the right of the white candle for the Goddess is the statue of Gaia, the earth Goddess. We had originally thought to use the Morrigan, one of the warrior goddesses, because I have an affinity for that; however, the statue of Gaia represented better the idea of the Feminine Deity that I serve as a priest. So we went with her instead.
At her feet were flowers and the statue of a white stag. Then there was the goblet for the ale (wine, in this case) and three white candles representing the Trinity of my Christian path. (Normally, I represent the Trinity with a 3 wick candle, with its strong image of 3 in 1, however, the budget was tight...so 3 candles this time.) And at her request, on the far right are Preistess' bells which she rings in circle. On the table in back of the altar, as space was becoming crowded, was my Green Man pumpkin I carved earlier in the week. In the Center of the Circle space we had a fire going in Preistess' copper fire pit going - a Balefire to light our way and keep us warm.



I was wearing my knee high leather boots with bells on them, my green pants with the bells on them, a white poet blouse shirt, and a brown pull over tunic. I had on me my Runes, my athame, and my sword. (we actually did not get a picture of this, however, we took some pictures the following night on Halloween, when I dressed back up in the same outfit for the trick or treaters...so thats where this shot comes from.)
I wish I had a shot of Dreamweaver in her green gown and the cloak with Celtic knotwork...she was stunning! I may get her to dress up again like that for Solstice or something so I can get a picture this time....





Now, I described the Candle for North and Earth - which here is a closer view of it...I did not get pictures of the other three quarters, unfortunately, but here is what I did for them - in the East was a Yellow Candle, with a spray of windblown leaves for the element of Air. I like using something that the wind has blown to represent air, as the movement of the wind is only visible through its effect on things.
For South, Fire, I used a red Candle, which incorporated the element of fire, in itself...also in the south was the Fey Candle, which I will tell more about in a moment. In the West was water, the element actually represented by water, touched with blue (Food coloring) and a blue candle - the water also had a blue floating candle in it which I lit when I called West.

Which brings us to the Fey Candle - Dreamweaver and I both prefer to acknowledge and call the Fey, when we call the Circle. We feel that it is better to invite them as guests to the edge of the Circle, than leave them out and risk their disgruntlement - remember ones Faery Tales and Sleeping Beauty! - we use the poem "The Fairies" by William Allingham as our invocation, most of the time;

The Fairies

Up the airy mountain
Down the rushy glen,
We daren't go a-hunting,
For fear of little men;
Wee folk, good folk,
Trooping all together;
Green jacket, red cap,
And white owl's feather!

Down along the rocky shore
Some make their home,
They live on crispy pancakes
Of yellow tide-foam;
Some in the reeds
Of the black mountain-lake,
With frogs for their watch-dogs,
All night awake.

High on the hill-top
The old King sits;
He is now so old and grey
He's nigh lost his wits.
With a bridge of white mist
Columbkill he crosses,
On his stately journeys
From Slieveleague to Rosses;
Or going up with music,
On cold starry nights,
To sup with the Queen
Of the gay Northern Lights.

They stole little Bridget
For seven years long;
When she came down again
Her friends were all gone.
They took her lightly back,
Between the night and morrow;
They thought she was fast asleep,
But she was dead with sorrow.
They have kept her ever since
Deep within the lake,
On a bed of flag leaves,
Watching till she wake.

By the craggy hill-side,
Through the mosses bare,
They have planted thorn trees

For pleasure here and there.
Is any man so daring
As dig them up in spite?
He shall find their sharpest thorns
In his bed at night.

Up the airy mountain
Down the rushy glen,
We daren't go a-hunting
For fear of little men;
Wee folk, good folk,
Trooping all together;
Green jacket, red cap,
And white owl's feather!

William Allingham (1824-1889)

She and I usually have a good-natured argument going over whether or not to use the entire thing, or a shortened version of it incorporating only four of the six verses...however, in this case we were both in agreement - the whole poem.

So this is what we were looking at as darkness fell, and we moved into the actual ceremony itself....

In the Circle with me were my teacher, Priestess, my beloved Dreamweaver and Mizbehavin', who was in town for several reasons, (Convention, funeral, visiting friends and now my Circle)! Having her there all the way from GA was WONDERFUL! Unfortunately Back Porch Priestess and Hermit were both unable to make it to the ceremony and they were much missed. Mizbehavin' was a welcome friend in the circle, and it was doubly precious that she was there, as changes in the weather, too much time on the road, too many people in over whelming circumstances and an incipiant cold/virus/ allergies all combined with arthritis, to make it difficult for Mizbehavin' to participate. We did our best to make her comfortable, but it was simply an extremely not easy scenario for her. However, she jumped in, helped Dreamweaver with finding some items for the ritual, and gave her all in the ceremony in the ritual drama part. Her being there and a part of it is something I will always treasure! I am so sorry that it was difficult for her and I was very worried for her, though I know she would have said no, if she truly needed to not participate. (then again, she is stubborn, sometimes too much so for her own good! And I wouldn't know anything about that! Pot = Kettle = black!)

So at this point, it was my circle to run, with only a few requirements I needed to perform...One was that I raise a double Circle - a Circle within a Circle. The idea was that I was to step out of the inner Circle before the ritual drama part began, and then be brought back in for that, and yet I would still be within the boundaries of the outer Circle - which is where we invited the Fey to come to, and watch from the outside. (all though I think one or two of the little mischief makers made it in...they usually do. *grin*)
So I raised the first Circle, and then the second, and then began to walk the quarters, calling the Elements...
Now, I run Circle without a script. I do it entirely extemporaneously - and have only used a script once in my life, and that I memorized so that I did not have a piece of paper I had to refer to. So, each of my quarter calls is varied and specifically for the element and quarter I am standing in. I can't necessarily verbatim write what I said, but I can give the gist of it, as these are the quarter calls I have used for a long time....
North: "I call upon the spirits of the North, element of Earth, the good foundation beneath our feet, that we are rooted in and grounded in. From the earth we have the nourishment of the harvest, we are formed of Earth, and to earth we shall return. Be with us now in our Circle this night.....I call upon the Spirits of the East, Element of Air...the wind blows from where we know not, we don't know where it is going, yet we see its presence in the cycle of the weather and the rain, and the falling leaves. Element of Knowledge, may we bend and be flexible with wisdom as we gain life experience...be with us and grant us wisdom in our Circle this night...I call upon the Spirits of the South, Fire...passion, creativity, that which can master us as well as serve us...be with us now in our Circle tonight.,.. I call upon the West, the element of Water, sustainer of life, blessing to the world, the womb of life from whence we come...grant us peace, and fluidity in our Circle tonight." There - thats not EXACTLY what I said, but it's pretty close. Then Dreamweaver called the Fae with the poem, which she generally manages to get the hair on the back of your neck to stand up!
After that, I called the fifth Sacred thing - which is community and communion of the world and ourselves together. Then Priestess called the Lord and Lady, and I called the Creator, three in one - with Christ, the dying, rising God, and the Holy Spirit - which I might add in the original language of the Bible, the Holy Spirit is Feminine!
Then we arrived at the Ritual Drama part of the Ceremony. I was asked to cut a "door" in the inner Circle and step outside and wait to be asked back in. Which Preistess did so, with a knife challenge. The knife challenge is supposedly an old, old part of Wicca, wherein a ritual knife is held to the throat of someone entering the Circle and they are challenged, with ritual responses. (Some say it originates with Gardner's Coven, some say it's ancient from the Burning Times, some point out its similarity to certain rites in the Masons and Rosicrucians that Gardner borrowed from...wherever it came from, it is a part of Modern Wicca at this point.) Many people disapprove of the knife challenge, some vehemently so. Others use it as a standard Circle entry rite. Priestess chose to use it, as she felt it was appropriate for something as deep and solemn as a Third Degree rite of passage. I have encountered it before, so I had no objections to her using it. However, this is where it gets funny....
She steps up to the "door" in the Circle, I step to meet her there and she holds her athame to my throat (in the general vicinity of, that is....she didn't actually touch me with the blade, which was courteous...some people get a little too enthusiastic with that sharp edge!) So, the first question is exactly what I expect and have responded to countless times - "How do you come to this place?" and the answer is " I come in Perfect Love and perfect Trust." Sometimes that's the extant of the questioning, sometimes there are further questions. In this case, Priestess threw me a curve ball - "What is the First Law?"

