How I found myself on this path
Here is the (latest) foreword to my book, "Journey to the Gods: A Modern Spiritual Odyssey". Hopefully one day it'll actually be finished.
As always, constructive criticism is greatly appreciated.
*****
When looking back at the long and sometimes twisted road that led me to where I am today, I sometimes marvel at the turns my life has taken. And I cannot help but wonder, if but for a little change here, and a small nudge there, I might have become a very different person then I am today. The big, defining moments in a persons life are rarely recognized as such at the time, and often we can only discern their importance years after the fact.
We like to think that we would not and could not be different then we are now, that no change in personal history can change who we are “inside”. A hippie artist does not like to contemplate the possibility that he could have become a powerful businessman who nonetheless traded his conscience and ideals for his success, if he had just not met that cute little blond activist in college. A good Christian, faithful wife and dutiful mother may not wish to think about the future she could have had if she had taken her opportunity to run away with her motorcycle-riding, badboy lover in high school, instead of dating, and then marrying, the boy her parents liked. But the fact is, small, seemingly insignificant moments govern not only our lives, our fates, but go on to influence the society our children's children's children will grow up in. Were it not for a few quirks of ancient history, Mithraism would be as widespread as Christianity is today, with Jesus being but a footnote in dusty scholarly works. And were it not for a few quirks of my personal history, I would likely have remained a good Mormon girl and made an obedient wife, chained to kitchen and children in the land far-distant in my memory, my mother's Zion, Utah. I shudder to think on that for too long.
But perhaps there is something inside us, something in our souls, that does indeed lay the groundwork for our personality. Perhaps the Gods do claim us at birth, or even before. Even as a small child, something in my mother's religion didn't quite sit right with me. She tried to raise me and my younger brother in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, but it never really clicked. As I search for the words to describe the feeling in my child's heart, I know that even now I can't explain it. I just knew that her religion wasn't for me. But being raised with the belief that the LDS church was all there was, I was at a loss as to what that meant. I took it as a personal failing that I could not feel the powerful, instinctual faith that my mother seemed to have.
Yet, I did not lack for spiritual experience, although I was unsure what to call it. I would sometimes feel or sense a Godly presence surrounding me, loving me, protecting me. Was this the Holy Ghost my mother always talked about? It couldn't be. This presence, this 'something' felt undeniably FEMALE. Had I been Roman Catholic, I probably would have decided that this powerful female force was the Virgin Mary. I told my mother, and she helpfully explained that it was a guardian angel. But that didn't feel like the right description at all. I simply knew that it felt much more powerful then that, but, being five, I lacked the vocabulary to explain it.
When I was still young, perhaps seven or eight years of age, my father began reading me the Greek myths. He thought only of it's educational value, but for my young mind it was an Epiphany. That cosmic 'click' I had been searching for resounded in my head, and I unconsciously identified my female force: Athena. I fell in love with her as soon as I heard her name. Even the watered-down, kid-friendly versions of the myths had so much power. I would read and reread them, studying the genealogical charts in my bedroom, reading late into the night with a flashlight hidden under my mattress. It was as if the Gods of Greece reached up through the pages and seized upon my heart and soul, never to let go.
And I loved it all, but I still had the mentality that these were just meaningless stories, as my mother would make pains to remind me whenever I talked excitedly about them. I stupidly told her one day that I wished the Old Gods, as one of my books referred to them, were real because I connected with them much better then I ever had with Jesus or God. She, quite predictably, freaked out, but I still didn't understand why. This just felt so RIGHT for me. My mother, as punishment, took away all of my books, even ones that had nothing to do with mythology, for three long, grueling months. For a bookworm like me, it was a sentence worse then death, a lonely solitary confinement! So I learned to forget about those feelings for a long time, and tried to be a good little Mormon girl, when church made me feel nothing but boredom.
On the cusp of my teenaged years, my parents divorced. My brother and I choose to go with my father. After a year-long custody battle, my father was awarded primary custody based on my mother's unstable mental condition. A few years latter, my mother remarried and disappeared from my life completely, her new husband never knowing we existed. And so my father, my brother and I set out to awkwardly attempt to build new lives for ourselves.
I'll never forget how I felt when I first stumbled upon Wicca. Knowing that I wasn't crazy and there were other people out there who worshiped the Old Gods in their hearts as well, was the single greatest, most amazing epiphany I'd ever had. After a childhood of being raised in a traditional, male-dominated church, it was incredibly empowering to discover that some people saw Divinity as female. Being a young girl in a patriarchal and male-centered society and religion is not easy, as I am sure any women reading this book will testify. Being told, whether subtly or overtly, that you are farther from God then your brother simply because of your sex, is incredibly damaging to a young girls psyche and development. Especially when she hits puberty and begins to become a sexual being.
