shamanic times

I subscribe to the Weekly World News. It provides no end of amusement, and I tend to agree with Tommy Lee Jones’s character in Men In Black that it’s the most reliable newspaper in the world. With it’s in depth articles on such things as the stairway to heaven collapsing, and its steady coverage on Elvis sightings, it keeps me well updated on the common bizarreness of planet earth. I consider it a kind of “Shamanic Times”. This week, with the demotion of Pluto as a planet, the news can’t be much weirder. I’m waiting to see what the Weekly World News will make of it.

Pluto is the God of the Underworld, of all that lies below the surface. All the qualities of the god have also been ascribed to the now demoted planet. In Astrology, the energies of Pluto are transforming, as Pluto is the energy of the subconscious, which is the dirt and ground our actions take root in. Pluto is also associated with renewal and rebirth. It represents endings and new beginnings, as well as spiritual growth and rebirth. The shadow side of Pluto is an obsessive desire for power and control and general destructiveness. Pluto packs a punch, depending where it lies in your astrological chart. My friend Reya, a creative astrologer, shook up some of my old patterns by fiddling with the placement of Pluto in my chart. Does what she did still hold now that Pluto is no longer a planet?

What can it possibly mean that Pluto is getting the boot as a planet? What will this do to our astrological view of the world, a view which runs deep and feeds our mytho-poetic souls? How will this affect our destiny? Several months back the Catholic Church decided that Limbo was closed. More and more people had become uncomfortable with the idea/fact that in Catholic reality if a baby dies and is unbaptized, it goes to Limbo. So, instead of negotiating with God (maybe something us pagans are more comfortable with?) to relax the rules and let all the babies in Limbo out, the guys in charge of the Catholic Church pronounced that Limbo no longer exists. It’s just gone. This boggles this witch’s mind. I'm no Catholic, but since I first heard about this, I've been keenly aware of just how many times I and others invoke Limbo. The first week it was gone, at least three clients talked about being or feeling in Limbo. They were startled when I informed them Limbo was gone. Can both Pluto and Limbo really be erased from the collective consciousness? What does this do to our everyday reality? There’s now no Limbo and Pluto is not a planet. What’s next? Enquiring minds want to know.

tools and traits

Years back, one of my dearest friends remarked that what made me an excellent therapist was a challenge for me relationship wise. I believe in redemption, that things can change. I hone my eye on what’s healthy, breathing into that as opposed to focusing on what’s not. I don’t give up easily. As a therapist, these traits have been a great blessing, and they have infused my work. In relationship to anything else, they are a mixed bag. I have tended to stay in things longer than is good for me, and have had a high tolerance for dynamics that others quickly walk away from, focusing instead on the bits and pieces of possibilities for change. If I love something or someone, I hang on tight.

Recently, as discussions about Reclaiming have swirled, and I move from dating into a more committed relationship, I’ve been thinking on what my friend told me years ago, and about those most difficult (for me) questions; At what moment is it most appropriate to not tenaciously hold on but to ease the grip? How best to determine the moment when the best thing to do in service of life is to cut a cord? When do you give it your all as opposed to throwing in the towel? I’m mulling these questions as I once again open my heart to someone and as I continue to reflect on my long standing affair with Reclaiming, one that helped forge me into the priestess I am today, but, like so many affairs, has also caused heartache and pain.

A year or so ago I let go of my connection to the local Reclaiming “community” I’ve been part of for over twenty years. The wisdom of this was underscored by the almost studious lack of notice or concern my departure evoked. I certainly am not alone in this experience, being one of many seasoned and integral priestesses of the tradition who drop away due to a variety of frustrations. For many of us who have pulled back or left, the pain of letting go is exacerbated by the refusal of the few remaining founders to view our departures as any real loss.