0.O

Nobody said anything about a pop quiz, let alone one on the freakin' Wiccan Rede (written by Doreen Valiente and, containing some good stuff, some useful stuff and a whole bunch of questionable and down right - not to be disrespectful, but - crap. I have studied the long version of the Rede. And I knew what the answer was...I was just flat footed and suddenly up to my eyeballs in test anxiety. Priestess said later, I looked like a deer in the head lights! I am so glad they were all amused. *snort*
So after a moment of abrupt panic, when I could not have told you my own name, I managed to find my wits and respond - "And it harm none, do as you will - and I emphasize and it harm none, including one's self."
"And the second Law?"
"Every action returns threefold..."
"Do you come of your own will or by the will of another..."
"Yes, I come of my own will."

Once inside the Circle, or back inside the Circle, they draped a sheer black veil over my eyes - the idea was not to blindfold me, or to keep me from seeing, but rather to make what I saw indistinct, to heighten other senses and put me in another world.

And then I began hearing...things.

Really hearing them...

An owl hooting...water trickling and lapping, rain falling....
Dim shapes moved....
And then voices began to speak, talking back and forth over the water and the bird calls.

'I feel strangely tired, Rat,' said the Mole, leaning wearily over his oars as the boat drifted. 'It's being up all night, you'll say, perhaps; but that's nothing. We do as much half the nights of the week, at this time of the year. No; I feel as if I had been through something very exciting and rather terrible, and it was just over; and yet nothing particular has happened.'

(and the voices came from all sides, around me, as each person read parts: individual animals, narration...)

'Or something very surprising and splendid and beautiful,' murmured the Rat, leaning back and closing his eyes. 'I feel just as you do, Mole; simply dead tired, though not body tired. It's lucky we've got the stream with us, to take us home. Isn't it jolly to feel the sun again, soaking into one's bones! And hark to the wind playing in the reeds!'

'It's like music— far away music,' said the Mole nodding drowsily.

'So I was thinking,' murmured the Rat, dreamful and languid. 'Dance-music— the lilting sort that runs on without a stop— but with words in it, too— it passes into words and out of them again— I catch them at intervals— then it is dance-music once more, and then nothing but the reeds' soft thin whispering.'

And then the music started playing...flute music, mournful and happy and sad all at once...
They were recreating the Scene from Wind in the Willows for my ritual drama!!!!
I stood there utterly entranced, laughing with joy and delight...
Not to give it away, but they were pulling off the owl, and the water sounds and the music and so forth and so on, by having them on the laptop and playing the sounds on cue.
Finally, at a key point, they pulled the veil off and I was confronted by what should have been a comical sight...my extremely feminine Dreamweaver with the Green Man mask on and channeling the spirit of Pan from Wind in the Willows. She even had a little stuffed toy otter at her feet! We are a little short on males to take the role, so Dreamweaver took it on, head long. (I can take it as needed from here on out...) And it wasn't comical AT ALL, because she pulled it off. She read the charge to me of being a Priest and asked what sacrifice I brought...
Which I answered as I wrote in my last blog post....Self sacrifice...not in destruction, but in self transcendence, able to give and receive.
This ended with me wearing the Green Man Mask as his Priest. Then at this point, Priestess did a "marrying of our power as priest and priestess together". We received a ring to give the other, and vowed to be each others priest and priestess and it felt more like a handfasting than you could imagine! I'm not sure we're gonna need a wedding after that, just a celebration party for all! The rings were a gift from Priestess and are a simple band of silver, each one of them reading "My life is my message" and we are wearing them on our right hands, with our engagement/commitment rings on our left hands. And they are beautiful and we cannot thank Priestess enough!

We had cakes and ale, and closed the Circle, going back through the steps that brought us in - the Deities, the Fey, the Quarters, until I took down the Circle and ended with this song -

May the Circle be Open,
But unbroken
May the Love of the Goddess
be ever in your heart
Merry meet and merry part
And merry meet again....

OF course, at that point the most paramount need was to get Mizbehavin' back inside, off her feet and out of the night air, before she felt any worse...and I really felt bad about that! I am so, so glad she was able to be there and participate, but I am so sorry it was so difficult for her.
Then Dreamweaver and I sat and talked and just in general it was a beautiful moment - the fire in the fire pit still burning...
we ate some, and drank a little to get back to grounded and centered.
We visited with Priestess and slowly packed up everything. I wound up going back the next day for the table and a few of the items we finally left, out of exhaustion!

How do I feel?
Fantastic! It will remain one of the most remarkable moments of my life, stepping into the Wind in the Willows, having not only my call to priesthood honor and fulfilled, but the fact that I am a priest, masculine, and that was also honored and accepted and blessed.

I can't say at this point I know where this will all end up...
But I do know that I am where I need to be at this moment in my walk, in a metaphysical sense - a priest of my Deity.
Part two is the next night, on Halloween and trick or treating!
Blessed Be!

Brief Thoughts on the Nature of Sacrifice...

Its late at night, and I am on my way to bed after this...tomorrow night - tonight rather - is my 3rd Degree Initiation. Part of what I have been asked to consider is the nature of sacrifice, and what sacrifice do I bring to become a 3rd Degree priest.
I don't know what my group has planned for this...they are doing a ritual drama, that much I know, and it centers around the image of the Green Man, the Horned God, the Lord of the Harvest. That is the God of Sacrifice, in any of His incarnations. Note please - sacrifice is not martyrdom. Sacrifice to me does not mean self abnegation, or destruction. Self sacrifice is commitment in totality...is not self forgetfulness, but rather self transcendence. Self is not lost, but is laid down and then received back again.

The Green Man, the Lover of the Goddess, whose love is sacrificial in that it is total commitment to the moment, to the joy, to the giving and receiving...

The Horned God, who is the Hunter and the Hunted...who seeks to feed and care for a family, who is the prey who gives itself to the Hunter and whose soul is honored, and whose entire body is used to sustain life, not wasted for sport or cruelty...

The Lord of the Harvest, the Reaper of the Harvest, the seed that was sown and died in the earth to bring forth fruit and grain for the winter and the famine and the time of need...to nourish others with food and fulfillment...

And finally, Jesus, known as the Christ, who came into this world out of balance, from eternity into time, to lay down himself, and his life to restore unto the world life and wholeness...and lived again, receiving Self back with the rising of the sun...