So I embraced Paganism with open arms, and declared myself to be Wiccan before I had even finished one book on the subject. I worshiped the Female Divine under the title of the Great Mother, and then other Goddesses. Athena, of course, was especially dear to my heart, but Artemis and Hekate fascinated me as well. It was only natural to begin worshiping those Goddesses who had first held me spellbound as a child, reading my giant, leather bound book of Greek myths in the solitude of my bedroom.
In my zeal and enthusiasm for my new faith and Gods that knew what it was like to be a woman, I completely ignored the male deities. It was not a conscious decision on my part. I didn't at any time think, "I'm only going to worship Goddesses." But in my pure joy at worshipping a deity like me(!), a deity who truly understood a woman's heart and soul, the way a woman thinks and feels, a deity who bleeds, the male Gods completely fell by the wayside.
And to be completely honest, I didn't trust them. I don't ever remember actually thinking that, but now that I look back, I can see how my prejudices from my Judeo-Christian upbringing influenced my perception of the old Pagan Gods. Gods who stuck me as too similar to the Christian God, especially put me off. I wouldn't go near a Sky-Father God. Zeus, Odin & Thor definitely reminded me of the thundering, disapproving God who held me in fear and guilt in my youth. But truly, I don't remember praying to or seeking a relationship with any male God. I simply didn't look for another pattern. I transplanted the image of the monotheist version of God, then simply ignored them. There are many male Gods who are not Sky-Fathers, who would have provided an enriching and enlightening experience. In my own pantheon, Apollo, Dionysus, Hephastios and Hermes are a few non-domineering Gods who spring to mind.
I was a spiritual refugee, seeking to deny any image that might dare remind me of the God of my childhood. I didn't think male Gods had anything to teach me, a young woman.
While I am extremely grateful that I found the worship of the Female Divine in my young teen-aged years, I have since learned that the male Gods do indeed have something to offer to women.
I have seen many women who are newcomers to Paganism follow the same pattern. After a lifetime of being ignored in religion, being told that we are “less then”, that we can not hold the priesthood, that we were created second, it is is incredibly freeing to be in a religious structure that venerates the Feminine. But we are still only one-half of the equation, and nature abhors imbalance.
I have since drifted from Wicca, my path twisting yet again. Wicca, primarily focused as it is on Celtic traditions, had given me all that it could. I honour my time as a Wiccan, and my teachers of that era, who still continue to feed my soul today. But I was drawn yet again onwards, this time to study the practices of ancient Greece, to worship my Goddesses, and my Gods, in the ways that they have been honoured for centuries, in the land of their birth, on the shores of the Mediterranean. And so I reached Hellenismos.
As always, constructive criticism is greatly appreciated.
*****
When looking back at the long and sometimes twisted road that led me to where I am today, I sometimes marvel at the turns my life has taken. And I cannot help but wonder, if but for a little change here, and a small nudge there, I might have become a very different person then I am today. The big, defining moments in a persons life are rarely recognized as such at the time, and often we can only discern their importance years after the fact.
We like to think that we would not and could not be different then we are now, that no change in personal history can change who we are “inside”. A hippie artist does not like to contemplate the possibility that he could have become a powerful businessman who nonetheless traded his conscience and ideals for his success, if he had just not met that cute little blond activist in college. A good Christian, faithful wife and dutiful mother may not wish to think about the future she could have had if she had taken her opportunity to run away with her motorcycle-riding, badboy lover in high school, instead of dating, and then marrying, the boy her parents liked. But the fact is, small, seemingly insignificant moments govern not only our lives, our fates, but go on to influence the society our children's children's children will grow up in. Were it not for a few quirks of ancient history, Mithraism would be as widespread as Christianity is today, with Jesus being but a footnote in dusty scholarly works. And were it not for a few quirks of my personal history, I would likely have remained a good Mormon girl and made an obedient wife, chained to kitchen and children in the land far-distant in my memory, my mother's Zion, Utah. I shudder to think on that for too long.
But perhaps there is something inside us, something in our souls, that does indeed lay the groundwork for our personality. Perhaps the Gods do claim us at birth, or even before. Even as a small child, something in my mother's religion didn't quite sit right with me. She tried to raise me and my younger brother in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, but it never really clicked. As I search for the words to describe the feeling in my child's heart, I know that even now I can't explain it. I just knew that her religion wasn't for me. But being raised with the belief that the LDS church was all there was, I was at a loss as to what that meant. I took it as a personal failing that I could not feel the powerful, instinctual faith that my mother seemed to have.
Yet, I did not lack for spiritual experience, although I was unsure what to call it. I would sometimes feel or sense a Godly presence surrounding me, loving me, protecting me. Was this the Holy Ghost my mother always talked about? It couldn't be. This presence, this 'something' felt undeniably FEMALE. Had I been Roman Catholic, I probably would have decided that this powerful female force was the Virgin Mary. I told my mother, and she helpfully explained that it was a guardian angel. But that didn't feel like the right description at all. I simply knew that it felt much more powerful then that, but, being five, I lacked the vocabulary to explain it.