The Bay Area, where Reclaiming was founded, is almost a showcase of the shadow side of Reclaiming, marked by the insidious and powerful unspoken rule that our conflicts not be discussed openly, and that departures need to remain unacknowledged and unimportant. Given that we’ve been around for so long, there’s strikingly few “elders” remaining, and the elephant in the living room is named and noted about everywhere but in the actual living room. Ironically, the very views and vision that have caused me to be so reviled locally have engendered respect in the wider community, where there is a growing comfort level with talking about conflicts openly, and where certain elephants take up far less space. Situational narcissism and the bullying that follows is a problem in any spiritual community. A spiritual community like Reclaiming that is still in its first generation has no tools to deal with this, and barely the language. It’s clear the tools and language will not be developed here in the Bay Area, the place most beleaguered by the problem, but in greater Reclaiming I think there at the very least is some consciousness that there is a problem.

On my last trip to England I bought a new athame. An athame is the double-bladed Wiccan tool of the east, and it symbolizes the ability to create boundaries. My new one has a cast silver feather as a handle. Charging it up with my life force, I imagined the midnight sky on one side of the blade, the blazing noon sun on the other, on one side yes, the other no, on one side life, the other death, on one side the inhale, the other the exhale, on one side hello, the other good-bye. My blade symbolizes the importance of the place between things, and the ability to discern when and how to move from one state to another. In purchasing a new athame, I knew that I was invoking a new perspective on boundaries and the place between things. I wasn’t looking to buy this new tool, but when it appeared, I knew that it was choosing me as much I it.

Today I looked at my athame and it struck me; that feather has helped me lighten up in regards to boundary setting. This doesn’t mean I’m not setting boundaries. On the contrary, I’m saying no more often, and more easily to things which involve me giving in a way that is not reciprocated in kind. I’m saying yes more easily too, and paying attention to what brings me joy and delight.

Teaching this year at Spiral Heart, an east coast Reclaiming witchcamp, I found myself enjoying myself immensely, being able to take in the best Reclaiming has to offer, and giving the best I could offer as well. What I gave and what I received was in balance, something that hasn’t been true locally for years. Being treated respectfully and kindly goes far and I found it pathetic to realize how accustomed I had become to being treated otherwise, especially in what is supposed to be a spiritual community. The work that was done was in accordance with Reclaiming’s principles of unity, and I realized how rarely this has been my experience for the last decade in San Francisco.

I’ve been thinking on the fact that as therapist, I give my full attention to clients, and I am rewarded in kind with a good living. At this time period of my life, I’m no longer interested in being part of any community or in any relationship where output isn’t met by equal input, where simple kindness and respect is not a guiding principle. Since I’ve been paying more attention to this, my friendships have become more fulfilling, my relationship to spiritual community has been redefined, and my love life more joyful.

My new athame is perfectly balanced, and I’ve charged it up mindfully with this intent. Like my breath, I want to move thru the world balancing what I take in with what I let go of, holding both as sacred…and sacred too that space between the inhale and exhale, that place between the breaths. I’m thinking that those questions I’ve viewed as so difficult just may get easier and easier, and maybe, just maybe, the more I get comfortable with letting go, the more that will come flowing in. Tonight I’ll be meeting my girlfriend for dinner with the friends I’ve made in the past year, and I know there will be lightness, love, and laughter between us. All of this is new, all has come in as a result of letting go of other things. I’m hoping this new relationship will be a long one, but I have a growing confidence that I will be able to let go when and if it ever causes more pain than pleasure. I haven’t given up on Reclaiming as a whole, I’ll be engaging in it when and if I am treated as a person of some value, worthy of the same respect due any other community member. Thank goddess for my new athame. It is a tool worth having. With its help, I've lightened up.

Drawing Down the Elvis

Soon after Lammas, the largest pagan gathering in the United States occurs in Memphis, Tennessee. The gathering is called “Dead Week” and every year it swells in attendance. At this point, well over 50, 000 devotees make the pilgrimage to honor the death of America’s own Sun King, Elvis Aron Presley. Elvis is the newest indigenous pagan god to be worshipped on these shores since the European ancestors landed here and began their assault on the local deities and their worshippers.

