Giving Thanks

Although Yule and Winter Solstice is still over a month away, Winter has  arrived in my sleepy little mountain town. The first snow to have 'stuck' is firmly glued to the ground, and a snowplow is dutifully making the rounds. School is on a two hour delay tomorrow morning. The " I saw a snowflake!" panic has begun. You'd think that people living in this region would be unflappable about this, being that we are in so remote a place and ( in theory, at least) weather changes are a minute by minute occurrence.

Thanksgiving is just around the corner. The feeling of hometown America has all but been wrung out of the holiday this year, if you listen to all the talk on social media. Over at the Patheos website, Jason Mankey has written an article for his Raise the Horns blog aptly named "Killing Thanksgiving" [http://www.patheos.com/blogs/panmankey/]...and I agree completely. Thanksgiving is the single most wholly American holiday we share in this country, and yet we are allowing huge corporate businesses like WalMart and their ilk to dictate how and when we celebrate our family traditions. We have given them our personal power for a few dollars' discount on possessions.

All the warm fuzziness of the Waltons and Hallmark movies aside, there actually was a time when families came together- some members traveling long distances just for the occasion- to actually share a home cooked meal. In my house- and I know we were by no means unique- that gathering was a somewhat strained and teeth-gritting affair. Looking back I suspect we did it more out tradition than a feeling of family unity, but my personal contribution to the day was attending some sort of interfaith community Thanksgiving service where gathered to actually give thanks for all the good things in our lives and to recognize in public ritual that it was possible for the variety of religious traditions in the neighborhood to assemble in the same room without having a holy war. It was a quiet, humbling hour or so, when the world stopped and we huddled under the mantle of our personal idea of the Divine. "Raise the Song of Harvest Home" was sung lustily, although most of us had no real experience of living in an agrarian culture.

When I was a kid Thanksgiving was the start of the Christmas shopping season and not a day earlier.
There was usually a parade on the morning of Black Friday, then people went shopping in earnest in downtown or drove out to one of the malls. But Thanksgiving was always reserved for getting together and catching up with one another, preparing and eating a huge meal and then falling asleep in front of a football game on TV in a turkey/L-triptophan induced coma. ( I have a theory that the oil that burned in the lamps at Hanukkah was actually turkey grease because nothing last as long as turkey grease. If you've ever hand-washed dishes from a turkey dinner, you'll know what I mean- it will be spread all over every glass, fork and dish you touch).

Maybe I'm just a nostalgic sap, but I think Normal Rockwell got it right when it came to Thanksgiving. I wonder if he'd be painting families trekking off to the mall instead of gathered around a lace draped table, beatific faces shining, as they gazed upon the visage of Turkey Incarnate.
Somehow, that same family huddled in the food court outside of Macy's doesn't have the same effect or feeling.

On Turkey Day I will break out what's left of my thrift store silver plate and lay out a spread of food worthy of a photo shoot in a magazine. I will put Martha Stewart to shame. And all the effort will be worth it just to have that momentary feeling of connection and tradition. There will be no trip to WalMart on Thanksgiving or Black Friday, because I refuse to give over my personal power. I will refuse to cave into the pressure of advertisers and I will not be tempted to over-spend on tawdry gifts.

What I will do-after I degrease the kitchen and company has gone home-will be to fix myself a cup of hot tea and reflect on the past year and the harvest of my life. I will give thanks to the gods and goddesses of the soil and remember those who labor to tend the land. I will give thanks for having enough- enough food and material possessions, enough to be safe and comfortable through the cold winter months. I will think of the time when I didn't have my own home, and be mindful of those who are in the situation I was in just a few short years ago. I will sit in the darkness lit with a single candle and savor the warmth and the flavor of the cup in my hands. And I will be thankful.

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A House Warming Potion

1 cinnamon stick
6 whole cloves
1 tsp ground ginger
1 tsp allspice
zest of 1 orange orange or lemon
three drop orange oil
1 cup of water
1 sprig of pine, cedar or juniper

Place all of the above in an enamel pan and simmer on the stove to release the fragrance throughout the house. Adjust the spices to your liking. Simmer for as long as you like, and store the cooled contents of the pan in a glass jar to be used again.