When I was still young, perhaps seven or eight years of age, my father began reading me the Greek myths. He thought only of it's educational value, but for my young mind it was an Epiphany. That cosmic 'click' I had been searching for resounded in my head, and I unconsciously identified my female force: Athena. I fell in love with her as soon as I heard her name. Even the watered-down, kid-friendly versions of the myths had so much power. I would read and reread them, studying the genealogical charts in my bedroom, reading late into the night with a flashlight hidden under my mattress. It was as if the Gods of Greece reached up through the pages and seized upon my heart and soul, never to let go.
And I loved it all, but I still had the mentality that these were just meaningless stories, as my mother would make pains to remind me whenever I talked excitedly about them. I stupidly told her one day that I wished the Old Gods, as one of my books referred to them, were real because I connected with them much better then I ever had with Jesus or God. She, quite predictably, freaked out, but I still didn't understand why. This just felt so RIGHT for me. My mother, as punishment, took away all of my books, even ones that had nothing to do with mythology, for three long, grueling months. For a bookworm like me, it was a sentence worse then death, a lonely solitary confinement! So I learned to forget about those feelings for a long time, and tried to be a good little Mormon girl, when church made me feel nothing but boredom.
On the cusp of my teenaged years, my parents divorced. My brother and I choose to go with my father. After a year-long custody battle, my father was awarded primary custody based on my mother's unstable mental condition. A few years latter, my mother remarried and disappeared from my life completely, her new husband never knowing we existed. And so my father, my brother and I set out to awkwardly attempt to build new lives for ourselves.
I'll never forget how I felt when I first stumbled upon Wicca. Knowing that I wasn't crazy and there were other people out there who worshiped the Old Gods in their hearts as well, was the single greatest, most amazing epiphany I'd ever had. After a childhood of being raised in a traditional, male-dominated church, it was incredibly empowering to discover that some people saw Divinity as female. Being a young girl in a patriarchal and male-centered society and religion is not easy, as I am sure any women reading this book will testify. Being told, whether subtly or overtly, that you are farther from God then your brother simply because of your sex, is incredibly damaging to a young girls psyche and development. Especially when she hits puberty and begins to become a sexual being.
So I embraced Paganism with open arms, and declared myself to be Wiccan before I had even finished one book on the subject. I worshiped the Female Divine under the title of the Great Mother, and then other Goddesses. Athena, of course, was especially dear to my heart, but Artemis and Hekate fascinated me as well. It was only natural to begin worshiping those Goddesses who had first held me spellbound as a child, reading my giant, leather bound book of Greek myths in the solitude of my bedroom.
In my zeal and enthusiasm for my new faith and Gods that knew what it was like to be a woman, I completely ignored the male deities. It was not a conscious decision on my part. I didn't at any time think, "I'm only going to worship Goddesses." But in my pure joy at worshipping a deity like me(!), a deity who truly understood a woman's heart and soul, the way a woman thinks and feels, a deity who bleeds, the male Gods completely fell by the wayside.
And to be completely honest, I didn't trust them. I don't ever remember actually thinking that, but now that I look back, I can see how my prejudices from my Judeo-Christian upbringing influenced my perception of the old Pagan Gods. Gods who stuck me as too similar to the Christian God, especially put me off. I wouldn't go near a Sky-Father God. Zeus, Odin & Thor definitely reminded me of the thundering, disapproving God who held me in fear and guilt in my youth. But truly, I don't remember praying to or seeking a relationship with any male God. I simply didn't look for another pattern. I transplanted the image of the monotheist version of God, then simply ignored them. There are many male Gods who are not Sky-Fathers, who would have provided an enriching and enlightening experience. In my own pantheon, Apollo, Dionysus, Hephastios and Hermes are a few non-domineering Gods who spring to mind.
I was a spiritual refugee, seeking to deny any image that might dare remind me of the God of my childhood. I didn't think male Gods had anything to teach me, a young woman.
While I am extremely grateful that I found the worship of the Female Divine in my young teen-aged years, I have since learned that the male Gods do indeed have something to offer to women.
I have seen many women who are newcomers to Paganism follow the same pattern. After a lifetime of being ignored in religion, being told that we are “less then”, that we can not hold the priesthood, that we were created second, it is is incredibly freeing to be in a religious structure that venerates the Feminine. But we are still only one-half of the equation, and nature abhors imbalance.
I have since drifted from Wicca, my path twisting yet again. Wicca, primarily focused as it is on Celtic traditions, had given me all that it could. I honour my time as a Wiccan, and my teachers of that era, who still continue to feed my soul today. But I was drawn yet again onwards, this time to study the practices of ancient Greece, to worship my Goddesses, and my Gods, in the ways that they have been honoured for centuries, in the land of their birth, on the shores of the Mediterranean. And so I reached Hellenismos.