It was a hard day to plow into. I had a headache this morning after a night of searching for things lost to me. I had to search for monitors lost at work, had to search for my nephew Kayden who went missing and then had to search for my sister, Tammy, when she disappeared, too. I am sure that the obvious theme of loss is apparent to anyone reading. I did actually sleep about eight hours last night, compared to the naps of the previous two nights where I was worried about Lusay. I was hoping I would dream about her, but that has not come about, yet.
There is a song that came to me yesterday as soon as I spoke to Dr. Walton about the "final solution" to Lusay's suffering. It is a song by Eddie Vedder for the film, "Into the Wild". It is not a song about death, but about release from obligations, freedom to become and explore. I had to listen to it over and over last night to actually hear the lyrics. Why THAT song came to mind at that time and persisted, I have no idea. Lusay was not yet gone, but the message was a message of release and maybe my subconscious wanted me to hear that message, because she was an indominable force in this household. You can hear the song here:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O3SxCph5I1Q
Loki is now trying to be the lap cat of the house. He hears the phone ring or me dial the phone and suddenly he is on my lap, like Lusay. He only weighs about twice as much as her and he can't control his claws like she could. I still think he feels her lost acutely, like I do, and is trying to fill in. I know my boys love me and worry about me, because even Ulysses is more a presence than he usually is. Right now, I pick them up and love them and talk to them. They are my mental salvation, even if I keep crying about Lusay. I know that I will come to an emotional equilibrium at some point. When my Grandma Snow died, I was a mess for weeks, but when my father died, it was a few days and I was better. I guess I will see where Lusay fits in that continuum.
I have to thank the members of my coven for 24/7 emotional support. They all are animal lovers like I am and know my pain. My sister Tammy for her support. My friend MiLinda for her support because she knows me and my animal connection powers! I have to thank Mony and Winn and April and Liz from work for their love and support. It has made going to work the last two days actually bearable.
I am getting better. Lusay is gone, but not forgotten and not unfelt. In fact, maybe she still watches over me in my time of need. I will pay attention when I go to bed for a weight upon my hip or a purr in the dark.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Lusay, requiescat in pacem
Today I had to put my baby girl to sleep. I have, no had, three cats: Ulysses (almost 16), Loki (almost 9) and Lusay (almost 9). Lusay was my baby girl. Ulysses is an old tom who has some serious arthritis and mobiltiy issues, but he still tries to impose himself at every oppotunity. He has been by boy since he was less than a year old. It is really hard for me to see him so impaired, but he plugs along. He has a self-replenishing water dish, so he can get drinks out of that, and he does, but he also insists upon being hefted up into the bathroom sink for a fresh drink from the dripping faucet, and I imagine he always will. Ulysses was sick for a time this fall, and I was afraid I was going to lose him, but he not only recovered, he rallied! Despite his arthritis, I have seen him run and play with Loki a couple of times just this month. It was a huge and welcome surprise. He still cannot make the trip up to the sink by himself, but he is doing better. By his personality and physical characteristics, I know that Ulysses is at least half Blue Russian, but he has some tabby in there somewhere. He had more tabby striping when he was younger, but now he has the Blue Russian fur, but with a regular domestic short-hair physiognomy.
Loki has never had any kind of health problems. I have had Loki since he was an eight-week-old kitten in 1999. He was born in August and I got him about the middle of October. He was about the size of my hand and nothing could contain him. As he grew older he became really aggressive toward Ulysses and began to spray. I was about ready to put him outside permanently because of the spraying when I decided to try neutering first. All of the websites said that once toms start to spray that neutering them late will no break them of the habit, but it was my last option besides exile--and I know exile would have meant an early death for him from exposure to the elements no matter what kind of refuge I provided for him outside and fights with other toms. I tried the neutering, and it worked, although I felt guilty because he was in a bad way for a couple of days after his surgery. I know he sprayed three more times after his surgery, but he spray did not have the strong smell of before and then he just gave it up. So if you have a spraying cat, do the neuter and give it a chance. Loki bucked the advice of all the websites, and he continues to be strong as an ox. He is my stubby Manx kitty and he is still lord of the house, but he is especially tender with Ulysses--Ulysses raised him from kittenhood, so they have a strong bond.