Signs and Omens

Pagan Blog Project post for letter S

"Unless you people see signs and wonders," Jesus told him," you will never believe." John 4:48, New International Version Bible

"I will show wonders in the heavens above and signs on the earth below..."
Acts 2:19a, Revised Standard Version Bible

In the biblical account of Thomas meeting Jesus on the road after his death and resurrection and asking for proof that it is really him, Jesus obliges by letting Thomas put his hand into his crucifixion wounds and replies ( seemingly in exasperation), " Blessed are they that have not seen and yet have believed." Thomas needed more than merely seeing an apparition, he needed tangible proof to back up his spiritual beliefs. In my little part of Appalachia, there are certain churches of Pentecostal linage-namely the The Church of God with Signs Following-that practice snake handling, handling fire and drinking poison based on an interpretation of the following biblical passage:
"And these signs shall follow them that believe; In my name shall they cast out devils; they shall speak with new tongues; They shall take up serpents; and if they drink any deadly thing, it shall not hurt them; they shall lay hands on the sick, and they shall recover." [Mark, verses 16:17-18, King James Version Bible.] The rattlesnakes and copperheads used during these ecstatic religious extravaganzas don't always yield to will of the faithful, and every now and then someone sustains a serious bite and dies or expires from drinking a kerosene cocktail. The Bible also states that God will not be tempted or tested-so much for cherry picking scripture.

We humans don't seem to be very good at believing without seeing. We are always asking for tangible proof that things exist, particularly if the thing in question is outside of our  personal experience or comfort zone. Citing the verses at the beginning of this post, it seems we've been demanding proof since ancient ages, and perhaps, since the beginning of time itself.

We need proof of the gods' higher nature and claims of omnipotence. We demand proof of those claims through gloriously impressive events. Show me that you're who you say you are, and I'll believe. Give me proof. Usually the gods oblige us and send a lightening bolt or some tamer bit of proof of their divinity. Humans are cheeky beings: for not only do we demand this proof once, we keep at it over and over. It's not that we forget, it is that we're all doubters at heart. It's not that we don't want to believe-we just need proof to satisfy ourselves.

Indigenous peoples have worked with and held the belief in signs and omens for millennia. Like many modern Pagans, they believed that this was the way Nature communicated with us. Those signs and omens may not be as dramatic as the lightening bolt but just as powerful: a song may come on the radio which is the answer to a question you asked about a relationship, conversation with a stranger may give you a new view point that leads to a breakthrough, a hawk suddenly swoops down out of no where and guides you along a road. It could be something as simple as the tiny white feather that always fell from the sky when Forrest Gump questioned the Universe. Albert Einstein reminds us that "Coincidence is God's way of remaining anonymous";this was not the great scientist speaking religiously,but saying that reality is truly mysterious. Einstein had an abiding love of the mystery of Nature, and his way of framing that was to personalize Mystery in a way others could relate.[Religion as Art Form: Reclaiming Spirituality without Supernatural Beliefs,Carl L.Jech,
Wipf & Stock Publishers, 2013.]

Signs often make themselves known in dreams. If you've been having a dream where a theme specifically repeats, or if a particular item keeps showing up in different dreams, then that item can be taken as a sign. Some signs are actually created in the subconscious and appear in dreams as a message for the dreamer to pay attention to the meaning of such an item. The meanings in dreams are not set in stone; one dream dictionary may list a differing  description than another. Because the meanings of dreams are explicit to the individual, you may be left guessing as to the actual meaning of a dream sign.