Elvis the historical figure died over twenty years ago, but the mythical Elvis is gaining an ever increasing number of followers. Reclaiming witches have the saying, “What is remembered lives.” If there’s a germ of truth to that, then Elvis is alive and thriving. Look around and you will see that as Mojo Nixon says, Elvis is everywhere. More than any other of our cultural icons, he remains alive in our popular consciousness.

It is becoming increasingly acknowledged that the Elvis phenomenon can only be categorized as the birth of a religious movement. Elvis’s home, Graceland, is one of the most visited and cherished spots in the country. Some visit out of curiosity, but many go as holy pilgrims, to honor and worship the divine spirit of Elvis. Bits of clothes, even single strands of hair (verified by Priscilla) are sold as sacred relics. There have been countless sightings of Elvis after death and many tales abound of miracles attributed to him.

Unfortunately and inaccurately, most Elvisologists have equated the Elvis religion with Christianity, seeing Elvis as Christ-like figure and Elvis worshippers as similar to early Christians. This is dead wrong. Elvis is clearly a Pagan phenomenon!

In the landscape of popular culture, Elvis is the top cat pagan deity, embodying many aspects of our gods and standing for pagan virtues over Judeo-Christian ones. The Christians have a long history of stealing and absorbing the best of pagan traditions. They took our Yule tree and the eggs of Eostar. We can’t let them get away with taking Elvis! The King of Rock and Roll belongs to us. To that purpose, we need to claim him as ours and give him a place in our pantheons and on our altars.

Like the Sun King he is, Elvis was born soon after Winter Solstice in Tupelo, Mississipi. His (divine) identical twin, Jesse, died during childbirth. Jesse would continue to be a presence for Elvis throughout his life, serving as what we witches call a companion self. His parents, Gladys and Vernon, were the last in a long line of sharecroppers, the poorest of the poor white southerners. He was raised as a Pentecostal, where the focus is not on liturgy, but on direct contact with the Holy Spirit. Unlike Jesus, whose primary loyalty was to his father, Elvis’s focus and guiding light was his love for his mother. Many have cast aspirations on their close relationship, but in Wiccan theology, the god is both consort and son of the goddess. For Elvis the person, being so dependent and close to his mother may not have been emotionally healthy, but as Elvis the mythic figure affecting mass consciousness, this relationship helps restore and ancient pagan paradigm. Like we witches, Elvis had not problem publicly worshipping his mother. His love and respect for Gladys are a key part of the Elvis myth and were indeed a way he stands out from other famous figures of his time.

Elvis and his parents moved from Tupelo into Memphis, living in a housing project while Elvis attended high school. Elvis then drove a truck for Crown Electric until Sam Phillips heard a record that Elvis paid to have cut as a present for Gladys. After hearing Elvis’s distinct sound, Sam knew that history had chance of being shaken, rattled and rolled.

This was smack dab in the middle of the 1950’s, an extremely uptight time. Black and white America lived n two different worlds. Gender roles were strongly proscribed and adhered to. Music itself was segregated. If you were anything but a Christian, you were suspect. Elvis the trickster had a genius for mixing things up and looking perfectly innocent while he did it. He crossed gender, race and class lines and made it all look and sound appealing. Although not the inventor of rock and roll, he was the best white embodiment of it at the time. As John Lennon said; “Before Elvis, there was nothing”. In the beginning, white stations would not play him because he sounded black, and black stations would not play him because he was white. When he finally got airtime he became an instant sensation.

Elvis, the trickster god, began a cultural revolution by crossing the racial line and playing music that until that point had been primarily a black musical tradition. In crossing the line, he also reminds us that the line exists, and if not for racism, Little Richard or Chuck Berry might be known as The King. As trickster, Elvis paradoxically symbolized both racial lines being dissolved and the power of racism and culturally appropriation.