Now, about Lusay. She was my baby girl. I got her from a good friend of mine. He was moving from a place that allowed him to have a cat to a place were all pets were verboten--even fish. That is just so fucked up to me. Such landlords need to be stripped of their pets AND children and the pets and children be reared in some hippy commune. Lusay's options were to come live with me or be taken to the pound and hope that someone adopted her before her few days of incarceration were up. The whole pound system seems like one big animal Auschwitz to me, so I acquiesced, even though I could not afford her at the time, provided that my friend pay "child support", which he did for a year--ten or twenty dollars a month. After a year, I got a new job with vastly increased compensation (all thanks to being cursed in an internet Nidstang by some witch wannabe out of New Orleans). Next time I hear he is cursing me, I am on the road to Idaho for Powerball tickets!
Lusay did not integrate well into a two-male cat household at first. In fact, she never completely integrated. Her first two or three nights she sat on top of the fridge and growled at me when I would pass by in the morning. Despite her growling, I would look up at her and just say, "Good morning to you, too, Lusay." About a week into her living here, she hopped up on the bed while I was settling in, reading, and came up to me and just sat there. I tentatively reached out a hand and scratched her behind the ears. The boys were in a state of fight or flight. The next thing I knew, she hopped up on my hip and made herself at home. This was the beginning of a nightly ritual of her tucking me in and laying on my hip that lasted for the next six years. Over time, she and I developed quite a relationship. She would play with Loki, but she detested Ulysses and would often ambush him around corners and under furniture. Sometimes Loki would tree her on top of a shelf or in a room with me. She would sit with me while I surfed the internet, wrote emails and essays, or watched TV. She was the one cat I could trust going outside by herself, because she would do her circuit of the yard and end up sunning herself on the fence or laying in the dirt of the flower garden. She loved her catnip and would roll in the stuff and be all playful like a kitten. (Yes, I got my cat's stoned, so what? I even *gasp!* raised my own catnip!) Lusay became to the first to greet me at the door, make herself at home on my lap or belly when I was on the phone and lodged on the chair, and the first to tuck me in at night. She would shadow me outside when I worked in the garden or just sit nearby and talk to me when I sat outside on summer evenings or fall afternoons. I talk to all of my cats, but I came to talk to her more because of her almost ubiquitous presence. I would ask her what I should write about, talk about the weather, ask her which kind of soft food she wanted--she was partial to salmon and tuna and knew the difference in the cans, somehow--and asked her if it was time for me to go to bed.
Now my baby girl is gone and my heart is broken. She had been losing weight over the last month, but she still acted like herself, so I did not think much of it, because Lusay was still Lusay. I came home this last Sunday, she still met me at the door, and she still jumped up on my lap and belly for a scratch and loving and telling her that she was my pretty girl. Later on in the evening, she vomited a little--not much--and I noticed her hanging her head down. During the evening, she became less responsive. She slept part of the night on my hot pad and part of the night on my office chair. In the morning, I called the University Veterinary Hospital and brought her in. Her potassium levels were high and she was not producing urine. A subsequent ultrasound showed that she had kidney stones blocking her ureters and that the backed up urine had poisoned her kidneys, probably damaging them beyond recovery. They rehydrated her, gave her meds to bring down her potassium levels and for pain. She did rally a little bit. Enough that she protested being taken away from me last night when I came to visit her.
However, this morning, she was back to being lethargic. She recognized me and stirred momentarily as if wanting me to take her home, but I calmed her and spoke to her and told her I loved her and I always would. I cried--alot. The doctor and I had spoken the previous day about our options and now there was only one. She was suffering, even on the pain medications and a sedative. After spending a good amount of time with her, I finalized the paperwork and Dr. Walton, who was an angel of hope, concern and mercy, came in with the fatal syringe. After the injection, there was an episode of vomiting, then some twitching. That was really difficult for me to see. Then she quit breathing. Dr. Walton listened with her stethoscope to Lusay's heart and after about twelve seconds that seems like twelve minutes, her heart stopped. During this process, the pain drained from her eyes, but her eyes did not close. I bawled. I put her head in a more natural position and bawled some more. Finally, after some more time alone with her, I pulled away and left.