Omens are a little looser in definition and their meaning may vary by culture. The appearance of a black animal portends an unlucky event in some European cultures, but the appearance of a white animal will mean the same thing in a few Asian cultures. ( The Chinese believe that a black bat is a sign of wealth.) A butterfly entering the house portends the visit of an important individual; in other cultures it represents rebirth. The place you are located contributes significantly to means.
[http://www.wofs.com/index.php/wealth-mainmenu-37/540-18-omens-of-good-fortune]

Working with signs and omens means paying attention to your surroundings; they are to be found everywhere.







http://www.sandraingerman.com/sandrasarticles/howtoworkwithomens.html

All Hallows Eve: The Blessing of Every Soul

The other day I came into a discussion posted by a friend whose daughter had come home from CCD class upset because her teacher told the class that animals had no souls and when they died that was it...Kitty wasn't going to be joining them in heaven. A pretty heartless thing to tell a little girl especially in light of the fact that the elderly family feline had to be euthanized a few weeks ago and the grief is still fairly fresh. While I'm sure this teacher was only trying to relay the scripted answers and not deviate from the dogma of the Church written by Old White Men centuries ago was teaching from the approved syllabus, I fail to fathom was actually gained by coldly telling a child who was still in the process of mourning that her soul-less pet no longer mattered. It's not that she actually said anything wrong, because that's the Roman Catholic Church's teaching on the nature of the soul. ( And they are not alone, many Protestant Christian Churches share the same dogma.) This belief is based on the principle that all living things have a soul, and when that thing dies, the soul is separated from the body. In the case of humans the soul continues to exist because it is immortal because it is the seat of reason and intelligence, and therefore responsible for their actions. Animals, it is believed, have a different kind of soul because they do not share the intelligence that humans-made in the image of God, according to the creation story in Genesis. They are not self aware, and they act without conscience. They are not responsible for their actions. They choose neither God's will, nor their own.

I will debate most of the above until the day I die, despite my holding degrees in both theology and psychology, because deep in the place where I hold reason I know from personal experience that this bit of religious teaching is untrue. To begin with, dogma is man made written by Old White Men in long robes in the  age of ignorance.

Dogma is a creation of humans and not Deity.  It is a set of principles written by religious authority who hold it to be true. In other words,dogma is nothing more than the opinion of a particular set of individuals given authority by a specific religious body which is based upon the sacred text of their group. Therefore, depending upon my own religious beliefs, I can argue that this particular dogma is right or wrong...or, because I am not a member of a particular religious group I can totally ignore the dogma because I am in no way bound to that belief system.

Oh, but wait...does an animal's ability to relate and seemingly to communicate with humans mean that the animal possesses an immortal soul which will survive after death? Most theologians will say no, and I will still argue the point despite the Biblical pretense that humans are superior to animals and have dominion over them, and here is why: animals are mentioned by both the prophet Isaiah and The Apostle John in regard to the new heaven and earth, after the Rapture. Isaiah 65:25 says, "The wolf and the lamb will feed together, and the lion will eat straw like the ox,but dust will be the serpent's food. They will neither harm nor destroy on all my holy mountain, says the Lord." John goes on to mention Christ and the armies of heaven "riding on white horses" (Revelation 19:14) Clues from the Bible about what actually goes on in heaven or the afterlife are sketchy at best.

And while you are sitting there with your eyebrow raised, consider this little twist: according to the Messianic law, Jesus had to die to save the souls of humans alone. And why is that? Because animals, which still received the breath of God during the creation story, are true to their nature, act without malice, and are, in fact innocent of the sins of humans...they did not require redemption, because animals are without sin in the eyes of God. By this time I think it's a bit like going in and bayoneting the wounded after the war, but I'm going to also point out to all those learned folk who dare to suppose themselves to be experts on the nature of God (that's what theology means) that the only creatures that disobeyed God and were put out of the Garden of Eden were the humans. The Creator did not kick out any cows, chickens or goats. Even the serpent was allowed to stay. The Bible says plenty about which humans aren't going to heaven, but there is no mention of animals. To say that no animals will be in heaven is an assumption and the opinion of the humans who wrote it all down. There is no comment from God on the subject, and maybe for a good reason: it's a moot point.