Elvis, the “hillbilly cat” wore hair pomade worn by black men slick back his dyed black hair. He bought his bright pink shirts and flashy pants at Lansky’s, a store frequented primarily by black musicians and hipsters. At a time when most white males were wearing crewcuts and dressing drably, Elvis was a stunning Peacock God, fanning and strutting around the stage. He shirts of satin and velvet, and when he got enough money, had a suit made from gold lame. Whether as the epitome of cool or later, in his white jumpsuit years, the epitome of tacky, Elvis never wore anything boring. As pagan Peacock God, Elvis would always jump gender lines with ease. He admired that other white gender bender of the 1950’s, Liberace, and could inhabit the same gaudy outfits with a sexuality that defied categorization.

Young God Elvis was Peacock God, the Horned One, the Trickster, and Dionysus, all rolled into one, continually giving all due to his mother. The guy was hot. In less than fifteen minutes of televised air time, Elvis cracked the wall of 4,000 years of Judeo-Christian uptightness about se and opened the sex chakra of white America. The day after he gyrated and burlesqued and boogied out “Hound Dog” on national television, he was roundly denounced, his music called “the devil’s music”. You betcha. The Horned God was back, and Christianity would never have quite the same grip on us. Elvis wed his experience of Pentecostal possession of the Holy Spirit with the beat of rock and roll. Popular culture was blasted with the Wiccan value of sexuality and spirit being connected. Elvis helped create the climate in which the Craft would come to flourish. Praise the Elvis!

At the height of his fame, Elvis was drafted in the army. Soon after, Gladys died. Elvis was devastated. Most celebrities have the slimmest of chances of a comeback after their stardom dims. Elvis in his aspect of God of the Grain rose and fell several times in his career. The boy, who rose from poverty to stardom, rose again to fame after his hiatus in the military. Then, chained like Sisyphus to a series of horrible movies by his carny huckster manager, Col. Parker, he faded in the light of the brilliant revolution he had been instrumental in creating. It’s hard to find a rock star of the 1960’s who doesn’t pay homage to Elvis, but while the youth of that generation were finding religion in sex, drugs, and rock and roll, Elvis was starring in films like “Clambake”.

In 1968, Elvis shook off his chains and did what is now called “The Comeback Special”. Most of America tuned in and watched, and once again, The King was on top. After years out of the limelight, Elvis prowled the stage in black leather, casting a huge glamour. He might not have been a part of the Woodstock Nation, but he was still the King of Rock and Roll.

After this, he made no more bad movies, choosing instead to remain on stage in front of live and loving audiences. He chose to focus on performing in the one spot that gave him a cold reception in his hottest years: Las Vegas. This time around he was received with adoration. Wiccans have a practice of “drawing down the moon” in which we aspect the Goddess, let her move in us. Many in our tradition have aspected all sorts of manner of deities. With the number of Elvis impersonators constantly growing, “Las Vegas Elvis” is the most aspected deity on this planet, and most who do so, are true devotees of the god.

The pot-gutted, white jumpsuited, bejeweled Elvis embodies the pagan view of the deity as fallible. The Great God of the Celts, the Dagda, can be glimpsed in this aspect of Elvis.

The Dagda was fat, with a tremendous appetite. His ass hung out of his pants, and he was jolly at being the butt of jokes, presiding over a cauldron of plenty, being known for his generosity. Las Vegas Elvis split his pants more than once, and would frequently make jokes and allusions to it. Elvis was always able to laugh at himself. The Charge of the Goddess requires us to find mirth and reverence within ourselves. Followers of Elvis are experts at this. Those who revere Elvis can also laugh at him, without finding any contradiction in the two states. Like the Dagda, Elvis was legendary for his generosity. He gave away Cadillacs and guns like party favors, and had a constant supply of gold jewelry at hand to give away. Throughout his rises and falls, Elvis remained rooted in Memphis, where he supported a small army of poor relations.

Elvis remained staunchy true to his class roots, refusing to act “high class”. He has been ridiculed for this, but many of us from poor or working class backgrounds find it refreshing and downright radical. He could have lived on champagne and caviar over Central Park, but instead stayed at Graceland with his peanut butter and banana sandwiches and Nutty Buddies.