As a Priest of the Green Man, and a Priest in the Priesthood of Believers, I seek not to martyr or destroy Self, but to transcend Self, to find my greatest joy in my daily life, my commitment to my wife and our rich full relationship, my commitment to serve and to care for those in need, to reach my utmost for His highest, my connection with Deity, and with the great world around me.
I lay down self in this...I have been the Fool on the journey, of self discovery, of life, of learning. It is a journey of transformation, of change and it is one that is not over, but will continue to spiral around, forever the same and forever changing and new. And I will receive back myself, whole and entire, reborn and cradled in the earth and the light and the love of this world. I will allow those who seek to nurture and care for me to do so, as I seek to nurture and care for them. And I will be shelter and comfort and love to those around me.
I seek to be in this world the God who dwells within, and with both hands - their toil, their art and craft, their strength, yes and even their weakness - to give back to the world what has been given to me.

Thus the nature of sacrifice.
Blessed be.

Turning the Wheel for Real...

Last weekend I was standing up by our lake watching the late afternoon sun go down, touching all the trees with gold. The wind was strong, rocking the branches and ruffling the surface of the lake with waves. The trees are just beginning to turn here - we are far enough south that color is only just starting to show in the leaves whereas many other places are at their peak of color, or even past it. And the sky is now that incredible blue of Autumn, unmatched by any other time of year.

So, as I stood out there, just reveling in the beauty around me, a thing happened that raised the hair on the back of my neck. I heard a flute playing...not a recording, or the radio, but unmistakably being played live. The music was haunting, in a soft dancing, lilting minor key and there was no way to get a fix on it, with the wind pouring down the lake. The music lurked, and haunted, faded away and then rose again, tossed to all the compass points by the wind. Standing there at the water, with the sun and the wind and the soft eerie flute , there was only one thought in my mind - chapter seven of The Wind in the Willows; "The Piper at the Gates Of Dawn." (and any of you who have never read it, go here, now, and do so - just chapter 7.

http://www.cleavebooks.co.uk/grol/grahame/wind07.htm ) It was one of the most magical moments I have ever experienced. The flute music finally faded away, and did not return. I shook my self out of the trance of the moment, feeling like Mole and Rat did on the river... when Mole says

" No; I feel as if I had been through something very exciting and rather terrible, and it was just over; and yet nothing particular has happened.' 'Or something very surprising and splendid and beautiful,' murmured the Rat, leaning back and closing his eyes"

Then, that night, telling Dreamweaver about the experience, and talking about the Green Man and Pan and Cernunnos, the Celtic horned deity associated with stags, and animals and

the harvest, I was rambling around on the internet looking at images of them. One such search took me to a site with the sculpture of Pan with his pipes, and I did a double take - it was the same one, it looked like, as the one on our altar. The sculptor, by the way, is Oberon Zell. Then I really did a double take - I stared at the picture, because between the goat feet of Pan in the statue is a little baby otter...the scene from Wind in the Willows! I bolted up off the bed, crossed to the altar, picked up the actual statue, which has long been one of my favorites and was stunned to see that, yes there WAS the baby otter. It actually was meant to be the Pan from the story - and that chapter was pivotal in my childhood, my first realization of Deity in that form and my understanding of a wider spirituality. (I may have been about 7 when I read the book - yes, I was precocious.)

I stood almost speechless, gazing at the little baby otter nestled between the hooves of Pan at the base of the statue. My childhood image of magic and life then, in my hands now - and this is incredibly significant folks, because on Friday, October the 30th, next week I am getting my Third Degree as a Wiccan/Pagan priest. (those of you who are wondering , wait, when did the Second Degree happen, it slid by in the scramble of the past year, acknowledging that yes, I am at a Second Degree and have been one for some time.) And on the altar of my Third Degree ceremony will be this statue. I already knew it was going to be on the altar, before I realized it's connection to my childhood and "The Wind in the Willows." I do not understand HOW I missed the fact that the otter was at the base there, given how many times I have pored over the statue, except that maybe I was meant to suddenly see it now at this most significant of times. It was one of those moments that totally takes your breath away...the interweaving of the past with the present, that phenomenological, experiential moment of gestalt, of seeing the whole, and seeing it fit together so that you see everything as it's meant to be.

So, I am getting ready for the ceremony now. It falls at Samhain, Halloween...an appropriate time for a priest of the Lord of the Harvest to be initiated. I am rounding up significant items to go on the altar, or be in circle with me, as I have been instructed to. (And the individuals who are running this circle are plotting with malice and aforethought too...I have no idea what they have planned, but it's evidently going to be fairly impressive!) Obviously the little Pan is going on the altar. And my favorite statue of the Goddess - the Morrigan - a warrior Goddess....other usual stuff; the runes I made, my athame, my sword, the other sword (I like swords! So sue me! LOL!), my staff and so forth.

My staff by the way is about the coolest staff you will have ever seen. Its about 4 feet long, almost perfectly straight, and smooth, no bark on it, except for an interesting pattern all over it, from top to bottom. Here's the story - it was picked up, as is, untouched and unshaped by man, on the shore by a beavers dam. The pattern comes from them shaping it as they worked the wood to build the dam, it was totally all done by the beavers! Every now and then I kind of get tempted to decorate it, add a leather grip, and so forth. But I doubt seriously that I ever will...it should remain as it was found...shaped by the nature of the beavers who created it.

Also on the altar will be a painting of Christ, done in the style of the old Russian Icons. It was painted for me by my friend Skeptic and I treasure it. Why is a picture of Jesus going on my Third degree pagan altar???

Because for me there is NO difference between being a Christian in the priesthood of believers and being a 3rd Degree pagan priest. The Green Man, the Lord of the Harvest and the Dance, the God of the woodlands, protector, savior of the helpless, the little Otter asleep at his feet, the dying god of hundreds of myths and stories, who gives his life in autumn that spring may rise again, Christ dying on the tree and rising to life, bringing with His self sacrifice balance to the world again, it is all one. It is all One. And as a priest of both or either, I am called to manifest my God to the world - to protect, to honor life, to sacrifice, to live, to be the Fool in the Journey, to Love, and be in Love with Life.

I am also putting my favorite stuffed animal on the altar too. It is a much loved stuffed Tigger, not the Disney Tigger, but one made to resemble the Tigger of the original A. A. Milne illustrations of the Winnie the Pooh stories. He was given to me when I was six years old...which would be 42 years ago.

Oh my.

0.O

Anyway, Tigger is much loved, his fur is worn thin, and he is missing an eye. You see, he's Real. (and if you haven't read "The Velvet Rabbit", go here: http://digital.library.upenn.edu/women/williams/rabbit/rabbit.html ) Tigger will be in the Circle because that honors the child I was, who caught in a blinding moment the meaning in the heart of the world, bent over a children's book all those years ago and realized that it was the same thing I heard at church - that we love and are loved.

Maybe my copy of Wind in the Willows should come too.

Christmas Eve

In a little bit we will be leaving to go to the Midnight Communion Service at our church this Christmas Eve...

I know all the discussions about Pagan traditions and Christmas Traditions, and how one stole from the other, or how things have become hopelessly secularized. There are Christians who go so far as to refuse to celebrate Christmas because they consider it a pagan holiday, and Pagans who rage over the fact that the Christian church appropriated and then destroyed their traditions.

