Gathering up the threads
If you sat down to read 'Green Witchcraft' you might not go to the same place as I do; you might even wonder how I connected my dots. The next thing one might expect me to write would be to offer some sort of qualifying statement about your interpretation is as valid as mine, which brings to an important point: I discussed briefly, in a previous entry, Ann Moura's ideas about the control factors seemingly inherent in mainstream religions. I then offered some thought on how some organized pagan groups seem to be recreating the control elements of major religions, just dressed up in funky clothes. Even when a group isn't organized there seems to be control, if only by demanding the qualifying statements. The argument might be made that social discourse requires a certain amount of placating, of attention to sensibilities, of definitions. I would counter that it is one thing to establish common ground and common terms but that all else is just a way to impose rank and allot status, to bring into being unspoken rules and pitfalls, to establish control. An effect of this type of order in a group is that only certain members can suggest change, offer discussion on controversial subjects and, often, be respected for their opinions without challenge. The next argument might be to descend to 'it's just human nature.' But are we a troup of chimpanzees defending our fruit tree or a a group of people trying to find our spiritual way? Why evoke the equivalent of 'defending the clan' when discussing private religious belief?
So, how did I get here, if how I am connecting this to the Green is obscure to the observer? Yes, I am discarding much of Ann Moura's personal vision as I go, just as I do with almost every (if not all) pagan methodology I have ever encountered. But this has been a week full of events that have left their myriad impressions: I had to search my soul and fire an employee, I went to a girl's night out with dear friends, I had a deeply moving ritual, I read a disturbing 'first' post by someone on a list, I watched "Howl's Moving Castle" yesterday afternoon. All of these things are connected, at least to me, because that is how life is: a web of threads, some loose some taut, that sing and hum, harmonize and clash, offer attachment yet also lead one off in mystifying directions. Each element of my week made its contribution to the final conclusion and subsequent action, a shift in my thinking and an adaptation of how I go about living. At some point I stopped regarding the steps I take each day as separate from my spiritual beliefs and returned to 'walk the walk' as the only way to exist. Does it set me apart? Most definitely - perfect strangers may not know how to deal with me and it isn't based on appearances - but how that works is best discussed in another essay.
The threads of my existence have their own contributions:
I haven't been a supervisor very long, only since the end of last September. My problem-child employee underwent some sort of change last November; everyone could just about pin a date on when the change occurred. Did this person react in antisocial ways to being drawn out to do method development work, a task which required heightened interaction with his fellow workers? Did he need to stop taking psychiatric medications due to drug interactions from additional prescriptions required by auto-accident injuries? Is he suffering from an undiagnosed head/brain injury from this same car mishap? Did some unknown social event outside the workplace cause a shift in his attitude thus a shift in his behavior? Did a chance comment in the office or lab set him on a spiraling path of disassociation? We may never know. Technically, MG was fired for a 'last straw' anitsocial interaction with a fellow employee. If he hadn't been shown the door for this infraction he was facing a sexual harassment charge, being written up for generating questionable data despite pointed direction on appropriate quality control measures and being fired for violating the computer-use policy. The process of excising this employee from the work organization was wrenching for me for two reasons: I tried very hard to modify his behavior, even giving him additional responsibilities to cut down on his 'free' time, and I have been fired, myself (this event was covered in agonizing detail back about 15 months in my journal). I feel diminished as a supervisor but recognize an important learning experience when I see one: madness can be subtle and arise from many places. This was a case history in trust and attitude issues.
And then there was Wednesday at Stella's, the flow of conversation, the heaps of good food, the Yule gifts long delayed and, of course, the renewed promises to get together more often. At a point in our lives we did organized druid rituals of someone else's writing, devolved to doing our own circles and, now, we dine and exchange energy in a much more mundane setting. I have come to think of our Girl's Nights Out as our own form of giving thanks, evoking Goddess, and offering mutual support just as much as any overtly religious gathering. No one is a 'High Priestess', no one even leads; there are no strictures, no directives, no penalties, no sins (though, perhaps we need to offer the invocation of 'all diets are off for tonight!'). I revel in the sheer unconstructed nature of what we, as a circle, have become. Since it is here that I find such joy I have to ask myself why do I need anything else? I ask why I keep trying to 'belong' to something that places strictures, overtly attempts to constrain my behavior, and dictates belief (if only through the labels it adopts). It is in the contrast that I draw my conclusion and thus move forward: today I gave up yet one more term I had held as describing my practice and decided that yet another activity was unproductive after reading someone's 'first post' on a list. The reverberations along the threads were negative and disturbing; I had an immediate vision of unfolding events that I yet had a chance to step away from. I need no controls on my spiritual path so I made a choice and went in a different direction.