My arm, which was injured back in October, is still not well and I cannot dig a grave for her, especially in the frozen ground. She will be cremated and her ashes scattered in an orchard in Santaquin. I think she would like an orchard. I ordered a plaque of her front paw prints to be made for me in black and white--the colours of her fur. A sentimental thing, but all that I will have left of her and more than I have of my cat, Arthur, who died in 1991.
My baby girl is gone and my heart is broken again. Ulysses and Loki know it. Loki, especially has reacted to her absence. I just think that Ulysses did not care for her much because she teased and tormented him so much. I have missed her the last two days, greeting me at the door, roosting on my belly while I am on the phone with Joe or Maureen or TaMara or my mom. Laying on my hip in bed while I drifted off to sleep or read a book. She is irreplaceable and I am happy that we had six years together.
Requiescat in pacem, Lusay. Go rabhaimid le cheile aris agus go brath sa bheatha a bheidh ag teacht tar eis an bhais sa bheatha seo. Beidh gra' agam duitse i gconai agus ni dhearmadfaidh me thu choiche.
Loki has never had any kind of health problems. I have had Loki since he was an eight-week-old kitten in 1999. He was born in August and I got him about the middle of October. He was about the size of my hand and nothing could contain him. As he grew older he became really aggressive toward Ulysses and began to spray. I was about ready to put him outside permanently because of the spraying when I decided to try neutering first. All of the websites said that once toms start to spray that neutering them late will no break them of the habit, but it was my last option besides exile--and I know exile would have meant an early death for him from exposure to the elements no matter what kind of refuge I provided for him outside and fights with other toms. I tried the neutering, and it worked, although I felt guilty because he was in a bad way for a couple of days after his surgery. I know he sprayed three more times after his surgery, but he spray did not have the strong smell of before and then he just gave it up. So if you have a spraying cat, do the neuter and give it a chance. Loki bucked the advice of all the websites, and he continues to be strong as an ox. He is my stubby Manx kitty and he is still lord of the house, but he is especially tender with Ulysses--Ulysses raised him from kittenhood, so they have a strong bond.
Now, about Lusay. She was my baby girl. I got her from a good friend of mine. He was moving from a place that allowed him to have a cat to a place were all pets were verboten--even fish. That is just so fucked up to me. Such landlords need to be stripped of their pets AND children and the pets and children be reared in some hippy commune. Lusay's options were to come live with me or be taken to the pound and hope that someone adopted her before her few days of incarceration were up. The whole pound system seems like one big animal Auschwitz to me, so I acquiesced, even though I could not afford her at the time, provided that my friend pay "child support", which he did for a year--ten or twenty dollars a month. After a year, I got a new job with vastly increased compensation (all thanks to being cursed in an internet Nidstang by some witch wannabe out of New Orleans). Next time I hear he is cursing me, I am on the road to Idaho for Powerball tickets!
Lusay did not integrate well into a two-male cat household at first. In fact, she never completely integrated. Her first two or three nights she sat on top of the fridge and growled at me when I would pass by in the morning. Despite her growling, I would look up at her and just say, "Good morning to you, too, Lusay." About a week into her living here, she hopped up on the bed while I was settling in, reading, and came up to me and just sat there. I tentatively reached out a hand and scratched her behind the ears. The boys were in a state of fight or flight. The next thing I knew, she hopped up on my hip and made herself at home. This was the beginning of a nightly ritual of her tucking me in and laying on my hip that lasted for the next six years. Over time, she and I developed quite a relationship. She would play with Loki, but she detested Ulysses and would often ambush him around corners and under furniture. Sometimes Loki would tree her on top of a shelf or in a room with me. She would sit with me while I surfed the internet, wrote emails and essays, or watched TV. She was the one cat I could trust going outside by herself, because she would do her circuit of the yard and end up sunning herself on the fence or laying in the dirt of the flower garden. She loved her catnip and would roll in the stuff and be all playful like a kitten. (Yes, I got my cat's stoned, so what? I even *gasp!* raised my own catnip!) Lusay became to the first to greet me at the door, make herself at home on my lap or belly when I was on the phone and lodged on the chair, and the first to tuck me in at night. She would shadow me outside when I worked in the garden or just sit nearby and talk to me when I sat outside on summer evenings or fall afternoons. I talk to all of my cats, but I came to talk to her more because of her almost ubiquitous presence. I would ask her what I should write about, talk about the weather, ask her which kind of soft food she wanted--she was partial to salmon and tuna and knew the difference in the cans, somehow--and asked her if it was time for me to go to bed.