Christmas is a time of memory - everybody's are a bit different, somethings are the same across the board. Some people have wonderful Christmas memories - others have bitter ones. It can be a beautiful time of year, it can also be a hard one...there are those who wallow in materialism and that's all that it means to them, and those that go hungry and cold while others eat. The world presents us with unattainable goals in the form of perfection and family and presents - and all too many have broken homes and families divided. How do Christmas traditions speak to us...how can they help us? How do we let it in to touch us?

Traditions and ceremonies and ritual all accomplish one thing - they bypass the conscious rational mind and speak to our souls, our inner selves, our subconscious. It becomes a way to connect with each other, or with Deity,or with life, whether you are Pagan, Christian, or even Atheist. Rituals are important and necessary and the most hardened Iconoclast all unknowing will have rituals in their life, despite their resistance to the concept.

One Christmas decades ago, I had the darkest, most bitter December I had ever had. I had no connection to family, or Deity or light or hope, despite being with my family and my church. And yet, paralyzed and emotionally destroyed, I went with my family to the Midnight Communion at the church...
And at midnight, when the lights went down and hundreds of candles slowly, one by one - light to light - multiplied and drove back the Darkness, my heart of broken stone loosened and became flesh again, believed again, hoped again, beat again, as we one by one increased the light in the world physically and symbolically. It wasn't a "revival of my heart" in a religious sense...it was much more primal and primeval than that. It was simple light, warmth and fire, overtaking the darkness that had became a deep metaphor for my inner darkness. And an older Light than Christmas broke over me in that moment - Sun Return. Life. Continuation. I had miles and years to go to heal from that December....but perhaps, that I was able to become whole again, began in that moment and in that ritual.

So there is something deeper at work in the concept of ritual than the surface of these things and the names of these things. Something older...something that may be as personal as a Deity that connects with us, or as impersonal as the simple drive for life that exists in all that lives and breathes. Patterns and rituals give us a connection point, a new beginning each time. Not every ritual speaks to every one...but everyone has something that will eventually speak to them even if it's on a subconscious level.

So....

Our church has been celebrating Advent now for 4 weeks...tonight the last candle in the center will be lit, and the whole sanctuary will be darkened and lit only by the light of hundreds of candles as the 24th rolls to the 25th.

We will rejoice to be there, to remember the Birth of the Child (no matter He was probably born in April, in reality, and that we are actually working off of Ancient Pagan traditions for this date.)

And us being who and what we are will also honor the Turn of the Wheel of the Solstice and the rebirth of the year, rejoicing in the Holly King, and the Goddess delivered of her Child who will grow to become Summers High Lord.

We will be with those we love and those who love us, we will be together and we will remember and honor those whom we love who live far away.

The Wheel has turned - Darkness is passing away and the Light is returning...and perhaps that is all that any of us really need to know. Perhaps that is at the heart of all our rituals and beliefs right there.
Thanks Be to God...
Blessed Be...

Monotheism, Polytheism and this Episcopagan's Journey - The Silent Years.

And so began a period of my life where I ran...from everything. I was adamantly not gay. I was not going to let my church's betrayal separate me from my faith (church and faith being synonymous to function in that church) and I was going to Get It Together and be a normal Christian woman. *snort*

I attended church with energetic consistence, went to singles groups and retreats (these were designed btw, pretty much for the sole purpose of catching a spouse, not for how to function as a single individual, whole unto one’s self. The singles activities were all social, with a thin veneer of Bible study, designed to have you meet your opposite number and prepare to be a good little submissive wife, or authoritarian husband. There was an unspoken undercurrent that we were all in the singles groups until we “graduated” by marrying some one…until then, we were just marking time.) In an interesting aside - none of the nice, well spoken Christian young men in these groups ever looked twice at me. I was actually well liked, but I was also always treated like a friend or a sister, or even as “one of the guys”. It would be years before I figured out the how’s and whys of that dynamic!

At this point, I was 24 about to turn 25. I dated men with a grim determination – a friend, “Irishman”, who owned a local independent bookstore…a handsome co-worker at my job whom I will call “Doubter”…a good friend of Irishman whom I will call “Couch Potato”. There was even, very briefly, one more woman, “D” who was more than a friend…but I still could not face this part of myself, and I turned away from her, even more determined than ever to be true to what my conservative upbringing had indoctrinated into me – Homosexuality was a sin, a choice and one I must reject or lose my connection with God.

After a confused period of about three years (and I am leaving SO much out, but this is focused NOT on the details, but the substance of this part of my life…) the relationship with Couch Potato had grown and deepened into dating, loving and became an engagement. It was not without it’s ups and down. Twice during those 3 years we broke up, and then came back together. He was far more in love with me than I was with him. In many ways he was the ideal for me – we shared many interests, he was gentle and loving and he was a joy to talk to. I had told him my deepest darkest secrets – everything from the rape in my past to my struggles with my sexual identity and my “choice" to give up my interest in women…he never once flinched. I was able to talk honestly with him, as I could few people in my life at the time.

However in many ways, Couch Potato was also a big problem. He was ambivalent about the church – that was an issue, because I refused to marry outside my faith. He had a difficult relationship with his mother and sister – their communication consisted of verbal abuse on three sides; NOT a characteristic one wants to follow in to a marriage. He is not nicked-named Couch Potato here in my blog for nothing; he was utterly addicted to television, and I so was not. This last was masked from me, because at this time, in the end of the 1980’s, there actually were TV shows I was following, a rare event in my life. When the 3 – 4 shows I was watched finally ended a few years later, suddenly I was no longer particularly interested in TV…and his constant TV fixation grew over the years to the point of seriously interfering with our relationship. He was also a porn addict – and I say that in all seriousness. Someday, I will post about him and the years that I knew him, until his death last year. He deserves an elegy. But this post is for other things...

It was a confusing time, those 3 years. But slowly, a step at a time, he shifted the things that were my biggest stumbling blocks. He started coming to church with me, and then officially joined the church and made a profession of faith. He moved out into his own place, and the distance that placed between him and his mother and sister improved their relationship dramatically. He even got rid of the porn collection for my sake and entirely without any prompting on my part, got a short hair cut, as he was an unrepentant long haired Hippie and his shoulder length hair had become the bane of my fathers reasonableness and sanity.

Truthfully, I liked his long hair, but the gesture was a noble one, and it did ease some things for my dad a bit. Finally, the engagement became a marriage – on May 5th, 1989, he and I were married. There was one other thing that was a part of his life – he had Muscular Dystrophy. He had the Myatonic type that affects the extremities…his arms and hands did not have the strength they should have had and his legs as well. But by in large, he was reasonably unaffected by it, and the Dr. who diagnosed it assured him that he would have a mostly normal life. Little did we know then, that the Dystrophy would cost us so much more than we ever dreamed in the future…but on our Wedding day in May, we were happy, and young and in love, truly.

And yet...

I remember late on my wedding night, after he had dropped off to sleep, lying half awake in the dark, staring at the ceiling. We were both exhausted - anybody who has ever survived a big church wedding event that all the relatives had control over, knows what I am talking about! - I wasn't having oh my god regret or panic...no sense of I have just made a big mistake...but there was a strange feeling deep inside. A moment of grief, of longing, of having closed a door forever (I thought) on ever being with a woman again, in relationship with a woman in that way...that the form next to me under the blanket was loved and dear, and I was happy...but I felt that I had lost something irrevocably, killed some part of my self to be where I was that moment. I think I was grieving. But it wasn't nearly as articulate a moment as it sounds, and it was fleeting. The next morning we were on our way, and life was good.