I do not go out of my way to celebrate 'Imbolc.' This holiday had a purpose in another time at another place but strains for relevance in my existence. It is not alone: I don't really do a Lughnassah and my Beltaine has no penis substitute to dance around (though a spell for renewed sexual expression is highly appropriate; been there, done that - still in the ritual materials box). I have to come to a point where I do rituals for specific purposes and last Sunday was a small rite for three houseplants that I was parting with: a rescued African violet which died despite my efforts, a Swedish Ivy which crashed and was only hanging on by a few browning leaves, and my sole Orchid which never should have come to me (those need humidity, something I go out of my way to avoid in the domicile). I made a trip out to the compost bin to lay them to rest and made some words to consign them to the arms of the Goddess, just as I do when I see animals killed by the side of the road. I despaired in the ritual, though, as I had nothing to cover the plants - everything was frozen solid so no brown leaves to put over the top of the bin. A snow flurry blew in as I stood there, intensifying quickly. I retreated to the house and for a good half-hour or more we had white-out conditions; I couldn't see the house across the street or out to the end of the yard - the compost bin was hidden from view. This was not the first time in my experience that an invocation has produced an unexpectedly large outpouring of energy for a ritual task. In retrospect I feel connected and powerful, awed by what can be accomplished by a simple personal spiritual moment.
The final element: watching a DVD borrowed from
aloysiusweasley. The theme of "Howl's Moving Castle" that strikes me at this moment is that of how disconnected visual appearance can be from the actual underlying concept and how our opinions hinge on characteristics of so little ultimate consequence. We can change shape, morph into fantastic beings, even have an appearance thrust upon us by a curse. But what is the final effect? What truly matters? Another time I might have extracted a different thread of meaning from this movie but this is now. My thoughts about the film belong to this week and go with all the other events.
My spiritual week actually began with the ritual for the houseplants, last Sunday. My employee, MG, committed his last antisocial act on Monday and was fired on Tuesday. The Girl's Night Out was Wednesday. I read the 'first post' on Thursday and decided to leave my last attempt at organized online covenry on Friday. Yesterday I watched "Howl." Today begins another week and I have a three-day stretch away from work. May I make the most of it, beginning with a long essay filled with ideas to ponder. Ah, yes, and the last spark was provided by a book, "Green Witchcraft," lest I forget where this all began.
So, how did I get here, if how I am connecting this to the Green is obscure to the observer? Yes, I am discarding much of Ann Moura's personal vision as I go, just as I do with almost every (if not all) pagan methodology I have ever encountered. But this has been a week full of events that have left their myriad impressions: I had to search my soul and fire an employee, I went to a girl's night out with dear friends, I had a deeply moving ritual, I read a disturbing 'first' post by someone on a list, I watched "Howl's Moving Castle" yesterday afternoon. All of these things are connected, at least to me, because that is how life is: a web of threads, some loose some taut, that sing and hum, harmonize and clash, offer attachment yet also lead one off in mystifying directions. Each element of my week made its contribution to the final conclusion and subsequent action, a shift in my thinking and an adaptation of how I go about living. At some point I stopped regarding the steps I take each day as separate from my spiritual beliefs and returned to 'walk the walk' as the only way to exist. Does it set me apart? Most definitely - perfect strangers may not know how to deal with me and it isn't based on appearances - but how that works is best discussed in another essay.