It has been over a decade since I was the caretaker of an animal companion, but there are things I will never forget. I will never forget the look of understanding in my cat Tinker's eyes when I needed to vent or cry, and that she often reached out to comfort me with a paw on my hand or face. I will never forget the look of fear when I yelled at her over something, or the joy she shared when we played together, or how she rolled around at my feet or called out to me when I came home from work. There was a wise old soul in her, and maybe she didn't have the same reasoning as a human, but there was something there knowing and holy in those green feline eyes. She instinctively knew when things were good and when things weren't going well. I saw that. Those eyes told me when she became old and sick, and when the life we shared became too much. They were the same eyes that told me when it was time to let her go, and that she would be fine wherever her journey across the Veil took her. People who know me know that I'm logical and a rational thinker and that I'm not prone to flights of the imagination; I know this about myself as well. So on the nights I have felt four little feet gingerly walk across the blanket and that small form curl up in the band of my knees, I don't believe for one minute that it's my imagination playing tricks on me. I have been wide awake when a strand of my hair has been pulled across the pillow by an invisible paw. Theologians be damned. They will never convince me otherwise.

We don't know what actually happens in the afterlife and we don't know the true will or mind of the gods. Perhaps will never know until we ourselves cross the Veil. I believe there are things purposely left unsaid by the God of Our Understanding for us to experience, believe and have faith in. Mystery is supposed to be just that, despite what is written long ago by Old White Men in long robes.  I have more faith in what comes from the Place of Deep Indwelling than in books of sacred texts.

At that still hour during the darkness on Samhain that the Ancestors cross the Veil to come back to join the living, there will be photos of all my animal companions ( with Tinker front and center) on my altar right beside my friends and relatives. Right where they should be.

Blessings to all of us- animal and human- on All Hallows Eve. Let us share another supper that night  together on this night outside of time, at a table which knows only the boundary of love, with a bounty that comes from the heart.

Derailed

I want these and I don't even have a lawn!

At some point I'll get back to writing for the Pagan Blog Project. It's a project I believe in and like to contribute to, but there are times when I want to write about other things and those things may not fit into the formula...so after taking a hiatus, I'm easing myself into the discipline of writing specifically with the intention of  teaching.

Besides, it's THAT time of the year, and I'm feeling witchy.

Not that I'm a part time witch or anything, but as the nights lengthen and become cooler, the colors become vibrantly alive, my mood shifts and.....you're probably already familiar with the feeling yourself, or you wouldn't be reading this blog in the first place. ( Yeah, I'm looking at YOU. Yes, you know who you are. The one pretending not to like those Gummy Mummies candies. Or that nifty witch's hat that you know is only part of a costume, except the silly purple silk flowers and all that fluffy netting is strangely attractive.)

At the first sign of orange and black at WalMart, Andy Williams  singing " It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year" echoes in my head. I go window shopping just to see the kitschy witchy stuff because it makes me feel good and makes me happy. Damned if I know why. Maybe it reminds me of my childhood or something. I've dragged out the storage totes and have begun to distribute my Halloween collection around the apartment with the precision of a curator mounting an exhibit. My Ancestor Altar will go up last-I'm still designing it in my head. I'm making a black satin altar cloth and would love to fringe the edges with beads, but finances being what they are presently, that will be a future project. The Ferryman has been busy this year: there are three new photos to add to the ones I normally use. While I'm sad these individuals are no longer in this life, I'm filled with hope that they have crossed the Veil and dwell in a place of wholeness and peace because I know they will be there to greet me when my time comes to stand on the edge of the precipice and take that first unsure step into the next life. Until then, I will continue to celebrate their crossing by honoring their memory.

Living in the mountains again is a wondrous adventure. I surprise myself sometimes at what I learned when I was living part-time out West in the Rockies. Being here in Appalachia in such a remote place is sometimes a trial when we are totally cut off from the rest of the world by snow and ice. I begin to stock up on food and necessities well before the weather turns and the leaves fall because living here requires a certain amount of forethought and preparation. It's just a part of existing in this part of the country, and I'm still amazed and a little smug when some of my neighbors-who have lived here far longer than I-are taken by surprise by Nature's little forced time-outs and left without. Perhaps it's because I've acquired the needed skills from years of Scouting, or because my chosen spiritual path has put me in closer understand to the way nature works, but I view the required effort as nothing more than the change of the seasons-it's just what you do. Despite the economy being depressed, there is always plenty of food available. You may want for other things, but there is always something to put on the table: it may not be exactly what I want, but I will not starve. The roof I have over my head is once again my own (thank Hestia,Vesta and St. Jude!) For now, in this place it is bittersweetly enough. For Today, I'm content to watch the leaves fall and be grateful for another chance to see Autumn's splendor. Tomorrow, I will get serious and get back on track with writing for others...but Today...This day is mine.