The next five years were truly good...Couch Potato and I had a wonderful relationship. We were involved in a Medieval Reenactment group, our jobs and finances were stable. We bought a house. We traveled. There were no big fights or disagreements beyond the ordinary bumps of a happy healthy relationship. If asked if I was happily married, the answer was yes...and it was not a lie. He could be a difficult man sometimes, but he was a GOOD man. And we had a very precious relationship.

Every now and then, the deep part of me that was put aside forever would stir...the sight of an attractive or striking woman walking down the street would catch my eye...or there would be inevitable new program or political upheaval about gay rights...and I would turn away from that deep internal twinge. Of course, the fact that things were stirring every so often inside me meant that - even if I denied it - someday, it was all going to rise again, to the point that I could not ignore it. But at that point in time, I was happy where I was. It was the happiness of someone oblivious in the path of a hurricane of epic proportions, or living on a slowly slipping, eroding earthquake fault. The happiness was real...but it could not last. Other things were also stirring subconsciously - undealt with issues with the rape and assault, undealt with situation with church. I was a walking ticking time bomb. And simply could not see it coming.

In the summer of 1995, Couch Potato and I had been married six years. Little did I know that we were nearing the end...or the beginning of the end. And what would bring us down was not my buried homosexuality, although that too played a part near the end.
It was the summer when the movie Rob Roy starring Liam Neeson and Jessica Lange came out. Couch Potato and I scrambled to see it, and then saw it again, multiple times more. Great movie...but it triggered something within me in that deep uneasy silent place that I was so busy ignoring. To this day, I still haven't quite unraveled it. In the oddest way, I found myself identifying so strongly with the lead character. I still haven't unraveled my gut reactions to that movie - but I am quite sure that some of the deep nudges to my intuition had to do with being a butch lesbian and my years later realization of being transgender. At the time, I simply knew that I felt more than I could express about what I saw in the character of Rob in the movie. Strange how the smallest things that seem trivial can have messages for us that we can only unravel much later. It's like having a random piece of the puzzle, but not enough of the rest of the picture to put it in place. You know it's significant, but without context, the meaning eludes you...it haunted me for a long time to come.

The other thing that happened in the fall of '95 is that over a period of months, Couch Potato simply checked out of our relationship emotionally. All of a sudden, over that fall and into the winter, he simply, somehow left even thought his body was still sitting there. We became like roommates, sharing space. I was confused, I was lost. I could not figure it out - I still haven't, even in the wake of his death last year. I have some educated guesses, that I think are pretty close to correct, but since I never could get him to talk about it, and now he is gone, I will not know in this life what happened for certainty. Another distressing part of this time with him was that in parts of our relationship, he became abusive...not something I would have ever expected from him, or ever saw any warning signal that things could turn this way. It was completely out of character for him. I struggled desperately with the situation, unable to cope or understand, unable to ask for help, or confide in anyone.

Over the next four years the situation worsened. The abuse became frightening, though it finally peaked and burned out at last towards the end...and left us just coexisting in our house like two strangers who happened to meet in the middle to pay the bills. Needless to say, in the vacuum of my marriage's destruction, and after over a decade's suppression, the long buried issues of my sexuality and orientation, and my faith and beliefs all began to rise. I wandered around my house empty and lonely, and thinking of things that I had firmly set aside...

....and this time there would be no stopping the inevitable truths. The change was inevitable, unavoidable and necessary - change or die, all over again. I'd been down that road before, almost to the bitter end. I chose a different road this time.

And my journey was never going to be the same...

A Moment Aside - Harvest

The Wheel of the Year has definitely turned. We have had mild frost. The trees are lightly touched with color - harbinger of the display of full autumn to come. We are merely days away from Oiche Shamhna - Samhain - the last harvest festival of the season, though most of the world knows it as Halloween and thinks in terms of the harvest of candy, garnered by the age old chant of "Trick or Treat!"

We have a garden, several in fact - one is a hay bale garden, built up and ringed with tree stumps. It produces all kinds of things - herbs, one year a volunteer pumpkin vine that made us very happy, cantaloupe, etc...and tomatoes.

LOTS of tomatoes.

We do not buy tomatoes in the growing season - late spring to early autumn our garden delights in great over abundance of them! Our other gardens produce strawberries and cucumbers and raspberries.

We are not selfish with the tomatoes - I know the lower vines' tomatoes get raided by possum and rabbit - and if there isn't a raccoon in the mix I will surprised, though I have never seen them around here. The higher tomatoes with nibbled bites were a little tougher to fathom, until the night I startled a young deer into flight across the yard. They are all welcome to the bounty - we still have more than we can keep up with, even with their help. Tomatoes go on salads, used in sandwiches and burgers, eaten straight off the vine and of course - Fried Green Tomatoes! We have been very blessed. We live near poverty level - it is no small thing to have an over abundance of food in ones yard!

But the growing season is ending - there were three tomatoes left - the ones pictured above, and the vines were showing the marks of frost and time. I harvested the last three, and then pulled the vines and the tomato cages and frame work out, setting aside the latter to store 'til next year, and gently placing the vines on the burn pile. Any remaining frost damaged fruit I let fall in the garden it self to compost and then shoveled the dark rich earth around and turned it.

Tonight I fixed the last meal of fried green tomatoes until next summer, giving thanks for our sturdy little garden's bounty. Later tonight, I will take a small offering - a libation - out for the fey, or the genus loci, or the land wights - or perhaps for the very Earth itself to give back the gift we have been given. Of course, there is more to be done - some turning and mulching, and pine bark to insulate and protect the garden through the long winter. I give thanks to God for the good earth, remembering that we are NOT, as mistranslations of Genesis imply, in domination over Creation, but a part of it and hold it in loving stewardship and care.

But tonight, we can say our harvest is safely in, the wheel is turning and we have eaten once again of the food of the land we live on. What is more sacred than this - the land that you care for and til and plant with your own hands, that sustains you and feeds you? Tonight I will stand on holy ground, this small circle of good earth and give honor and respect with a grateful heart!

Siochan leat!

Monotheism, Polytheism and this Episcopagans Journey, Part Two : The Dark Night of the Soul

Because you come to us by profession of your faith, I ask you therefore, to reject sin, and to profess your faith in Christ Jesus, and to confess the faith of the church, in which you were baptized.
1) Trusting in the gracious mercy of God, do you turn from the ways of sin and renounce evil and its power in the world?
Response: I do.
2) Do you turn to Jesus Christ and accept him as your Lord and Savior, trusting in his grace and love?
Response: I do.
3) Will you be Christ’s faithful disciple, obeying his Word and showing his love?
Response: I will.

4) Do you vow to submit in obedience to the leadership of the church in work and worship in all things, becoming a faithful member of the congregation?

Response:

I do.

With these words, at 8 years of age, I became a "communing" member of my church - able to take communion, to vote in church elections and congregational meetings and be considered a professing Christian and member of the church. I never forgot the moment and the words. They reverberated down my soul, even at age 8 - a solomn vow for all my life ahead of me.

18 years later, these words, these vows cost me more than I could have ever believed of my faith, my sanity and my ability to trust my church, or any church.