The threads of my existence have their own contributions:
I haven't been a supervisor very long, only since the end of last September. My problem-child employee underwent some sort of change last November; everyone could just about pin a date on when the change occurred. Did this person react in antisocial ways to being drawn out to do method development work, a task which required heightened interaction with his fellow workers? Did he need to stop taking psychiatric medications due to drug interactions from additional prescriptions required by auto-accident injuries? Is he suffering from an undiagnosed head/brain injury from this same car mishap? Did some unknown social event outside the workplace cause a shift in his attitude thus a shift in his behavior? Did a chance comment in the office or lab set him on a spiraling path of disassociation? We may never know. Technically, MG was fired for a 'last straw' anitsocial interaction with a fellow employee. If he hadn't been shown the door for this infraction he was facing a sexual harassment charge, being written up for generating questionable data despite pointed direction on appropriate quality control measures and being fired for violating the computer-use policy. The process of excising this employee from the work organization was wrenching for me for two reasons: I tried very hard to modify his behavior, even giving him additional responsibilities to cut down on his 'free' time, and I have been fired, myself (this event was covered in agonizing detail back about 15 months in my journal). I feel diminished as a supervisor but recognize an important learning experience when I see one: madness can be subtle and arise from many places. This was a case history in trust and attitude issues.
And then there was Wednesday at Stella's, the flow of conversation, the heaps of good food, the Yule gifts long delayed and, of course, the renewed promises to get together more often. At a point in our lives we did organized druid rituals of someone else's writing, devolved to doing our own circles and, now, we dine and exchange energy in a much more mundane setting. I have come to think of our Girl's Nights Out as our own form of giving thanks, evoking Goddess, and offering mutual support just as much as any overtly religious gathering. No one is a 'High Priestess', no one even leads; there are no strictures, no directives, no penalties, no sins (though, perhaps we need to offer the invocation of 'all diets are off for tonight!'). I revel in the sheer unconstructed nature of what we, as a circle, have become. Since it is here that I find such joy I have to ask myself why do I need anything else? I ask why I keep trying to 'belong' to something that places strictures, overtly attempts to constrain my behavior, and dictates belief (if only through the labels it adopts). It is in the contrast that I draw my conclusion and thus move forward: today I gave up yet one more term I had held as describing my practice and decided that yet another activity was unproductive after reading someone's 'first post' on a list. The reverberations along the threads were negative and disturbing; I had an immediate vision of unfolding events that I yet had a chance to step away from. I need no controls on my spiritual path so I made a choice and went in a different direction.
I do not go out of my way to celebrate 'Imbolc.' This holiday had a purpose in another time at another place but strains for relevance in my existence. It is not alone: I don't really do a Lughnassah and my Beltaine has no penis substitute to dance around (though a spell for renewed sexual expression is highly appropriate; been there, done that - still in the ritual materials box). I have to come to a point where I do rituals for specific purposes and last Sunday was a small rite for three houseplants that I was parting with: a rescued African violet which died despite my efforts, a Swedish Ivy which crashed and was only hanging on by a few browning leaves, and my sole Orchid which never should have come to me (those need humidity, something I go out of my way to avoid in the domicile). I made a trip out to the compost bin to lay them to rest and made some words to consign them to the arms of the Goddess, just as I do when I see animals killed by the side of the road. I despaired in the ritual, though, as I had nothing to cover the plants - everything was frozen solid so no brown leaves to put over the top of the bin. A snow flurry blew in as I stood there, intensifying quickly. I retreated to the house and for a good half-hour or more we had white-out conditions; I couldn't see the house across the street or out to the end of the yard - the compost bin was hidden from view. This was not the first time in my experience that an invocation has produced an unexpectedly large outpouring of energy for a ritual task. In retrospect I feel connected and powerful, awed by what can be accomplished by a simple personal spiritual moment.
The final element: watching a DVD borrowed from
aloysiusweasley. The theme of "Howl's Moving Castle" that strikes me at this moment is that of how disconnected visual appearance can be from the actual underlying concept and how our opinions hinge on characteristics of so little ultimate consequence. We can change shape, morph into fantastic beings, even have an appearance thrust upon us by a curse. But what is the final effect? What truly matters? Another time I might have extracted a different thread of meaning from this movie but this is now. My thoughts about the film belong to this week and go with all the other events.
My spiritual week actually began with the ritual for the houseplants, last Sunday. My employee, MG, committed his last antisocial act on Monday and was fired on Tuesday. The Girl's Night Out was Wednesday. I read the 'first post' on Thursday and decided to leave my last attempt at organized online covenry on Friday. Yesterday I watched "Howl." Today begins another week and I have a three-day stretch away from work. May I make the most of it, beginning with a long essay filled with ideas to ponder. Ah, yes, and the last spark was provided by a book, "Green Witchcraft," lest I forget where this all began.