Las Vegas Elvis embodies the god of rot and decay. Like any Sun King, he casts a long shadow. Incarcerated in the jailhouse of fame, he went increasingly stir crazy. His chronic insomnia led to the use of an ever increasing amount of uppers and downers. Elvis’s abuse of prescription drugs would eventually result in his mortal fall from the throne of his bathroom toilet at the age of 42.

Elvis died on August 16^th 1977. He was reading an occult tract at the time. Elvis was drawn to spiritualist and occult writings. He believed in numerology and would practice moving clouds with focused will. Elvis was interested in magic. As pagans and witches, it behooves us to embrace Elvis as one of ours. He is. Like the Goddess, Elvis is everywhere. Look around, you’ll find him.

interesting times

Supposedly the phrase “may you live in interesting times” is a Chinese curse. As a witch, experienced with the power of paradox, I’m pretty clear that a curse can be a blessing as well, and vice a versa. These are interesting times. Sometimes I feel blessed by that, and this week, well, it’s felt more like a curse. Everything feels in spin, everything in flux, and as usual, the inner mirrors the outer, the outer mirrors the inner. What’s going to happen? Just wondering about that is exhausting. Best to just keep breathing and attempt to think about other things.

As I breathe, one of the things my mind continues to chew on is the bone of Reclaiming, the spiritual tradition I’ve been part of creating. At the witchcamp I just taught at, my friend Rook and I taught a path on Reclaiming and Feri. I am a Reclaiming and Feri initiate, Rook is neither, and has been turned off to the glamour of Feri as he’s seen in shimmer thru his community. We didn’t so much as “teach” as we did facilitate, and it was quite a discussion we facilitated! One shocking and somewhat inconvenient truth that was revealed is that there is no general consensus or agreement on what Reclaiming theology consists of. Everyone acknowledged the principles of unity, although someone said that even these are up for review after BIRCH, and some want the word “witch” taken out. As far as I can tell, there is no real agreement on what it means to be a Reclaiming witch other than we are our own spiritual authority, heck, some consider themselves part of Reclaiming and don’t even consider themselves witches!

So what does this mean, being our own spiritual authority? Anne Hill in a recent blog compared Reclaiming to Wiki-pedia, and coined the great term “wiki-spirituality”, noting that Reclaiming is a tradition that people can add to or edit at will. What is taught in any given “core class” can vary widely and does. For some, the idea of the Goddess is central, for others, the idea of the Goddess is not stressed, or it’s stressed that Goddess and God always need to be invoked equally, or some are dropping gender and using instead the concept of "mysterious ones". What one Reclaiming witch considers central to their theology may mean nothing to another. Teaching our path, Rook and I were aware of how much some people long for “the answer”, how much authority we as teachers/facilitators are given, and how much work it is to actually teach/facilitate people coming to their own conclusions. Does the term “spiritual authority” encourage us to keep asking questions, or does it set up a situation where we are striving to have the answer? I've been noticing a heck of a lot of "answers" being put forth, with very little critical thinking applied to what's actually being said.

I'm thinking that an example of this is the relatively new phenomenon of “sacred sexuality” being taught widely in Reclaiming. My guess is that each and every person who teaches this has their own view and take on what sacred sexuality is and how to get there….and paradoxically, it’s being presented as Reclaiming paths/classes/workshops, as if there actually is something we all agree on as a tradition wide way to approach sexuality. What does this mean in a developing theology? It’s here that my guess that our wiki-spirituality might show itself most blatently. For some, a sacred sexuality class might be about coming to your senses and working with the tools to know your own boundaries, run your energy mindfully, and so forth…with no sexual contact or orgasms being part of the path. For others (like in Madrone’s workshops of years ago) the work might involve sexual contact with others and culminate in everyone masturbating together while doing a specific breathing technique. The values and ideas on what constitutes "sacred sexuality" probably vary widely in Reclaiming, and my guess if we somehow could do a review of what is being presented, it might totally contradict.