Now my baby girl is gone and my heart is broken. She had been losing weight over the last month, but she still acted like herself, so I did not think much of it, because Lusay was still Lusay. I came home this last Sunday, she still met me at the door, and she still jumped up on my lap and belly for a scratch and loving and telling her that she was my pretty girl. Later on in the evening, she vomited a little--not much--and I noticed her hanging her head down. During the evening, she became less responsive. She slept part of the night on my hot pad and part of the night on my office chair. In the morning, I called the University Veterinary Hospital and brought her in. Her potassium levels were high and she was not producing urine. A subsequent ultrasound showed that she had kidney stones blocking her ureters and that the backed up urine had poisoned her kidneys, probably damaging them beyond recovery. They rehydrated her, gave her meds to bring down her potassium levels and for pain. She did rally a little bit. Enough that she protested being taken away from me last night when I came to visit her.
However, this morning, she was back to being lethargic. She recognized me and stirred momentarily as if wanting me to take her home, but I calmed her and spoke to her and told her I loved her and I always would. I cried--alot. The doctor and I had spoken the previous day about our options and now there was only one. She was suffering, even on the pain medications and a sedative. After spending a good amount of time with her, I finalized the paperwork and Dr. Walton, who was an angel of hope, concern and mercy, came in with the fatal syringe. After the injection, there was an episode of vomiting, then some twitching. That was really difficult for me to see. Then she quit breathing. Dr. Walton listened with her stethoscope to Lusay's heart and after about twelve seconds that seems like twelve minutes, her heart stopped. During this process, the pain drained from her eyes, but her eyes did not close. I bawled. I put her head in a more natural position and bawled some more. Finally, after some more time alone with her, I pulled away and left.
My arm, which was injured back in October, is still not well and I cannot dig a grave for her, especially in the frozen ground. She will be cremated and her ashes scattered in an orchard in Santaquin. I think she would like an orchard. I ordered a plaque of her front paw prints to be made for me in black and white--the colours of her fur. A sentimental thing, but all that I will have left of her and more than I have of my cat, Arthur, who died in 1991.
My baby girl is gone and my heart is broken again. Ulysses and Loki know it. Loki, especially has reacted to her absence. I just think that Ulysses did not care for her much because she teased and tormented him so much. I have missed her the last two days, greeting me at the door, roosting on my belly while I am on the phone with Joe or Maureen or TaMara or my mom. Laying on my hip in bed while I drifted off to sleep or read a book. She is irreplaceable and I am happy that we had six years together.
Requiescat in pacem, Lusay. Go rabhaimid le cheile aris agus go brath sa bheatha a bheidh ag teacht tar eis an bhais sa bheatha seo. Beidh gra' agam duitse i gconai agus ni dhearmadfaidh me thu choiche.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Iceland
Did you know that Asatru was the "official religion of Iceland"?
I did not. I grew up in Spanish Fork, Utah which is the greatest concentration of expatriate Icelanders in the United States. Spanish Fork has had visits from Icelandic presidents, prime ministers and ambassadors over the years because of this local cultural concentration and pride. Because I come from Spanish Fork, Utah there was a bias in reporting about missionary or other church activities in Iceland by the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Although the current percentage of the Icelandic population is 0.1 percent LDS, there is a link about Spanish Fork there:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Religion_in_Iceland
From this same link, I found out that Iceland has an official state religion, a form of Lutheranism, called the Church of Iceland. However, I found, in addition to Asatru NOT being an official religion that only one half of one percent of the population of 300,000 people there were actually associated with Asatru. You can imagine how I was gasping for oxygen when I discovered this damning total.
Well, it would seem that one self-proclaimed gythia of Asatru here in Utah had suddenly declared a new, official state religion for Iceland. I researched the subject as above and replied to her on the local forum where she declared this to be true. That was a week ago and I have yet to recieve a response. That includes a response from her, a response from her spouse and a response from her Kindred. I find this troubling.