Early One Almost Autumn Morning

This morning I got up before dawn. To be truthful, I am a night person and rarely get to bed at what genteel persons call a civil hour, so being up at dawn for me is notable. I had made a pot of coffee , took a shower, dressed and was sitting on the balcony listening to the gentle rain and bird calls well before the sun came up over the mountain our building backs up to.

The heavy silver mist hung over the buildings and trees like a gossamer veil this early post-Lughnasadh morning. On the way to town yesterday morning, I noticed some round bales of hay in the fields and a few browning leaves, but otherwise the summer isn't ready to let go here. It's been an unseasonably cool summer with a few truly cold nights-not that I mind. The tourism folks tout the " natural air-conditioning" of this part of the Appalachians, and  have christened the nearby town of Bluefield as "Virginia's Tallest Town". If and when it ever gets up around 90 degrees, all the local businesses give away free water and lemonade; they luck out because it seldom does.

The crows were rather active this morning. Their infernal cawing drowned out the songbirds(but not the damned locusts!) They wheeled and swooped over the trees and an abandoned house, sounding off every time one of them was lifted by a thermal; a companion would immediately answer in the distance. They disappeared quickly into the trees when the rain picked up.

I love the smell of rain and wet greenery, and I love to sleep by the sound of rain falling. Nothing kept me from laying down to indulge in this favorite pastime, so I did...and instead of dozing, my mind began to wander...I haven't planned anything special for Mabon, but today I will bake bread, I will strip the husks off the ears of corn I bought for dinner and make corn dollies out of them, I will clean through the apartment and dowse it for 'stuck energy, then smudge everything with sage and sweetgrass...and then, only then, will I feel ready to welcome the coming harvest season. One of my favorite things about living in this part of the country is that we actually do have four distinct seasons; so this will be a Summer Harvest of apples and garden vegetables. In just a few weeks, the whole community will become as much like Norman Rockwell's America as we can muster in a place where a duck walking across the street can cause a traffic jam. On Labor Day weekend, what few railroad workers and coal miners left among the living will celebrated their contribution to local heritage with a march down Center Street, and listened to old-fashioned political stump speeches and then shared a free ham and brown bean dinner. Only in small town America, folks.

Raise the song of Harvest Home! These words have always held special meaning for me, much more so after 20+ years as  Pagan. It's not just the seasonal shift, but the mental one- from urgency and growth to relaxing into who I am and have become. I do 'magickal' things now without the tools and often by second nature. If I'm making an incense or charm for a specific purpose, I will sort through my herbs and stones and mix them intuitively. Upon later examination, I find I have chosen ingredients with the correct correspondences without consulting one of the many books. Kitchen Witch. Hedge Witch. Labels for a reality I now claim without much fuss. I am so used to referring to myself as a Witch now that I will toss the word out in general conversation without much thought that I can shift into my elevator speech about what that means without the other person having enough time to bat an eyelash...and explain it in such a way that it is acceptable. That's one of the beauties of living in Appalachia...We're rather fond of our granny women, root workers, hedge witches and common parlance doctors.

Raise the song of Harvest Home! The leaves have begun to take on color in the cooler nights; right now most of them are a yellowish green, but in a few weeks they'll be orange and red. This afternoon, someone decorated all the telephone poles with corn stalks and big orange bows, and scarecrows are beginning to pop up around town. The grocery stores are stocking field pumpkins to be turned into jack-o-lanterns. Dollar Tree has the largest selection of Halloween merchandise that I've seen in years. Our Summer hasn't been overly hot or humid, but I think we all need the change and to move on. Where has the year gone? Here, to Autumn.

