embracing paradox

Embracing paradox is a large part of any mystical love affair with the world. Pantheacon, the huge annual pagan conference in San Jose, is a garden of paradox set within the walls of a huge corporate hotel.

Chatting with the cocktail waitress in the lobby’s bar, she tells me that the Doubletree takes “all the conferences that other hotels won’t take”. Laughing, she describes serving drinks to the participants of the last conference held here. Dressed in their big fur suits, with heads sitting on laps or on the table, Furries had congregated in the bar after and before workshops. I laugh with her, smug in my assurance that we Pagans are on the other side of the dividing line between truly weird and not. My girlfriend comments that we seem so much less outrageous this year. And then a huge group of Discordians parade around the lobby, many in their underwear.

In so many ways, my spirituality seems so commonsensical. What could be more grounded than an earth-based religion? Indeed, at Pantheacon, I meet and go to workshops and panels with a wide variety of folks who are pebbles rippling out Pagan common sense into the wider cultural pond. There’s a growing acceptance and respect for us in the wider world, and listening to people like Margot Adler, Patrick McCollum and Mary Greer, it’s clear why. And amidst this, there’s also the high whack factor of modern Paganism. This paradox both drives me crazy and delights me (well, except for this growing trend of bringing pets, I hate that, but then I was too close to a dog fight in the marketplace). This new-time religion is chock full of diversity, that is for sure. The official theme of Pantheacon this year was activism, but the magic seemed to be in it's respectful diversity.

The one panel I was on, Ethics and Feri, was a case in point. It was great to sit with the others feeling both the potency of our differing views and the potency of our respect. I was the lone Feri saying I don’t relate to being a warrior (amongst many other things), but our differing opinions didn’t engender anything but some laughter and gentle ribbing. Throughout the conference, the absence of cliquishness was striking. We are a diverse bunch, but we seemed to be positively enjoying each other.

For me, this Pantheacon ended in a healing crisis, one of those distinct times in a life where you clearly know you are at a crossroads and you have to consciously choose your next step, knowing full well the import of it. But, I’ll be writing more on that, later.

In keeping with my pledge to Brigid, I’m grateful to have gone to Pantheacon and grateful to Glenn Turner for her wild idea to have an actual conference, complete with hospitality rooms and bad hotel food, for Pagans. Pantheacon is one of the most paradoxical experiences I have had. There were some years I stayed away, but more and more, I am learning to embrace it. What else can a 21st century mystic do?

ecstacy of spirit amidst paper doilies

Sing, feast, dance, make music and love, all in My Presence,

for Mine is the ecstasy of the spirit

and Mine also is joy on earth.

For My law is love is unto all beings.

from The Charge of the Goddess


I've always liked Valentine's Day. As a child, I associated the blooming of the red and pink in stores and on shelves with the coming of my birthday. For many years my birthday cake was a cake shaped like a heart that a local bakery only did during early February. I love Valentine's Day because I actually do connect it to the feeling of being loved.

So, today, I relish the feeling of being loved and of loving. May all beings feel love and may all beings love. Is there any better law than love?

The world today is my valentine. Happy Valentine's Day, and may it bring ecstasy of the spirit and joy on earth.

an attitude of gratitude, it's not just a platitude

My pledge to Brigid is already showing signs of working on me. Decades back, when we were creating what has become the Reclaiming Tradition, we started making pledges in front of a big tub of water (Brigid’s well) which held a cauldron of fire (Brigid’s flame).

This was done in a public ritual where one by one people would pledge with the community bearing witness. Over the years, I’ve made pledges that have shifted my life, and witnessed plenty that I knew would bring change. I haven’t been to a public ritual in several years, but this year I followed the call and found myself back in front of the well and the flame.

My pledge this year was and is to embrace gratitude as an organizing principle and to treasure my son, my partner, and my beloved friends. My birthday was on Saturday and the whole day my pledge kept resonating. I am so blessed! My partner and I started the day with a trip to the farmer's market. If there ever was an urban pagan place of worship, it's got to be the farmer's market. The Goddess appeared in the the baby lettuce and the chantrelle mushrooms on Saturday. That afternoon I had a massage and then in the evening friends came over. I’d asked that everyone bring a poem to share, and poetry was scattered throughout hours of feasting and feting.

My friend Naomi’s father had been dying of cancer and he crossed over before sunset. She got her ticket to fly out to Florida the next day and came to my party. Part of the magic of the evening was becoming acutely aware that birth and death are the same door. My birthday, his deathday. Both sacred, both potent.

There was much that still worked for me at the public ritual, but one thing I am completely done with. For too many years there’s been a narrative in Reclaiming that “these are dark times” and the magic at hand is turning the tide and bringing us back to better times. Several priestesses at the ritual used the term "these are dark times". Are they? Really? Like Dickens said about his time, “it was the best of times, it was the worst of times”. I question the magical effectiveness of continuing to invoke and name these times as only dark. Seems like it would be good for Reclaiming as a whole to review and reflect on the past thirty years and work on changing some of our old narrative.