Continuing from part one, I graduated my Christian High School, and my very sheltered environment of home and church and school - all enmeshed and one in a doctrinal unity - and went off into the secular wide world of college. My father would have happily sent me to a conservative Christian college, locally or elsewhere, but the funds simply did not allow it. So instead I attended a local secular (by my Christian background's standards) college and fell head long into normalcy - people who had varying views, who drank or smoke or did drugs, who were gay, who were not Christians...things I had never been around in my whole life and had no experience in coexisting with whatsoever. My third roommate, Sceptic - and the one I was to room with the rest of my college years, (and Hi by the way, when you read this!) was atheistic, and talked about Carl Sagan the way I talked about God, at the time. What is interesting is, that she and I became dear friends, and were able to discuss our separate views without rancor or hate. In theory, by my church's standards, we shouldn't have even managed to be in the same room - in reality, love transcended our differences.

But despite my apparent ability to more or less fit in, the fact was that I was woefully unprepared for the reality of life. I trusted. I made friends easily. I viewed everyone through the lens of my own experience - that of my sheltered world, where other than the mindless cruelty of my peers, which eventually faded, people were basically loving and trustworthy. (although I must point out - one of my friends was permanently disillusioned by the vicious behavior of our classmates and to this day views her time with me at the Christian High school as some of the worst years of her life...I cannot say that she is wrong. Kids are brutal in their social milieux and there were no anti-bullying programs back then.)

So, having this gentle view of the world, when I met up with a man who was a predator in the guise of a "friend", I became a victim of sexual assault and violence. I had no map for this. I had nothing that had ever told me how to survive this, despite scriptural platitudes. I sank into a killing depression, and eventually left college, almost unable to function.

I wish to say, here by the way - I have survived this event of more than 25 years ago - survived and gone on to thrive. For any who reads this who has lived through such a situation, rape is a nightmare, but healing is possible - get help...reputable help, particularly survivor support groups with good moderators. There is life on the other side, and it can be a good healthy happy life!

So, I finally went home...found a low paying mall job, and tried to figure out what to do with myself. There was some gentle friction between me and my parents - no fights, but the sudden conjunction of lives that no longer fit. Not only was I radically different from the person who went off to college, but I was also a far more independent person. I could see future conflict arising, so I moved out, acquiring as a roommate, one of my co-workers who also needed to get out. She and I were of an age and similar in thoughts - both artists, both extroverted, both needing to get out of our parents shadows and issues. "Lynn" and I became fast friends, and fairly inseparable. She is the first person I ever told of the assault, she in turn shared some of her past with me (her story is not mine to tell, except where it intersects with my story.)

And then the unthinkable, the unbelievable, the unmentionable happened...she and I became lovers. The situation was deeply closeted. I was torn between being happier than I had ever been in my life, and totally horrified - convinced that I was going to hell, that as a Christian, I had committed the most heinous sin imaginable - that should it be known, I would never ever again be accepted by my faith community. (there was some truth to that last, as the distant future proved). I confided my situation to one friend - Starchild - the only one I trusted enough to tell for certain reasons, and when she gently suggested I might be gay, I metaphorically screamed denial and ran the other way. It. Could. Not. Be. And yet, there is no doubt I was head over heels in love with Lynn, would have spent the rest of my life with her, if events had turned out differently.

But Lynn, however much she loved me, and for all our loving intimacy, was NOT gay. She shortly met a man whom she fell in love with, and in the callousness of youth and disregard, took him to our bed. I walked in on them. This scenario eventually ended with her moving out and marrying him. It also led me, blind with depression and self hate, to attempted suicide. I moved into a small single rental afterwards, explained away the attempt at suicide as a result of the rape, and not the despair of finding my lover in a man's arms in our bed, and lamely tried to get my life going once again. (I won't say that the rape had nothing to do with the suicide...I was a freaking mess by then all the way across the board. But it was a lovely red herring to blame, rather than deal with the hint of the possibility that I was gay!)

Some attempts at finding help in the therapy and psychiatric communities turned out to be useless...at the time, rape was considered to be something that you could get over in about 6 weeks, rather than the life long damaging event it actually is. And I had full blown Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (still do, though largely in abeyance.). The one counselor, who almost put her finger on the pin on the map and caught the possible significance of Lynn in my life, I ran from as fast as I could as my religious driven denial continued. I could not be, simply was not and never would, be gay. I was a Christian! This was wrong! It was sin...said so right there in the Bible. Therefore, I was not - WOULD not be - gay. God, how obtuse can you get! It's almost funny now....almost. Because what happened next nearly finished me.

I had reconnected with my church since crawling home from college, and moving out on my own after Lynn's betrayal - I rejoined the choir, and became a lay worker with the youth ministry. I was starting to find that I might survive and even be happy, despite nightmares and PTSD symptoms. I missed Lynn like I might miss oxygen, but of course I had renounced all that evil, and therefore could not acknowledge that. So I threw myself into my old haven, the church. And eventually Had A Thought...of course! The church is here to help you, you idiot! Go to them about the assault, let them counsel you. So I did.

I went to my minister, who was very gentle, and sad about what had happened to me, and paired me off with a woman in the church for counseling, whose heart was in the right place, but had NO clue what to do with me. It was a good Bible study, but it did not remotely touch on the issues I was struggling with. And then came the final betrayal...

I was working with the youth group under the leadership of the youth minister. While meeting with him to go over lesson plans shortly after I had confided in deepest confidence my past with the senior minister...I was pulled out and called into the other office. There the senior minister bluntly, in a matter of about 2 sentences informed me that because of the rape, the session had decided it was not appropriate that I be working with the youth group, and I would have to withdraw from the youth ministry.

My entire world crumbled and imploded. I sat there, struggling to speak, to say anything, all my victim's self blame and horror rising to choke my throat. And he just sat there and look at me and waited in patient silence for my utter capitulation. I finally got out a strangled "Can we talk about this, do I have any choices?" No, I did not, he informed me. There was no discussion possible. I was officially kicked out of the program. The compassion that had originally been in him was simply not there. He was cold, distant and removed.

And all I could think, all I could manage to hear in my mind was my own 8 year old voice, 18 years ago saying "I do." to the question laid before me - "Do you vow to submit in obedience to the leadership of the church in work and worship in all things, becoming a faithful member of the congregation?" I had promised. I had given my vow, my oath...my word, my honor. Utter obedience...

In the eternity of those few seconds, I swallowed agony and submitted.

Very well, I said.

They had not told the youth minister, so I had to go back down the hall, and tell him that I was not allowed to work with the youth any more. I left my carefully researched lesson plans at his feet metaphorically, and walked out blind with tears into the sunshine, feeling that somehow, I was the evil one for being raped, that somehow I must have asked for it, that I was at fault...the trap that awaits most victims, and I had just begun to believe in myself again.

In author Lois MacMaster Bujold's works, is a point made in the words of her main character; "The problem with death before dishonor is a survivors problem. If you live long enough, the world sorts itself into two categories - the dead and the fore sworn."

I was not fore sworn....but I was certainly for all purposes walking dead. I spent the next 10 years, still in this church, faithfully singing in the choir...and simply not engaging with much of anything else, or trusting another living soul. I was totally severed from my community, and they never even noticed. I was obviously up there singing, wasn't I?

My community and I were severed, and I had simply no where to turn that I trusted any more.

And thus my relationship with Organized Conservative Christianity was shattered, though it took another decade and many changes in my life, before the final amputation occurred.