Mabon has always been an awkward holiday for me, sandwiched between Lughnasadh and Samhain as it is. What do we do? We celebrate. At Lughnasadh we celebrate the Harvest; at Mabon we celebrate the turning season and at Samhain we celebrate Life and Death. It is that simple. We celebrate where we are and the fact that we've gotten here at Mabon, sans the mythology. We celebrate change and newness. We know that the time is short and the year is dying around us, but the trees have changed their colors and the nights are crisper, and we feel a certain urgency to complete whatever it is we were doing during Summer so that we can embrace what is coming. The Veil is slowly opening, it's edges billowing toward this world. The wisp of cool air makes us shiver and draw our resolve around us, and we wait for....what we do not know. The beauty of Mabon is not knowing what will happen when the nights begin to lengthen and darkness gathers earlier and earlier.
The beauty of Mabon are the candles we light and the cups of warmth we share. The beauty of Mabon is being suspended between Summer and Winter, of being between the worlds. That is the magick of the season.

Blessed Journey Margot Adler...

I often say that it was Scott Cunningham who gently lead me to formulating my individual template of spirituality, but it was Margot Adler's Drawing Down the Moon that made me proud to join the ranks of Paganism.

The granddaughter of famed psychotherapist Alfred Alder, was no doubt influenced by his views on metaphysics. Her version of what it was like to be a Pagan meshed with his understanding of the natural world and it's place  in personal individuation.

On NPR, Margot Adler was the voice of reason on All Things Considered; she often interviewed  on the 'man on the street', and was expert at presenting the plight of everyday people.

Jason Mankey over at Patheos wrote a wonderful blog about Margot Adler, which I'm sharing here:


http://www.patheos.com/blogs/panmankey/2014/07/remembering-margot-adler/

Blessed Journey, Margot. Thank You is not enough.

Masks- Sacred Conduits To The Soul

In the movie "The Mask", Jim Carrey's character Stanley Ipkiss finds an ancient mask belonging to the god Loki and upon donning the face covering takes on the characteristics of a trickster. His true identity concealed, Ipkiss is free to do and say anything he wishes, no matter how outrageous. He is magically transported to a place of unbound reality by the mask he wears.

Wearing a mask transforms the wearer into something or someone other than himself. The individual is taken from the realm of the impossible to the realm of the impossibly real. Rather than concealing the individual's persona, it transcends convention and frees him.

Psychologists such as C.G. Jung believed that the mask connected the wearer spiritually to an archetype and the powers it represented. Masks are conduits between the mundane and the sacred. Ancient Greek actors were masters at this when they donned their theatrical masks. In doing so they instantly became something Other.

John Denver's mask 

The symbolism of masks culturally vary: it may represent a character in a story, an animal, a spirit, or a demon. Masks allow the wearer to psychically shapeshift. Masks are also canvasses to the soul. The mask pictured at left was created by singer John Denver a couple of weeks prior to his tragic death, for The Mask Project. The neutral background-a muted bronze-is a spectacular foil for the blossoming tree which appears to be split in two. The two halves of the tree sprout from the same trunk, but it appears to be gloriously full on the right (creative) side, and slightly less so on the left (logical) side. There appears to be a tear in the right eye, which is smaller. The larger left eye is partly in shadow. Below the lips, there is  a bouquet of blossoms and a heart, the combination of the internal and external personalities. At first glance, the bright colors and flowering branches of the tree denote a rich beauty; upon further examination, however, things aren't quite as they seem. The left side of the face is subdued and darker. The rich beauty still exists, but it is not as ebullient as it appears at first. John Denver's music was for the most part upbeat and positive, it spoke of hope for the future. Denver's off stage personality was essentially as he presented himself on stage, only a bit quieter and deeply introverted. His first wife, Annie, said he was a complex man, and he was...but no more so than others. Knowing him as I did, I believe this complexity was more apparent because he worked so diligently at internal self-realization that it showed on the outside.

I participated in a workshop on individuation where all the participants made masks of their own characteristics. (Most arts and crafts stores carry blank masks and all the materials to make one.) You can also use a white paper plate cut to fit. Another time we made a mask of someone else in the group portrayed as a god/goddess. I think you'll find the results surprising either way!