When was it really a better time? Most times are both, light and dark, good and bad, full of horror and full of joy. I hate that my country is waging wars and yes, global capitalism continues to be a damn menace. And…..there are changes to be honored everywhere.

An African American man and a woman are strong candidates for president. That’s kind of flabbergasting in itself.

Maybe it’s the preview of spring that San Francisco is enjoying, maybe it’s the pledge, and maybe it’s the view now from fifty-three years on this green planet, but I don’t feel like I am living in a dark time. It’s a time of possibility, a time of great paradox, and I, for one, am in deep gratitude. For everything. Especially my pledge!

Voting for the big picture...

Poetry has been the backbeat of the last few days, and I am still following strands to new poems on this mighty web of poetry that has been spun. That, along with the hints of spring that I see in the emerging buds on the fruit trees, has uplifted spirit and soul.

And, there’s that other thing. The election is today. Many of my friends are for Obama. Macha is wearing a giant button for him wherever she goes. Others are for Hillary, excited that a woman is finally being taken seriously as a candidate, or impressed simply with her experience. The last couple of days I’ve felt the excitement growing, and I’ve told friends from both camps how I envy them. Because I do. I wish I could feel solidly behind someone. I know whoever wins the Democratic nomination I will vote for, and maybe even campaign for. I’ll put my shoulder to the task of putting Hillary or Obama in the White House. But I still envy my friends who are ardent in the support of one or another.

I can’t get there, and probably never will. I am fervently praying for a series of events to occur around the election that will bring healing change and transformation to the United States and the world. Will I ever believe again in one great leader? I grew up with too many charismatic leaders who were assassinated and have seen too that the brighter the light, the larger the shadow. Plus, I think the time of great leaders is over.

So, no matter who I actually vote for, I’m not at this moment putting myself behind anything except praying for an outcome that will serve positive change. And when I say praying, I mean that thing we witches do of interfacing with the elements and the Mysterious Ones and asking for the energies of life to come into alignment with our vision or will. I’ve learned by experience to be both specific and broad in my spellcasting. What I truly want is neither Obama or Hilary, it’s healthcare for all, peace on earth, everyone fed, a sustainable relationship with nature, and a graceful transformation from empire to a collaborative nation amongst collaborative nations.

As I look out the living room window at the buds which are barely visible on the branches, I breathe into the possibility of gentle yet profound change. I feel it in the air and amongst the growing green. Tonight, whoever wins, I will be for them. But my prayers are bigger.

Gratitude to the Poets and the Poetry Posters

Thank you. I am rich with poetry and dizzy with poetry and drunk with poetry. And I am so grateful for poetry and for this mighty web of poetic connection that we spun together. Thank you!

Prayer for the Great Family

Gratitude to Mother Earth, sailing through night and day—
and to her soil: rich, rare and sweet
in our minds so be it.

Gratitude to Plants, the sun-facing, light-changing leaf
and fine root-hairs; standing still through wind
and rain; their dance is in the flowering spiral grain
in our minds so be it.

Gratitude to Air, bearing the soaring Swift and silent
Owl at dawn. Breath of our song
clear spirit breeze
in our minds so be it.

Gratitude to Wild Beings, our brothers, teaching secrets,
freedoms, and ways; who share with us their milk;
self-complete, brave and aware
in our minds so be it.

Gratitude to Water: clouds, lakes, rivers, glaciers;
holding or releasing; streaming through all
our bodies salty seas
in our minds so be it.

Gratitude to the Sun: blinding pulsing light through
trunks of trees, through mists, warming caves where
bears and snakes sleep— he who wakes us—
in our minds so be it.

Gratitude to the Great Sky
who holds billions of stars— and goes yet beyond that—
beyond all powers, and thoughts
and yet is within us—
Grandfather Space.
The Mind is his Wife.
so be it.

after a Mohawk prayer

Gary Snyder, Turtle Island

Poetry for Brigid

Today is the day. It's bitter cold, and yet, spring waits. I've been mulling on what poem to post and yesterday I knew it had to be one by Walt Whitman. I opened Leaves of Grass to this poem. Perfect.

Unseen Buds

UNSEEN buds, infinite, hidden well,
Under the snow and ice, under the darkness, in every square or cubic
inch,
Germinal, exquisite, in delicate lace, microscopic, unborn,
Like babes in wombs, latent, folded, compact, sleeping;
Billions of billions, and trillions of trillions of them waiting,
(On earth and in the sea - the universe - the stars there in the
heavens,)
Urging slowly, surely forward, forming endless,
And waiting ever more, forever more behind.

Walt Whitman


Follow the comments on this blog to more poetry or the many many comments and links on the original invite. Thank you to all who participate. Thank you to the poets. And thank you, miraculous earth who holds the unseen buds and births spring out of winter.