You know, even if Iceland has a half of a percent of its population as Asatru--the reconstructed Viking religion and spirituality--that is about 1500 people. Far more than Utah has for sure. However, their silence on the officiality issue is troubling. Asatru has Nine Virtues, one of them being Truth and another of them Honour. So I ask, where is the Truth of this assertion on a local forum and where is the Honour of putting such false information out on a public forum?
. . . . Silence . . . .
I assert there is no Truth and there is no Honour. And this Kindred is out there misrepresenting its religion to whomever might read their posts.
Shame upon that Kindred!
I did not. I grew up in Spanish Fork, Utah which is the greatest concentration of expatriate Icelanders in the United States. Spanish Fork has had visits from Icelandic presidents, prime ministers and ambassadors over the years because of this local cultural concentration and pride. Because I come from Spanish Fork, Utah there was a bias in reporting about missionary or other church activities in Iceland by the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Although the current percentage of the Icelandic population is 0.1 percent LDS, there is a link about Spanish Fork there:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Religion_in_Iceland
From this same link, I found out that Iceland has an official state religion, a form of Lutheranism, called the Church of Iceland. However, I found, in addition to Asatru NOT being an official religion that only one half of one percent of the population of 300,000 people there were actually associated with Asatru. You can imagine how I was gasping for oxygen when I discovered this damning total.
Well, it would seem that one self-proclaimed gythia of Asatru here in Utah had suddenly declared a new, official state religion for Iceland. I researched the subject as above and replied to her on the local forum where she declared this to be true. That was a week ago and I have yet to recieve a response. That includes a response from her, a response from her spouse and a response from her Kindred. I find this troubling.
You know, even if Iceland has a half of a percent of its population as Asatru--the reconstructed Viking religion and spirituality--that is about 1500 people. Far more than Utah has for sure. However, their silence on the officiality issue is troubling. Asatru has Nine Virtues, one of them being Truth and another of them Honour. So I ask, where is the Truth of this assertion on a local forum and where is the Honour of putting such false information out on a public forum?
. . . . Silence . . . .
I assert there is no Truth and there is no Honour. And this Kindred is out there misrepresenting its religion to whomever might read their posts.
Shame upon that Kindred!
Pagan Literature
I have a confession to make. I have become a Pagan snob. Well, let me narrow that a bit to be more specific: I have become a Pagan literary snob. I have become one of the adherents to the notion that most of the Pagan-oriented literature out there is hopelessly sophomoric in its execution and hopelessly moronic in its expectations of its intended audience. I was not always this jaded and snobby. Once upon a time I would become downright giddy and all trembly in the excitement of a new book about Wicca, Witchcraft or Paganism in whatever form. Books about urban Paganism or suburban Paganism, power animals, herbalism and all things Celtic would send me into a rapturous emotional state because I had really “made a great find”.
Back in the eighties, there were very few books on the subject. There was Spiral Dance, which I still love to pieces. There was Buckland’s Big Blue Book, which, when I was still in high school, I would sneak peeks at at a bookstore in a local mall, but never would have dared to purchase at the time. That book even has its gems of basic knowledge. There were a few others I did not dare to touch that I saw on shelves in Salt Lake when I first went to college, but which, now, I stare down my nose at, even though I own them. I have lived through a period where, not only have I seen a gigantic explosion of books and ideas about Paganism in general to a dizzying diversity, but I also have refined my tastes in those books and what they have to offer, and in general nowadays, I am like an old lunker fish that refuses to take the bait. Everytime I go into a Barnes and Noble, a Borders or even a local Pagan shop, I give the Pagan book sections a thorough scan, pull a few tantilizing titles off the shelf for a quick scan and then end up buying books that relate to my path and path interests in sections other than Pagan or Occult. Everything looks so basic, so beginner, so Pagan or Wicca 101! Where are the books for people who have been involved in the movement for a while, people who thirst for something deeper?