The Fool had fallen off the precipice at last...

More to come....

Monotheism, Polytheism and this Episcopagan's Journey, Part 0ne

I titled this blog "Walking the Labyrinth" for a reason...my life has been a journey that has wrapped around in what seems to be an infinite variety of pattern. I return always to similar places - and yet they are different every time. Unending changes, and unending similarities.

I grew up in a Presbyterian church in the deep southern Bible belt. I was baptized as an infant, and my parents and my church saw to it that I absorbed traditional Christianity like a sponge from the cradle. I had a difficult childhood medically - I spent 4 - 5 years on a leg brace and crutches, from about age 5 1/2 to about age 10. That journey including things like traction, a body cast, and lengthy hospital stay. This was interpreted to me as temporary by the medical community - every month, every year was the last one I would have to spend in this state. The original prognosis was 6 months to a year and then I would be walking. My peers were of course unwittingly cruel - I was different, Other and alien. My simple faith as a child was my comfort, as was my family...and books.

Many, many books. I read everything I could get my hands on - it was how I experienced the world. And perhaps that is the earliest clue as to why my horizons are so much broader than the narrow path my church laid out for me. One book I read very early on as a child trapped in my medical bonds was "Wind in the Willows", Kenneth Grahame's gentle anthropomorphic adventures of Rat, Mole, Badger and Toad. I was deeply affected by one chapter in particular - Chapter Seven - "Piper at the Gates of Dawn". In this chapter a small creature goes missing from it's family and Rat and Mole join the search...in the dawn, they discover the missing baby otter sleeping, protected and safe at the feet of the god Pan, or the Green Man, who is implied to be the god of the woodland creatures. They see him briefly and then are blinded by the rising sun and he is gone, leaving behind the small otter. All that remains are fragments of song, imperfectly heard and soon forgotten:

Lest the awe should dwell

And turn your frolic to fret

You shall look on my power at the helping hour

But then you shall forget!

forget, forget

Lest limbs be reddened and rent

I spring the trap that is set

As I loose the snare you may
glimpse me there

For surely you shall forget!

Helper and healer, I cheer

Small waifs in the woodland wet

Strays I find in it, wounds I bind in it

Bidding them all forget!

I remember a thrill going through me...as a small child, I had been taught that God was to be feared with awe, and that Jesus was our protector and friend...and here were echoes of that, deity in different form! I never forgot, ever after, that chapter and it's affect on me.

I grew...I was pronounced "cured" - though I can truly give the medical establishment no credit for my freedom when it came at last. I gained my feet and supposedly those years were past and gone. But of course I was marked by them forever. My parents kept me in private Christian schools from Kindergarten through the 12th grade. In my childhood, during those difficult early years, they placed me in a Lutheran church school for Kindergarten through sixth grade. This became a quiet source of gentle confusion for me - the differences between Lutheran and Presbyterian were profound. So at school we had the Advent Candles and the Liturgical Seasons, and said the Lords prayer differently, while at church such things were frowned upon as being inappropriate or unacceptable. I kept my confusion in my heart - truth be told I LOVED the Liturgy, and the great Seasonal wheel of the Church year, and missed them when I was at church. Another mile marker on this journey...

I grew up, officially joined my church at age 8 which was an appalling young age for so great and heavy a vow. In my early teens my church split off from the parent denomination, becoming one of several "reformed Presbyterian" denominations. I, knowing only what I was told, was taught that the original denomination had grown corrupt and was misinterpreting the Bible and other horrible things. Dutifully in my parents wake, I cast my vote and so became a charter member of the new reformed Presbyterian church. At first, the changes were invisible - we stayed in our great almost 100 year old sanctuary, the minister remained the same, the sermons sounded no different. I was an innocent who trusted...and who loved God with all my heart. I left grammar school and moved on to 7th through 12th grades at a Presbyterian Church school of the same denomination as my church. Needless to say my innocent faith soon became indoctrination - the world was an evil place, Christians were to be soldiers who conquered in Christs name and the battle was for souls. I became that most obnoxious and earnest of all creatures - a devout evangelistic teenager who had swallowed down whole the militant language of my church's prime agenda.

And yet, there was also an echo that remained with me in my heart - from the forbidden Liturgy of my childhood, the books that I read and never discussed with anyone, the flare of recognition of a God of Love and not of Hate in certain scriptures, that was slowly being buried under the rise of moral conservatism's darkest incarnation. I could still hear that Horn blowing at the Gates of Dawn...I was happiest focused on the Christ of the Gospels, on his actions and his life, rather than on these knotty thorny esoteric theological arguments. I yearned for a faith that DID, rather than just sat there in it's pew. The hint of the dichotomy that was to tear me apart later was already rising - how do you square a God of Love with the Hate and dishonesty of His people? I some how absorbed the idea that God was love, that worship was doing rather than sitting and being spoon-fed, that Christians were a Priesthood of Believers and God was immanent and indwelling. In short, buried under the bitter load of dry conservatism, I was a budding Christian Mystic, in a church that damned any form of mysticism as of Satanic lies.

Meanwhile the Church I was a member of was slowly stifling the life out of it's people - worship becoming regimented, "Pagan" celebrations of the years turning questioned, women turned out of any role other than baby sitters and cooks and cleaners within the church walls. The Priesthood of all believers became suppressed, forgotten, and the male ministers and session gained in power. Contemporary music was of the Devil - I had acquired the skills of playing the guitar for use in the church only to find guitars forbidden. My greatest joy was to be in the Church Choir and to sing - an active living act of worship that, little did I realize until much later was all that was sustaining me and holding me to the church.

All of this, mind you, was deeply subliminal, fragmentary, deep withing my heart, and even I didn't consciously realize it. Outwardly, conscientiously, I was what I appeared to be - a devout conservative thoroughly indoctrinated young Christian. But the distant sound of the Piper did come to me now and then and at times I was uneasy for no reason I could fathom. It is a journey that is only clear in retrospect, with now obvious twists and turns.

Little did I know that I was ripe for a crisis of faith, for a collision with truths greater than the narrow interpretations doled out to me, and I didn't even know I was the Fool on the edge of a fall off the precipice in a much greater journey

And the fall came...

A Church Under Construction....

Part of me is saying to myself that this feels far bigger than it actually is, and that I have it out of proportion. The other part of me has been in tears off and on since yesterday, and does not expect to get through this post with out crying some more. However, writing things out and turning them inside out and upside down and thinking them over is a way to process and reframe and arrive at perspective and ideas for things to do. The other day, as mentioned in an earlier post on about Labyrinth, and the new look on my blog, we - Dreamweaver and myself - went to a "Quiet Day" at our church. Our church has a new sanctuary and has been under construction ( see the picture above), which is now finished. So our Quiet Day was in the new sanctuary, which is beautiful! The indoor candle lit Labyrinth was set up in the hall where the old sanctuary was, the out door Labyrinth was, of course and as always, available. A lovely lunch was provided...reading materials were provided. There were materials to make a sand labyrinth with. Communion was served. Quiet music...spiritual direction. A day to meditate, to rest and feed the soul...