So, this is the bone I’m chewing on. What does this all mean? What is the baby in the bathwater of Reclaiming? Is it different for every one of us? Can we even agree it IS a baby? What the heck have we been creating? As usual, more questions than answers. But, that’s probably the only way to survive in interesting times, to stay open and questioning. If I turn it over to the Goddess, am I still my own spiritual authority? Today, I'm asking for guidance, and now....I think I'll try to just breathe, and stop thinking and put down the bone.

what goes up, must come down

We just passed Lammas, the cross –quarter holiday between Summer Solstice and Equinox. I’ve marked this sabbat for well over twenty years, and have planned and attended countless public rituals celebrating it. Lammas is also known as Lughnasadh, in honor of the Celtic sun god, Lugh, who began his descent after the solstice. It’s said to be both his wake and his wedding day, depending on which resource you go to. Lammas was a time in which the beginning of the harvest season was celebrated, and grain and bread were especially honored. In Reclaiming, we’ve usually focused on the sacrifice and death of the god of the grain, relating this also to Lugh, the Sun God, and how both die, only to be reborn, again and again.

This year Lammas found me trying to get my feet back on the ground after the intoxicating high of both falling in love and being at witchcamp. I came back from witchcamp and not only had a full week of work to focus on, but the return of my son from his adventures in New Mexico. Happily, he weathered the fundamentalist Christian camp quite well. My son is no martyr. They lost him when they played Romans and Christians, and expected him to admit he was a Christian before being thrown to the lions. When asked if he was a Christian, he replied “Hell, no!” It reminded me of when he was five and I talked to his kindergarten. At that time, he was proud to be a witch and wanted me there talking about it. However, after I’d quizzed the kids and got them to say all their negative images of what a witch is, I said I was a witch and then turned to Casey and asked him if he was too. “Not today!” he replied. My son’s nature is to deny his faith if it means lions or the stake. As a mother, I can’t say I’m against this.

I’ve always loved the title of Jack Kornfield’s book “After the Ecstasy, the Laundry”. This Lammas was all about the laundry, of cleaning up after the ecstasy of the last month or so. It’s meant attending to my son, who I haven’t seen in a month and is angry with me, of returning the more than twenty calls a day left on my voice mail, many due to my dropping balls that were in spin while immersing myself in a luscious love affair and then flying to the east coast to be between the worlds. I started in on the monumental stack of laundry over two days ago. It’s still not all done.

When the sun was at its zenith, everything seemed so possible, everything was so expansive. This Lammas, I’m tuning in to the reality that everything does have its price, of the limitations of life and of love, to the truth that intoxication often leads to a hangover. Maybe by equinox I will have a better handle on things, will have established a balance between the laundry and the ecstasy. Maybe someday I’ll be more prepared when what went up, comes down. Tonight I ate a tomato that just ripened from my garden on the deck. I’m celebrating the harvest and pondering on the rise and fall of all things, and somehow, before I go back down and bring up yet another load of things to put away, trying to have faith that what goes down, will really truly go right back up. It’s the way of all things, isn’t it?

what happened in the beginning

I'm back from witchcamp. There was no internet there, but I was planning to write each day. Those plans were dropped by the third day. After a rest, I'll write about the upshot, but in short...it was fabulous! The last ritual ended up being priestessed by the Crone affinity camp, unplanned and spontaneously, but it worked...but more of that later. here's the beginning report:

Day One

Yesterday we arrived at Claymont, a 360 acre retreat center in West Virgina, near Harper’s Ferry. The energy of the Shenandoah and Potomac Rivers can be felt here, and I’m wishing I knew more about this land’s history, as I’m starting to feel it. There are two big buildings to house us, The Barn and The Mansion. The Barn is actually a renovated school, with two big wings of bedrooms. I feel blessed that I have a room to myself, with four beds. Three have all my witchy ritual wear laid out on them, so the room has become quite festive. My Elvis tapestry is also up. I haven’t made it to the Mansion, build by a grandnephew of George Washington, but I’ve heard it really is a mansion, replete with a ballroom. The whole place has a nice feel, clearly being run by citizens of Freak nation who have befriended the various nature spirits.