It can be said that from a traditional viewpoint, that the deeper stuff I look for is supposed to be served in the kinds of learning and training that come from the teacher/student relationship or initiatory coven settings. I don’t deny that this route is an important one in modern Paganism of all sorts, particularly in Witchcraft and other cellular group practices. Even nowadays in the growing milieux of our diverse communities, however, not all Pagans are a good fit for such kinds of training. Therefore, I wonder, where are the books that teach the provenance of historical, folkloric and mythological sources from which modern Paganism gathers its ideas? Where are we challenged to juxtapose our beliefs with historical and literary sources, rather than just accept them from a Wicca 101 source? How do we test the idea that our beliefs or tradition come from clear back in the days of ice age mammoth hunters, or Irish Druids, or sailing Vikings or from eighteenth century occultist? The only ways to do that now is to branch out on our own into *gasp!* reading the myths and histories for ourselves. Where history is vague, we have to depend upon archaeology and anthropology to ferret out the clues. But why aren’t the mainstream of Pagan authors starting to do this and present those ideas to us instead of putting out primers? How many books can an author put out that presents the same, dedicant-level material in slightly different ways? I really don’t want an answer to that question, by the way. I would not want certain authors to pull any muscles shifting word processed text and doing minor revisions in order to pump out more of the same to answer the question; for them I would ask them to look up the notion of the rhetorical question.
I find these kinds of books, as I said before, as a primer. However, when can one move on to more challenging material for the general reader if it is never presented? It seems a great leap between the Wicca 101 books and deeper reading into myth and folklore and history, without a step in that direction from the beloved authors of Pagandom to lead those readers in their audience who want “more”. I am finding that very few modern Pagans are even making the attempt, which places our movement in an interesting position. Whole great swaths of Modern Pagans will look to those who do make the leap into these other areas to interpret folklore, history and mythology for them, creating a Priest-class that is anathema to our ideals of personal connection with our Gods and our past. Perhaps this is just a moment in modern Paganism where this is supposed to happen. Perhaps I have an antiquated and idealistic notion that one thing that sets modern Paganism apart from other contemporary religious feeling is a drive for that deep link with our Gods and our connection to history and prehistory if there really is one. I personally believe that a rise in a Priest-class is the prelude to large-congregation Paganism, and with it a kind of Pagan evangelism which revolves around money and a professional caste who make their bread and butter by being intermediaries between their congregations and the Gods. This kind of priesthood would, by necessity, maintain their position by discouraging deeper research by their congregants into their faith and its origins and ideas. Can you say Catholicism, anyone? This kind of future of Paganism is distasteful to me, but may just end up happening as our movement unfolds upon the American landscape.
What I have to be concerned about is my own snobbish attitude about these books. I need to remember the value their very presence, let alone their ideas, once had to inspire me to think and experiment and seek deeper. I need to quit having some kind of superior attitude within myself when I find people who gush about these books as the end-all-be-all of Pagan literature. I need to recognize those books as a threshold, and to me a threshold is a place of choices, futures and power. I need to encourage those in this phase of their introduction to Paganism to delve deeper into myth, history and folklore—even archaeology and anthropology. Not everyone will make the jump, but I can still try to entice and motivate. Still, contemporary Pagan authors probably have a huge, intermediate market of people who want introduction to mythological interpretation and the interpretation of historical, folkloric and other scientific sources from a Pagan perspective. I would hope that those interpretations be as broad as possible and invite the reader to check out the necessary texts for themselves. I think Pagan publishers also need to begin to think about the evolution of their readers into new niches instead of keeping them at a beginner’s level. Publishers can go a long way into enriching the lives of their audience and deepening the Pagan experience for many of their readers. I also hope that snobs like me will bend a little bit in the wind, like the willow, and guide seekers to a different level of ideas and experience.
Back in the eighties, there were very few books on the subject. There was Spiral Dance, which I still love to pieces. There was Buckland’s Big Blue Book, which, when I was still in high school, I would sneak peeks at at a bookstore in a local mall, but never would have dared to purchase at the time. That book even has its gems of basic knowledge. There were a few others I did not dare to touch that I saw on shelves in Salt Lake when I first went to college, but which, now, I stare down my nose at, even though I own them. I have lived through a period where, not only have I seen a gigantic explosion of books and ideas about Paganism in general to a dizzying diversity, but I also have refined my tastes in those books and what they have to offer, and in general nowadays, I am like an old lunker fish that refuses to take the bait. Everytime I go into a Barnes and Noble, a Borders or even a local Pagan shop, I give the Pagan book sections a thorough scan, pull a few tantilizing titles off the shelf for a quick scan and then end up buying books that relate to my path and path interests in sections other than Pagan or Occult. Everything looks so basic, so beginner, so Pagan or Wicca 101! Where are the books for people who have been involved in the movement for a while, people who thirst for something deeper?