Except that Dreamweaver and I arrived at the church with a storm in our hearts. The day before in our local paper there was an article on the second page about the Episcopalian Diocese in SC possibly splitting over the GLBT issues that are shaking the denomination and we were very concerned and rattled by it. Dreamweaver in particular was shaken, as she is about to be a very brave little Episcopagan and actually JOIN this church as a communing confirmed member. And as the very visible Lesbian couple in the church - and the only gay couple that we are aware of - we were feeling very unsure - like a target painted on our backs! Dreamweaver went to Mother L in tears for spiritual direction.

She received assurances that the church would stand by us, that we were welcome, that Mother L and Father M were on top of the situation...and then the conversation exploded in her face. Dreamweaver asked what could we do to help...and Mother L, without realizing she was putting a match to gasoline, made the statement that we should not have Public Displays of Affection - no putting our arms around each other, etc, until the church got "used" to us...

Dreamweaver caught up with me later on our way down to lunch and told me. I came to a dead halt and felt like someone had just punched me in the gut - HARD. Don't touch, don't look like a gay couple, don't make anyone uncomfortable...I live my life in this town with my head cranked over my shoulder gauging where I am, who is near, is it safe to be near my wife. GLBT people live daily with these decisions - can I put the picture of my partner on my desk at work, or will it get me harassed and fired? Can I put my arm around my lover, or is this area of town safe - could I get lectured by someone, beaten up, raped, murdered? Is the person in the corner someone who knows other people that I am NOT out to - will kissing my partner on the cheek and holding hands Out me to people I choose not to be Out to. Sean Kennedy was murdered a block from where Dreamweaver was working at the time - his murderer got manslaughter, served virtually no jail time, the rest of the sentence aborted. His ugly gay bashing phone call after he killed Sean was inadmissible in court. ( http://www.seanslastwish.org/new_index.html) We live in a dangerous area of the country...

Church was my safe space. Years ago, when I first began attending, I caught Father M on the second time I was there and told him flat out I was gay, and asked if it was a problem...that if it was, I would just move on and keep church hunting. Father M hugged me and said that I was welcome as I am, and that there was no problem. Never have I felt so relieved, because I had fallen in love with this church. So for years I have been attending, quietly but openly gay- no flag waving, but no hiding either. My ex did not attend very often with me, which probably made it easier on folks to kind of ignore me, or not "see" what I am. Dreamweaver however, attends with me, and as I said earlier, is officially joining the church. Up until now, when our insane school schedules let us attend, we have sat together in the pew, with my arm around her, or holding hands, in the service, across the parking lot. I have felt safe. I have bragged that I attend a church where my love and I were welcomed and accepted as we are, a couple, a family, that we didn't have to hide, that this church has ministered to us as the Bible teaches - in love.

When I had my hip surgery, Mother L was at the hospital praying with Dreamweaver and my parents while they waited. When I got home and was recovering, the church brought us communion. When Gentle One and his wife who came to bring us communion saw our poverty and empty cupboards, he brought back enough groceries from the church to feed us for three months. When the electricity was about to be shut off, the church paid the bill. Indeed, my best guess is that over the last five years, they have financially helped with college book money, electric bill money, gas money, or just enough to keep the checking account from bouncing. Mother L, said this weekend that she wishes she could help us this fall, but the discretionary funds are empty and that distressed her. We didn't ask; but she knows our situation and we appreciated the fact that she wished she could help. In fact, a few times we asked for help, it didn't come from church money, but from Father M or Mother L's own wallet. Moreover, we right now have no means to give back the help that has been extended to us. Won't have it until we are out of college. (We both have had severe relationship/financial distress and changes in careers and have lost homes and financial stability. It won't always be this way. I have offered and will be donating a free mural to the church - I may not have money right now, but my talent and time is my tithe - when we move into our post college and grad school careers and stabilize, we will be paying forward by tithing to the discretionary fund account for those who come after us who are in similar condition). When I was under going one of the darkest periods of my life, I turned to Father M and received counseling, acceptance, and Christian love - the same from Mother L. This is a wonderful church - everything a church should be and more!

And all of a sudden, this. Don't be public. Don't be seen. Don't act like a couple publicly. I stood in the parking lot of the church and abruptly had tears pouring down my face. I kept telling myself the reaction was extreme, that this is a small thing, a misunderstanding, something we could accommodate if it would help...it did no good. I could not stop the tears, or the feeling I had been stabbed through the heart, or that my "safe" church, my heart's home was suddenly no longer safe. I stumbled through the rest of the day, unable to focus on the meditation, only finding some peace and centering when I walked the indoor Labyrinth. D. who was in charge of the Labyrinth - keeping candles lit, providing writing materials, and spiritual direction - began her walk in on the Labyrinth as I was walking out. We came together at a turn, and I stepped back to let her pass. She walked up to me and hugged me, profoundly and deeply - I clung to her for a moment, feeling the love and acceptance heal me somewhat.

Later in the day I cornered Mother L. and went through the same discussion - poor woman! - wanting confirmation of what I had heard, to see where she was really coming from.

Mother L was a school teacher before she became an Episcopalian Priest. She is a very reserved woman herself. I think she is not comfortable with public displays of affection from anyone - that this extends not from bigotry, but from her own natural reserve and perhaps ignorance of GLBT issues. Just because some one is an ally, does not necessarily mean they are educated on all the issues and impacts of this culture. She did say that she did not want to make us uncomfortable, and to not worry about what she had pointed out if it did. She also admitted she would not have so counseled a straight couple...that last brought a look of sudden dawning realization to her face - the beginning of understanding of what she had just done. She was loving and compassionate, and when I said one of my dreams was for Dreamweaver and I to marry in this church and for her and Father M and Mother L to perform the ceremony, she lit up and said she wished with all her heart that someday that could happen. No. Not hate or bigotry. Or lack of acceptance. Only misunderstanding and cultural blindness. That was all we had time for, as the day was drawing to a close, and the final communion ceremony was about to start.

Dreamweaver and I went home afterward, feeling that we had not quite had the spiritually restorative day we might have had. Sunday morning we rose and went to church. I almost could not walk in the door. I chose for this service to consider what Mother L. had said about our visibility and taking time to let people get used to us. So I did not put my arm around Dreamweaver in the service, or hold her hand going into the building. And before the service was half over, I was crying again, and could not stop the tears from running down my face. I grew up sitting in church with my family - my dads arm around my mother, my mom's arm around me - it was a part of being together as a family in worship and community. And I felt that this was being denied to us. And yet, as we left, other members of the congregation came to us and hugged us and greeted us...our home is still our home. Afterward, Mother L came to us, alarmed and concerned and threw her arms around us, and wanted to know if we needed to talk...we said that we wanted to later - we knew she and Father M had a meeting immediately after with Episcopal church leadership to discuss the article in the paper about GBLT issues and the Episcopal church split. I am sure Mother L went to that meeting shaken and thinking hard.

So where are we now? We will be talking to Mother L and Father M about GLBT issues, and getting them information. We will continue to sit together with our arms across each other shoulders. We will not back down, but neither will we become militant, or angry. This is our church, our home. These are our community and family. And as those who minister to us have done so, we will minister to them regarding the truths of being Gay in this world and culture. I feel better today - talking about with Dreamweaver, writing this post, talking with friends (THANK YOU Alissia!) have gone far to ease my heart. I have a button on a vest that I wear that says the Mahatma Gandhi quote - "we must be the change we wish to see in the world."

Our church is a human organization and flawed, a family, and heir to all the miscommunication and misunderstandings that humans are capable of. It is a church "under construction" and love is how we build it. So with love, I will begin...