It’s been dreadfully hot and sticky, and I’m not acclimated yet. I’ve wanted to explore the grounds, but each time I’ve walked out of the air-conditioning, I’ve wilted quickly. As some witch friend at some time pointed out; the problem with being a nature religion is the nature. It’s green and lush out there, but damn hot and, of course, there are bugs.. Being here reminds me just how temperate my city by the sea is. Rarely do we break a sweat in San Francisco, and hats and mittens are not a part of the typical winter wardrobe. No wonder Northern Californians have such a reputation as mellow wimps….we are!

Being on the east coast, where the climate has extremes, makes me aware of just how much a difference a few degrees of temperature makes. In the last few weeks I’ve noticed just how often people are bringing up climate change. It’s no longer an argument or debate; everyone seems to have settled into the awareness that the weather is changing. A few degrees higher and lower can truly make some places uninhabitable, and being in this climate, I can’t help but think about it. I’m also thinking of how incredible it is that people wage war in heat. I haven’t read the news for several days, but a part of my awareness is praying for coolness in the Middle East, and being here on this land makes me think about how miserable it had to be to fight in the Revolutionary and Civil War. Those wars still haunt this land. Another thing about my city, it’s never been under siege, never torn by war.

War and the changing climate are haunting me here... I’ve been thinking about the Yeat’s poem, and how I have lost my passionate intensity of years back, my sureness of what our magic and actions will bring about. Now, I have many more questions than answers. So, here I am, preparing for a week of magic, unsure of what the heck it will yield, dedicated to making it as open to possibility as possible. How will this land receive us?

Day Two

Last night we did our opening night ritual, and I’m feeling hopeful for the week. It helps that so far, the food is incredible, much of it grown on the property. The team is buoyant, I think hugely because of the fact we are all being paid the same. It is such a simple thing, doing an act that literally reflects the belief that everyone on the team is of equal value, but it is such a profound thing. My politics demand it, but thankfully, it truly feels this way, and I’m amused by everyone I’m working with, the best way to feel, in my book. Having a sense of the arc of the week’s rituals has also steadied our nerves. This story is so darn hard! We are doing the Southwestern story of La Llorrona, a cautionary ghost tale in which a spoiled woman ends up drowning her children and then herself. She is a ghost of the Southwest, heard in the arroyos and along rivers, still crying for her children. We could turn this into a week of caterwauling and despair, and thankfully, we all are determined to do otherwise.

She’s not deity, she’s a ghost, so this story is being worked as a story…one which we will witness but not inhabit. Last night I did a trance to the heart to the chamber where all the stories are held, the library of myths and legends. We set the stage for approaching the story as a mirror to look at our own personal stories and the community stories that haunt us. We hope to learn from each other’s cautionary tales, and to bring personal and community shadows into the light. The grooves of old Reclaiming rituals are deep, and I’m also determined to not create rituals in which we transform all our pain and change the world with one cone of power. I truly do believe that what happens between the worlds does change the world, but I’ve noticed the smallest and most mindful steps sometimes take us on the wisest journey. I’m thinking of cranial sacral work…those small movements that shift everything.

Reclaiming witchcamps have a tradition of “affinity groups” which meet daily. Most times there is randomness to this “affinity”, the only real affinity being in that all are participants at witchcamp. At Spiralheart there is power in the large affinity group of crones, of women past childbearing age. They played a central role in last night’s ritual, and it was potent, all of them looking into a fire, feeling and sensing the portents of the upcoming story, of where it might lead.

I’m feeling more and more between the worlds, with all the time bending that happens at witchcamp and the opening of chakras. The fireflies transport me, and the lushness of the land is settling into my bones. The internet isn’t working here, but calling home I found out today that the bay area is having a heat wave, so even in my temperate city, I would have been thinking about the changing weather. Things are heating up.