It can be said that from a traditional viewpoint, that the deeper stuff I look for is supposed to be served in the kinds of learning and training that come from the teacher/student relationship or initiatory coven settings. I don’t deny that this route is an important one in modern Paganism of all sorts, particularly in Witchcraft and other cellular group practices. Even nowadays in the growing milieux of our diverse communities, however, not all Pagans are a good fit for such kinds of training. Therefore, I wonder, where are the books that teach the provenance of historical, folkloric and mythological sources from which modern Paganism gathers its ideas? Where are we challenged to juxtapose our beliefs with historical and literary sources, rather than just accept them from a Wicca 101 source? How do we test the idea that our beliefs or tradition come from clear back in the days of ice age mammoth hunters, or Irish Druids, or sailing Vikings or from eighteenth century occultist? The only ways to do that now is to branch out on our own into *gasp!* reading the myths and histories for ourselves. Where history is vague, we have to depend upon archaeology and anthropology to ferret out the clues. But why aren’t the mainstream of Pagan authors starting to do this and present those ideas to us instead of putting out primers? How many books can an author put out that presents the same, dedicant-level material in slightly different ways? I really don’t want an answer to that question, by the way. I would not want certain authors to pull any muscles shifting word processed text and doing minor revisions in order to pump out more of the same to answer the question; for them I would ask them to look up the notion of the rhetorical question.
I find these kinds of books, as I said before, as a primer. However, when can one move on to more challenging material for the general reader if it is never presented? It seems a great leap between the Wicca 101 books and deeper reading into myth and folklore and history, without a step in that direction from the beloved authors of Pagandom to lead those readers in their audience who want “more”. I am finding that very few modern Pagans are even making the attempt, which places our movement in an interesting position. Whole great swaths of Modern Pagans will look to those who do make the leap into these other areas to interpret folklore, history and mythology for them, creating a Priest-class that is anathema to our ideals of personal connection with our Gods and our past. Perhaps this is just a moment in modern Paganism where this is supposed to happen. Perhaps I have an antiquated and idealistic notion that one thing that sets modern Paganism apart from other contemporary religious feeling is a drive for that deep link with our Gods and our connection to history and prehistory if there really is one. I personally believe that a rise in a Priest-class is the prelude to large-congregation Paganism, and with it a kind of Pagan evangelism which revolves around money and a professional caste who make their bread and butter by being intermediaries between their congregations and the Gods. This kind of priesthood would, by necessity, maintain their position by discouraging deeper research by their congregants into their faith and its origins and ideas. Can you say Catholicism, anyone? This kind of future of Paganism is distasteful to me, but may just end up happening as our movement unfolds upon the American landscape.
What I have to be concerned about is my own snobbish attitude about these books. I need to remember the value their very presence, let alone their ideas, once had to inspire me to think and experiment and seek deeper. I need to quit having some kind of superior attitude within myself when I find people who gush about these books as the end-all-be-all of Pagan literature. I need to recognize those books as a threshold, and to me a threshold is a place of choices, futures and power. I need to encourage those in this phase of their introduction to Paganism to delve deeper into myth, history and folklore—even archaeology and anthropology. Not everyone will make the jump, but I can still try to entice and motivate. Still, contemporary Pagan authors probably have a huge, intermediate market of people who want introduction to mythological interpretation and the interpretation of historical, folkloric and other scientific sources from a Pagan perspective. I would hope that those interpretations be as broad as possible and invite the reader to check out the necessary texts for themselves. I think Pagan publishers also need to begin to think about the evolution of their readers into new niches instead of keeping them at a beginner’s level. Publishers can go a long way into enriching the lives of their audience and deepening the Pagan experience for many of their readers. I also hope that snobs like me will bend a little bit in the wind, like the willow, and guide seekers to a different level of ideas and experience.
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Thursday, October 16, 2008
The Gythia Crown
I want to talk tonight about the Gythia Crown. This is a crown one gets to wear when they become a priestess in the Asatru religion--even by fiat. This crown is huge! Do you remember Glenda the good witch from the Wizard of Oz? Well her crown, tall and fancy as it is, is very similar to the Gythia Crown. However, the Gythia Crown is like a tomato cage turned upside down and festooned with all kinds of bright and sparkly things at different times to distract the unwary from critical thought.
For example, the crown might be festooned with red and orange chili pepper lights for Cinco de Mayo, which somehow ends up being started by some Nordic Mexicans who had a keg or something. Come Halloween, it is decked out in a patchwork of orange and red foliage with sinsiterly grinning jack-o-lantern lights to dazzle the unwary. Later in the winter, the same icecicle lights people hang from their eves for Christmas hypnotize the unprepared Vikings among us. And so it goes.
It makes me wonder if I suddenly declare myself Icelandic, start calling myself Ruadhan Deansson, and suddenly start pronouncing divination of people's dreams from my high, volcanic pinacle, does that mean I can also start wearing an upside down tomato cage with electric lights on it? I think I would look awesome, particularly in some T-shirts from JC Penny. JC Penny is my favourite fat-boy store and it reminds me of Gwen and Parker because they live in Kemmerer where the very first JC Penny store resides. Love them! I really need to drive up there for a visit, even if Joe doesnt come along. Just need to go. And bring my tomato cage . . . just in case I get caught in a battle of the crowns. I can bow my head and charge knowing that I might not kill my opponent by the weight and experience of the crown I wear, but more by its electric potential!
For example, the crown might be festooned with red and orange chili pepper lights for Cinco de Mayo, which somehow ends up being started by some Nordic Mexicans who had a keg or something. Come Halloween, it is decked out in a patchwork of orange and red foliage with sinsiterly grinning jack-o-lantern lights to dazzle the unwary. Later in the winter, the same icecicle lights people hang from their eves for Christmas hypnotize the unprepared Vikings among us. And so it goes.
It makes me wonder if I suddenly declare myself Icelandic, start calling myself Ruadhan Deansson, and suddenly start pronouncing divination of people's dreams from my high, volcanic pinacle, does that mean I can also start wearing an upside down tomato cage with electric lights on it? I think I would look awesome, particularly in some T-shirts from JC Penny. JC Penny is my favourite fat-boy store and it reminds me of Gwen and Parker because they live in Kemmerer where the very first JC Penny store resides. Love them! I really need to drive up there for a visit, even if Joe doesnt come along. Just need to go. And bring my tomato cage . . . just in case I get caught in a battle of the crowns. I can bow my head and charge knowing that I might not kill my opponent by the weight and experience of the crown I wear, but more by its electric potential!
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
A taste of the season
October is my favourite month of the year. This year, it has felt more like September in some ways. However the snowstorm we had last weekend, weak as it was, was definitely a wake up call to what is to come. Even three days after the last snow, my garden finally succumbed--except the covered parts--to a killing freeze. This killing freeze was supposed to occur on Sunday night/Monday morning. Finally it occured.
October is finally rearing its head, even though we are supposed to be in the seventies this weekend, which is good news for the kitchen remodel project. The trees are still mostly green. Usually, they are changing colours by now and shedding leaves. There are some shed brown leaves, but not coloured ones yet. Maybe by Halloween/Samhain there will be millions of dead soldiers littering the lawns and walks. I intend to compost most of them on the yard this year. Last time I did, the next spring there were earthworms the size of small snakes in the garden. I only came upon a few miniscule specimens this year in my diggings. Time to mulch in a major way again this fall.
I am keeping mum about another Pagan matter until certain action has been taken. Look for more later.
October is finally rearing its head, even though we are supposed to be in the seventies this weekend, which is good news for the kitchen remodel project. The trees are still mostly green. Usually, they are changing colours by now and shedding leaves. There are some shed brown leaves, but not coloured ones yet. Maybe by Halloween/Samhain there will be millions of dead soldiers littering the lawns and walks. I intend to compost most of them on the yard this year. Last time I did, the next spring there were earthworms the size of small snakes in the garden. I only came upon a few miniscule specimens this year in my diggings. Time to mulch in a major way again this fall.
I am keeping mum about another Pagan matter until certain action has been taken. Look for more later.
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